Well, i bused into town at the usual time, got off at the police station, started off down the alley and was greeted with an almighty ARGH! ARGH! ARGH! from Joe Crow as St.Peters half-chimed for 10.30. I'm very well thank you, i thought, to myself. Noisy little bugger.
Rampant ivy, a few Daffs here and there, in a wet muddy churchyard, and the wind really was biting, i wasn't for lingering.
Ditto the library, i just needed to extend the due-date on a book that i already have, then i headed for my favourite chip-shop, talk about visiting an old friend."Portion of chips?"A really nice girl behind the counter asked as i walked in, at my age they're ALL nice. Hell! I might be old but i'm not dead. i liked that, "they'll be a few minutes". "Okay, no problem".
I wasn't so sure about sitting with my chips in an empty bus-shelter, but, as if drawn by some undeniable force,I found myself sitting in my favored bus shelter, was totally sheltered from the wind, and actually didn't feel so cold, it's that dammed wind. It was there that i pondered, how different last Saturday, and the one before that, had been.
The main street and market place, such energy, vitality, color and exuberance,people, simply exuding the sheer joy of living, and actually taking the time, to live. There was no shaking of hands, no shared embraces or smiley happy faces, Gold Street seemed dreary by comparison, having said that, the last two Saturdays had been blessed with blue skies and warm sunshine. Today was bloody freezing. But there's a freshness about this main Street, with it's high fashion, it's so "here and now", and there's a mood of urgency about the place, a buzz, plus the new bus terminal, close to the market. Kettering seems tired, and there's a grittiness that's almost palpable, a kind of "what you see is what you get, and if you don't like it, up your's," basically. People just going about their business, all in their own little worlds, hum and drum.
Then my shelter was invaded by a gaggle of, shall we say, senior ladies? Raucous, yes raucous, senior ladies, and they were creating such a din, i hit the street and went to get my pound's worth of spuds.
As i walked into another Street i was met with the sound of a piano-accordian, and it wasn't half bad, i came very close to reaching into my pocket, but they're so deep nowadays, and it's such a strain. But it was easy on the ears, and suddenly i wasn't in any hurry.
As i walked, i thought it might be fun to count the market stalls, twelve, i was so relieved that there wasn't a thirteenth, starting with "dinky doughnuts", who, by the way, sell a very respectable cup of tea, at eighty pence a throw, past a "traditional family butcher" with his very own P.A. system, who was very much heard but not seen it seemed, poor sod, couldn't give away, all the way around the corner to a clothes stall, and that was it.
They have their very own "shard" now, a triangular base covering a meter and a half i suppose, with three metal plated sides, rising up to a point. At the top, there is what appears to be a shiney silver colored metal cog wheel inside a slightly bigger outer ring, hands fixed in the center, erected by the rotary club apparently. At a distance you could be forgiven for thinking that the whole construction was covered in rust, it's that color, and maybe it IS rust.
Well anyway, i got my quid's worth, last stop Morrison's, i was in and out of there pretty quick, Sparrow's courtship, and i was starting to think bus,home.
Back to Accordian man, he'd been replaced by some itinerant with an acoustic guitar bellowing beatle songs at the top of his voice, but to be fair, he seemed to have the chords, and his voice, though crude of tone, he was doing no harm, had me thinking of that stunt that the boys pulled off on the roof of Abbey Road studios, and i was left humming and whistling "get back, get back, get back to where you once belonged". All the way home.
I checked my mobile for the time, no rush, headed my bus-stop, and would you believe it? ARGH! ARGH! ARGH! This was not the first time that such a thing had occurred. Costner danced with wolves. I walk with crows. Whatever.
Then as i get to my stop, a young spaniel pup that had been tied to a lamp-post outside a charity shop was barking it's nuts off, and nobody so much as cast an eye in it's direction, even a "community support officer" failed to notice, nice one C.S.O. I wasn't dreaming this, i wasn't.
Again, i find myself wondering about Downan, and hoping he's okay. What i wouldn't give to know that guy, man what a story that might be, with a little help of course.
Suffice to say that my bus came and went, and here i am, dithering.