Autumn rewards the weary soul with fruits of it's labour; Winter can lay a sparkling blanket of silver frost; Spring rejuvenate the coldest heart with bursting green promises of Summer; and then Summer, it gently pours buckets of cold water down your back and into your shoes.
It rained today, and rained a bit more. Saturday of all days. The dreaded early rise whilst the world slumbers..passing pissed up revellers on your way to the office and facing a drunken gauntlet of "hey postie/wanker!!" Scaring the scavenging seagulls (keeping the streets clean of vomit/kebabs), a mild sense of achievement before work.
It's not often I get a Saturday off. It's mostly those non-days such as Tuesday and Wednesday I get. I remember the 6 day week starting at 5 EVERY morning...Christ, what were we on?? how come I'm not dead?? Of course, the posties with their own walk get a long weekend every 6 weeks. Nice. I don't. It's a holiday lottery with me but then I do get to escape the 'Groundhog Day without the redemption' that is doing the same fucking streets, year in year out.
Any road, the rain fell and leached the cheap lurid inks out of the stinking Somerfield leaflets and onto my arm..staining a few limp soggy letters on the way. I don't mind the rain so much. The waterproofs are good but not that good. After a few hours they yield to the weather and everything is soaked. The mail becomes transparent and frankly embarrassing. I find it hard jamming papier-mache bank statements through a letterbox. I dropped a box of light bulbs (delightful things) in a puddle. They were already wet but now they were as one with water. I silently handed the befuddled old man a palm full of mush and two energy saver bulbs. at least the Mens Health mags are safe..hang on, who's health are they interested in these people? Have they never heard of getting off their arse and walking to the newsagent? It's my health that suffers lugging these homo-erotic slabs. Don't get me started on Cosmo. I trundle round this forsaken village, passing the same empty husks of humanity every day, shuffling behind their walking frames to the bus stop. It's the Truman Show without the laughs. They can't escape. There are no buses. half of the re directions on this walk are within the village..they just move a few houses down the street! God help them. A fresh start eh?
The hours pass and my tired sloshing body makes it home, steaming and shagged.
Now my shoes are stuffed with newspaper ready for another day. My leggings drape the chair. Ready to walk again another day.
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