m333's space

  A special day.
The beautiful weather reminded me of another first day in June.
That seems to have been forgotten-no bad thing, understandable, probably sensible...but no less painful.
So, first of June.
A beginning and now an end.
With a potted tree, a spoon, a piece of restaurant chocolate, a painting, some telephones, two t-shirts, a few hedge clippings, some old texts and sundry bits and bobs ...
Amazing what can hold memories.

Moving right along :)

The sun shone.
Just the weather for riding in an open topped  sports car...something I have dreamed of doing for most of my life...but never done.
Uppermost in my mind is the fact that after spending a day in lovely sunshine, with my closest friend, amid the beauty of the the place  where I live, I came home to receive a telephone call telling me that my regular golfing partner-my friend-had died. He'd played his regular Sunday round-done well and won a prize-gone home... and died ...just dropped dead...no warning, no ceremony, no preparation...just walked through his front door and keeled over... early sixties...still fit and active...why?  I was heartbroken.  Only last Saturday we were partners in a competition up on the Welsh coast-in raging winds and rain..We laughed and joked...looked forward to the 'next time'...which will now never come for John.
Rest in peace JR. I will miss you terribly.
It made me think that we really must treat every day as our last..beacuse it just might be.
It made me think that we must never take friendship for granted.
It made me think that we should never 'just expect' to see those we hold dear again.
It made me think about those I love, those I value, those I count as friends.
It made me think that one lifetime is too short to see the true value of friendship and to appreciate those whom we count as friends.
It made me think of those with whom I feel comfortable, at one, even if I haven't seen them for years: when you meet them again it as if years slip away and you are back to being like 'two peas in a pod'.
It made me think of the truth you see in people's eyes; it is the eyes of those I love that will stay with me always.
At least I saw them again.

Spent the last couple of days in Blackpool, at a convention.
Interesting place: I haven't been there since I was a small boy.
It reeks of faded grandeur, times long past... and decay.
The weather was lovely...which seemed somehow incongruous.
It seemed to me like an old photograph of  the 'way we were', the way people used to spend their holidays. The tacky gift shops I remembered are still there, the garish 'fun' rides, the lovely beaches, the stupid souvenirs,  the serried ranks of boarding houses.
I sat eating an ice cream, watching the planes fly over from Manchester-or somewhere-and thinking about how 'holidays' have changed. I wondered how Blackpool compared with the beaches of Turkey, Mexico or Cuba? ...(and I  contemplated this as a person who has not left these shores since the early seventies). Unfavourably I guess.
Getting changed with a towel around you on the windswept beach; the dogs shitting where you want to paddle; the tacky shops; the ubiquitous guest houses; the flaking paint and smell of fish and chips; the amusement arcades ( amusement??!!); the aesthetically horrible tower; the faded grandeur of the theatres and Winter Gardens.; the biting wind..all part of the package. These are what Blackpool conjures up for me.
A package that reinvents visions of people on holiday from an industrial Britain, a simpler time, a less complicated and diverse society.
I thought about the thousands-nay millions-of children this resort must have given special and precious memories to over the decades-me included.
And I felt sad that it now seems a poor relation as a result of cheap air travel.
I was tempted to visit the local DIY store, buy some paint, and start putting some panache back into this grand old lady of British culture...
...but, on reflection, I considered this a step beyond me, and bought a Hot Dog instead.
And, for anyone out there reading this, I simply have to say:
'Kiss Me Quick'

Today we buried my mother in law.
At the same church that I got married in 32 years ago.
She was a good sort, a devoted mother, Gran and Great Gran...and we'll miss her.
She was buried with her husband -who died many years ago-and this wish almost led to catastrophe. It is a small country churchyard and many people have been laid to rest there since father-in -law was buried over 32 years ago. In order to get the coffin to the re-opened grave , we bearers had to scramble the coffin over thirty years of graves, between monuments, under trees, and through long grass, until we finally reached our destination. Now she wasn't a small lady-by any means!!-and..it was tough! I couldn't help thinking -indeed I'm sure-that she would have been laughing her socks off looking down on the little coterie of bearers, suits straining under the load, sweating in the sun, and almost tumbling into the grave with her. I was proud that my lad Will was with me, and that we made it, almost SAS like, and she was laid to rest without any of us falling over or -worse-falling in.
As we were lowering her down a little breeze got up and blew an avalanche of tree blossom into the grave: it was so touching I could have cried:-many did. The coffin was covered with cherry blossom as it reached its final resting place.
What struck me was that the grave is on a little hill, overlooking the plain of Shropshire where she, I, my whole family and their friends have lived, scratched a living from the fertile soil, and finally been laid to rest. The sun shone, the birds sang, and I looked out across Shropshire and felt centuries of family and history binding me to this little bit of God's earth where my ancestors lived and I will die.
 It is my home, where I belong.

On this day last week I  sat on a bench at Tate Britain-eating sandwiches in the sunshine and remembering other times I had sat on this same bench. I walked the few hundred yards to Pimlico Underground Station and remembered times I had taken that same journey-but not alone.
How times change.
Today I spent the day pulling together the legal, financial and other records of my mother in law who has died: an awful, dirty, inhumane task of reducing over 70 years of life to a 'valuation', for the legal vultures to pick over. A real , living individual reduced to debits and credits.
How times change.
Tonight, Karen and I went to see 'Show of Hands' at the new theatre in Shrewsbury. They were fantastic-as expected-but we didn't really feel like going. We'd looked forward to this concert for a long time, but the loss of someone close makes it all seem somewhat surreal.
How times change.
Over the last few days I've felt the need for friends, for support, guidance...just a shoulder to lean on. I've never been short of this facility before.
How times change.
It seems things have been changing all around me for some time-I just didn't notice it.
Time to consolidate
Time to accept
That times have changed
And I must change with them.