and this is me, just letting them go.
Yes. Don Henley. Ruined. Believe it or not that, I'm probably coming to the end of my last serious stint in the area I was born and grew up in. I look at the world and I notice it's turning, while my guitar gently weeps. And so on.
I've also had a song cycling through my mind most of summer, not sure why as I've barely listened to it. It has also seemed remarkably irrelevent.
As a bit of background, the song is Robbie's tribute to him of the Blue Suede Shoes. The man that was and the legend that still is Elvis Presley. I'm not sure if this explains anything though - just a fact of the day for you...
Everybody knows Elvis. Iconic rock star cut down just after his prime. Akin to Norma Jean Davis - more commonly known as Marilyn Monroe. Not quite James Dean or JFK as they were hauled down in their prime. And to add another few more recent examples, Heath Ledger and Ayrton Senna. But I'm massively digressing, or could do if I keep namedropping. So it goes. My bad, Vonnegut on the brain too. He died recently as well, but he'd had his time, so it goes.
So, I'm thinking my childhood is Elvis. I'm slightly older than the 'prime' age for a child, but I can happily sack off the last few years, go back to the good old days when I was a pocket rocket.
If this was a movie, the image of grumpy grey-haired Giles would blur out, the reminiscent patter would fade into quiet, and with a crack of thunder the camera would pan from the flash of lightning across the stormy sky, down over the treetops, focus through the rain and gloom to a 5 year old, face down in a puddle. Saving Private Ryan esque, minus the beach. And the tanks. Drama!
But it's all good. Said 5 year old raises his head and you see the biggest grin in the world emerge over his mud-streaked, rain-soaked face. I'd just fallen over. My wellies were too big, it was late Autumn and so insanely muddy, the current downpour only one of many responsible. I got up, clutching a stick I had conveniently fallen next too. Nearly slipped again before I ran in the way only kids in wellies too big can to catch up my mother. Needless to say, she wasn't impressed. Told me to put down the stick, which the dog, also soaked and smelling gloriously of wet-dog, instantly picked up. Apparently I wasn't meant to go anywhere but the kitchen when I got back but who cares?
Some things never change, I nearly went arse over tip in the same place the other day when I went on a run.
Those woods were unbelievably fun. That particular puddle of mud is at the bottom of 'The MudSlide' In fact, if you get a good run on The Mudslide you go flying through the puddle of mud over the short ridge into a lower puddle of mudd. If you get a bad run, you go over that and into the stream, which is not good...
Anyway. Mudslide. When I was a little kid, I'd scramble halfway up and then slide down. When I got bigger I'd scramble to the top, and fly all the way down. And when I get to the bottom I'd go back to the top of the slide, where I'd stop and I'd turn and I'd go for a ride. Till I get to the bottom and I see you again. Ruined so many pairs of jeans that way. It's a good job we had 'nasty clothes' - the stuff we would go for walks in or had to wear when we went outside. They always had patches or holes in, and I always got them second generation, via my older brother. I think by the time our kid brother got them there was very little of the original item left, was just a patchwork. What I will say though, is never do it in shorts. World of pain. Grazes, and wedgie. You're never too young for a wedgie to hurt, a lot. Either way in between little kid and bigger kid I was medium kid. I wanted to do the 'Big Slide' but I was a bit wary. So of course, my inner engineer came out.
I wound up tying a truck wheelarch to a tree with a long rubber line. I don't know where either came from, but my reasoning, I presume, was that the wheelarch would stop me shredding myself and uber wedgies, and the rubber line would slow my descent.
Needless to say, I was wrong. The rubber line did not slow my descent. In fact, the lower friction coefficient of the wheelarch made it rather faster. Being pre-school I was not familiar with friction coefficients or indeed Hookes' Law. I didn't realise that the line would stretch and then snap back. So imagine my surprise when all of a sudden I was airbourne. I was without my wheelarch and I was gently arking through the air. Shoulder plant, barrel rolls. All shook up, bit dizzy. Shook myself down. Moral of the story? When you have two choices - you have to man up (definition 4). No pussyfooting about. You do either one or the other, don't try and go half and half - it never works.
So on down to The Motorbike Tree. Was actually probably younger here. Bit of an odd tree though? I don't even know why we called it The Motorbike Tree because it looks distinctly more helicopter like. Not that I would have said that, helicopters were still called wellyboppers back in those days. I don't know, maybe this tree was the reason chopper means both helicopter and Harley? Anyway, you can guess how it works... Humans of infant size can just about sit in the loop and drive the tree. Fun times.
I love the smell of morning in the morning. For some reason despite getting to bed (couch) after 3 I was wide awake at 6.44. Got up, had coffee and had a good old wander round outside. No sun, in fact slightly overcast. Autumnal equinox. To be honest, I could write forever and a day but in doing so would run the risk of diving into an all-encompassing sentimentality as it was so eloquently put to me. So, instead, pictures can do that for me, with some 'brief' annotation.
