I think the end might be approaching for Bridge 39 - though I have said this before of course (or at least thought it - see this time over 2011).
It's hard to explain why, but every time I come here, or think about coming here to write something (rare these days) it is with a sense of superstitious dread. It feels as if the blog has become haunted. Apt really, for a blog concerned mostly with ghosts (of both the literal and metaphoric kind). There is also a sense of everything here belonging too much to the past somehow. Bridge 39 belongs to the me that was 37 - 41. I'm 42 this month.
Time passes.
A bright sunny day outside. The first warm / hot days of this year. I hear the banging from the workshops below. Em, now back from Greece, is sitting at the table eating toast.
The sunlight reminds me of Joe Bird's house in Worcester, over that May weekend in 2010 when I got made redundant. I remember the dusty, dreamy smell of the dining room, I remember the velvety nights somehow more infinite and older than those in Brighton, I remember the overgrowth of plants, cow parsley, weeds, as we passed by one of those buildings near the Commandery.
Yes, I think this may be the end for Bridge 39, and if not forever, then at least for a considerable period of time.
We shall see.
