Time On My Hands

We're approaching a General Election in the UK. I'm not sure if it matters anymore which party is in control. They are all as bad as each other. Brown, Cameron and Clegg. What a choice. They sound like a firm of solicitors or estate agents. It doesn't matter who it is, which party we're talking about, I'm certain they're only in politics for a bit of personal glory. To see what they can get for themselves. I don't think anyone could ever persuade me to think differently. Might as well shut your eyes and put a cross without looking at the ballot paper for all the real difference it makes.

My usual method for deciding which party gets my vote is to look closely at the photographs of the candidates and ask myself one all-important question. Would I trust this person to be left alone in my house while I slipped out to buy a pint of milk? And looking at these three, the answer sadly, is a resounding no.

I went to a funeral yesterday afternoon, the wife of a neighbour. She died of cancer. Lovely lady. I didn't know her especially well, we'd speak in passing. One of those people you see quite regularly without ever really getting to know them. But I knew her well enough that she'd smile when we met and we'd exchange a few words.

It was raining when we reached the church, grey skies, low clouds, long grass around the old graves. A magnolia was just coming into bloom against a grey stone wall. The church is quite large, 12th century, I think, with wire mesh on the windows so vandals don't break the stained glass. (What a world we live in.) So, you can picture this old English church in the rain. And the path leads slightly uphill to reach it, and winds between a lot of very old graves. The churchyard is actually full so they don't bury people there anymore. The services are held there and then everyone forms a procession behind the hearse for the short drive to a different cemetery.

At first I didn't think there would be many people there. It takes quite a lot of people to fill even a medium sized church. But it gradually filled up with friends and relatives. And I spent the time looking at the stonework and the vaulted archways and whispering hello to people I knew. We all stood up when the coffin was brought inside. If you ever need a reason to stop feeling sorry for yourself, or if you're feeling a bit down about something, you should go to a funeral. Whatever you worry about during the normal course of events; friends, money, or lack of either. Failed hopes, dreams, frustrations, whatever. A funeral has a way of putting everything into perspective.

There's nothing more final than a wooden casket. Or more moving than the faces of the congregation as they watch its slow progress. Whatever is wrong with your world doesn't really amount to anything when compared with that last journey we all make one day. Money, work, cars, a bigger house, a pension plan, a new TV; nothing. Forget about them, take a step back if you can. Take a look at that wooden casket shining dully under the lights. Standing alone there. You can't get any more alone than that.

We sang a couple of hymns and listened to the service. I kept glancing towards the front where my neighbour whose wife had died stood at the end of the first pew. All through the service he stood still, staring at the casket. He leaned on his walking stick but his back was straight. They'd been married for fifty seven years. His hair was grey and needed cutting and his black suit was immaculate. I thought how dignified he looked. I could only imagine the heartache he must have been feeling. How do you deal with something like that? How do you endure it? I don't know. I saw him later outside the church, it was still raining, fine, soft rain. He was sitting in the black funeral car waiting for the procession to the cemetery. He looked old and drawn and tired and sad. He looked lonely. He looked beaten. What can you say to him? I raised my hand and he returned the gesture, gave a weary nod. What else can you do?

I wish death wasn't such a sad business. It comes to us all and touches all our lives one way or another but we never seem to come to terms with it. I don't know, I think it's frightening because it's too big, too final, to grasp. If you try to imagine how big the universe is it's the same thing. It's beyond our scope to imagine it. Overwhelming. Too big. And death is the same it seems to me. Just a great big unknown something waiting for us somewhere up ahead. Frightening. Like a black hole. It's better that we don't know what the future has in store for us.

Well, that's enough about that...

Be happy, be content. Smile, etc.

And we take it so much for granted....

It's interesting how we can look at things we see every day and come to the conclusion that what we see is actually a little bit dull and boring.. but then, as Said pointed out, the village I described yesterday IS a calm and peaceful place in a busy, overcrowded world.

We have trees and green spaces and room to walk. Fresh air; the wind blows in from the direction of the river. Probably best of all for me, since I don't like heaving, noisy crowds of people, is the stillness, birds singing. Nature.

So I've been forced to take back what I said yesterday. It's not a ghost village, it's just a very quiet place with a slower pace of life.

The village only exists because of the railway yards which opened nearby about a hundred years ago. It was a busy place in those days, the sounds of steam engines working in the goods yards, the clang of buffers as trains were moved. There was a farmers' market every week. Engine drivers and shunters passing by at all hours of the day and night going to and from work. That's all gone now. All the sidings have been taken up. Nature has taken over. The main line still passes through. But the only ghosts are those of the old railwaymen who worked here long ago.

Cold and wet here in the (dis)United Kingdom. 08:15 and it's just starting to get light.

Fat dog Max is lying nearby and sighing disconsolately to himself. He's been a bit down lately, I'm wondering if he saw himself in the mirror. I can see how that would be a shock. He probably thought he looked cute.. I shouldn't make fun of him. He's a good dog. Fat but friendly, with a bit of a persecution complex.

Neighbours are moving around, banging doors, getting ready to leave, otherwise silence reigns. That works for me.

I made a new friend, Said, so that's one good reason for blogging. It's strange to think that whatever nonsense I may decide to write, total strangers from thousands of miles away might actually read it.. which is one of the reasons I've been hesitant to start a blog. In the past I've always chosen cautious discretion over publicising my thoughts. Sometimes I have very weird thoughts. I can't imagine they'll be of much interest to anyone else, but you never know. There might be others just as strange as me out there.

I'm still figuring out how to use all the stuff here so bear with me.. and stop yawning. I MIGHT get good at this. (It could happen.)