Wednesday 4 June 2014

Just June and There's Something Autumnal Here

Yesterday, mid-afternoon.
Walk toward Portslade, then cut up onto the Old Shoreham Road. Walk past the graveyard - the old midsummer paths. Here, where I used to spend a few hours after signing on over the summer of 2010. Em and me had just started seeing each other then. Pine cones and energy drinks. Listening to the Swans in the heatwave months... Then in 2012 (Em and me had split up by then) I would walk along here at twilight. Reddened sky behind the trees. Always odd and quiet and one night so panicky I never walked along here at midsummer twilights again.
School children. Teenage children always make me nervous. Mistimed my walk, and I walk past dozens of children heading home. I think school finished earlier these days. It was only about 3:00pm. wend my way down Sackville Road, pass by the model shop, dark under the shadow of the bridge. I see a man inside. Sometimes I think I would like to work in a place like this, in a secret day-dreamy job with few customers and little in the way of status. A job you can forget life in.
End up down at Hove beach. Cup of tea from the stall. No-one on my section of beach. Down by the wall that provides a little shelter from the wind. Drift and dream. Flick through the prog rock magazine I bought from Smiths. Begin to shift toward sleep. Something autumnal here, some September shift in the skies, where it's still summer, but there's that cooler thread of something. Light gets deeper, shadows more velvety. Something like that. 
In Brighton, it's only in the sky that you can tell autumn's here.
Even if it is only just June.

Tuesday 3 June 2014

Followed by a Ghost Dog

A day off work yesterday. Another day today.
Summery day again yesterday. When I finally got to leaving the house, I went to George Street, to Asdas, then came back home. Fell asleep on my mattress listening to Porcupine Tree's 'Metanoia'. Continual suspicion over the improvement in my mood since Saturday nadir of gloom (which bizarrely, and for no apparent reason, improved at dusk, and has remained fairly high since).
Saw the Swans at Concorde 2.
Andy and me walked back along the beach - about an hours walk. The wind was up - a cold wind too, but oddly pleasant because of it. Something about walking along the beach at night when there's a breeze. After we passed the swimming pool, the nature of the beach changed. Something desolate and sinister. Not a place I'd liked to be alone. 'When you're on the beach at night and it's windy, it always feels like you're being followed'. Andy says his eyes are so bad that he always sees things flickering in the distance. One of those umbrella-things (closed) over a pub table (or maybe it was a flag) flutters and jars. I keep seeing things too. Shadowy implications of movement further up the promenade. 'This section of the beach is haunted by a white dog following lonely walkers'.
Home. Sleep. Wake. Call in sick.
Not summer today but autumn. Grey skies cover everything, lending this room hazy, dream-like feel. Al texts me about walking to Portslade through the rain listening to Current 93.
The idea appeals.

Monday 2 June 2014

So Light So Late

Yesterday.
Summery-ness continues. I only leave the house once in the afternoon - to go to Sainsburys. Not one trace of spring left now, and I cannot believe that it is still winter. One of those things about growing older - the more you appreciate time, the less of it there seems to be.
Pub quiz last night; Mark, Pete, Andy. We come second out of six teams. Cosy dark Caroline of Brunswixk. Same cramped toilet full of goth-graffitti and pseudo-Latin black metal incantations. Light when we go in. So light so late these days. Heading toward midsummer.
Lift there and back from Mark.
Almost straight to sleep.
Don't remember dreaming.

Sunday 1 June 2014

First Afternoon of Summer

I met Sarah for a coffee after yesterday's entry. Warm summery air. Costa in the North Laine full of too much noise; clanking caffeine machines and squealy pre-teens. Slow talk with Sarah, stretched over an hour or so.
Headed down Pavilion Gardens afterwards with the Guardian. Sat and flicked through the Review (a not very good article on Donna Tartt) and pondered whether to join Sarah / Caution / Anwen in the pub that afternoon. Sudden swirl of anxiety. Couldn't imagine entering the pub. Decided to go home, feeling somewhat melancholy.
Tried to catch the bus home. Bus driver didn't have change for a £5:00 note (a single fare is £2:40). Took my £5 back and decided to walk home instead.
Afternoon runs on. Melancholy deepens to something darker. Finish a book I'm reading on notorious Gloucester serial killers Fred and Rose West. Find an old diary from 1999. Last desperate days in Worcester, then that summer that followed, full of apocalypse and depression and absence. Too many parallels to be drawn with now. 27 them, 42 now, and still some things seem to stay the same.
Summery twilight, wood pigeons, and, again, I'm walking through someone else's carnival. Mood lifts as night fall - always the same with depression. Talk about this with Andy when he gets home from work - heard this from other sources too. Wonder why, but certainly true. Depression is worse during daylight hours.
Talk to Emily.
Spend a good few hours working on a comic strip memoir of my time in Worcester. Have two pages done now. Go to sleep at about 2:30am. Wake up this morning at 9:00am.
First afternoon of summer now.