There are about twenty old folk congregated on the bowling green. It's a warm, sunny Friday afternoon and I realise that this isn't the first time I've spent a short while on my day off watching the bowls. It's not even like I planned to get into watching old people play sports, like some half arsed New Year's resolution (I think I'll take up badminton). At least last Friday it was a bizarre aside to a quiet afternoon's smoking and skating session. Today I only had a cigarette to chuff on. But these coincidences that keep appearing have become commonplace recently, I barely notice them anymore.
I'd walked into town to pick up some tobbaco and find somewhere with a wi-fi hotspot to potter on the internet somewhere. As per usual I'd found myself side tracked, taking a cigarette break and enjoying Newquay's only form of free entertainment in the near vicinity. I remember thinking about how good it would be to have a laptop with a screen that worked in sunlight. That way I could write down what witticisms and thoughts I had floating through my head. Pen and paper is so twentieth century. And due to the fact that I had neither pen nor paper to my disposal I can't really think of what was on my mind. The only two thoughts that stick now where: I wonder what that device the bowlers are using to collect the balls (I'll check online later when I upload this), and annoyance at my Mum for not giving herself a break.
I'd offered to work in my folk's shop so my Mum could have the afternoon off. It's been a long summer (thank God there's only another week left, and that's coming from a slacker) and the parentals haven't had a day or even a half day off in six weeks. As a slack fuck I can't imagine what that would be like, although I get the feeling it's not much fun. I was pissed off because for one of the few times in my life I had actually made an effort towrads the folks. Communication and polite gestures don't occur too often in our family. I was woken up to my mother on the phone, saying that there's no point in me coming into the shop, there's too much for me to have to pick up to bother coming in. I just know that she's going to spend another depressing day at work, resenting everything, when she shouldn't even have to. There's a girl that I work with that reminds me of my mother. Her attributes are identical, she doesn't do happy, positive or optimistic. Working with her is like standing next to a black hole. I can feel all emotion draining from me. It's horrible. Nothing comes from self pity, only misery. And it only needs one thing to live (and by that I mean destroy everything but itself) and that's company. So at work I switch off. I'm not trying to be rude, despite the fact that I am, but I don't need it. I like being happy, I like having confidence. I like the fact that when I wake up in the morning I'm glad that I've woken up and have another day to enjoy. It's no surprise that I don't spend much time at home.
Returning home, I found myself pottering about. Pottering's good, but it can also be detrimental. There's always plenty of things to do, but I find myself veering from the point often. In life, as well as in writing. Instead of getting on and writing this, I'd decided to see if my old skateboard was in the shed. I'll clarify here: I can't skate, never really have been able to. At best I can move forwards, I can also pop an ollie, but not both at the same time, yet. The board is a state, the trucks for some reason were loose as hell and the wheels were jammed up. I'll fix it, I thought and enjoyed working on my tangent plan. [Note to self: pinch an old deck off of Gerard]
Once I'd completed my spell of pottering, I find myself at both top of the page in the past tense and at the bottom of the page in the present. I've completed what I have set out to do and have more things to get on with that aren't writing or fixing skateboards or watching old people play lawn bowls (I believe the contraption used to collect the balls is called a 'pick up', I was hoping for something a bit more creative than that). It's a busy day off.