Tis Jubilee..Bank Holiday Weekend and yes the rain is dribbling down the window Manchester is throwing it's own rain dance party in it's own honour of the sixty years the Queen has cast herself upon the throne.The wind is not whispering but in a full-pelt shout a rebellion of sorts,as it pushes my Union Jack flag in contortous delight against the glass from where it hangs...while i sit here and try to gather my thoughts..my old friend the ticking clock holds the field, spreading its gentle repetitive sound across the wall paper.Is it a comfort,a bind,or perhaps a reminder that indeed time is ticking,and there will be no pause,no rewind,no play it again Sam.
Tonight i sat amongst the television screen watching the days images repeat as the flotilla passed in salute to the Queen on the murky Thames River, all the familiar London sights came across, as the cameras panned through the crowd,drifting beyond to the sky line. As the orangeade canopy opened up, i was away with the fairies the clattering cogs inside my head drifted back to the sliver Jubilee during 1977....i was perhaps 22 years old..other gates doors window then mushroomed..was i here there or impossible..i cannot remember one thing about that year,not what i ate, drank, or if i had sex with an elephant..perhaps it was simply a wasted year and simply my vanity tonight is playing tricks amongst the rain drops clattering my window as darkness creeps in..that time when alone is simply alone more than the clinging stance of throwing poo-sticks into the wind.