Months pass without time to stop and think, an endless treadmill of work, gym, family, TV. As the buds of spring start to blossom, days stretch out further than Lance Armstrong’s stamina, mornings and evenings gradually blending into one. Bank holidays at Easter result in terminally long weekends. Bank holidays at the end of May result in extending this joyous month, a riot of colour and for one year only, no rain on the plain like Spain, parching the grass, concreting the soil. Another break arrives. Time to forget about the 9-5, replaced by excessively trying to catch up with all those other things which life throws uncaringly in front of you. Cleaning, tidying, sorting, moving, gardening, driving, deadening. Easter provides a break but one that defines the next stage, part two of the year. Winter is now truly behind us and beautiful bucolic times stretch ahead. The chance to watch your team lose twice rather than once over a long, long weekend. Top top players needed. So, by repeating words that means they are doubly important. We need a top top top top upgrade on all our players, manager and coaching staff. The food is good though, for the players. Fans suffer with blasted dodgy sausage rolls and overheated Balti pies. Extended weekends sometimes provide an opportunity to think about being creative, write some words, catch up on research, make music, take photographs. It always feels like the busiest time, when extra hours available are eaten by Pac Man munching creatures. Also, a time to read, books, paper, articles, to take a breath in and move forward. The pope died today after a long illness. Thoughtfully waiting until after his Sunday sermon before letting go, joining his friends in heaven and beyond, a good person by all accounts.
Bank holidays do have an end, but they are points in time where lots of people have the same time off. Not emergency or health workers, service trades or tourist spots. They are busier than normal coping with the mass of over drinking, overeating, dangerous swimming, human abandon. Time off from the daily grind. Moments which can feel uplifting and liberating if you are in a happy space, a couple, with family and friends but can be isolating, alone, watching men pot balls on a green baise, endlessly from cue tip to round object, bouncing around, trying to escape and leave nothing behind. The empty carnage from the stacked-up start of a frame. It is relaxing apparently, the heat of battle but with gentle contemplation, unfolding over time. Day after day after day. Bank holidays can change the flow of time, stop us in our tracks, Halt. Who goes there or where. Routines upended by not needing to do anything. So, we could mow the lawn, fix fittings, dump the unused wardrobe, reconfigure our spaces. Or just go for a long walk, aimlessly meandering off into the distance, not knowing when to turn round as there is no time limit. It just goes on. All is quiet in the countryside, whereas cities hum with eager anticipation, music, drink, desperate to party to ignore the upcoming slip back into tedium of normality. A release. Melancholic moments as your team finishes the season either relegated to a lower division or deep in mid table mediocrity, months of time off to contemplate the start of another cycle. New manager. New players. New kit. New hope. We start again.
End of May sparks festival season in my brain. Time to dive into the gently rotting shed and brush mildew off my festering tent. Will it appear again this year? Not yet, but in due time. preparing to stand outside in various weather forms, jigging and dancing and chatting, music wafting through the the ozone ecosystem pollen infected air. Time can finally standstill.
