i'll have... all of them?

Photo diary – friendship

I’ve made a new friend. We sit on the swing seat at the bottom of my garden, a bundled up blanket for when the sun sets. We watch the swallows that congregate on the telegraph pole, the blackbirds singing their evening song from the highest branch, and when the sun sets, the bats swooping about.  For one reason or another our conversation gets more and more surreal and ridiculous; the distant road is the sea, the lights of the next village ships off shore, there’s a lighthouse too, “close your eyes, the waves sound ace tonight.”  The black trees are griffins and llamas and volcanoes. We argue about whether cows kill people, (they do) and if bats land upside down (no idea).  We watch the moon rise, peeping behind clouds from its abundant fullest, which always makes me a bit odder than usual, right through to the silver sliver of the new – when it’s time for setting intentions and goals, and wishes too.  I love the moon, it’s magical.  When we’ve talked to the moon enough we traverse the bumpy lawn arm in arm back to my house.  I have to stop for a bit to look at it, before the security light kicks in, all lit up and welcoming from the dark garden, candles burning in the windows, stars rising above.  I feel lucky to live there, lucky that I’ll be in those rooms with the candlelight.

And later in the week, because I am free, with no children, nothing that needs doing and no one who needs me or my attention I load up my car with music, and err, diesel, and I drive down to Brighton to see my oldest friend – who has no children for the weekend either, this never, EVER happens, I’d have driven to Argentina for this occurrence; conversations finished, time on our side, selfish time time time.  Making like we’re 22 again. Being ridiculous,  drinking way, way too much, busting sexy/stupid moves to Alt J and Dan Auerbach in the kitchen.  Should plan A and plan B fail I decide that I’ve got my strip songs sorted (Heartbroken in Disrepair, Deadcrush, Hit me Like That Snare) – plan C. K thinks this is the funniest thing she’s heard all year.  She thinks I’d be a “hilarious” stripper.  I’m inclined to agree, but that could be my USP… A girl needs a plan C.  And a USP.  We decide that clearly what’s missing in our lives are feather head dresses, “look, even if we just wear them to prance about the house in nothing much else it’s money well spent, right? “Right.” “Sold.” – I’m not even kidding.

And it’s so, so great in Brighton, so full of life and eccentricity and beautiful people who make your head spin round – it’s so full of my oldest friend who I miss so much, so it’s no great surprise that I don’t want to come home.  Years ago I wouldn’t have, but I’m not really 22 and there are lessons in perseverance and patience to be learned in my here and my now, happy commitments that need my commitment.

So I drive home with sand between my toes to the little thatched roof cottage with candles in the windows and people I love who call in and out through my peeling paint front door.  And of course there’s stuff that needs doing.  I will just probably do it all wearing a feather head dress.

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