I leave the stifling but sadly comforting confines of my box and I am met by a blanket of rain and an onslaught of sounds. The most piercing being the Taaaatttttt aa taaaaaatt!!
Taaaatttttt aa taaaaaatt!!
Taaaatttttt aa taaaaaatt!! that mercilessly invades my ears. Sadly i know this noise doesn’t eminate from a forest and born from a gathering of happy industrious Woodpeckers, but from the pneumatics being used all around me constructing the pillars for more grey boxes. Future dwellings to be paid for over a lifetime if lucky.
With zips fastened to their hilts and a click of the heels, a skyward gaze and through gritted teeth I mutter “I can and I will do this!!” I set off.
The interconnecting suburbs are asleep and drenched sodden like and I trundle on as best I can. I don’t peer around but set goals and count steps.
I get to Leeds and its strangely quiet. There are zombie like creatures stumbling around with heads down. Dank and saggy faced. Sallow and bloodshot eyes blankly look out. I giggle as I’m sure I look similar. They labour and shuffle troll like with their heavily laden packs. A weekends worth of heavily mud caked camping gear. With grim purpose they steadfastly hold onto and brandish their remaining bottles of doom. Smudges of indigo colour remain on their faces to remind them of their loyal tribe like status. The smudges occasionally intermingle with the remnants of many dribbled and drooled meals. A post festival apocalyptic crowd.
I note grand statues gloomily looking down about the place and take a picture of one, a warrior ‘The Black Prince’ grandly sitting upon trusted stead. This mans life is dated circa: 13th century. I marvel at how this person’s memory survives to this day. I ponder and realise what pathetic little I have achieved and feel sad at my brief mortality. I feel reminded by the shortness of my remaining years tugging at the very fabric of soul. I feel like I have already lead two people’s lives so far and have had many adventures. I’ve made many mistakes and have as many regrets. For my remaining time before shuffling off this mortal coil, I determine to be better!
I look around and let my minds eye dissolve away what I gaze upon and to what I imagine would be 700 years ago. I play around in this reality for a while. If I could have a wish granted, I would choose to be able to time travel anywhere with immortality and impunity for the greater good.( Don’t want much haahaa )
I jog about the deserted and grey confines of Leeds and leave quickly.
I plot a route to the end. Huddersfield. With Jedi like purpose I lift up and pull my hood cord tighter than ever and cocoon and barricade myself within.
Its bleak, bleak and bleak.
There are infrequent glimpses of nature and beauty through my blinkered rain blanketed view and I’m in problems as usual with my leg. I’m bent over heavy and wet like the few trees around me and I land up staring at the floor and plodding and plodding and plodding.
I travel through Huddersfield. It has obviously been a once proud manufacturing town and the ghosts lay bare and idle in proof. I rush best I can with head down and barely notice the Victorian architecture that should be admired. I have only one thought but to finish as soon as possible and head for warmth and comfort.
I come across an old sketch of a bedraggled looking man in a room preparing potions and lotions and it reminds me of me preparing and treating my niggles and I chuckle.
Another day done and my injuries wont let up.
So far neither have I.
I wonder which will prevail!?