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A ceremonial burning

¦ dialling in from Jesus Mound ¦

15:56 GMT  Tuesday 29th December 2009.  I'm sitting at the oak refectory table.  A few occasional lamps cast a warm glow in small areas of this cavernous room.  A log fire is blazing in the corner, throwing out a blanket of heat.  Outside, the final glimmer of light is oozing through the dense grey clouds overhead.  Freezing rain is falling on the now solid remains of snow that is almost two weeks old.  I can't recall a winter like it.  The temperature hasn't risen above zero in days.  The roads and streets are treacherous, pavements are unending strips of glassy ice.  The council have gritted the main roads but nobody has bothered to clear their own streets or sidewalks: another symptom of the selfish, fuck everyone else generation.

I've barely walked anywhere for the time I've been here.  No marching around Jesmond on my 4 mile nostalgia circuit.  No hikes into town.  Too damn slippery.

This is my last full day here.  I fly back to Bristol tomorrow afternoon.  

End of an era.

I've been counting the days since I got here.  I don't feel sad, just aware of the taught emotional strings.  It'll hit me when I'm gone from here.  A lot of anger and tears no doubt.

Today I was up early as usual, two mugs of tea whilst reclining on the sofa bed in dad's old room... enjoying the darkness of the morning and watching shite TV.

Then up and out to my local cafe.  Still on chapter 18.  Now 68,000 words in.

Tonight Pete and I burn the physical reminder of what has occurred here.

Nearly two months ago now.  It was weekend I watched my mum dying.  I stepped out to help Pete build a huge bonfire in his back garden as per tradition... old doors, shelving units, tree limbs and skirting boards, scavenged from the ubiquitous skips that dot the streets around here as another wave of  new owners  move in and upgrade the interiors, gutting the previous contents.  Rich pickings for our bonfire.  

The bonfire was never lit.

My mum's condition deteriorated dramatically that day.  Pete discovered his dad was dead.

The bonfire has remained erect and intact all these weeks, clearly visible every time I walked between our two houses via the decking at the back, an effigy of that weekend and what it represents; first soaked by torrential rain and now more recently locked in ice and painted white by frost.

Tonight is my last night here before everything changes.  Tonight we plan to burn the fekking thing.

Last night was -4c.  I stood outside with a T-shirt and thin jumper, gazing at beautiful stars gleaming in a pure indigo night sky, and savouring the brightness of the moonlight casting the bare limbs and fingers of all the trees around me into inky silhouette. My ears began to burn with the cold.  Then I started to shiver uncontrollably.  I stuck it out, grinning in grim enjoyment.  Tonight will be just as cold...and getting close to a full moon, making the white frost look fabulous and eerie under those cold twinkling stars.

Tonight: a litre of good whisky and several litres of diesel fuel.  Mwahaa *mischievous smile*  If we manage to avoid drunkenly blowing ourselves into heaven I think it'll be a pretty damn good affair.  Oh, anybody involved in Health & Safety industry out there is welcome to climb on and scream like a banshee as their flesh crispens, burns, splits with melting bodily fats and ignites in its own thermal furore.

I'll raise a toast.  

To the dead and dying:

May they rest in peace and have the comfort of floating in the calm seas of eternal bliss.

To the end of an era.

And to the bright prospects that cling to the underside of every dark horizon. Jewels, that drop into the palm of your hand when you least expect and when the universe deems it right.

I bow before you now, dear reader of this blog, a close-mouthed smile curving my lips, and I tip a bottle of whisky in your direction, and raise an eyebrow before taking a long and brain numbing swig.

To the end of an era.


EDIT:
01:52 GMT, wow, what a night.  The bonfire was awesome to the extreme.  I feel like Richard Dreyfuss after being in Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind... my face is red, as is much of my body.  Can't work out if it's from the extreme cold or extreme heat or combination of both.  I stripped naked.  Yep.  Getting hot from the growing mass of the bonfire I took off my snow jacket and then my jumper. Pete grinned and said "I dare you to get naked."  Oh dear.  I'm never one to back down from a dare.  So, naked I became.  Not sure his 17 year old daughter was terribly impressed but I had a blast, standing there, feet going numb in the snow and ice, body blasted by heat waves radiating from the intense bonfire, washed in cold starlight from above.  

Spent 3 hours with the bonfire.  Mostly dressed.  Back inside Pete's house we played Fury of Dracular (Pete won!) then watched Bladerunner - Director's Cut, and drank more whisky.

It's been a great final night, a great END to the era.  Am sure I'll feel fucked up, confused and upset in a few days but right now... it's all gooooood.