Chapter 12 - Jim, Sunday

I promised myself I’d get out of the house today. What’s the point of having two days off work if you just spend them at home getting on the cat’s nerves? It certainly wasn’t doing me any good staying at home, and in truth I was getting bored. Much as I liked my own company I prefer myself when I’m happy and interested in stuff. The me that sits around reading the paper and dozing all day bores me to tears and part of me wants to kick his arse and tell him to pull himself together.
So that’s why I find myself on top of a hill watching grown men fly kites when really there’s hardly enough breeze to hold them up. It’s fun watching them soar momentarily, followed by the desperate tugging to keep them in the air and the inevitable crash back down to earth. And yet they keep throwing them back up, hoping some mysterious breeze will take it higher than the time before. You have to admire their perseverance. And you have to admire the patience of the women who’ve come with them. They’re sat on a blanket, passing round a bottle of wine, clapping - possibly ironically - every time one of their men gets his kite to fly, and “oooh“-ing dramatically when they come crashing back down again. They seem to have no interest in having a go themselves, and I doubt the men would let them even if they wanted to, - they just seem happy to make the most of the unseasonal sun.
I can’t remember the last time I flew a kite - it must have been thirty years ago. It wasn’t really a big part of my childhood, although I think they made one on Blue Peter once and for a few weeks afterwards everyone I knew was trying to get these homemade kites off the crowd, but more often than not ended the afternoon heading home with a handful of broken sticks and knotted ropes, only to reappear with it the following day once some long-suffering parent had put it back together. I seem to remember mine had paper bunting trailing behind it, although it mostly trailed on the floor as I could never get it to fly. We soon grew out of them and went back to our bikes, and I’ve not really thought about it since. I wonder what makes grown men want to take it up again?

This morning started slowly - I woke up early, but dozed on and off till about eleven, when I decided enough was enough and got up. Twenty minutes in the shower helped me feel more human, and the toast worked wonders as well. Thankfully the previous night hadn’t been too bad - I’d hardly got halfway through my spliff before I felt myself slipping into sleep, and I managed to put it out before I dropped off completely, although if I’d have fallen asleep with it still lit in my hand it wouldn’t have been the first time I’d nearly set fire to the bed.
I felt well rested, and was even whistling as I wandered around the house, which took the cat by surprise - he eyed me suspiciously from his corner of the sofa, but overcame his disdain when I rattled a box of cat biscuit at him. I was just puzzling over what to wear - the weather was so changeable lately that a good day could turn bad before you had chance to notice - when Mum phoned. She needed something doing round the house, but I think it was just a pretext to get me to go round. I’m not surprised, it’d been a few weeks since my last visit - I really needed to do better, but just hadn’t felt like it. Anyway, I promised to go round in the week, and she promised to make me a roast, which I was genuinely looking forward to. No one makes roasts like your Mum, because only theirs remind you of the ones you had throughout your childhood. And there’s something about homemade gravy that always hit’s the spot. I almost wish I’d gone round today, would be nice to have a proper meal.
But instead I wrapped myself up in a big jumper and a nice woolly hat and headed off for a walk. I hadn’t really given much thought to where I was going - there’s usually something going on some place nearby, so I was leaving it to chance. It was hardly a surprise when I ended up in the park though - if you’re going to walk somewhere on a sunny day it ought to be somewhere green, unless you can get to the beach, but that would have to wait for another day.
There were the usual Sunday afternoon people about - families with push-chairs, groups of kids with footballs, elderly couples getting out of the house for a bit, and the occasional couple out on a date - nice afternoon for it, and a nice place to be. I tried not to think of all the times Maria and I had been here, after all it was just a park! I can’t start letting a big patch of greenery make me sad, that’s just stupid.
I ended up watching the kites because it was a good excuse to stop and sit down. There’s something odd about sitting on a bench on your own staring into space, so it was good to have something to focus on. Of course none of this would be necessary if I had a dog - I could wander round to my hearts content and no one would be bothered in the slightest. That’s the crap thing about cats - you can’t walk them. Or get them to do anything you want basically. Still, as cats go Basil wasn’t that bad, and he’d had a lot to put up with lately bless him, what with me moping round the house all the time and his favourite playmate - Maria - vanishing without so much as a goodbye. Maybe Mum will let me bring some roast dinner back for him.
Somehow that thought cheered me up, so I went off in search of an ice cream - avoiding the roller-bladers and kids on skateboards on the way. I wish I could skate, it looked so much fun! I did have a pair of inline skates, which everyone laughed at, suspecting they were a symptom of a mid-life crisis, and in the end I only wore them in the flat once. I was too scared to get far enough away from the furniture to move, so they went straight back in the box and I guess they’re probably still in the loft. Perhaps I should get them out and give them another go? Or give them to Simon, he could do with loosening up a bit. I’m glad he never phoned about lunch, although I suspected he wouldn’t anyway - one social event was enough for me this week.

The ice cream just made me realise how hungry I was, but what could I do about it? It was too late to round up friends to eat, and in truth I didn’t fancy the company, and neither did I fancy eating on my own. So I guess it was back home to cook. Hmm. I couldn’t remember there being any actual food in the house - part of a loaf of bread, a couple of bottles of wine, maybe some fruit, but nothing you could actually conjure a meal out of. So I headed out of the park in search of a shop, thinking that time spent preparing my own food might be nice and would give the afternoon some purpose. But what to make? It wasn’t like I walked round with a load of recipes in my head - if forced I’d probably make bacon sandwiches, which hardly counts as cooking. Pasta? Sausages? There was no point planning, because whatever I decided to do the shop was sure to have run out of . So I’d leave it up to chance, and if chance decided I was having trifle for tea then so be it!