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Oh for a chance to sit,,,,

stew and ruminate. To ponder having nothing in particular to ponder. Quietly, well not so quietly maybe , i shall always have my old friend tinnitus ringing away in the background. I got old i guess.
A kid brother used to send me texts, " when you gonna drop by? Come visit? I'm just not a "drop by, come visit " kinda guy, i don't think i ever was really. How does someone like me explain that to a younger person who is so keen, to entertain and be entertained? And so, the texts fade away and i hope he's hasn't taken my stand-off-ish-ness too much to heart.
It's not that i don't care. I just can't be bothered.
The long weeks of nights seem longer, and by the time i've done my weekend shopping i just want to crawl into a hole with my Pear- juice and stay there until Monday night clocking-on time. How do i even begin, to explain that? It's a poor excuse but it's all i have.
The days and the weeks, the months and the years, roll on by. Time won't wait, as Freddie Mercury quaintly put it. And once they've gone they've gone. As someone said once, this is not a rehearsal. You can't edit and re-do life, what's done is done.. And so it goes...

Life eh?


my brother is a high earning high-flyer. The kid brother who has it all. Any notion of age related tiredness and fatigue, a need for slowing down and a quiet life would be totally alien to him. We, my family are all working class, born, bred and reared on a council housing estate and he, with great grit, determination and god knows how many years of studying climbed the ladder of success. Which is great but social climbing can be a lonely place. You can take the boy out of the council housing estate but you can't take the council housing estate out of the boy. He is what he is. Sure he has money and position but he doesn't really know anybody. He left his roots behind. He can't take us with him, we wouldn't want to go there.

And he's a talker, can't shut him up, can't get a word in edge-ways. Which fine because i'm not but i find it very tiresome. He's not a bad person, he's okay, if only he'd just shut up for a few minutes.
He's like the rest of my siblings, they can't bear silence, it's as though they fear it somehow.
When i go visit my mother, after the initial exchange of pleasantries there are spells of silence but it's okay. Just being is what matters.
Life eh?

It's like, over the Christmas period he'll probably have three-day stint at the local gravel-pits fishing, day and night. Temperatures falling to minus who knows what won't matter. He be snug in his bivvy, in a heated sleeping-bag. Watching tv, cooking himself a meal or what ever he fancies whilst listening for bite-alarms going off.

"That's not night-fishing" i tell him tongue in cheek. "You're a pussy."

Night-fishing is;
Three or four 14/15/16 year olds, setting out on rickety old push bikes, with baskets strapped onto bike-racks resting precariously above the back wheel. With a hold-all containing rods and umbrella tied with string to the crossbar which did make steering awkward and, if you weren't careful, you found yourself face down in a roadside ditch, in an unsightly heap with bike and fishing gear on top of you but it it was all good fun, part and parcel.
Then having arrived at your chosen fishing spot, after pushing a tackle-laden bike through waist-high stinging nettles, set up two rods with small blocks of polystyrene for bite-indicators , small hurricane lamp at the ready, and brewing a cup of tea, oh what luxury, on your poxy little rusted up camping gaz stove you settled in for the night. A sheet of plastic thrown over the umbrella, that was my bivvy, wrapped in a sleeping-bag, sitting on your fishing basket you waited. Lunch, at some point through the night, consisted of corned beef and an egg, fried up in a small black arsed frying pan. And then, as dawn broke, the agony of standing up from the crouching position that you'd been in on that awful little basket. With any luck there'd be a small fire going and we'd all huddle around it trying to get warm.
As the day drew on we'd pull in our lines, curl up in our bags and get a few hours kip then finally, as midday approached, we'd get our bikes loaded up, and feeling like shit, make the long trek home.

What my brother has how would have been beyond our wildest dreams. Sure we fantasised about lounging on couches lakeside, with freshly cooked hot meals and the like but i wouldn't change what we had, or rather didn't have, for world.

Night fishing.

From dither's formative years.
He's family, and despite your opposite personality types, he probably likes you.
Have lunch somewhere. Let him chew your ear off.
I do relate much stronger to your world-view than his, but worlds should not be kept narrow.
Lunch somewhere?:shock:
I don't think so.
Uh uh!
That is so not my thing and as awful as it may seem i just can't be bothered.

i'm sure he does like me and i him, and that's enough for me.
I'm sorry but there it is.

You should see me right now.
I'm a mess.
I haven't washed or brushed my teeth even since Friday afternoon and i won't until i'm prepping for work tomorrow afternoon.
It's as much as i can manage to go to the toilet.

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