Hazy days

1 to 4 August 2015

August came in in a humid haze. The sticky heat was stifling and the light had a strange misty quality about it. Even at six in the morning it was hard to walk. The tide was out as I made my way to work, the little boats all sitting forlorn on the mud waiting for the still, blue river to lift them. The jolly houseboat, with its sweet deck garden was silent, curtains pulled and the boatyard doors were closed. It felt as if the whole world was asleep except for me. Saturday’s are like that. The rest of the week there’s a hustle and bustle about mornings, a few people on the way to work, cars on the road, dog walkers, cyclists, runners. 

Along the deserted streets to the slipway and Millennnium Flats I struggled, already sticky and feeling a little tired after my late night ghost hunt. From the newly cleared stretch of riverbank there was a wonderful view of the rivulets meandering across the mud. The sky had an ethereal quality, all gauzy cloud and con trails with the sun slowly rising. It looked like it would be a nice day but, of course, I’d be spending it in the office.

The morning was quiet to start and I got a few niggling jobs out of the way before the phones kicked in. After that it was pandemonium. The variety of lost items never fails to astound me. Over the course of the morning we had phones of every description, a handful of wallets, sun hats and umbrellas to sum up the summer and a couple of handbags. The prize for strangest item went to the man who called to say he’d lost a roll of bank notes, ninety pounds in total. Apparently they’d been in his pocket when he got on the bus and they were missing when he got off.
“They must have fallen out when I was sitting down,” he said. “Could you call the driver to see if they’ve been handed in?”
Even though I knew it was futile I did call the control office and, after they’d stopped laughing at the poor man’s optimism, they did radio the driver. Of course no one knew anything about the money. The caller took it surprisingly well but took the lost property number to call later. Chances are he met with a pickpocket and, hopefully, he’s learned a lesson about keeping his money safe in future.

On Sunday my walking was confined to a slow trot to the stadium and back for a pre season friendly match against Espanyol. The fans from Barcelona were few and far between, a tiny group at the far end of the stadium in a sea of empty seats, and the atmosphere was jovial. Throughout the match a man a few rows to our right stood up and cheered wildly in Spanish, or maybe it was Catalan, waving an Espanyol scarf. The English crowd cheered him on, enjoying his enthusiasm and the Espanyol players clapped him but his son, a younger version of the father but in a Saints shirt, sat by looking faintly embarassed. It wasn’t the most exciting match, ending in a 2 – 2 draw, but, now I work on Saturdays, I don’t get the chance to go to many so I enjoyed it.

The only other walking over the weekend was a dash into town on Tuesday shopping for birthday presents for Commando. What do you get the man who has everything? It wasn’t an easy task but I managed it with a little time to spare to walk through the enchanted park. The path was an arbor of green. The shimmering light gave it an otherworldly air, like walking through a fairytale landscape.

Everywhere I looked there seemed to be hydrangeas. The delicate pink and purple petals reminded me of all those far off lunch time walks and made me a little wistful.  It would have been nice to stay a little longer but I had places to go and people to see.

The day ended with a sad tale. A little while ago Auntie Winnie had a stroke. Although she was in a coma and things didn’t look good, Uncle Vince visited every day. As if this wasn’t bad enough, one day, on his way to the hospital, he was hit by a car. His shoulder was badly broken and he ended up in the hospital too.  They managed to find a side room where he and Auntie Winnie could be together and he stayed right by her side. Sadly, Auntie Winnie has died. She was in her late eighties but bright as a button and I know Uncle Vince will be lost without her after sixty odd years of marriage.