Old Things

While rooting around on my computer for some old WebExp stuff so I could do some work i found a few old bits of writing and thought i'd stick them on here. The first is really old, the second less so:

I sit for an hour or more wasting time, destroying it, consigning it to the oblivion of the past. Eventually I get bored of doing nothing and leave, pulling on my jumper and coat as I walk. Heading over towards the jewellers to ask about my watch I decide it’s silly he’d have called if it was fixed. She’ll ask about it though, I will lie in the casual way of one much practiced “yeah I asked, he said a while yet” easier than the truth. So head to the nearby supermarket instead. I drift in, hoping to be enlightened, to be inspired to buy something that will cheer me. It only dawns on me when I leave empty handed fifteen minutes later that a supermarket is not the place to expect enlightenment. Under the headache inducing glow of fluorescent bulbs; beside the glaring signs proclaiming marvellous special offers; amongst the almost infinite variety of prepacked, preflavoured, preshaped foodstuffs I failed to find inspiration. I should not be surprised.

I can’t understand why I feel so dispirited, but I do. Out of place and disjointed I think of the future and a wave of irrational melancholy takes hold. Graffiti stops me. It wakes me up from my self pitying slumber. Written on a wall, black spray paint on a blue wall, are three slightly worn words: “Savour This Moment”. The M is almost unreadable but I can read it, “Savour This Moment”. I stop, I look at it, and I laugh out loud. I do just that. Looking up a seagull is wheeling in the wind, it looks sharp almost unreal against the harsh blue sky. A poster for a club has been put on upside down. Glued there incorrectly until it gets covered over or taken down. A man passes, big headphones block his ears making him look like a fighter pilot, or a futuristic soldier. The beggar is given some money. Godblessyou says he, all one word, without meaning. An old couple tread past, talking without enthusiasm. A girl laughs at a dog. A cloud looks like a sheep. The pavement slab is broken. The wall is blue. The words right there in black. I stand there and savour that moment. It is beautiful. Similar to all others and yet exceptional. Exceptional in that it existed, in that I was in it, in that it will never happen again.

I walk home exhilarated, feeling joyous and special. As if I have received a message that others have missed. I know I will forget it; I will forget this message and become ordinary again. For the duration of my walk home I am so happy, I smile at everyone, I catch everyone’s eye, I laugh at every thing. For a short time I think I am truly alive.

Later on I am sat in my room, unable to energize myself I read listlessly. About Russia and Euclid and Rome and Geometry, trying to expand my knowledge, forcing facts in, hoping it will make me a better person. I know it won’t.

I give up and start writing again, the words seem to flow onto the page it reassures me, comforts me. Each hit of the keyboard leaves its mark on the computer screen, each newly formed word wraps around me, sheltering me. In honesty I find strength. Writing slowly I watch the sun set, except I can’t see the sun, and it isn’t setting yet. I can see the sun proceed across the garden, over the wall, losing its grip on the sheets hanging out to dry. Sliding up the wall of the building opposite, leaving my visible world to shadows once more. The world outside of this room is filled with light, but none reaches here.

Time passes, my flatmate arrives and leaves quickly. As she is leaving her boyfriend asks

“When will we play risk again?”

“tonight” is say. They look surprised, “sounds good we’ll be back soon” and they leave me for a time.

The next bit is party from my journal, partly from memory, but i quite like it, if only because it is nice to remember the crossing:

Dawn

Benster…. Benster….

I roll over and wave to Barney that I’m awake. As it is pitch black he quite reasonably tries to wake me again.

Benster….
Yup Barn, yup

I manage to murmur, it’s just before six in the morning and still dark. I sit up rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and grumbling to myself silently. Arthur is lying next to me, our double berth separated by a cloth wall down the middle, after two weeks at sea I can get up and on deck silently and quickly. In the dark I instinctively find my clothes and pull them on, my mp3 player goes into one pocket, my torch into the other, finally I pull my lifejacket over my head and ghost out of the small and claustrophobically stuffy cabin.

I pause at the chart table to see how far we’ve come in the last ten hours, sixty miles have been left astern as I slept, whilst others ran the boat. Except I didn’t sleep well for some reason, I’m used to the motion and the noise these days but I was busy thinking. I head up on deck, into the dark of the night, into the cool air and the starlight. As my eyes adjust to the darkness I see Barney sat behind the starboard side wheel, checking the autohelm controls. I watch him for a second before looking up at the sails. We are running off the wind, main and a small amount of gennoa up, the great white mass of the former glows falsely in the starlight. The light of the masthead tricolour streaks across the stars as it the top of the mast swings with the motion of the boat.

Morning Ben.
Hey Barn, how you doing? Good watch?
Yeah ok, we had a bit of a squall but not too much wind, I been playing with the course, trying to keep the sails quiet, but they bang anyway.
They will do, not a lot we can do about it.

Barney is eighteen and to my amasement seems to actually respect what I say as far as sailing goes. His boldness and openness to learning make him a pleasure to sail with, competent, yet unassuming.

Damn, Barn, the stars are awesome tonight.
Yeah they have been since the moon set about an hour ago. Oh I got a new constellation, the dog one.
Canis Major? Where is it?

He points it out, and sure enough behind Orion shines Sirius and the rest of Canis Major. Barney and I have been filling long night watches by finding and identifying the constellations. Many an hour we have whiled away squinting at a star chart trying to align it with the real sky above us.

I got it if you want to go sleep mate.
Alright, cheers have a good watch.
Night.

He disappears below, he has been up since three in the morning and deserves his sleep. A few lights glow in the saloon as he records the position, gets himself a drink and uses the heads. His cabin hatches glow briefly as he goes to bed. Then darkness. And I’m alone.

These moments are perhaps the most wonderful of all, when the whole world is mine. For the next hour or two I am the only person in the whole world, the yacht sails ever onwards, heading west away from the sun. That great sun is just beginning to make it self noticed to the east. The sky along the horizon is very slightly paler, a supremely dark, rich blue rather than the black that holds above and in front. The stars are feeble in it, gone is their potency, glimmers of light rather than brilliant flames of white.

The sudden crack of the sail as it empties and refills brings me back from my thoughts, I have to actually look after the yacht. I move to the steering position and check the instruments, the wind has veered slightly, so a small course change is necessary to keep everything happy. On Blue Sky at night its all buttons, I add the few degrees to the electronic heading readout and sit down to watch the day begin.

Sunrise is a time for Explosions In The Sky, a Texan three piece post-rock band who manage to make even the most ugly world seem beautiful. And they make this beautiful perfect world seem divine. Digging out my mp3 player I find the album I want and put it on. Headphones in, hands buried into my pockets against the predawn chill I face astern, east to the rising sun.

The sky has begun to lighten properly now, I can make out the shapes of low clouds hugging the horizon close and tight. At first the sky lightens slowly, but at this latitude the sun is thrown into the sky with a odd haste. So the light grows and the clouds gleam, bronze and gold clouds block the rising sun, where it shines through great beams of yellow light shoot into the sky like in a comic book. My attention is distracted by the recognisable sound of a flying fish bursting from the water. Looking round I see it skirt a breaking crest with ease and drop with a tiny splash back into the water fifteen feet from where it left it. The first fish of the day always heralds more so I watch the water for a little, sure enough in a flurry four blue-green darts jump from the rough sea with a swish and skim over the surface just like the first. I smile. Flying fish always make me smile.

A corner of the sun has become visible while I was watching the fish and the day is begun. Its only going to get hotter from here on in, soon Michael will wake and we’ll hoist the spinnaker for the day. But I have thirty more minutes, so after a sweep of the horizon and check of the sails and the electronics I go below to make breakfast. A pot of coarse, strong coffee and three long-life brioche with honey is my breakfast of choice at the moment. While the kettle is boiling I stand in the companion way, braced against the motion I watch the sun climb, temporarily blinding myself by looking at it to directly.

Michael emerges as I’m finishing my first cup of coffee, cup of tea in hand and pensive, distrustful look on his face. Ruud appears moments later with his cup of milky coffee and honey, he looks refreshed and happy. As soon as we finish our drinks we’ll change sails, but for now we enjoy the last peace of the morning.