Seafront Diary

Lets take a walk and go and get lost

2026-06-02T17:25:57.527+01:00

Walking, walking and more walking.

One of the main activities of my time in Tokyo has been walking. I’ve walked to Ginza, to Asakusa, to Akihabara, to Ojima, to Kachidoki, to Shimbashi, to Shiomi and all places in-between. I’ve not quite made it to Minato City for Tokyo Tower or Edogawa for Arakawa River yet, but who knows, maybe next week I’ll venture that far out.

Keeping fit is one of the reasons for me electing to use my own two legs as my main method of transport, rather than the epically proportioned rail and subway networks of Tokyo. The other, and perhaps, the main reason, could be called sightseeing, although for me it is slightly more a case of seeing life going on around me, rather than spotting typical tourist sights, which sightseeing usually conveys. My eyes are sweeping along the various streets, roads and avenues, my feet are walking down. I’m gazing up the restaurants offering a multitude of cuisines, many displaying pictures of meals served. I see the stores selling household supplies are commonplace, whereas clothes retailers tend to be mainly in the shopping centres. Another, conceivably surprising addition to the Tokyo scene is the proliferation of European-style bakeries making a variety of cakes and pastries at high prices, which are popular with the well-heeled ladies of the city, especially at the weekends. The queue outside my local one is always nine or ten deep of fragrant ladies under parasols.

I enjoy walking off the main thoroughfares just as much, down those narrower streets, where houses are cheek by jowl, where pavements are just differentiated from the highway by a white line. One of the charms of these less busy streets is the remarkably different styles of architecture that complement each other. There are funky new apartment blocks, next to vintage machiya - small, mostly wooden town houses, just over the road from an abode that looks somewhat like an akiya (old vacant property). Then, just when you least expect it is a shrine, complete with banners, stone animals and an ink stamp in a box. You might think it is someone's drive, but if you look carefully, you’ll often find that shadowy uneven ground is actually an entrance to a small but peaceful park.

Over the last few days, I’ve spent a lot of time walking down streets like that. I’ve gone out with just a phone, a packet of Polos and a plan of having no plan! I left the mobile internet Wi-Fi thingamabob behind as I didn’t want to rely on Google Maps or other such location-finder apps to influence my wandering. I don’t have mobile internet on my phone – well, I do, but I can’t afford to use it on my current plan whilst in Japan! Plus, if it didn’t have a pedometer and audiobook app on my phone, I’d have left it on the side in my apartment as well. For more than seven hours over the last three days, I’ve wandered about freely, deciding which direction to turn at every crossroads only when I get to it, and happily getting lost. Every now and then, I can honestly say that getting lost is the most fun. I advise you to do it, no, really, go and get lost sometime this week!

Insomnia in the city.....

2026-05-29T16:04:59.338+01:00

Insomnia and me are no strangers, indeed, you might say we are old friends, we’ve been acquainted since I was a sulky schoolboy in sleepy Surrey. For me, it comes and goes; it arrives unannounced, stays around for a week or so before it pops off again. There is no way I can tell when this old mate will show up, stomping about in my head, throwing things hither and dither and generally being annoying.

Shin-Ohashi Bridge as dusk is just about to fall.

I had regular bouts as a teenager and during college, then he disappeared for a long while before coming back in my late twenties. I don’t remember him visiting during my thirties, although, if I’m completely honest, I can actually recall a lot of details about those years. I didn’t have many periods in my forties, although working twelve-hour night shifts on a four-on, four-off basis plays hell with the normal sleep pattern anyway. After I stopped earning a crust in the darkest hours before and just a tingly bit after dawn, I’ve had regular periods of sleepless nights. Usually it is when my world turns upside down, and daytime seems sleepy bye-byes time, and at night, it's wakey wakey after midnight. Sometimes there have been reasons for it, job stress, end of relationships, death, illness and that sort of malarkey and other times, there seems to be no reason, none at all.

For the last few nights, he’s been back, the first time since I’ve been in Japan and about as welcome as a glass of Andrews Liver Salts when you’ve got the trots!. Actually, yesterday that was also the case, I had both a sleepless night and a butt that was almost permanently on the heated seat of my class A loo. The tummy trouble was, I’m pretty sure, due to consuming four cans of a ‘sugar-free’ alcoholic beverage as well as polishing off a tube of ‘sugar-free’ mints. Accidentally overdosing on sorbitol can have a laxative effect; well, it certainly does on me, as yesterday can attest to.

Clear skies and gentle breezes

I did manage to head to the supermarkets today for a stock up and also a walk around the neighbourhood. I enjoyed a lunch on the river terrace watching the boats go up and down the river, and after returning home, I sat on the balcony and again watched boats go down and up the river, until the sun started to set.

Now, as the clock ticks onwards to midnight, my mind is not in the least bit sleepy and is racing away to various subjects and topics. Indeed in the last twenty-four minutes, I’ve contemplated buying a new camera, which shop to get the tax refunded, potatoes ‘n’ mint with the possibility of growing one or the other or both on the balcony, where to buy a bag of compost, can kiwis fly, how many steps it is to the nearest vending machine that takes IC cards, what liquid refreshment to have next!

So, as the week rapidly races to its end, this sleepy insomniac is wondering if he should go for a walk before midnight to tire even further achy bones to encourage sleep to arrive before four in the morning. Or stand on the balcony and watch the last of the river traffic heading back to its mooring while I wait for the timely dew of sleep, falling with soft slumbrous weight, inclines my eyelids!

Pretty hydrangeas and other lovely flowers offer food for the soul.

Matsuo Basho keeps a lookout up the river. On a clear day, in days of old, you can see Mount Fuji

Who can say what dreams were made this day?

A world of history is just around the corner.....Matsuo Basho

2026-05-24T10:00:00.000+01:00

Less than a thousand steps from my apartment building is a memorial garden, a shrine and a museum all dedicated to Matsuo Basho, a leading haiku poet of the Edo period.

The small shrine on the site, which is believed to be the place where Matsuo Basho's hut was.

I’m not an expert, but from what I gather, this chap was about as famous as you can get, back in those times, which is the mid to late 1600s during the Edo period. Now, legend has it that in 1680, Basho abandoned life as a priest, moved from Nihonbashi in Edo to a thatched tiny house, or hermitage as they are called, in Fukagawa.

He used this hermitage as a base and concentrated on creating haikai, a form of linked Japanese verse, drawing his inspiration from a wide variety of subjects, including those he saw around him. He also wrote several travelogues, such as 'Oku no Hosomichi ‘ (‘The Narrow Road to the Deep North’), following a journey of some 1500 miles during the spring of 1689. Oku no Hosomichi starts off:

“The months and days are the travellers of forever. The years that come and go are also voyagers. Those who float away their lives on ships or who grow old leading horses are forever journeying, and their homes are wherever their travels take them. Many of the men of old died on the road, and I, too, for years past, have been stirred by the sight of a solitary cloud drifting with the wind to ceaseless thoughts of roaming.”

He may have taken up to five years to write, rewrite and rework it, but all that effort was well worth it, for even to this day it is considered to be one of his best-known works and part of the reason his legacy lives on. Basho is also revered for playing quite a major role in developing the modern haiku.

Climb the stone steps for a wonderful view and a tiny memorial garden.

His thatched cottage or hermitage was called 'Basho-an' because it became overgrown with banana plants gifted by his disciples or followers, although, I suppose in today's parlance, we'd call them fans. After Basho's death, it was incorporated into the samurai residence and preserved, but it disappeared between the late Edo and Meiji periods. However, whilst the exact location may not be known for sure, there is a sweet little shrine on what may have been its approximate location, and it's just around the corner from both the memorial garden and the museum. The museum was opened on 19th April 1981 on the site of Basho-no-Ō Old Pond, where his cherished stone frog had been found following a typhoon back in 1917. Another of his famous works is this little haiku: “An ancient pond - a frog jumps in - the splash of water

Basho left Edo for the last time in the summer of 1694, enjoying some time in Ueno and Kyoto before arriving in Osaka. Unfortunately, he became unwell with some form of stomach complaint and, with his disciples around him, he passed away in November, aged 49 or 50. His last poem offered a farewell to his followers.

“falling sick on a journey - my dream goes wandering - on a withered field.”

It is amazing what is hidden just around the corner. By looking around, you can open up your eyes to new sights and your mind to new experiences.

Local legend has it that the statue moves at night!

Can you see the fish?

Looking upriver to the Shin-Ohashi Bridge and the memorial garden just in the right corner

More info on the museum:

Basho Memorial Museum | Koto Ward Cultural Community Foundation

Take a stroll around Koto city using a restored old map from the Edo period.

Kase Map 'Koto Ward Revitalised Old Map' Service Launched | Fukagawa Edo Museum | Koto Ward Cultural Community Foundation

Rainy days are beautiful too!

2026-05-22T14:33:21.693+01:00

Thursday and Friday.

I love the feel of rain on my skin

If you believe in an omnipotent god, you might well have said he or she had been upset over the last couple of days, for the heavens have opened and tears from angels have fallen down. I don’t, so for all I will say is, it's been raining!

Yes, water from the clouds has been falling for most of Thursday, through the night and for pretty much all of Friday as well. The temperature has also plunged, 22 °C yesterday and 15 °C today, which means it was warmer back in dear ol’ Blighty than down this end of the globe. (Do globes have an end?) Indeed, most of Southern England has been bathed in clear sunshine (well, at least during the daytime!) whilst a cloudy, rainy sky has been the mainstay of these days.

Looking out under the umbrella

Yet, whilst the weather hasn’t been exactly the best, I’ve still gone out for a little walk for fresh air, exercise, and to find out if Japanese rain was warm – a request from my brother. The short and honest answer is no! The rain that greeted my head yesterday was not warm at all, although I will admit, it wasn’t icy cold either; it was pretty normal. High humidity percentage meant it probably felt colder than it actually was, but it was still worth being out in it.

I strolled by the river, with hardly a soul about, both today and yesterday, which was hardly surprising and honestly quite delightful. I looked at the plants, the bushes, the wildlife – a large grey Heron, the raindrops, the sometimes slightly slippy paving and tiles, which were enhanced by the cloudy and somewhat murky sky.

Little drops on little leaves

Yesterday, the cloud was so low that the entire 634-metre Tokyo Skytree was obscured from view; today it made an eerie, ghostlike appearance, looming in the sky between bursts of rain. I found it slightly disconcerting that the single tallest landmark, by which I often navigate this part of the city, was absent from my vision, while my mind assumed this is what the skyline must have looked like 15 years ago, prior to construction.

Today, I walked a little further, down to Kiyoshu-bashi Bridge, where I crossed the river, then walked along the terrace and up and over Ryogoku Bridge and back along that side until I was home. Sometimes the rain was soft and little more than mizzle, other times it was driven ferociously by the wind into my face, blowing the umbrella inside out and soaking my top.

In this dull and rainy state, you might have expected my fondness for Tokyo and Japan in general to dissipate and diminish, at least a little bit. You know, people rarely wear the rose-tinted tourist sunglasses in the rain. But you’d be wrong, I still have a soft spot in my heart for this massive city. Even in the rain, the mist and the murk, I still found beauty in almost all directions. Be it along the sides of the river, or the roadways I pass down or the skyscape that greets the eyes as I gaze heaven-bound. I’m not sure if the fact I’m getting older, or indeed am already old, but I try and find beauty in everyday activity, for which I am thankful. Perhaps, it is only when you get old that the simple joy of seeing a Heron perched on a bush in the middle of a downpour, or feeling the rain tingle your cheeks, or watching bigger drops splash in puddles, delights and lifts your heart.

Rainy days are beautiful too!

What is that bird? Is it a heron? Maybe.

Walking the straight road

2026-05-19T08:00:00.000+01:00

A perfect place to sit and rest for a while.....

I went for a little walk today. I decided to treat my senses with another stroll along Shin-Ohashi Dori Ave, which is the same road that I see from my apartment, and I usually head down when going to Ginza and Tokyo Station. Today, however, I was going the other direction, so I decided to head towards Funabori. I did have a vague idea of walking all the way to the Arakawa River, which would have been a distance of 6 kilometres, that’s about 3.7 miles, and that is a little far, double if you consider the return. However, I started at lunch time, and as the temperature had crept up to 28 °C, it was a little on the sticky side of things. Plus, I was wearing my big pants, which are not ideal for walking in as they tend to bunch up at the gusset. Which, I dare say, is way too much information for you, so I’ll just say, you don’t want your undercrackers bunching up around your dinglydangly bits in such hot weather!

I made it to the Ojima Police Box and a pedestrian bridge crossing the road. As I’d gone down the right side, I crossed over the carriageway and walked back the other side. I paused for a little rest under the shady trees of Sarue Park. I was accompanied by insects of various kinds, birds chirped unseen from a canopy of greenery up above, wind rippled the water's surface on the large rectangular pond.

Hello little critter

A pterol station where the pumps are in the ceiling and the hoses hang down!

The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky

Are also on the faces of people going by

I see friends shaking hands, saying, "How do you do?"

They're really sayin', "I love you"

I hear babies cry, I watch them grow

They'll learn much more than I'll never know

And I think to myself....

(I bet you're either singing or humming the next line)

What a Wonderful World" written by Bob Thiele (as George Douglas) and George David Weiss.

Walking in Hama-rikyu in the shadow of a shogun....

2026-05-18T09:13:00.000+01:00

Monday…..

I rather enjoyed a restful Sunday yesterday, although, perhaps if the truth be known, it was mentally restful, physically, I ended up walking just under six miles!

I arose early and after a shower and a quick breakfast, I ambled across the bridge and down Shin-Ohashi Dori Avenue towards Nihonbashi, Hatchobori and beyond. It wasn’t long before I found myself in the underground shopping mall around Tokyo Station, which is always a favourite place for me. After a short while walking down and up and along and round, I went up to the topside and took a seat under a tree at Station Square at a quarter after eleven.

I wasn’t there to just people watch, which I do love doing, I had planned to take a fuel cell bus from JR East – the rail company. It is powered by hydrogen and operates a shuttle service down to Shimbashi Station, WATERS Takeshiba, Hinode Pier, and sometimes it goes back to Tokyo Station via Tokyo Tower. I’d planned to get off at the waterfront, so I could visit Hamarikyu Gardens, which I’d walked past on my first trip to Japan when I'd accidentally missed the entrance!

The bus was almost disappointing, for it is rather like riding an ordinary bus, except it is a little quieter and not anything special on the inside

A view towards Hama-rikyu Gardens.

The Hama-rikyu Gardens are, as their sign and English guide proudly proclaims, a ‘Special Place of Scenic Beauty and Special Historic Site’. It is the family garden of the Tokugawa Shogun as well as the outer fort for the Edo castle. The gardens have been a relaxing place to many Shoguns over time, and after the Meiji restoration, it became a detached palace of the Imperial Family. Earthquakes and bombings in war destroyed or damaged many buildings and trees, and thus, some of the views from bygone days have been lost. The Imperial Family donated the gardens to Tokyo City in November 1945, and following some restoration, it opened to the public in April 1946.

Today's garden is almost the same as it was back in the days of
Ienari, the 11th Tokugawa Shogun.

May is perhaps the worst month to visit the gardens as there is very little flowering, budding or changing colour and cascading down. Yet, I still found my visit beneficial and well worth the 300 yen entrance fee. There is a delight in walking paths, passing trees and simply enjoying ‘being’ in places that have, since at least 1654, witnessed the weight of human feet. Sure, there may be modern gravel in places underfoot, whilst fences built in the 1990s halt entrance to areas of conservation, yet it is mostly as it was during the life of the 11th Shogun.

As the sun shone down from a deep blue, unabashed sky, my mind wandered from the here and now to a time of then and there, the time of the Shogunate. Although it really isn’t a case of ‘then and there', Shoguns existed from the Heian Period (794-1185) until 1868, which is quite a long period of time, but the sensation was just the same. I gazed inward, both literally and metaphorically and contemplated a life in these gardens at the time of the 11th Shogun of the Tokugawa Shogunate, Ienari. He took up office in April 1787 and went on until May 1837, the longest run of any shogun in Japan's history and was quite a character. It is said that not only did he have a wife, but he also had many concubines; he also kept a harem of 900 women and may have fathered more than 75 children during his lifetime. He had a passion for parties and err, passion, of that there seems little doubt, but his reputation for decadence and debauchery is seen by many as the beginning of the end of the power of Tokugawa and the shogunate. The only reason I was thinking of Ienari is that the gardens now look almost exactly as they did in his time, and here, all these years later, I’m walking in his shadow, touching trees that his hands may have brushed, sitting in his garden, drinking fizzy pop where he drank tea! We may have lived thoroughly different lives with nearly 200 years between us, yet for a mere fraction of time, we both inhabited the same place and enjoyed life in a man-made nature!

Walking homeward, I wondered a multitude of things, not least the juxtaposition of arriving at the historic gardens in one of the most modern forms of transport – a hydrogen-powered bus, and leaving on the oldest – my own two feet. Of course, you know me, it wasn’t long before thoughts rapidly turned to food and I planned what to have for dinner!

The gardens are relatively unchanged since the time of the 11th Tokugawa Shogun.
Whilst the background has changed and grown with the passing of the years, the foreground is little altered

Shioiri - no - ike, the tidal pool that is a key feature of the Hama - rikyu Gardens

I feel like a forage in the undergrowth

The Nakajima Tea House in the middle of Shioiri-no-ike.

Reflections of the Left Wing of Tokyo Twin Park, MinebeaMitsumi Office and The Conrad hotel in the duck pond.

Unchanged for hundreds of years......except it changes every day

One of the many pathways in the gardens to walk and wonder!

A modern take on a traditional fence

The posh and plush Conrad Hotel faces me over the park.

WATERS Takeshiba just over there, where I took the first photo from!

Now that is a nice little boat!

The view from Hama-rikyu Gardens to the Rainbow Bridge.

It's a bit zoomed in, but still far away!

View from Hama-rikyu Gardens, Tokyo, with the Tsukiji-Ohashi Bridge on the left.

Looking at Tsukiji and Kachidoki.

On the sea wall at Hama-rikyu Gardens, Tokyo.

Hama-rikyu Gardens

Busy doing nothing......

2026-05-13T10:41:00.000+01:00

The dawn light started to illuminate the front room of my riverside apartment a little after four this morning. The clear sky unblemished by even a single cloud was a sight my eyes beheld as sleep faded into nothing but a memory, and wakefulness reigned supreme.

I gazed out the window after tending to the pressing morning ablutions that take priority when you climb past the 50-milestone. The river’s surface looked so calm and restful as if it were still in slumber's sweet protection. There was a hint of a ripple near the furthest shore that caught the eye before they turned upward at the watery blue. It was going to be a nice day, I didn’t need to check the weather forecast to inform me so, although I did, before I went for a wander. I seem to check the latest meteorological bulletins these days, I’m not sure why, other than the fact that I’m in a strange land and still not used to what the normal climatic characteristics are for this time of year.

If you are at all interested, 23 Celsius was the temperature at the time, which would climb to 27 a couple of hours later. The humidity level was somewhere between 54% and 68%, plus a gentle, comfortable breeze, which made it less sticky than usual.

I packed up my backpack, which I mostly carry by its handle, rather than its designed method, to avoid a big, sweaty patch slowly expanding over my ample back. I packed it with an umbrella (to also act as a parasol if it gets super hot), mobile internet thingymabob (so I can turn on Google Maps and find my way if I get lost), wallet, purse, folded napkins, baseball cap and reading glasses. Thus prepared, I set off without a single plan. About 10 steps later, at the end of my road, I had to decide, left or right. For no apparent reason, I went left and crossed the Shin-Ohashi Bridge to head down the Shin-Ohashi Dori Avenue.

Immediately on the other side of the bridge is the Lovot Museum, which is an appointment-only museum dedicated to Lovots, which are cuddly little robot-type pets or creatures. They look adorable bundles on wheels with a sensor horn on the top of the head, which has a built-in half-sphere camera that can see all directions, a half-sphere microphone that can determine the direction of audio, an illuminance sensor that detects brightness, and a temperature camera that can identify people and objects. These electronic plushy things have voices, along with this modern phenomenon of machine learning, to become ‘part of the family’ and have a memory. It apparently reduces stress and can encourage different behaviour and induce feelings of love and calmness. I’m not really sure what to make of it, they do look adorable, with magical eyes and in a nation where more people live alone rather than live with someone else, they could be the ideal companion. For example, they make no mess, they self-charge, they don’t require feeding, and they will never argue with you. I suppose a downside for some might be the price, JPY 599,500 or £2807. I’ve yet to make a reservation for a visit, but you never know what I might do in future.

My walk took me down the avenue all the way until a crossroads with Yaesu Street, which leads to Tokyo Station, so I turned right and walked towards the station. Now, one of the many reasons why I love this area is the underground shopping streets or mall if you prefer, so I descended at entrance/exit 24 to the air-conditioned delight of Yaechika. There are more than 180 eating places and stores in this subterranean retail heaven, and I love to lose half an hour or more down here. If you get the chance, you should wander freely down these avenues; you’ll probably find a bargain or a treat, or a bite to eat, whether you wanted to or not! Hokkaido ice cream is rather yummy!

The sail of shade over a city garden of exquisite design

I picked up a picnic lunch and headed up above, to the second floor, which is an open garden area on the Yaesu side, with a sail-like shade that seems to go almost the whole length of the station. The area is like a raised platform, which isn’t so surprising considering that behind a living wall of plants are the actual station platforms. There are raised beds of green plants of various descriptions, interspersed with monolithic benches, wooden seats for four, recliners for two, and clear plastic positions for solos. A little tip, if you run out of power, the benches have power sockets, so you’ll be able to charge your electronic devices. There is also a bar and a restaurant up here, with its own seating section. I’ve never eaten there, I’m never hungry enough for a full meal, and to be frankly honest, it's harder to watch people when you’re shovelling food down your gullet!

After my picnic, I headed down a long passageway that takes you on a slightly darkened route under most of the 28 platforms to the other side of the station. Now, Yaesu is all funky and modern, the other side, Marunouchi, is the side with the hotel, classic architecture, history and the wide open square. I plonked myself under a tree and simply enjoyed the sights of people going about their business.

A station of two sides.... one modern and functional, and one historic and dreamy.

Sun continued to shine down, the temperature was up to 27 degrees, although with the tall buildings and the very soft wind, the ground temperature was much higher, at least in the high 30s! Thusly, I was content to spend a little more time under the tree, sitting on a concrete seat wall, wondering where all the people were going, who they were going to see, what joy their journey would culminate in and so on.

One of the many entrances to the station

So many sights to see, so many people, so many lives intersecting, albeit briefly at one location at one time. Oddly, I saw more Western folk today than I’ve ever seen in Japan; most appeared slightly bemused as well, and I have no idea why. I smiled at all of them, and none smiled back; perhaps they were doing the Japanese thing, or perhaps they didn't like a smiling Brit to spoil their excursion in the land of the rising sun. I also spotted four or so school groups during my time sitting in the shade, all of which had group photos taken with the central Imperial entrance in the background. There were some couples walking hand in hand across the big square, which I don’t think was romantic, for there was no doubt, with the sun shining down, those palms would be sweaty within seconds! There were a group of OAPs waiting for a bus tour to depart from just outside the very luxurious hotel. I was concerned that if they had to wait too long, they’d melt, but before you can recite the eight times table, four times the bus arrived, and the sweltering seniors stumbled on. There were quite a few businessmen, or salarymen as the Japanese call them, hurrying here and there, wearing dark suits with shiny shoes and expressions of bland indifference. There was a photographer with a big, expensive camera, which reminded me of the 80s Japanese tourist stereotype, with some amusement. Then there were three skinny youths with tattoos talking excessively loudly, lighting up cigarettes despite the non-smoking signs. But, they didn’t stay long after a camera was pointed in their direction and red flashing lights appeared along the roadway, not even long enough to finish their smokes, which they just threw to the ground and hurried off.

After a while, I’m not at all sure how long, I decided it was time to get up and walk the three and a half kilometres back to the apartment. I retraced almost the same route, and before I got back to my abode, I paused for a pink grapefruit beverage, which I consumed down at the side of the Sumida River. It was a day of doing very little, of relaxing and enjoying the gentleness of the busy city, yes, a day you could say, I was busy doing nothing and nothing the whole day long.

The beauty of the poppy is timeless. On the Sumida River Terrace.

Flowers along the riverside circles in my mind......

2026-04-24T04:34:00.001+01:00

The Skytree points like a needle to the heavens above.....

Along the side of the river, on the man-made concrete banks at various points are raised flower beds, populated with brightly coloured flowers or big bushes and mini trees. The names of which escape me, for I am not a green-fingered man or at all knowledgeable about such horticultural things. However, despite not knowing their names, they are all a pleasing sight for the eyes to feast upon. They instil a sense of calm and near tranquillity upon one. I say near tranquillity, after all, we are still in a city of many millions, and the daily activities of the populous hum ever present in the background. These flowerbeds are complemented by various bricks, tiles, or paving slabs along the walkways, some raised, some not, some rough, some smooth. It is a little nod to the aesthetic that you often see replicated through the city, which helps ensure its charm envelopes you.

The flowerbeds are a delight for the eyes and the mind

Only in Tokyo do spaceships float!

Thus far, my favourite pastime in quiet moments, whilst living on the banks of the Sumida River, is to walk along these banks and let my eyes wander and dance over the rippling river to the flowers and greenery. The various tall buildings beyond the flood containing walls vie for attention with the passing marine traffic, mostly made up of sightseeing boats and restaurant launches, some of those so futuristic looking you could be forgiven for thinking that aliens have landed. Occasionally, I'll see a working boat, a barge or tug, then even more fleetingly, one of the emergency services boats zooms past.

There is beauty with every step!

Sometimes my mind ponders on the beauty of each flower or bush as I stroll past, other times I'll marvel at the architecture of the myriad of buildings that rise skyward. Of course, as a boat travels up or down the river, my thoughts are cajjouled in that direction. I wonder where it is going, who the captain is, what it costs, how many passengers are looking out at me upon the banks and other such practical matters. I have also let my mind wander into the lives of the other people I pass on these walkways, the way one often does when people watching from a pavement table at a cafe, or so. I don't know if I'm alone in that, but when I'm in a city, I can't stop my brain from wondering about the secret lives of the people I pass, either on the street or down here by the river. Are they married? Are they single? Are they having a secret affair with the person on the next floor up in their apartment building? Are they working, and if so, what is the occupation? Are all questions that dart across my mind at lightning speed, which I'll never know the answers to, although I do occasionally make up!

A sea of dasies and not a chain in sight!

Of course, being down here, walking slowly on, not exactly aimless, yet with no particular destination in mind, I can often find my head on loftier things. I've pondered emotions, the difficulty of finding a place to call 'home', of wondering what one's point is and various 'heavyweight' subjects like that. Yes, down here on the riverbank, you can often think of higher things, mentally pontificate on the meaning of life, or lack thereof, of god and her presence or not, of peace and war. But mostly, I like the wind upon my face and my mind flittering over subjects as rapidly as the sun shimmers over the ripples of the waves on the river.

Traditionally modern!

Why am I here and what am I doing? Well, I wish I could give you a concrete and secure answer that would satisfy you and me alike, but I can't! I suppose, I'm here because I've reached the age where I should settle down, grow old, and well, not to put too finer point on it - die! I'm mid-fifties, it's time to stop this aimless existence and stop in the place I feel most at home. Except, I don't know where 'home' actually is; I've not felt completely at 'home' in any place I've lived for the last twenty or so years. So, I guess right now, I'm just trying on Tokyo for size. I loved it as a tourist, so now, staying longer and seeing if the magic and shine of the big vibrant city wears off with time, and the grind gets me down. Or whether the delight of being one in 14 or so million shines like the brightest star in the sky.

Sometimes even where your feet walk is a thing of beauty.

Dreams and desires

The wonder of lines

The joys these plants bring will be fleeting, yet their memory will linger for years to come!

The lonely stranger in a foreign land….

2026-04-22T15:12:00.001+01:00

The lonely stranger in a foreign land….

If you’re lonely before you come here, your loneliness will greatly increase once you are in this strange land where little is the same. There is an old expression, presented perfectly by Harry Chapin, “You can travel ten thousand miles and still stay where you are”. I feel you can’t expect travel or relocation to ease all your woes, solve all your problems, heal your broken heart or fill whatever void exists in your life. Your past is YOUR past, and will forever be so; it travels with you, despite any desire you may hold to leave it back where you left it.

Once you learn or realise travel and relocation isn’t the panacea for all that’s wrong in your life, the better you’ll be. I don’t guarantee much, but I’ll guarantee that! Equally, if you’re lonely, Japan and especially Tokyo is probably not the place for you to spend too long in. It is hard to explain, but for me, I feel like Tokyo is made up of 14 million individual people living 14 million individual lives! There is a certain independent expectation that exists here that I’ve not noticed in any other city. For example, if you go out to eat, the vast majority of restaurants and eating places just assume you are dining alone, and there is no drama and definitely no stigma if you are. Fresh ready meals from supermarkets or convenience stores are proportioned for either families or singles, and nothing in between.

I’m not sure if Tokyo is an outlier or more typical of Japan as a whole, but the overwhelming majority of 20 to 29-year-olds are not married (79.4% of men and 65.3% of women). Around 35% of Japanese men in their 30s have no spouse or partner. The percentage drops by just 5% for guys in their 40s and only about 7% for those chaps in their 50s. Based on projections from the 2020 census, there are between 4.5 and 4.7 million singles in Tokyo today, and by 2030, that number could be up to between 5 and 5.2 million.

So if you’re lonely at home, before you come to Japan, I think the chances of that loneliness following you here are, to say the very least, damn likely to be sure. But if you are like me, single and not necessarily lonely, you might just find this is an ideal city for you to visit. There is no faux concern when you eat alone in a restaurant, nor do you get approached by a woman, inviting you to join her and her family to eat, because they ‘felt sorry’ for you sitting all by your lonesome. Indeed, many restaurants have only ‘single person’ booths, stalls or tables. There isn’t an expectation for you to be in a couple, have a ‘significant other’ or be otherwise entangled. It’s refreshing, at least it is for me, to get a meal for one and not have accusatory or sympathetic eyes boring holes into the back of your head, nor do you get the quizzical questions about how come you’re single at such a mature age!

Waseda - Keio Regatta

2026-04-19T12:04:00.140+01:00

I was out on my balcony today, enjoying a leisurely mug of green tea and feeling the wind ruffle my hair, or what little I have left, when some sort of noise and commotion caught my attention from down below on the river. At first, I couldn't see what it was, then my eyes focused, and there, near the other bank, beyond the bridge, I spotted about eight or nine fellows in a rowing boat. Not only that, coming along the river was another rowing boat with a similar number of people rowing it. Plus, there were a few other boats of various sizes, something was evidently going on and something a little more than the usual marine activity.

It was a rowing race, I suppose it is similar to the annual University Boat Race between Oxford and Cambridge, held on the River Thames in dear ol' London town. However, here in Tokyo, its a series of races, including two really long ones that kicked off just across the river from me. (Is kick off the right exprersson for the starting of a boat race? I'm not sure!)

This is the annual Saikei Regatta, between Waseda and Keio universities, which has been running for 95 years, which is, needless to say, rather a long time! Although, it is a mere baby when compared to the London one, which saw its 171st one take place on 4th April this year.

Some of the races took place upstream and were between 500 and 1000 metres in lenght, however the two that started near me had these rowers battle it out for 3,750 metres, which is about 2.3 miles or thereabouts. I know I couldn't row that far, at least not as fast as they were going, it might take me about three hours to complete the same distance they did in under 11 minutes!

I wonder how fast you could spiddle your macons or cleavers in a tidal river?

Soothing Sunday and Saturday shopping.

2026-04-12T11:15:00.002+01:00

Sunday greeted my eyes with the early morning sunlight filtering through the net curtains that hang at the floor-to-ceiling windows of my rented apartment. It was, according to a blurry grab of my mobile phone from the small bedside table, a little after 5:30. I’m not usually up at this time of the morning; however, I’ve still not quite got used to being in a completely different time zone. It could be said that, for the first time ever in my life, the lag of jet travel was deeply affecting me. I’ve been tired in the daytime and waking up late in the evening, just as the world says sleepy time should be upon you.

I yawned as I stumbled out of bed, opened the curtains before gravity had its pressing effect on the bladder of a fifty-plus-year-old, and I scurried as fast as my fat little legs could carry me to the bathroom. A few minutes later, I emerged, relieved and busied myself with making a cup of coffee while I tried to drive the pain in my right foot out of my mind. It is, apparently, quite common for sufferers of Plantar fasciitis to have difficulty in starting to walk, and for me, first thing in the morning is the worst. Well, that’s not quite true, it is equally bad after I’ve rested a wee while after doing a lot of walking and then getting up, and yesterday I did oodles and oodles of walking.

Twenty-three thousand, seven hundred and eighty-nine steps I had completed yesterday, Saturday, as I’d walked to the popular shopping area of Ginza for some retail therapy. That amount of steps, judging by my height and step length, is a wee bit over eight miles, and that, my little cherubs, is a bloody long way. Yes, I experienced some pain yesterday, plus there were a few moments when I had to stop and either sit down or just lean against a wall and lift my foot off the ground for a short while. However, let it stop me from heading to Chou Dori in the Chou Ward of Tokyo, it did not.

I’ve just paused to unload the washing machine and place clean garments on two clothes racks, one now on the balcony, the other in the bathroom, under the clothes drying fan, such are the boons of modern life!

Yesterday, I was up at a similar time and after a leisurely shower and ablutions, I headed out on an ambling walk in the right direction of that enclave of shopping delectation. I should have waited, I should have fixed myself a decent breakfast, for time was on my side. I didn’t know, nor did anyone warn me, that Tokyoites are not early risers and thus, it is unusual to retail establishments, other than those of grocery or convenience kind, to be open before 10:30 or more likely 11:00 on weekends. Therefore, I had almost an hour to kill before the stores opened, and money, I could spend. Thus, little old Jason explored the local area, going up backstreets and down alleyways, savouring the sights and sounds and digging the general atmosphere of the place.

Of course, I now know I could have gone down to a store called Don Quijote, affectionately known as Donki, which opens its door at the shockingly early time of seven ante meridiem. But, I didn’t know that at the time, and to be honest, you really do need to mentally prepare yourself for a visit to the haven of bargains, narrow aisles and crushing tourists that is your average Donki.

One of the more globally well-known Japanese clothing brands must surely be Uniqlo, yes, it’s from Japan and not some European nation like many believe! I do like the store, its clothes and the whole vibe of the place, but perhaps it is a little young for me. However, I do rather prefer its slightly cheaper and more encompassing subsidiary GU. For me, the conventionally stylish and unadorned by big brand branding, garments that GU offer are, right up my street, as it were. Thus, at just gone 12:30, I was emerging from the said flagship store with a large big brown paper bag containing a pair of shorts, a hoodie, two caps, two jersey-type shirts and six t-shirts. A smile upon my face, not least because I hadn’t packed t-shirts and needed lighter clothes more practical for the local climatic conditions, but also for the 10% tax reduction I received for being a visitor to this beautiful country.

Oddly, the walk homeward seemed somewhat shorter, and I was rather pleased with myself for making it all the way to Ginza and back without needing Google Maps to aid direction. Although after I dropped off my GU goodies, I tootled round to the local supermarket for supplies, including bogrolls and bananas. Two crucial things for an international traveller, I’m sure you’ll agree, although I did get some more things, like bread, rice, and other such delights for dinner.

I turned left and then left again out of my apartment building this Sunday morning and strolled like an old fart along the banks of the river. My leisurely ambling took me just down to Sumidagawa-Ohashi Bridge, which carried me across the river before I made my way back home on the opposite bank. It was rather peaceful, despite being a Mecca for joggers of all ages and courting couples from the younger generation, all making the most of the oasis of calm. At various points along the riverside, there are beds of either wild or cultivated flowers, which combine with sections of shrubs and bushes to add to the beauty of the waterway. If you ever come to Tokyo, I suggest you take a walk down this way, it's an ideal way to relax and enjoy a peaceful part of the city.

I’ll have to go now, the wind is picking up and I’ll have to retrieve the washing from the balcony before it blows away and someone crossing the Shin-Ohashi Bridge gets a face full of my undercrackers!

News or no news.....

2026-04-09T09:22:00.000+01:00

It is Thursday, 9th April, 2026, and I’m sitting down to type this after returning from a domestic shopping trip and a walk. A walk that has seen me, according to a pedometer step-counting app downloaded on my smartphone, take 18369 steps, the approximate equivalent of 6.38 miles. Now, you may think that’s quite a mediocre amount, but let me tell you that for a fat fifty-six-year-old with a metal knee and Plantar fasciitis, it is a blooming mammoth amount.

I’ve just drunk a mug of strong black coffee and opened up the Sky News website, but I can’t help but sigh despondently at the headlines:- ‘US and Israel have violated ceasefire, say Iran – as more than 250 killed in Lebanon strikes’ ‘Massive destruction in Lebanon’s capital’ ‘‘Democracy kills’- The self-styled revolutionary turning his back on the West’ and ‘Artemis crew face questions as mission enters final stretch’. Each story vies for attention on the first part of the screen, which in the days of newspapers, would have been termed ‘before the fold’. I’m not sure which story to click on first; none of them sounds like good news. There is a lack of anything nice or indeed remotely positive. I give up and make another mug of coffee!

It is a little after three in the afternoon, my feet, or rather, just my right foot – the one with Plantar thingamabob- aches, not surprising considering the walking I’ve completed today after leaving the apartment not long before eight-thirty this morning. I’ve closed the news down, I’m not in the mood to read more about death and destruction in Lebanon, nor have I the will to expose myself to the latest craziness of Donald Trump’s and Benjamin Netanyahu’s ill-fated and absurdly injudicious war with Iran. The news is so depressing these days that sometimes, I just need a little respite from the madness of it all and live in a blissful bubble of ignorance, at least for a while.

The reason for my venturing out this morning was to buy myself an extension cord, a packet of bin bags, dish cloths and possibly a plant. Hardly the most exciting of retail excursions, however, I’m pleased to say, mission accomplished, although the plant has metamorphosed into an artificial mini Hydrangea Bush. Which is perhaps a more sensible option, I’m not in the slightest green-fingered folk, and even I can’t kill something that’s made of polyester and polyethylene.

I also nipped into a supermarket just around the corner before coming home to get something healthy for dinner. If you’re interested: salad, bread, rice cakes will be followed by pineapple, pear and grapefruit. Also sneaking into my basket were some mini chocolate-filled buns and a small bar of white chocolate, so my desire to have a healthy day has somewhat been tarnished by my complete lack of willpower to avoid sweet things and treats!

I’ve just paused to head out on the balcony to see where a loud and somewhat harmonious siren of a passing ambulance was coming from or heading to. Yet, despite its sonorous tones reaching me up on the seventh floor, I could not locate the said emergency vehicle or see where it was heading. Instead, I busied myself with a brief look at a boat chugging up the never-ceasing undulations of the river below. I do like the view, the river, the way the sunlight dances off the waves and wakes like thousands of tiny mirrors. I always find rivers, just like the sea, to have a calming effect upon me. However, coming back to the keyboard, I fear you could take me to Trading Standards and complain about the title of this blog. Not the diary bit, but the seafront bit. You see, right now, I am not residing on the coast, nope, I am quite a few kilometres away from any particular seafront!

Nine days ago, I left my flat on the seafront just outside Hastings after more than a decade and headed somewhere completely different, although still with a view of rippling water. This time it isn’t the English Channel that greets my eyes each morning, but the darker river, called Sumida, that flows some sixteen or so miles from Iwabuchi to Tokyo Bay. Yes, you’re right, it isn’t in the UK, but the archipelago of Japan and the major city of Tokyo, to be more precise.

I came to Japan for a six-week holiday in November and December last year and really enjoyed myself, so much so that when my tenancy came to an end in St Leonard’s, I thought little of boarding a passing Boeing 787-9 and flying more than thirteen hours to the land of the rising sun!

I’ve rented an apartment on the river for three months, which is the length of an initial tourist visa given upon arrival to British citizens. There is a possibility to extend the visa for another ninety days, making a total of six months' stay. I’ve already informed the lettings company that I do intend to extend my stay here as I sample ‘living’ in Japan rather than just ‘visiting’ it as a tourist.

Right now, I know little Japanese, except good morning, thank you very much and how to ask the way to the nearest train station or where the toilet is, but I’m sure I’ll pick up more the longer I stay here. However, right now, the Google Lens app with its language translation function is a vital addition to my daily life in a land where the local language contains three different writing styles. Although, as anyone who has ever been here will tell you, a lot of products offered for sale in the numerous convenience stores also proclaim their contents in English. Equally, many of the street signs, trains, subways and buses are in both Japanese and English, thus ensuring even the most language-limited visitor can get by.

I’ll show you around the apartment at another time. Right now, my stomach is rumbling loudly, informing me it needs food, something it hasn’t had since breakfast around six-thirty this morning, and, for a fatty like me, is a long time ago!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

2026-04-06T09:46:00.000+01:00

Hello again, how the flippin’ ‘eck are you?

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

I’m not even sure when the last time I was here, putting words in some sort of order to resemble a sentence that would form vague, coherent thoughts. Nor can I recall a time when you were here reading those very words!

I’m not sure where to begin, what to say, how to fill you in on all the intervening time, since last we communicated, if indeed we ever did. For all I know, this could be the very first time you’ve stumbled upon these very pages, which was once upon a time, called a blog.

So, if you are new around here, I’m Jason, although most people call me Jay. I’m a man, now well into my fifties, and I used to be a committed blogger. [insert your own joke about how I should have been committed years ago] I would write various entries in this space, some about current affairs, some news, essays of my mind, gay lifestyle-related stuff, but mostly I was just documenting my life in all its glory or lack thereof. I’d let my fingers dance upon the keys on a weekly basis, although it was quite often much more than weekly. I’d sometimes pour my heart out in this sphere of the internet for your delectation, desire or derision. There was very little that was ‘off limits’; I was as open as Dartmoor; indeed, I used to have a little motto proudly proclaiming, ‘my life if an open book, it just needs you to turn the page!’

Then one day, I wasn’t there, or here, or ...well, you get my meaning. I just stopped coming by so regularly, until one morning, I just stopped blogging altogether. I sincerely wish I could recall the reason, or reasons, why my mind could no longer drag up the enthusiasm to sit at a desk, in front of a keyboard and let letters spew forth into words. But, I can’t, not really, sure there are vague reminiscences of death threats, of boredom, of life changes, but the fog of forgetfulness is rather thick over those times. In my defence, the last proper bloggy type post here was more than a decade ago, so I hope I can be forgiven for not exactly being as sharp as a…..sharp thing as far as memory goes!

Yes, it was back in October of 2013 that I was last here, properly, and that post was a groan about customer service from the local supermarket and how a complaint had resulted in a £10 voucher to say sorry. I’ve just reread that post, and it was, is, and forever will be a little on the dull side, but then again, life isn’t all rapid fire excitement! That post, like all the others are still here, in an electronic archive of sorts. I could, if I so desired, click a few buttons and republish the lot. Once again, the inner workings of my mind and soul could be out in the open and that diary of my life in the form of 1286 blog posts be in the public domain. I’m not sure I want to do that, the oldest one seems to date back to October 2007, and I’m not sure how interesting something from that long ago really is in these current crazy times.

Although thinking about it, my first blog wasn’t here, it was on a thing called ‘expage’, which was a web hosting platform from back in the day. I think it dates back to 1997 or thereabouts, but my expages are of the year 2000 vintage. Oh what fun it was back then, you didn’t need to know how to code to create simple designs and colourful pages. Yes, by today’s standards it looks more like Ceefax or Oracle than a website, but back in those days it was ‘funky’ at least I thought so!

Thanks to the WayBack Machine, that blog is still there, yes, all archived, dusty and unedited. I read a tiny sample of it the other day, and it made me cringe; it honestly did. But, hey, I’m sure if you were to look over the things you did in the year 2000, assuming, of course, you were around back then, you’d experience a similar sensation of embarrassment and shame. One day I suppose, I might just be brave enough to post a link to it, you never know!

When I originally decided to come back to the blogosphere, I was going to dedicate the first post to catching you up on what had occurred since I was last here. However, considering it was back in 2013 or so, that might be a bit of a tall order. No, not might, it certainly would be a mammoth undertaking to type all that stuff, so much so that my fingers would be worn down to blistered stubby knuckles and your eyes would be bloodshot and bleary [more than they are normally!] before you got even halfway. So, let's just whizz through some headlines….. I changed jobs, I moved home, my mother died of cancer, my brother took his own life, my father died of cancer, I’ve had some bits cut out of my body, I’ve retired, I’ve put on weight, I’ve taken some of it off again, I’ve travelled and yet, after all this time, I still have a hankering for cheesecake!

Phew, that was a long one! 918 words long to be exact, although, now that I’ve typed that, it is 932 words long, of which around 700 are superfluous to requirements!

Thank you for reading this far, if indeed you have, and, in the words of Chris Mason, you clearly ooze stamina. I’ll be back soon with another post, to let you know where I am, what I’m doing and how I’m doing it. It would be great if you’d come back and say hi, especially if you used to come and visit me in times passed and past! I’d equally like it if this is your first time here, if you popped up to say hello, if you’re so inclined.

Coming back soon.................

2026-03-17T15:23:00.000+00:00

The old-style Seafront Diary is coming back.

After a lot of thought, a change in circumstances, the death of my father and lack of reasons not to, I'll be coming back with a new version of the blog. It will take a while to get up and running again, and I'm not sure exactly how things will progress; however, I do miss not being active in this sphere of the online world.

Over the next few weeks, I'll reinstate the archive, if it can stand the test of time. I'll also do a brief update on what has occurred in life since the last time I was here, so hopefully you'll enjoy that.

If you were here before, please do leave a comment and thank you for popping back. If you're new around here, also please feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you'd like to see or learn.

Where I Lived, and What I Lived For

2020-04-27T10:22:00.002+01:00

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary.

I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world;

or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.

Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains.

Henry David Thoreau, "Where I Lived, and What I Lived For"

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

2020-04-20T09:48:00.001+01:00

Gather ye Rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to day,
To morrow will be dying.

The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a getting;
The sooner will his Race be run,
And neerer he's to Setting.

That Age is best, which is the first,
When Youth and Blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times, still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry

Robert Herrick

O Captain! My Captain!

2020-04-13T09:44:00.002+01:00

O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Written in 1865 by Walt Whitman

Break, Break, Break - Tennyson

2017-09-03T13:49:00.001+01:00

Break, Break, Break
BY ALFRED TENNYSON
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O, well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

Idylls of the King - Tennyson

2017-08-27T13:49:00.001+01:00

Idylls of the King: The Passing of Arthur
BY ALFRED TENNYSON

That story which the bold Sir Bedivere,
First made and latest left of all the knights,
Told, when the man was no more than a voice
In the white winter of his age, to those
With whom he dwelt, new faces, other minds.

For on their march to westward, Bedivere,
Who slowly paced among the slumbering host,
Heard in his tent the moanings of the King:

"I found Him in the shining of the stars,
I mark'd Him in the flowering of His fields,
But in His ways with men I find Him not.
I waged His wars, and now I pass and die.
O me! for why is all around us here
As if some lesser god had made the world,
But had not force to shape it as he would,
Till the High God behold it from beyond,
And enter it, and make it beautiful?
Or else as if the world were wholly fair,
But that these eyes of men are dense and dim,
And have not power to see it as it is:
Perchance, because we see not to the close;—
For I, being simple, thought to work His will,
And have but stricken with the sword in vain;
And all whereon I lean'd in wife and friend
Is traitor to my peace, and all my realm
Reels back into the beast, and is no more.
My God, thou hast forgotten me in my death:
Nay—God my Christ—I pass but shall not die."

Then, ere that last weird battle in the west,
There came on Arthur sleeping, Gawain kill'd
In Lancelot's war, the ghost of Gawain blown
Along a wandering wind, and past his ear
Went shrilling, "Hollow, hollow all delight!
Hail, King! to-morrow thou shalt pass away.
Farewell! there is an isle of rest for thee.
And I am blown along a wandering wind,
And hollow, hollow, hollow all delight."
And fainter onward, like wild birds that change
Their season in the night and wail their way
From cloud to cloud, down the long wind the dream
Shrill'd; but in going mingled with dim cries
Far in the moonlit haze among the hills,
As of some lonely city sack'd by night,
When all is lost, and wife and child with wail
Pass to new lords; and Arthur woke and call'd,
"Who spake? A dream. O light upon the wind,
Thine, Gawain, was the voice—are these dim cries
Thine? or doth all that haunts the waste and wild
Mourn, knowing it will go along with me?"

This heard the bold Sir Bedivere and spake:
"O me, my King, let pass whatever will,
Elves, and the harmless glamour of the field;
But in their stead thy name and glory cling
To all high places like a golden cloud
For ever: but as yet thou shalt not pass.
Light was Gawain in life, and light in death
Is Gawain, for the ghost is as the man;
And care not thou for dreams from him, but rise—
I hear the steps of Modred in the west,
And with him many of thy people, and knights
Once thine, whom thou hast loved, but grosser grown
Than heathen, spitting at their vows and thee.
Right well in heart they know thee for the King.
Arise, go forth and conquer as of old."

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
"Far other is this battle in the west
Whereto we move, than when we strove in youth,
And brake the petty kings, and fought with Rome,
Or thrust the heathen from the Roman wall,
And shook him thro' the north. Ill doom is mine
To war against my people and my knights.
The king who fights his people fights himself.
And they my knights, who loved me once, the stroke
That strikes them dead is as my death to me.
Yet let us hence, and find or feel a way
Thro' this blind haze, which ever since I saw
One lying in the dust at Almesbury,
Hath folded in the passes of the world."

Then rose the King and moved his host by night,
And ever push'd Sir Modred, league by league,
Back to the sunset bound of Lyonnesse—
A land of old upheaven from the abyss
By fire, to sink into the abyss again;
Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt,
And the long mountains ended in a coast
Of ever-shifting sand, and far away
The phantom circle of a moaning sea.
There the pursuer could pursue no more,
And he that fled no further fly the King;
And there, that day when the great light of heaven
Burn'd at his lowest in the rolling year,
On the waste sand by the waste sea they closed.
Nor ever yet had Arthur fought a fight
Like this last, dim, weird battle of the west.
A deathwhite mist slept over sand and sea:
Whereof the chill, to him who breathed it, drew
Down with his blood, till all his heart was cold
With formless fear; and ev'n on Arthur fell
Confusion, since he saw not whom he fought.

For friend and foe were shadows in the mist,
And friend slew friend not knowing whom he slew;
And some had visions out of golden youth,
And some beheld the faces of old ghosts
Look in upon the battle; and in the mist
Was many a noble deed, many a base,
And chance and craft and strength in single fights,
And ever and anon with host to host
Shocks, and the splintering spear, the hard mail hewn,
Shield-breakings, and the clash of brands, the crash
Of battleaxes on shatter'd helms, and shrieks
After the Christ, of those who falling down
Look'd up for heaven, and only saw the mist;
And shouts of heathen and the traitor knights,
Oaths, insult, filth, and monstrous blasphemies,
Sweat, writhings, anguish, labouring of the lungs
In that close mist, and cryings for the light,
Moans of the dying, and voices of the dead.

Last, as by some one deathbed after wail
Of suffering, silence follows, or thro' death
Or deathlike swoon, thus over all that shore,
Save for some whisper of the seething seas,
A dead hush fell; but when the dolorous day
Grew drearier toward twilight falling, came
A bitter wind, clear from the North, and blew
The mist aside, and with that wind the tide
Rose, and the pale King glanced across the field
Of battle: but no man was moving there;
Nor any cry of Christian heard thereon,
Nor yet of heathen; only the wan wave
Brake in among dead faces, to and fro
Swaying the helpless hands, and up and down
Tumbling the hollow helmets of the fallen,
And shiver'd brands that once had fought with Rome,
And rolling far along the gloomy shores
The voice of days of old and days to be.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere,
And whiter than the mist that all day long
Had held the field of battle was the King:

"Hearest thou this great voice that shakes the world,
And wastes the narrow realm whereon we move,
And beats upon the faces of the dead,
My dead, as tho' they had not died for me?—
O Bedivere, for on my heart hath fall'n
Confusion, till I know not what I am,
Nor whence I am, nor whether I be King.
Behold, I seem but King among the dead."

Then spake the bold Sir Bedivere: "My King,
King everywhere! and so the dead have kings,
There also will I worship thee as King.
Yet still thy life is whole, and still I live
Who love thee; but who hates thee, he that brought
The heathen back among us, yonder stands,
Modred, unharm'd, the traitor of thine house."

Then spake the King: "My house hath been my doom.
But call not thou this traitor of my house
Who hath but dwelt beneath one roof with me.
My house are rather they who sware my vows,
Yea, even while they brake them, own'd me King.
And well for thee, saying in my dark hour,
When all the purport of my throne hath fail'd,
That quick or dead thou hottest me for King.
King am I, whatsoever be their cry;
And one last act of kinghood shalt thou see
Yet, ere I pass." And uttering this the King
Made at the man: then Modred smote his liege
Hard on that helm which many a heathen sword
Had beaten thin; while Arthur at one blow,
Striking the last stroke with Excalibur,
Slew him, and all but slain himself, he fell.

So all day long the noise of battle roll'd
Among the mountains by the winter sea;
Until King Arthur's Table, man by man,
Had fall'n in Lyonnesse about their lord,
King Arthur. Then, because his wound was deep,
The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,
And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,
A broken chancel with a broken cross,
That stood on a dark strait of barren land:
On one side lay the Ocean, and on one
Lay a great water, and the moon was full.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
"The sequel of to-day unsolders all
The goodliest fellowship of famous knights
Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep
They sleep—the men I loved. I think that we
Shall never more, at any future time,
Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
Walking about the gardens and the halls
Of Camelot, as in the days that were.
I perish by this people which I made,—
Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again
To rule once more; but, let what will be, be,
I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm
That without help I cannot last till morn.
Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,
Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how
In those old days, one summer noon, an arm
Rose up from out the bosom of the lake,
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
Holding the sword—and how I row'd across
And took it, and have worn it, like a king;
And, wheresoever I am sung or told
In aftertime, this also shall be known:
But now delay not: take Excalibur,
And fling him far into the middle mere:
Watch what thou seëst, and lightly bring me word."

To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere:
"It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus,
Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm—
A little thing may harm a wounded man;
Yet I thy hest will all perform at full,
Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word."

So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept,
And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,
Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men,
Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang
Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down
By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock,
Came on the shining levels of the lake.

There drew he forth the brand Excalibur,
And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon,
Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth
And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt:
For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks,
Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work
Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long
That both his eyes were dazzled as he stood,
This way and that dividing the swift mind,
In act to throw: but at the last it seem'd
Better to leave Excalibur conceal'd
There in the many-knotted waterflags,
That whistled stiff and dry about the marge.
So strode he back slow to the wounded King.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
"Hast thou perform'd my mission which I gave?
What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?"

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
"I heard the ripple washing in the reeds,
And the wild water lapping on the crag."

To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale:
"Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name,
Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd
Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight:
For surer sign had follow'd, either hand
Or voice, or else a motion of the mere.
This is a shameful thing for men to lie.
Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again,
As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing
I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word."

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time
Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere,
Counting the dewy pebbles, fix'd in thought;
But when he saw the wonder of the hilt,
How curiously and strangely chased, he smote
His palms together, and he cried aloud:

"And if indeed I cast the brand away,
Surely a precious thing, one worthy note,
Should thus be lost for ever from the earth,
Which might have pleased the eyes of many men.
What good should follow this, if this were done?
What harm, undone? Deep harm to disobey,
Seeing obedience is the bond of rule.
Were it well to obey then, if a king demand
An act unprofitable, against himself?
The King is sick, and knows not what he does.
What record, or what relic of my lord
Should be to aftertime, but empty breath
And rumours of a doubt? But were this kept,
Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings,
Some one might show it at a joust of arms,
Saying, 'King Arthur's sword, Excalibur,
Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake.
Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps
Upon the hidden bases of the hills.'
So might some old man speak in the aftertime
To all the people, winning reverence.
But now much honour and much fame were lost."

So spake he, clouded with his own conceit,
And hid Excalibur the second time,
And so strode back slow to the wounded King.

Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily:
"What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?'

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
"I heard the water lapping on the crag,
And the long ripple washing in the reeds."

To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath:
"Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue,
Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me!
Authority forgets a dying king,
Laid widow'd of the power in his eye
That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art,
For thou, the latest-left of all my knights,
In whom should meet the offices of all,
Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt;
Either from lust of gold, or like a girl
Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.
Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice,
And the third time may prosper, get thee hence:
But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur,
I will arise and slay thee with my hands."

Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran,
And, leaping down the ridges, lightly, plunged
Among the bulrush beds, and clutch'd the sword,
And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great brand
Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon,
And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an arch,
Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,
Seen where the moving isles of winter shock
By night, with noises of the Northern Sea.
So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur:
But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm
Clothed in white samite, mystic wonderful,
And caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him
Three times, and drew him under in the mere.
And lightly went the other to the King.

Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath:
"Now see I by thine eyes that this is done.
Speak out: what is it thou hast heard, or seen?"

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
"Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems
Should blind my purpose, for I never saw,
Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die,
Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men,
So great a miracle as yonder hilt.
Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him;
But when I look'd again, behold an arm,
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
That caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him
Three times, and drew him under in the mere."

And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard:
"My end draws nigh; 'tis time that I were gone.
Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,
And bear me to the margin; yet I fear
My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die."

So saying, from the pavement he half rose,
Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm,
And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes
As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere
Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears,
And would have spoken, but he found not words;
Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee,
O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands,
And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs.

But, as he walk'd, King Arthur panted hard,
Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed
When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King,
Muttering and murmuring at his ear, "Quick, quick!
I fear it is too late, and I shall die."
But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge,
Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk'd,
Larger than human on the frozen hills.
He heard the deep behind him, and a cry
Before. His own thought drove him like a goad.
Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves
And barren chasms, and all to left and right
The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based
His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang
Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels—
And on a sudden, lo! the level lake,
And the long glories of the winter moon.

Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge,
Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern,
Beneath them; and descending they were ware
That all the decks were dense with stately forms,
Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream—by these
Three Queens with crowns of gold: and from them rose
A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars,
And, as it were one voice, an agony
Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills
All night in a waste land, where no one comes,
Or hath come, since the making of the world.

Then murmur'd Arthur, "Place me in the barge."
So to the barge they came. There those three Queens
Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept.
But she, that rose the tallest of them all
And fairest, laid his head upon her lap,
And loosed the shatter'd casque, and chafed his hands,
And call'd him by his name, complaining loud,
And dropping bitter tears against a brow
Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white
And colourless, and like the wither'd moon
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east;
And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops
Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls—
That made his forehead like a rising sun
High from the daïs-throne—were parch'd with dust
Or, clotted into points and hanging loose,
Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips.
So like a shatter'd column lay the King;
Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest,
From spur to plume a star of tournament,
Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged
Before the eyes of ladies and of kings.

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere:
"Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?
Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?
For now I see the true old times are dead,
When every morning brought a noble chance,
And every chance brought out a noble knight.
Such times have been not since the light that led
The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.
But now the whole Round Table is dissolved
Which was an image of the mighty world,
And I, the last, go forth companionless,
And the days darken round me, and the years,
Among new men, strange faces, other minds."

And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge:
"The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfils himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May He within himself make pure! but thou,
If thou shouldst never see my face again,
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
For what are men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a blind life within the brain,
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
For so the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
But now farewell. I am going a long way
With these thou seëst—if indeed I go
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)—
To the island-valley of Avilion;
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns
And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea,
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound."

So said he, and the barge with oar and sail
Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere
Revolving many memories, till the hull
Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn,
And on the mere the wailing died away.

But when that moan had past for evermore,
The stillness of the dead world's winter dawn
Amazed him, and he groan'd, The King is gone.''
And therewithal came on him the weird rhyme,
"From the great deep to the great deep he goes."

Whereat he slowly turn'd and slowly clomb
The last hard footstep of that iron crag;
Thence mark'd the black hull moving yet, and cried,
"He passes to be King among the dead,
And after healing of his grievous wound
He comes again; but—if he come no more—
O me, be yon dark Queens in yon black boat,
Who shriek'd and wail'd, the three whereat we gazed
On that high day, when, clothed with living light,
They stood before his throne in silence, friends
Of Arthur, who should help him at his need?"

Then from the dawn it seem'd there came, but faint
As from beyond the limit of the world,
Like the last echo born of a great cry,
Sounds, as if some fair city were one voice
Around a king returning from his wars.

Thereat once more he moved about, and clomb
Ev'n to the highest he could climb, and saw,
Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand,
Or thought he saw, the speck that bare the King,
Down that long water opening on the deep
Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go
From less to less and vanish into light.
And the new sun rose bringing the new year.

Sunday Poem

2017-08-20T13:42:00.000+01:00

Big City Dreams

Do you ever look around this city, this place you call home,

Can you look beyond the buildings, passed the glitz and glamour

Do you ever see the real life hiding in the shadows of plain sight,

Do you ever wonder where the homeless go at night?

Have you seen the old war vet walking down by the river?

His clothes are in rags and he gazes to the sky,

All he wants is for those memories to die,

Alone at night he cries, for the living and the dead, all those spirits that wont ever leave his head.

Big city dreams aren’t big city realities.

Jay’s a singer, off to another show, guitar on his back, walking on his own

In some west side dive bar, he pours his heart out to a beer smelling microphone,

He’s travelled all over the world, seen to all kinds of places, drives a big fancy car,

But you can travel ten thousand miles and still stay where you are.

And you know, big city dreams hardly ever become big city realities.

Sue over there works in a grocery store downtown.

She keeps the shelves stacked just right, from morning to night,

Yet deep inside her head she’s wearing her white lacy wedding gown,

For you know one day she prays, she’ll find her Mr Right.

And whilst it hasn’t happened yet, maybe one day big city dreams will become big city realities.

You see that boy waiting at the corner with the crooked smile and hair of gold,

Not even out of his teens, yet he’s learnt how to work his assets and turn on the charm,

He hasn’t much to sell, just lay fifty bucks down and he considers his ass sold,

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, but dreams don’t protect you from harm.

And the city streets bleed me dry, big city dreams always make me cry, for big city dreams hardly ever become big city realities.

So I ask again, do you ever look around this city you call home?

Do you ever see the real life hiding in the shadows of plain sight?

That place where the invisible people roam.

Do you ever wonder where the homeless go at night?

Big city dreams ain’t big city realities, no quick fix solutions, no streets paved of gold,

Yet every hour they come with heads full of dreams and hearts full of hope,

It wont take long on the streets for the young to grow old.

The only hope comes from an empty bottle and the end of a piece of knotted rope.

Big city dreams never do come true, never become big city realities.

Maud XVIII - Tennyson

2016-09-24T11:47:00.001+01:00

Maud XVIII: I have led her Home, my love, my only friend
BY ALFRED TENNYSON

I have led her home, my love, my only friend,
There is none like her, none.
And never yet so warmly ran my blood
And sweetly, on and on
Calming itself to the long-wished-for end,
Full to the banks, close on the promised good.

None like her, none.
Just now the dry-tongued laurels’ pattering talk
Seem’d her light foot along the garden walk,
And shook my heart to think she comes once more;
But even then I heard her close the door,
The gates of Heaven are closed, and she is gone.

There is none like her, none.
Nor will be when our summers have deceased.
O, art thou sighing for Lebanon
In the long breeze that streams to thy delicious East,
Sighing for Lebanon,
Dark cedar, tho’ thy limbs have here increased,
Upon a pastoral slope as fair,

And looking to the South, and fed
With honeyed rain and delicate air,
And haunted by the starry head
Of her whose gentle will has changed my fate,
And made my life a perfumed altar-frame;
And over whom thy darkness must have spread
With such delight as theirs of old, thy great
Forefathers of the thornless garden, there
Shadowing the snow-limbed Eve from whom she came.

Here will I lie, while these long branches sway,
And you fair stars that crown a happy day
Go in and out as if at merry play,
Who am no more so all forlorn,
As when it seemed far better to be born
To labour and the mattock-hardened hand
Than nursed at ease and brought to understand
A sad astrology, the boundless plan
That makes you tyrants in your iron skies,
Innumerable, pitiless, passionless eyes,
Cold fires, yet with power to burn and brand
His nothingness into man.

But now shine on, and what care I,
Who in this stormy gulf have found a pearl
The countercharm of space and hollow sky,
And do accept my madness, and would die
To save from some slight shame one simple girl.

Would die; for sullen-seeming Death may give
More life to Love than is or ever was
In our low world, where yet ’tis sweet to live.
Let no one ask me how it came to pass;
It seems that I am happy, that to me
A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass,
A purer sapphire melts into the sea.

Not die; but live a life of truest breath,
And teach true life to fight with mortal wrongs.
Oh, why should Love, like men in drinking-songs,
Spice his fair banquet with the dust of death?

Make answer, Maud my bliss,
Maud made my Maud by that long loving kiss,
Life of my life, wilt thou not answer this?
“The dusky strand of Death inwoven here
With dear Love’s tie, makes love himself more dear.”
Is that enchanted moan only the swell
Of the long waves that roll in yonder bay?
And hark the clock within, the silver knell
Of twelve sweet hours that past in bridal white,
And die to live, long as my pulses play;
But now by this my love has closed her sight
And given false death her hand, and stol’n away
To dreamful wastes where footless fancies dwell

Among the fragments of the golden day.
May nothing there her maiden grace affright!
Dear heart, I feel with thee the drowsy spell.
My bride to be, my evermore delight,
My own heart’s heart, my ownest own, farewell;
It is but for a little space I go:
And ye meanwhile far over moor and fell
Beat to the noiseless music of the night!
Has our whole earth gone nearer to the glow
Of your soft splendour that you look so bright?
I have climbed nearer out of lonely Hell.
Beat, happy stars, timing with things below,
Beat with my heart more blest than heart can tell.
Blest, but for some dark undercurrent woe
That seems to draw—but it shall not be so:
Let all be well, be well.

Stolen words

2014-06-30T13:27:00.001+01:00

Do you walk in beauty, like the night?
Please tell me, for I’d love to know.
Can I compare you to a summer’s day, do I have the right?
Maybe we could walk hand in hand through a distant meadow,
Or down beside the lake and beneath the tree,
Would you allow me to paint your picture with bright orange poppies all around your head.
You’d laugh at all my thoughts, desires and dreams if I let them wander free,
Yet what else can I do when even my reality is equal to a dream.
I wish we could talk for hours and hours, there is so much to share,
But time is a gift so precious, there’s not a second to waste,
Oh this feeling that toys with my every waking thought is so rare,
Therefore it will not be something I’ll give up in haste.
These emotions are not new, as all the world can tell,
Even the words that tumble here have been used before, second hand for sure.
But does it matter, does it break the spell,
Of the truth that in my heart I could not love you more.

© 2013 Copyright

A Sunday poem

A Stranger on the Train.....

2014-04-01T19:07:00.003+01:00

The other day I was returning home from work on the train, it had been a particularly fraught and long day and therefore, my frame of mind was similarly clouded. There were a number of other passengers already in the carriage when I entered, sitting in the rather shabby green striped seats, some chatting with their fellow travelling companions, others reading books or newspapers, most just gazing out of the windows, minding their own business. I selected a free seat, without much aforethought and as the train pulled away, I looked forward to the conclusion of the journey when I’d arrive at the small apartment I call home. Although if the truth be known, I was more looking forward to a large glass of red that would be the first thing I’d attend to upon entering.

I like some of my fellow commuters without companions or other diversions of the various forms of written words, gazing out of the window and the scenery rushing past at an unknown speed. However, my absentminded mental meanderings were drawn back from the world outside the carriage to two young gentlemen sitting facing each other across the aisle from my position. There were tossing banter between themselves, whilst they weren’t unduly loud, due to the close proximity of the seating in the carriage, I couldn’t help but overhear their exchanges. They were jolly as their word play went back and forth like a ball between rackets in a game of tennis, and whilst perhaps they were not always the most verbally dextrous utterances, all seemed to contain an element of humour and jollity. It amused me and whilst I tried not to listen, I couldn’t help myself, occasionally smiling along with a particularly funny remark or verbal volley. Of course, my interest was also held by the fact that these two gentlemen, of mid-twenties estimated age, were rather easy on the eye; furthermore, one was captivatingly pretty and yes, I do mean pretty. His face, pure and unblemished, his dark hair cut short in a modern, yet timeless style, his eyes shining brightly and reasonably well-sized red lips rendered his face an almost jaw-dropping angelic beauty. Repeatedly during the slightly camp oral bat and ball game, he referred to himself by name, Michael Wilson, a name that entered my conscious mind and has since never left, a name that has sounded itself during dreams and more wakeful moments. My mood was lifted beyond any expectation or probability, and thus as the train arrived at my station, I really should have offered him, them a heartfelt thank you.

I saw his face, I know his name, he’ll never know mine, and yes, he was only a stranger on a train, our lives overlapped for less than thirty minutes, yet I know I’ll remember him and that moment forever. So wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, Michael Wilson, I thank you sincerely.

© 2014 Copyright

Maybe it's time to take another journey.......have you ever met a stranger on a train and formed a friendship or a relationship? Have you ever encountered a face in the crowd that has stayed with you for many months, years or decades?

The cathartic effects of getting dirty!

2014-03-17T14:57:00.000+00:00

Never underestimate the cathartic experience of getting dirty! There I was the other morning, hadn’t slept particularly well, kept thinking all manner of things relating to Matt and that whole situation, which prevented slumbers' sweet escape from washing over me. It’s funny how strange, sometimes silly things bring back memories of happier times, for example, even now, in my head, I still play the ’Punch Herbie/Slug Bug’ game each time I see a VW Beetle! I giggle to myself and sometimes aloud.

A friend asked me what the hardest part has been about the whole ‘USA Drama Thing’ as he called it, and after thinking for a good long while, I have to say that it probably is the lack of communication. OK, so the lack of relationship is a pretty big gap in life, but the lack of communication from him, before, during and after has been the most hurtful and most difficult to cope with. It raises far more questions than answers, and prevents any further dialogue between us. It also leaves me unable to scratch that itch of wondering how he is. It may sound a little odd given the circumstances, but I still do care for him. He may have fallen out of love with me and dumped me, but I didn’t fall out of love with him, and love is not something I can just turn off like a tap, or faucet if you're American. Which means I am constantly wondering about where he is, what he’s doing, and more importantly, if he’s OK. I could listen to the gossip from his friends, and believe that he’s going downhill, and downhill fast, that he is drinking and smoking and doing drugs, that he’s starting to be really dirty and having sex in public restrooms again.

These things and more well up in my mind, and it’s all to do with the lack of contact, the cessation of all communications. I can’t recall any other relationship where contact was withdrawn like this; perhaps that’s because up until now, I’ve always been the one to bring things to their conclusions, to their natural or unnatural end. Well, with the exception of Ed, with whom I’d lived for a number of years, and who ended our cohabitation and life together with the rather clinical “We have come to the end of the road of our relationship” It may have been clinical, perhaps a little cold, but it was accurate, succinct, to the point. But that didn’t stop us from being in contact with each other, indeed, a few times after reaching that particular cul-de-sac on life’s highway, we’d meet up and well......get passionate. In fact, don’t tell anyone, but I have to say that during one of those meetings we had some of the most rewarding and passionate sexual experiences of my life, for which I will always thank Ed the ex for, albeit silently and only on the pages of this here blog - it’s OK, he doesn’t read it!

All my other past relationships have come to an end on my terms at a time of my choosing and doing, but one thing I have done, and that is remained on at least speaking terms with all of them that wanted it. Just to end all forms of communication would be extremely cruel, calloused and hateful, not something I think I have the ability or desire to be. It was with these thoughts raging in my head and long with other more practicalities, such as taking the photos off the wall, packing away the silly cuddly plushy toys and other keepsakes and memorabilia that laid me low the other morning. I needed to clear my head, cleanse my body and something that would not take either money or too much brain power. I decided the bike would be the way to go. I needed a ride, I’ve started to pile on a few pounds since coming back from America again, something to do with the eating of American chocolate, which is, was and always will be my favourite.

The day previous had been wet and rainy, but the other morning was dry and clear, the blue skies masking the true temperature of the outside world. I started well, down the road towards Shoreham, no route or plan in my mind, just a little ride, not far, not long, just to get some fresh air and blow the cobwebs out. I’m not sure if I was on auto pilot, or the sounds of Death Cab For a Cutie, The Postal Service and Bright Eyes on the iPod was distracting me, but I found myself on the bridge over the river Adur, forward was the relatively dry roads around Shoreham Airport, behind me, the relatively dry road from which I’d just come. To the left of me, the dryish footpath leading the main road and cycle route along Shoreham Beach, and finally to my right, the Downs Link Way, which is a rather well used path way, but mainly on unsealed ground! Guess which way I chose?

At first, it was easy going, I built up a little speed, the damp ground of the gravel kicking up under the tyres a little, not a soul to see, just me, the freedom, the air. I cycled a bit faster, indeed top gear and as fast as my little legs could force the pedals round. Then the nice dry gravel gave way to mud, forcing me to navigate large pot holes filled with water, sloppy mud sides and heavy overhanging branches. It would have been easy to avoid such puddles, pools and mud had I been flying, or chosen a different route, but I wasn’t, and I didn’t. I was belting along, trying my best to steer round the biggest and deepest baby lakes of dirty muddy water, then I thought, what the hell, and cycled straight through the next one. Well, come on, there’s no point going off-road cycling in the damp, in the winter if you don’t wanna get wet, nor dirty for that matter. Suddenly, for the first time in months, I felt alive as the coldness of the water soaked through the trakkie bottoms I was wearing. My body tingled as the mud splattered up from the rapidly turning wheels all over my back, front side and head. I got to Bramber, not a mammoth distance, I’ll readily admit, but a great halfway point, from which I could have cycled back along the roadway, but nope, call me Queen Silly of the Silly people if you wish, but there was only one way back for me. Yep, back along the muddy track, that is the Downs Link. I’ve never been so wet, so muddy and dirty, even in my surprisingly well-kempt youth, as I was then, a couple of days ago. Brown chunks of mud clung to my face, my jacket was now three colours, white, blue and mud and my trakkie bottoms, well lets just say they have since dried to be a solid lump of earth with a waistband!

My muscles may have ached, my clothes may have been ruined, my face stinging from the wind, but my mind - cleared, refreshed indeed cleansed. For the first time in over a month, I felt like the real me again!

More soon, hopefully. Comments are always welcome, so thanks in advance!!

Hours and hours and more hours

2013-09-01T19:13:00.001+01:00

The frustrations of working in a call centre have increased tenfold this last couple of weeks as the company has seen fit to introduce a new rota of working hours with little under two weeks’ notice. It is an eleven week rolling rota that seems to have no redeeming qualities and lacks any form of worker friendliness. There is little uniformity or even normality within its schedule of shifts, some of which have increased in length by three or so hours and I’ve yet to hear any of my colleagues utter positive words about it. One of the key things I detest about this new schedule is a 30% increase in the number of late shifts, another aspect is the varying start times expected during the working week, thus rendering routine redundant. For example, one such week rolls along like this, Monday 0900 – 1730, Tuesday 0800 – 1700, Wednesday 0800 – 1630, Thursday 0830 – 1700, Friday 0830 – 1700. Another week sees me doing 1230 – 2100 on a Monday, 1030 – 2100 on the Tuesday, 1230 – 2100 on Wednesday, a later start on the Thursday whilst still working till 2100 and another 1230 – 2100 to round the week off. It’ll also mean I’ll be working three complete weekends and an additional three part (Saturday only) weekends. On top of timing frustrations is the revelation that bonus payments have come down, by £50 per month if individual targets are reach. It may not sound a lot, but when you’re working a minimum wage job, 50 quid is two weeks’ worth of groceries and money I can ill afford to lose. I could pontificate further of my dissatisfaction over a number of other work related issues, yet it’ll only bore you silly and cloud my happy mood whilst also give the impression that I’m noting but a stinky whinger, so I’ll stop here.

I suppose there is always a general sense of despondency when you realise you’ve made yet another mistake along life’s troubled highway, still we learn from our mistakes, don’t we?