Duckin' an divin'

Alone. A cup of tea and half of a giant Eccles Cake.
I look out the window at the river; the tide is on the ebb. Gunmetal, the water.
I like this place.

I am the only customer. The two serving wenches are sitting at a far off table, talking in low voices.
Turning back, I observe a pair of fluorescent-jacketed cyclists coming across the wooden bridge. This species is becoming very rare in this part of England, and to see a pair – well, I count myself lucky.
They swing gracefully past the bottle-bank and are soon out of sight.

When I got here a television catering-unit was on the car-park. They told me in the café that a production company is filming a sequence, at pub down the road. It is for a sitcom: Two pints of lager and a packet of crisps. I think briefly about going to take a look – I am fascinated by the whole business of film-making – but in the end I can’t be bothered.

There are white blossoms on the trees outside this window. I don’t know what you call these trees; I’m a bit of a Buddhist really: I just experience their tree-ness.

Later

I am standing at the urinal. And I am thinking how random life is. I was born with a penis and am, therefore, male. If I had been born with a vagina instead, I would have been female. My whole life has been predicated on this accident of birth.

I have just come back from a walk around the town. Had a half of Guinness in a pub, and fell into amiable conversation with a rather inebriated fellow, and his wife. We talked about motor-bikes and he told me – with the laboured precision of the drunk – how he used to race against Barry Sheene (the Meccano Man). He never came first (my friend, not Barry) but usually second or third. Well that’s not bad, I told him.
I would have stayed longer – I am sorely in need of company - but I had finished my drink and did not feel like another one. He shook my hand when I left. I think he was Irish but it was hard to tell.
I wonder if I will ever see these people again.

So now I am back in my lonely hotel bedroom: Number 4 at the ‘Bug and Spider’. I couldn’t stay at the boat. I knew that. Well, not more than one night. So I just stuffed a few things in a rucksack, picked up the small amount of money I leave there for emergencies, and left the next morning.

Those lines keep running through my head: ‘You can travel on ten thousand miles, and still stay where you are.’

But, hey, things are not so bad. I still have some money – and a couple of credit cards. So let’s not think about the future. One day at a time – that’s the thing.

I was going to listen to my CD of Hitler’s speeches – but I’m too tired. Goodnight.