Plankton Holiday ll
August 15, 2011 § 12 Comments
The holiday ends on Friday when it will be the long drive home.
Strange times. Erratic clouds. Lovely holiday with the family. Very low-key. Chilling out; a bit of beach life, seeing a few friends. The odd lie-in. Bitten to fuck by – what? – mosquitos? Red bites all over my body after an al fresco supper. Could be San Blas in Mexico for all the unsightly whelks and torturous itching the little sods have bestowed upon me (opaque tights on stand-by for when – if? – I ever get to meet Long Shot), not coastal England. Surely Costcutters and Mr Whippys with cosmopolitan mosquitos don’t go?
Time out of time really, and in some ways just waiting to get back to real life and the revival of work, school, communication (meetings even, hey ho?!) with one “twinkle” or another with any luck. Time out on the beach equals time out for reflection, but I have to say I am excited by the thought of getting back to routine, normal life, home, and an autumn vaguely simmering – if not exactly fizzing – with possibility.
Here on holiday in August my Blackberry is pretty dormant; few emails or calls disturb it; a kind of relief but I am realising in their absence that with them comes a kind of excitement. I mean, even if they only turn out to be a sales-pitch email from Amazon or the White Company, at least when the Blackberry shudders I have a moment or two of thinking, oh, this probably won’t be the Smidgen (or Somesuch), but it COULD be (for very occasionally it has been and so could be again). When the Blackberry is as comatose as it now is, there are no little lifts from the outside or few even from my imaginative world. The little lifts at the moment are coming from elsewhere and in fact are more substantial than little: sandy ice-creams with my children; a game of Boggle with them; even the perennial nit-combing; one child’s hilarious mimickry; their youthful dramas and laughter.
Then at night, in bed with Long Shot (don’t let’s get too excited here – I refer to the book by the man rather than the man himself, alas) little lifts materialise despite the odds. (I have decided the man himself, who is roughly my age, even if not after a 25 year old, will not be considering anything older than late 30s, oldest, surely?) These little lifts are pleasing in their own modest way, same way as thinking up ways to make my children happy, or a flattering comment from one of you readers, or seeing something on the News that is positive for once.
When I get home and September beckons, systems will crank into life again. As I say – work, school; and, of course, Blackberry, with all the frisson, of whatever sort, its shudders invariably bring.