Martin Bridgeman

Had one of those days I will admit…there’s been a little more darkness about but I’m sure I’m not alone in this…As Dr. Winston O’Boogie (in his alter ego John Lennon) said in his wisdom: “Strange days indeed”

Turns out the fall I had the other day had more than embarrassment attached. I gashed my arm badly so off to the surgery with me yesterday. Washed, cleaned and bandaged expertly I was looked after externally well, and safely and so I was happy that it was behind me. Iodine is great but man, I forgot how it stings. Does the job, but…

It also reminded me (as many things do nowadays) of home in 181. Always a bottle of iodine in Maisie’s press in the kitchen, along with plasters, poultices, cod liver oil and Parish’s Food. That last one is a vile but healthy concoction which was regularly forced down my gullet with the promise of a spoon of gooey malt from the jar as dessert. Healthy, as I say, but my facial contortions told another story. My earliest memory of something that was ‘good for me’ which made me wary of that phrase for many years.

Anyway, herself cleaned the wound again earlier and I winced again but it looked way better than it had done. Did a little work at the laptop and was trying to ages to find the right posture so as not the hit the arm off anything. As you’d expect, I managed to hit it off most things. Annoying more than anything else but another little reminder of how frail things can be. I’m not, for a moment, in any way comparing myself to others but chastening nonetheless. To give me perspective, a very dear friend texted me in the afternoon to say that his wife had been moved to a step down bed having spent three long weeks in an Intensive Care Unit. She’s getting better but the days are now filled with therapy, tentative walking, learning to swallow and little but important victories.

It gives you perspective.

I did my editing job while keeping the arm clear of the armrest and stood up. Shooting pains down the back. A little after thought by my body. Winced and got on with it. Did a little trip over to the in laws and walked in to town to get a few ‘messages’ – another of Maisie’s great words, so typical of her generation. Where would be without the messages?

People queued, sighed, queued some more and then, like most people I find, got on with it. Thankfully the rain held off. List in hand, in and out. Bent down to pick up something and winced again. Back along the aisle and got the paracetamol off the shelf and a bottle of water to wash it down.

I still had the walk home to come and discovered that my phone battery had drained so no way to cadge a lift. Dark clouds on the horizon too.

Great.

Decided to wait on the bus. I’ve been on it a total of three times. Luckily I had my bus card so sat down and hoped I wouldn’t be there long. I waited. It brought me back to a position I was regularly in on many bus journeys. Will I chance walking to next stop? Stay put?

I waited.

I figured the paracetamol would take time to kick in anyway so I sat on the bench. For reasons best known to the cosmos, ‘Kathy’s Song’ by Simon & Garfunkel came in to my head, an old favourite from the famous Greatest Hits, one of the great albums beloved of the bedsits, a companion to Leonard Cohen’s similar collection.

I thought back on the day I’d had, the birds making a gorgeous racket, the clock tower on High Street pealing, helping get a fix on what time it was. Needless to say, no phone, no watch, no idea of time. The only thing on my mind was this pain in the ribs and whether it was going to rain.  I sat. And waited a bit more.

I thought about a busy day on social media, connecting with a lot of people, for some reason mostly artists, almost all wondering out loud if they were the only ones who had found out that, it turns out, having all this extra time was not the only thing you needed to create something. I’d had this same thought and it seems it’s very much a live topic. Some are making the best of it, some are not happy and most were just resigned to having lost an excuse to get something done. More anon…

Not long after, the bus arrived. I stepped on board. The driver smiled a big smile and I tapped my card for only the fourth time. He had music playing. Fair play, says I, it must be awfully boring this time of night. He said the music helped alright.

It was Simon and Garfunkel.

We chatted about weather, the strange times and how, at our age, little trips and falls carry a little aftertaste: his after a game of rugby earlier with his son, me with my attempt to appeal the laws of gravity. Another connection, socially distant with a little reminder of the power of human contact.

Got off the bus. Walked the short distance home. In the door to the happy dog welcome, herself had the kettle on.

The rain pelted down. If I’d not waited and walked I’d have been drenched.

I’ll take that.

Stay safe…