¦ Dialling in from Airport Departure Lounge ¦
18:32 GMT, Friday 2nd Jan 2009. I'm at the end of an amazing couple of weeks in my Northern bubble-world of Jesus Mound.
Last night was the final blast of Fury of Dracula, with Pete and family. At one point Pete's daughter sniffed loudly and leaned towards her dad saying, "Was that you?" He shook his head vigorously. She looked at me, I smiled and said I would have owned up to it if it was. We continued playing. 5 minutes later Pete started sniffing, his face wrinking with disgust, as did his daughter and Rosie. Even I could smell it. Bloody hell, we all complained out loud. At this point, Jessie, the family mut trotted past. Then it dawned on us. Pete and I checked our boots, which we still had on after being out in the garden sawing up logs. Oh no! I saw a massive clump of squidgy brown shit clinging to the SIDE of my boot. Never mind the mass of it wedged into the deep grooves of my all-terrain soles. Worse, where I'd been sitting, I'd been tapping my feet against the legs of the table. A wooden leg, carved with deep and ornated grooves. Poor old Pete spent half an hour on his hands and knees with a toothbrush trying to scrape the shit out... gagging every few seconds and wanting to clutch a hand to his mouth but unable to do so, because they were dappled in specks of wet shit. I went outside and used up half a kitchen roll, wrapped around my hand, dragging clumps of the stuff from my boots... like warm dough in my fingers. Blech.
Here's some pics of the original Fury of Dracula game, along with some tweaks I've made.
I didn't drink that bottle of '79 for New Years Eve. Drank it on New Year's day. A Muskat-Ottonel, under the name Mosonszentpeter- Mosonsaintpierre. Mum and I made a little cermony over opening it, careful not to break the 3 decades-old cork. Poured my first glass, took a sip, expecting something foul like vinegar. Uh-uh. That first taste will stay with me forever. It was incredible. An exquisite taste - waves of complex flavours crashing across the different zones of my tongue. I thought about that bottle being there since I was 9 years old. I thought about my years at school, then college, then the late teenage years when I started working and writing, then moving to Bristol and all those years gone by. And then during the rest of the night, supping it in candle light, by the roaring fire, fresh logs spitting and crackling, holding the glass up in front of me, a languid smile stretching my lips... the wine like liquid gold in the glass. Perfect.
Yesterday afternoon was spent sawing up about 300 KG of freshly felled tree limbs that I found back in October: walking through Jesmond I spotted a crew of tree surgeons working on slicing up a big old tree by the side of the road. I asked if I could grab some if I came back later with a car, they said yes. I rang Pete, and I made a deal with him, his car for 50 percent of the loot.
Yesterday saw us finish up with 4 big barrow loads full of chopped logs - I'll be leaving them outside for the year to season. I wonder what circumstances they will be burned in... another family Christmas? Or a less joyful gathering? It all depends on the results of the mum's medical scan, due next week.
Upsetting evening sitting at the oak refectory table, in the lounge / kitchen space with mum and my sister, discussing arrangements for her death. My sister and I pledging our agreement on certain matters. At some point the conversation slipped into the grim details of what my mum could be facing during the final phase... two seperate cancers attacking her body. The denial of normal functionality. The potential madness brought on by more powerful pain killers. Of course, this is all macabre speculation not based on any knowledge - not yet. Waiting for the scan. I seem to be saying that a lot these last few days.
So there was a certain tragic pathos tonight, as I hauled my bags onto my back and shoulders, and trudged to the front door with mum in tow. I turned on the threshold, cold air biting at my cheeks; mum looked so tiny and fail in the small light above the door. I stooped down and hugged her, soaking up the heat and the scent coming through the scarf wrapped around her head. Bye mum, I said.
Hmm, my flight's about to board. Time to pack up and go.