¦ dialling in from Jesus Mound ¦
20:59 GMT, 31st August, 2009. Sitting at the oak refectory table in near darkness. Only a couple of occasional lamps blazing away. No music playing, not that I'd be able to hear it anyway: the rain is coming down hard and heavy, drumming on the sloping roof and skylights above my head. Brilliant sound, love it; heavy rain with that background of running water down roof tiles and gurgling drains.
It's been a great few days up here. I've managed to find a groove with the new novel, Dog Eat Dog, and maintain a sense of perspective and not get so carried away that I write at the expense of all other aspects of my life. I've been playing a lot of the board game, Fury of Dracula, with Pete, the bloke who lives next door with Rosie and three kids (plus dog and cat). This is the game I adored back in 1990 (memories of Richy and Osborne Ave), then 16 years of just recalling it with fond nostalgia before I acquired a copy for myself in 2006 (up here in Newcastle), introduced Pete & Rosie to it and bang, they too were hooked. This is the 1980's version, not the crass attempt to revamp it brought out a couple years ago. Each time you play this game, it's different: I'd go so far as to say it's the absolute Perfect game (certainly when you add the home-grown rules I've written for it, ahem!)
I went to the crematorium today. I've not been there since dad was scattered there back in December 2006. He was decidedly absent, in spirit. Whereas when I go to Bristol Cathedral - I'm not religious but I cherish the atmosphere of churches - I do sense his presence. Be it a trick of the mind or otherwise, it's a comforting feeling. The crematorium was okay, but the only vibe I got was memories of going there every year as a child with Dad, to remember his dad - a man who died before I was born.
Driving back to the family home, it struck me how detached I am from Newcastle; how unfamiliar the roads and the people are to me. I tried to direct Jo who was driving and found that vast chunks of the city "map" that used to exist inside my head are now gone. Erased. Forgotten. We got lost. Literally. I no longer know this city and doubt I'll make many trips here once mum has gone. It's a curious sensation, to have that revelation... the place where you were born and raised, where you spend the first 21 years of life, no longer has meaning or relevance in your "adult" life.
Mum's been very ill the past few days; not sure how much is to do with the cancer or whether she's just suffering from flu as she says. I've barely seen her as she's spent most time tucked away in her room. We ate together tonight and enjoyed some time together chatting... but I'm acutely aware that these "moments" are possibly final moments. What I mean is... I'm looking at the cats, curled up and cosy, and I'm thinking, at some point, soon, or maybe later, but definitely coming, these cats are going to not be able to curl up and be all cosy here. That things are going to change. That I can no longer take for granted the journey up here and the fact I can go to my room, spend time in this house that I've known and loved since 1980. Change is coming.
Mum is sitting in her big armchair; she’s got that thoughtful repose I know so well…she's talking; Jo's chuckling at whatever is being said. We're cosy. We're happy. We have food in our belly. Drinks in hand. Thank God for just that, eh?
My birthday was fab. Went to Cragside house, up near Morpeth, where Lord Armstrong shaped the landscape with his iron mind and iron-making machines and introduced great inventions of the late 19th century. A brilliant day out.
Earlier today, as the rains grew heavier, I discovered an overspill of rainwater running over from the guttering and down the kitchen window and outer walls. Something was blocked. I was about to head outside to unblock it when I realised the only trousers I have with me are the ones I was wearing... and I'm catching a plane early tomorrow morning. Dang. So, I pulled on mum's bright red kagool, stripped off my trousers, pulled on my big walking boots and headed out there in my bare legs and underpants. Quite a ridiculous sight but one worthy of the moment. I got soaked but I can fly home tomorrow with dry trousers.