A Trip to the Park

I wanted to capture this little moment in my life. It’s nothing really. A trip to the park with the kids, but it was simple and it was fun. Laugh out loud fun, and I can never get enough of that. I always feel “these days” like I’m wound tight inside. Tensed up. Kind of like a firework with the fuse lit. Waiting for something to set me off. Little things like the moments in the park kind of set me back to zero. So that screws up my firework metaphor; it’ll have to be a timebomb. No because that counts down to zero. Alright, alright I’m a strain gauge. It’s an engineering thing. Bit of wire, the more it is stretched, thinner it gets, higher resistance to current, blah blah. High number bad, low number good. I hope you’ve got that. Sorry to take so long. Frankly if you’re still with me at this point I feel a close affection for you. Perhaps we should hold hands.
It was a Sunday, the day after the “worst storms of the year” had lashed Southern England. I can’t remember who woke up first. Probably Jasmine, who is five nearly six. She’s normally up at 7-ish. After years of conditioning (thanks kids) I am up at that time too. So we normally end up in our dressing gowns on the sofa watching Tom & Jerry. Jasmine has Special K for breakfast (“with sugar!”) and so do I (“did you remember to put sugar on mine daddy?” “Yes, lots”) and we munch away. Tom & Jerry gives way to Scooby Doo.
At some point Jen comes downstairs. Jen has toast with butter.
Scooby Doo gives way to Spongebob. We watch television, we drink some tea. They have Sheepy (a stuffed sheep with big eyes that their aunt gave them) on the rug and give him a haircut. It’s not his first and he is nearly bald. All their soft toys are named after a pattern. Sheepy, you’ve met. There is also Sealy, Penguiny, Rabbity & others. I try to keep the kids quiet so as not to wake their mother. I am at the computer, laughing at Twitter & pretending the people on it are my friends. Then I notice that the sun has come out. It is a nice day.
“Shall we go to the park” say I? “What a good idea Daddy” says Jen, all grown up.
So we get dressed, I get a towel (to wipe the rain off the swings). Mum is unavoidably woken up by this process, but it’s after 10 so my work there is done anyway. Mum gets a glass of juice (I get Jasmine to get it for her – bless). And then there is much sister to sister discussion about bringing Sheepy along. Other lesser “–y” animals will also attend. I make it clear that I am not carrying any of them even if they get tired – I have been there before. Sheepy is placed in his own rucsac with other animals in pockets.
How shall we get there? Roller blades are currently their favoured form of transport. They can both ride bikes, but mostly its skates. Fine by me.
After about 40 minutes of preparations they are ready. Normally I’d be saying “Come On!” a lot. But no hurry today. I am all sweetness & light.
Off we go. I have money & phone & kids. I am loaded for bear. It is a lovely day. The sunshine is making all the wet surfaces sparkly. Jen shoots off on her skates, Jasmine, less confident, holds my hand. Me & her run down the hill after Jen. There is giggling.
We stop at the newsagents. I was thinking about getting a newspaper to read at the park, but I don’t. One because I won’t have time to read it and Two because the news always depresses me or makes me cross. @StephenFry said he hadn’t read a newspaper in years. And if it is good enough for him… So no paper. I buy a Mars bar, king of sweets, for me and a Froggit chocolate bar each for the kids. I would let them choose and/or buy with their own money, but if I did we wouldn’t get out of the shop before dark. So I buy the sweets and then give them the bum’s rush out the door. Jasmine is cross because I didn’t let her choose. She does her trick of saying “I don’t want to go”. But she has skates on and when I pull she has to come Muh-ha-ha. She snaps out of it (phew…) and we continue onwards.
On the cul-de-sac to the park they hang on to my hands and I run down the road towing them. There is giggling.
The park is a acre or so of flat grass, with a tennis court at one end and a small play area at the other. They change out of skates into shoes. The play area is ours. No other parents have noticed the sunshine perhaps. Or they think it too wet still. I, however, know where my towel is. Jasmine uses it to clean off the roundabout. It is a metal, green about 4 foot across with 4 seats on it. It is mean & vicious.
If I go on it, after about three revolutions I am ready to vomit. Jennifer and Jasmine cannot go fast enough. I spin them & they hang on. I go to sit on the bench and eat my Mars. Jennifer gets off and then tries to get back on and gets belted in the ear by one of the seat handles. There, there, you’ll be fine. I complain that she is getting my t-shirt wet & there is giggling.
The best thing I the park is the “swing”. I say “swing” in apostrophes. It is a 4 foot diameter rope basket suspended by a chains from a universal joint. Two big orange metal struts rise from the ground and arch over into a V shape and it is from these that the swing is suspended. Multiple children can lie in the basket or stand in it & hang on to the chains. It can swing and spin any which way whoever is pushing it chooses. So it is me doing the pushing. Jen lies down, Jasmine who is crazy, stands up. I push and spin them. There is giggling. I am allowed about a thirty second break every now and again before the “Da-a-d!” cry goes up and I need to push again. There is a lot of butt-wiggling from Jasmine in a “you can’t smack me!” vein. I do my best to smack her butt. There is much giggling. My kids know no fear and we try and swing the basket hard enough to touch the struts. It gets to a few inches away, enough to worry Jen, who has her face hanging over the basket. Jasmine lies down too and I’m launching them with more G than a shuttle mission. At one point I thought we were going to do it. The rim of the basket (luckily not the bit with Jen’s face hanging over it) must have been inches away. We’re all laughing fit to burst in a surviving a near-death experience way.
Then mum turns up with news that we all need to be at the pub at mid-day for a friends birthday lunch. This is not bad news as friend has kids for ours to play with, but it sounds the death knell for our swing basket experiments. Mum goes off to meet the friend and we dial it down.
I point out to them that this is November & yet it is warm. The sky is a deep cornflower blue with a few cirrus clouds. I point this out to them too. They are non-plussed by nature’s beauty as only the under-tens can be. One more go on the killer roundabout. They stand hanging on to the post in the middle this time. I spin it like I’m told. It is fast. Jasmine loses her grip and flies off the edge. Gets a decent graze on her tummy and extra points for the best injury of the day. There there etc. soon forgotten.
So there you have it, a little slice of my life captured for me to look back in years to come and get nostalgic about. If you read this far then you’re probably related to me. I’d like a Playstation for Xmas please.

Short Story: Marking Time

“Your go Cyril.” prompted Harry. Cyril looked a moment longer at the dominos cupped in his hand, then placed his double. His unsteady fingers knocked Alf’s five and three.
“Sorry” he said “Must be getting on.”
“It comes to us all” grinned Harry, chattering his own domino onto the table, his hand jittering artificially.
“They have tablets for that.” said Alf and they broke into laughter.
In the highbacked chair in the corner Reg stirred in his sleep and moaned aloud, making the other three glance over and quieten down.
“There but for the grace of god…” muttered Harry, nodding at Reg’s slumped form.
“Hope not” said Alf “I’d prefer just to go quick.”
“He’s alright.” chided Cyril “Much better lately.”
“If you say so.” Alf replied. “He was making a lot of noise last night.”
“He’s alright.” repeated Cyril. Reg was his friend and he worried about him.
The three players sat in mismatched armchairs around the dilapidated card table, their dominos making an erratic path across the moth-eaten green baize. The living room itself had also seen better days. Even with the windows open in high summer it smelt vaguely of boiled cabbage, as if their meals had impregnated the place. The rug by the empty fireplace was worn flat by the passage of feet and years. The walls were painted an institutional green at the bottom and dull beige at the top. Nonetheless the bay window overlooked a country road, woods and green fields. They liked the view. All that green. It was the best thing about the place. The only decoration on the walls was a framed painting showing a farmhouse in deep winter. It always reminded Cyril of growing up on the farm in Sussex. He rubbed his tired eyes, thinking of the mornings of his childhood; leaving his warm bed before dawn to do his chores, his hands getting cold sweeping the freezing yard.
His hands were cold now, despite the heat of the summer. He turned his dominos onto the table and kneaded one hand with the other.
“I feel like an old man.”
“We are old men you fool.” replied Harry irritably, “Bunch of bloody children round here compared to us fogies.”
“Yes, but...” Cyril persisted, “I’m an old man in a world that’s getting younger.” They looked blankly at him. “See what I mean?”
“I’ve got no idea what you mean ‘old man’ !” said Harry.
“Alright” Cyril turned towards Alf, “I mean… when was the first time you saw a motor car?”
“I must’ve been twenty-two?” said Alf.
“Right. And now they’re everywhere.”
“Yeah? So what’s your point?” said Harry.
“Nothing. That things move and we stay the same. You don’t notice and then suddenly everyone’s younger than you… like the lads who rolled up with the dinner. No idea what we’ve seen, what we’ve done. To them we’re just old lags.”
“Suddenly is right. They roll up and we roll over.” Harry agreed, soberly.
Cyril went on, “I’m sure they laugh at me when my back is turned. Just another old geezer losing his marbles.”
“We had no running water at our house” Alf offered.
“Ha! We had indoor plumbing!” said Harry.
“So why are you slumming it with us now Mister High and Mighty?” said Cyril.
“Just ‘cos I’m heir to the Russian throne, don’t mean I can’t still be mates with you commoners.” Harry deadpanned.
“Idiot!” laughed Alf. We ain’t your mates, we just want your money. Come on Cyril!”
Cyril laid and the game continued. Distracted, he played a while longer then said, “And another thing. When I was a lad, women were wives and mothers. Now they’re out at work, they’re all political, and no one’s happy. I don’t like that.”
“Bit late for you to do anything about that isn’t it mate.” said Harry “You’re stuck here for the foreseeable future. Or ‘til you pop your clogs.”
A whistle blowing outside interrupted him.
“ ’Bout time” said Harry and as one they rose from the table. Alf swept the dominos into their box and stuffed it into his pack. Cyril carefully woke Reg and they all shrugged into their kit. As they tramped out into the bright courtyard, now filling with men and waiting trucks, Harry clapped Cyril on the shoulder. “Tell you what pal, if we’re off up near Ypres again you won’t need to worry about getting much older.”

First Post

This is the first post in my blog. This is the one where people write, what shall I write? They probably express their hopes and fears for the future too. I'll do that later. This is more like a test.