A First Time casa tua

There I was, happily penning away as part of the Bitsnbobs themed month of May – entitled (in homage to Mayday) “A First” when I realised that May was all but over and that the themed Month of posts should be too.

I hastily looked back to the beginning – here – where I laid out a list of possible topics – to see what I had covered and what I had missed when I realised that the reproduction was too small and I couldn’t read it even WITH my glasses on.

And that I had discarded the original.

But I COULD see that very few of the ideas had seen the light of May – distracted as I was either by cacti, or Crème Catalan.

What the hell eh?

But I remember clearly that one idea had been “A First Among Equals.”

It’s a classic.

It’s a cliché.

It has to be covered, surely?

I began to wonder if it meant anything similar to the saying “A Cut of above the Rest” because if it did I could probably still use it with this photo of scissors which was taken (by me) of the Scissor shop in The Placa del Pi, Barcelona Spain just before I went to see The Boss in the Olympic Stadium.

I also wondered what I would write about, thinking - could I use it (A First Among Equals) to address the taboo question as to whether parents love all their children equally.

Incidentally, I went to the place in the supermarket that sells tickets for exciting events to enquire as to how many tickets remain for The Bruce Springsteen Concert in Paris on July 4th.

Two.

Both behind the stage.

Who on earth would want to sit BEHIND the stage?

I then drove home.

What do YOU think about when you are driving?

I started by listening to the album I bought in the Supermarket rather than a ticket to the concert (I only wanted one) – Lisa Hannigan’s, the Passenger.

There was a song, still is in fact, on the album in which I think she is singing to her child – it’s called Don’t Die.

Suddenly, although I was still driving very fast along a motorway my mind was racing faster.

It took me to a place a long time ago.

I’m not sure it even happened, it was probably just a very ancient and intense dream.

But I remember that it was winter, because ice and frost held the land.

And it was evening.

The traveller was lost and the lights of the town were far behind.

It was not late but no one remained outside, maybe they expected snow.

There were churches; rumours of caves and the ways lead in a circle - which would have been endless.

Except.

She was waiting in a field, she may have been carrying a lamp or a burning torch – either way the light defined her, flowed from her and melted the frozen night.

The traveller stopped, she jumped with sudden excitement and before she could land the traveller caught her lifting her higher to where the snowflakes would have been if they had.

She was embarrassed of course, her child was waiting for her and the night was not theirs.

They crossed the stone courtyard and entered the house, the child was waiting and they stood together by the fire.

It was the first time.

It was a long time ago.

Today I’m reading a book by Julian Barnes – it’s called The Sense of An Ending – and in it he writes about history.

Somewhere he, or one of the characters, says – “History is that certainty produced at the point where the imperfections of memory meet the inadequacies of documentation.”

Tomorrow June begins.

What will it bring?

I, for one, have no idea.