The man who kidnapped my Nan was good at knots.
And so was his boat so swift.
The Man who kidnapped my Nan was always going to win.
Just as long as my Nan let him.
The man who kidnapped my Nan treated her like a princess.
Because my Nan was a princess.
And she often helped him to hoist sail, and then wrapped in love she would stand by him.
With my Nan’s arms wrapped around his loving shoulders, my Grandad steered them through the night and as they met the day together.
With love and with twin happy hearts sharing the same beat.
You could say that.
My Nan was lucky in love and my Grandad was good at kidnapping.
Very good repeated my Nan x
Time is flying by now and my peers are far away in stable lives with children. Something maybe set aside for life, to ease them into ageing, making sense of all the time they’ve wasted preparing plans for now.
For me the years crept up and I was caught still raking over ashes from a wrongly started fire, holding back despair and grappling for direction with a compass showing all points grey and dark.
Oh but joy now from this lesser road, I’ve lived outside the bounds and followed whim and thought. From this I got to know myself so well now I can say of future times. We will all meet at the same place and ask,was it this way that I was supposed to tread? And I may say I trod a different path and yet here we are the same. Without rank but with friends to give meaning to a life and to the love we’ve had and to the love we’ve given.
Well done and you know what you deserve it.
Try as I might, I can’t fault you and I’ve tried, oh yes!
On the way out tell them you’ll see them all next week, but you know by then you’ll be deathly white and bobbing in the sea.
Tell them all is well and show them your prosperity with a twenty pound round that no-one gives a shit about and on the way out, tell them you’ll see them all next week.
Show them all your new phone with the apps that help you when your car is fucked and they will not give a fuck as you say “goodnight and I hope I’ll see you all next week.”
They will see you next week as they fish your pale body out of a cold November sea and they’ll all say “He always bought a round, he was doing so well and he always said goodbye and I’ll see you all next week, I’ll see you all next week.”
He had a new phone they’ll say, he didn’t seem desperate.
“He didn’t have an app for that – I don’t think they’re onto it yet. An app for despair. A desperate app: ‘DES app?”
“Maybe directions to a desolate place, or a ticket to Beachy Head?”
“Or maybe a ‘Things aren’t that bad’ app.”
“And we’re glad we stopped him jumping into the sea.”
“And we’re glad he warmed to us as we wrapped a lovely blanket round him as he asked for an iPhone charger.”
Thinking of long ago, of soho nights, and basement drinks, of sheltering from rain at 3am; with tear stained cheeks and memories of new friends that owe me drinks; I’ll never meet again.
Now it’s years gone by my tears have dried, the basements not as frequent now and strangers are left in peace to drink alone. Well now and then the lone wolf returns inside to drag me into old familiar Holborn doorways to find homeless concert pianist’s who fell from grace but cling to hope; as they cling to their hostel place, along with the scoundrels but also others who care without rhyme or reason.
And then I venture underground, every one is still as ice as they travel on their lonely way, a hundred feet below and a million lonely souls play at life through a tired transport network revolving around a Victorian dream that now forgets to say hello and how are you, and look each other in the eye; for fear of communicating God forbid a Northerner with things to say, because he’s suffered only a day, and years will wear him down; he’ll soon be looking at the ground when asked for change or someone may be needing help but he won’t see because he needs the help as well, because he’s close to cracking with his life on the corner of a page he’s been trying to turn for ten years or more.
When I cuddle Jo and I don’t know where I end and she begins.
When she brings me a cup of tea and let’s me sleep because she knows I’m tired.
When I’m in love with her and she’s my best friend and we laugh on the top deck as we pass by her beloved old Camden flat.
When I want to get back to her as soon as I can even though she lives on the top floor.
This is when I realise how lucky I am.
Big cuddle darling see you soon xx