A Sort of Homecoming

Home (Page) at last

Home again, home again. Or not.
I’ve moved into my new house, which is nice. And empty. And I’ve finally got internet access, albeit dial-up, back so the world is no longer safe from my inane wittering and sarcastic opinions.
Oh, and I managed to turn commenting on. Say something.
Please.
Posted by Jim at 9:16:48pm

Something.
Comment by Steve at 10:02:28pm
You so funny.
Comment by Jim at 11:32:22pm

– – – – –

Unfurnished. I hadn’t really thought about just how empty the house would be. Right now the only furniture I possess is the TV stand and bean bag in the living room and the computer desk and chair upstairs. It’s all very minimalist. IKEA- the Swedish god of flat pack- calls to me.

I’ve heard that sleeping on a hard surface can be good for the back. I hope it’s true, because the only thing between me and the floor is the spare duvet. With it as a ground sheet I feel like there should be a tent above me. My two suitcases are on one side of the bed, storage with handles, and all the boxes I packed my life into are clustered by the door or trailing off to the other rooms. Maybe I could build a fort, barricade the door and feel safe from all those unfamiliar creaking and popping noises the house makes as it recuperates before the ‘morrow.

– – – – –

Lost and Found

Lost-
toothbrush, toothpaste etc.
Found-
Carter USM- 101 Damnations cd, which I thought I’d lost but turned out to be in a CD-R case amongst a pile of Verbatim disks I ‘requisitioned’ from my last job.
No. I can’t sleep.
Posted by Jim at 2:19:32am

– – – – –

Ah, the joy of the lie in. I haven’t found the radio alarm yet, so this morning I was woken by the shrill sound of my mobile. I turned it off, rolled over and went back to sleep. Finally rose at eleven. I was half showered before I wondered where I’d packed the towels. So now there’s a trail of wet footprints all around the house.

I have a month’s pay due. Extra time to find a new job, one benefit of the ‘agreement’ I came to when they sacked me. So I spent the afternoon printing out CVs and figuring out where to send them. I should just relax and take the money for a couple of weeks. All in all a very, as in not at all, productive day.

– – – – –

Cabin Fever

Okay, so I didn’t leave the house at all today. Which is sad, I know. So tomorrow, honest, I’m checking out the neighbourhood. I’ve been away for a while, so who knows what I’ll find.
Posted by Jim at 11:36:41pm

They tore down paradise, put up a parking lot.
Comment by Steve at 12:08:03am
I’m going to be in town tomorrow (this) afternoon. Give me a call.
Comment by steve at 12:47:16am

– – – – –

New buildings going up, old buildings coming down. I was like a tourist on the bus, sat on the top deck looking left and right all the time to see what had happened to all the places I remembered. After a while I took to running ‘Dirty Old Town’ through my head, not quite humming it but doing the rhythm by clicking my teeth together. It must have looked like I was worrying at a particularly small piece of chewing gum, the funny little tack tack movements my jaw was making.

It was certainly grey enough for a melancholy song. The big ugly concrete wall is still standing at Piccadilly Gardens. The least they could do is commission some art for it. I can’t believe they turn the fountains on on such an overcast day.

I’d decided on any coffee shop that wasn’t Starbucks, which narrowed it down to about three. Even then I could see an outlet of the coffee colonialists from my window seat. I settled down with a copy of the Guardian and a fairtrade latte and savoured being early.

Steve wandered in quarter of an hour later. He nodded in my direction and pointed at my cup. “Latte.” I mouthed. He nodded again and headed for the baristas.

I made space for the tray. My empty mug went on the table behind, the Guardian curled up faithfully at my feet. Steve landed the tray and tried to move his cup onto the space that was left. “You don’t call, you don’t write…..” he tutted as he sat down.

“Well, you know. It was only going to be two months. And then I hadn’t been in touch for two months and then…..” I made the shrug that said ‘And then everything went to shit and they decided to blame me for it.’ Everyone foolish enough to ask had received an e-mail ranting about the stupidity of middle, upper and line management and didn’t need a recap. “You using up holiday again?”

“One day I’ll be organised and plan a proper one. They only let me carry five days over.”

“Brazil. You want to go to Brazil.” That’s a lie, I want to go to Brazil. I must stop projecting.

“I’d settle for Bournemouth.

“Actually, no. I wouldn’t.”

We sipped coffees and watched the wet shoppers go by.

“You should have sent me a message. I could have helped you move.”

“Everything I own fit in the back of a small van with room to spare. It wasn’t a big job.” This struck me. There was something wrong about it. “I’m sure I used to own more. I mean, I can remember when I could get everything I owned into the back of an Escort. Last time I moved I swear I needed a tranny van.

“I must have left so much shit at my parents’ house.”

“You don’t know?”

“I guess I got too wrapped up in all that corporate bullshit. I….” Another shrug. I’m getting better at stopping myself. Plus, I’d had another realisation. “Oh shit. I left all my porn with my parents.”

“What?”

“Well. It wasn’t porn porn, you know. More sort of…… erotica.”

“Erotica?”

“Erotica. Stuff like books on oriental erotic carvings. And stuff.” Vague hand waving gestures that could mean anything.

“Can we stop talking about your porn?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Back to drinking our coffees and looking out of the window.

“What’s the gossip?”

“What do you know?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well.” Steve began ticking things off on his fingers. “Mike and Rachel are engaged.”

“Again?”

“Again?”

“They were engaged for the Millennium. At least, I think they were.”

Steve shrugged. A ‘nobody ever tells me anything’ shrug. “Tom and Graeme have split up.”

“No surprise there.”

“Neil has a new girlfriend. I swear she’s only ten.”

“He’s breaking the album rule?”

“I think she was born after he bought his last album, let alone his first.”

“Vinyl?”

“Oh definitely his last album on vinyl. She’s much younger than that.

“What else? Oh yes. Bob and Louise have split up as well.”

“Shit. Now that is a surprise.”

“Not to some of us.”

I figured I’d leave that one alone. “Anyway, I was thinking of going record shopping.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

– – – – –

3(?) feet tall and rising

Damn those record sales! I just bought five new CDs.
It’s true- I can resist anything but temptation.
Posted by Jim at 6:38:27pm

– – – – –

Notes This is from the original incarnation of Post & Publish, written a while ago. As with Boyfriend Season, it’s going to be expanded upon. I’m seeing the story coming together as four “seasons”, starting in Spring, with Jim’s emotional progress mirroring them in some way.
The Album Rule (a phrase first coined by Brian, and which I asked permission to use ages ago) is going to be yanked out of the Spring section and form a major part of the Summer part. Autumn is Boyfriend Season and Winter allows me to wrap stuff up. I’ll be publishing bits and pieces here then putting together a full manuscript. If you’d like to be in my test group for that manuscript get in touch.

Other fiction- check out So Much to Answer For, the crime tale I wrote last October, Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I wrapped up last year, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I’ve started writing again I’m unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.




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