Old New.

You know what?

Sometimes you wake up and just don’t feel inspired.

You try everything – put the kettle on, find a good place to sit, drink tea, stare out the window, watch a leaf drop from the tree, stand up, pace the kitchen, spoon up a few of the remains of your brother-in-law’s left over trifle – and NOTHING comes.

Put on your jacket, leave the sleeping house and stride the early morning streets.

Well…sit at the half cleared kitchen table and IMAGINE putting on your jacket, leaving the sleeping house and striding the early morning streets.

WRITE ‘put on your jacket, leave the sleeping house and stride the early morning streets.’

Give up.

Go look for your jacket, put it on, slip out of the sleeping house and STRIDE the empty early morning streets……

You know how autumn can be?

Clear skies, chill, early mist- low, sunlight through turning leaf, damp…

I met an old guy; he was emptying his pockets out by the waste bin.

“Good morning.”

“Morning”

I wanted to ask him how old he was.

But he spoke first.

“Do you want any of this?”

I looked at what he was throwing away – an old ticket for the “It Always Rains on Sunday” screening at the British Film Institute, a shopping list (meat, milk, crumpets, cereal) and a business card for a vintage optician’s.

“No thanks”.

“Can I help you in any other way, you look un-inspired”.

“Well yes actually, I need an idea for the final post in a month long series of idlings all of which have the word new in them.”

“Idlings?”

“Isn’t that a word?”

“Not sure, do you want me to look it up?” and he reached into the bin and pulled out a battered Cambridge dictionary.

“No, don’t bother, it means nothing really, like the posts themselves.”

“Why do you do it then?”

“I have to.”

“You have to?”

We spoke for a long time and wandered together through the woods. We discussed life and recipes for grilled sardines, before coming back to the main question.

“Why don’t you call it the Last New?”

“I thought about that, but then I should have had a First New, but I didn’t.”

“What was the first New?”

The ‘New New’.

“How about The New Old then?”

“I did that.”

“What else?’

“New Dictum; New Door-n; New Windows; Thoughts and Smells: Tall; Wind and New Ten.”

“There you go then!” He seemed excited.

“Where?”

“You have a duality, make it a triality!”

“Eh?”

“New New, New Old – you need an Old New to complete the triality!”

“Is that a word?”

I thanked him, said goodbye and left him searching through the battered copy of The Cambridge.

I rushed home, ate toast and scrambled egg with Lea and Perrin Sauce and listened to my brother-in-law tell me about Garum.

Then I thought – how can I do a New Old?

There was a tap at the window.

The old man was outside mouthing something that we couldn’t hear through the double-glazing.

I stuck my head out of the cat flap –“What?”

“Find a Roald Dahl story that you read a long time ago – when you were 16”

“Why?”

“Well, that can be your ‘old’. Read it again and that will be your ‘new’ ”.

“What will that have to do with anything?”

“You’ll probably be surprised by some ‘old’ words in your ‘new’ reading that wouldn’t have seemed old when you were new (16) but now you are old (57) they will seem newly strange.”

So I did.

‘Porter’ stood out – they don’t exist anymore.

The adjective ‘swanky’ – not used a lot today.

‘Rapacious” – an adjective again, but one I have never seen or heard before.

I grabbed my coat and ran down the road to the waste bin; the old man was still there.

“Rapacious, is that a word?”

“If Roald used it I would say so!” but he reached for the Cambridge and checked anyway.

“Rapacious – said especially of birds, subsisting on live prey.”

“Ok, thanks. You know what with Roald Dahl/scary stories and all that it would be perfect if today was Halloween.”

The old man looked at me.

“It is.” 

And then was just me, a waste bin and a raven.

here’s the story

Rambling along 22 - unfinished..

I should point out that this month - ramblings - are just that; ramblings from my mind over the last two months (July and August) and do not necessarily represent me today. But they do constitute in their own way a part of The Archives. This is explained, i think, here.

On January the 1^st, 1980 I was 27 days short of my 25^th birthday.

10 years later I wrote in my diary – “Happy New Year. New decade, new diary. A lot of things can happen in 10 years…”

In 1980 I had seen the New year begin from the outside of a party in Oaxaca, Mexico, ten years later I was on the outside edge of a party in Portobello road, London.

Although a lot of things can happen, HAD happened - I hadn’t learnt how to move from that outside edge.

I still haven’t.

In 2000 I’m not sure where I was, but more importantly I forgot to look back over the previous decade and take stock.

In 1990 – two partnerships had been and gone, I’d grown up and fallen in love.

By 2000 I had become a dad.

In 2010 I again forgot to look back and take stock – just too busy I guess.

Or maybe it’s something you do in your thirties; maybe taking stock is what it’s all about.

In your forties and fifties perhaps you just move the stock around a bit.

In 2010, when the New Year slipped in I’m pretty sure I was way outside of the edge of the party going on in London.

I’m often happier now out on that edge, or a bit beyond.

But 2000?

It’s bothering me.

I need to look.

Hang on……

Rambling along - the menu

There’s this guy lives in the village, nice guy - I like him. Ok, I don’t know his name but I had dinner with him once at a mutual friends and I say hello every time I  see him.

Well, I say bonjour – he’s French, but it’s the same thing.

Well, not the same thing EXACTLY but you say it…. Look, I’m friendly, ok.

Anyway, he runs the local antique shop.

It’s a brilliant place, a sort of old factory with a sort of upstairs terrace inside, it would be perfect for a production of Romeo and Juliet, at least the balcony scene anyway.

But, although I like this guy, his stuff -  antiques mainly -  is overpriced.

Least, I think so.

But someone seems to buy things from him.

I went in once and he had this rusty old metal table, circular, with a couple of chairs.

I needed a rusty old circular table with a couple of chairs for a garden corner so I asked him how much he wanted.

I can’t remember the exact figure but it was about four times the price of a brand new red set that the local garden centre was selling.

“That’s about four times the price of the brand new red set that the local garden centre is selling”, I said.

“Well, if you want to buy crap made in China by underpaid and exploited workers and ruin the French economy, go ahead,” he replied.

This was before we became friends over a lasagne.

Fair enough though.

He had a point.

I bought the red set.

The other day I drove past his theatre of antiques and I saw a really nice life size chef menu holder standing outside.

You know the thing? A wooden cut out restaurant chef painted and lifelike holding a black board menu thingy that you can chalk the day’s special on that you used to see standing outside the restaurants in the villages of France.

It would look perfect in my inside-outside room, but I knew it would be expensive so I walked on past.

A week later it was still there.

It still looked perfect for my inside-outside room, I could put it next to my red table, chalk up coffee and croissant, run into the house, make them, bring them back, sit down and eat them.

But I walked on past.

A week later, it was still there.

Hmmm, I thought, not much demand for life size chef menu holders around here then.

So I figured I’d risk it – after all he was my friend now.

I calculated that I could stretch to 20 euro.

“Hello, I mean Bonjour, how much do you want for the wood-wormed remnant of the failure of French capitalism in the face of McDonald’s aggressive imperialism?”

“170 euro.”

I drove past again this week; it was no longer there.

Someone around here has more money than I.

Still Rambling Along? Yes!

Imagine stepping into a room, vast like the concourse of a major, yet mythical, railway terminal, which is full of papers swirling and falling, flying and drifting – as if bewitched by an invisible wind. Imagine the sunlight streaming in through windows so high that they seem like dreams. What would you do? Shut the door I guess, just in case it was oneself that had caused the draught and set a thousand carefully stacked papers randomly cascading. Either that, or grab a handful and with the blessing of the Head Archivist  -whose job it is to tame the Turbulent Chambers as they are now known – set off on a long ramble homewards as the autumn infiltrates. And as I ramble along I’ll read a few of these tumbling missives that come from An Archive Past. Oh, and stick some photos of a recent walk in London Town. This is what is happening at the moment here on Bitsnbobs, and which has been previously explained here.

Exit the house, front door.

Walk up the drive; turn left at the street and walk to the end.

Right leads to the woods, but he turns left and goes down the hill.

On the corner there is a bench, but he doesn’t stop. He looks left, he looks right, he looks left again.

It’s all clear, so quick march he crosses the road, passes the letterbox (red) and enters the sweet shop.

Exits the house, back door.

Walks up the drive.

Right leads to the green, but she turns left and goes down the hill.

She doesn’t need to cross the road and she enters the sweet shop.

“Hello.”

“What’ya getting?”

“Shrimps. You?”

“Black jacks.”

“Cool”.

Pay, leave shop, swap. Say bye.

Next day same.

Next day same again, but.

But she’s sitting on the bench, he was a little later.

“Hello,”

She makes room, he sits down, she offers him a shrimp.

“Hang on”

Look right, look left, look right again, all clear, quick march, twice.

“What you got?”

“Fruit salads”.

“Do you like sherbet dips?”

“Yes, but they’re frustrating – the liquorice get’s blocked up.”

“You have to bight the top off.”

“Oh.”

“Have you ever put the sherbet in Lemonade?”

“No! What happens?”

“Pppffewwwshhh!”

“Wow.”

Suck. Chew.

“Bye”.

Wake up early. Slam front door. Run up drive. Forget to look left, right, left. Very quick march. Sit. Wait.

“Hello” Wave.

Waves back.

Make room for her. Pour lemonade.

“I have to go home now.”

“Why?”

“Bye.”

Sit on bench. 

Wait.