SAVE THE PATH

SPRING HILL DESCENDING
a walk down Spring Hill

VALUE FOR MONEY

Daughter’s friend is here and I’m on show. More aware of my movements and the holes in my the upper of my right boot.
I cook and don’t say I’ve already cooked a beef stew at work because I’m embarrassed that it’s what I’ve done today and what I do for a living.
Thebus said, when he visited last week during his break, that he and I were like Bristol City, who I’d just said were frightened of success, of making the big time, winning promotion, which is why after reaching the top of the Championship they’ve developed a losing streak.
‘We’re the same,’ he said. ‘Not taking it that bit further, like getting a job we could do was interesting, paid well.’ He remembered Stuart the gardener. ‘We had similar skills but he had the voice, the accent and the volume, could talk his way into charging a lot for doing a little. Not like me I’d give it away, work for practically nothing.’
‘I fitted a bathroom once,’ I said, ‘and underestimated the cost of materials, paid for the extra out of what I was getting for the job, too scared to ask the woman I was doing it for. I thought she’d say, “No,” if I asked her and something like, “And you’re not worth what I’m paying you anyway.” I made something on it but not as much as I should have.’

HELPING OUR ENVIRONMENT

So far I like today.
UP late, worked on my final paper and thought about what I’d said to my daughter last night on the phone when she told me she’d invited a friend to stay tis Friday night.
‘Is that alright?’ she said.
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘Do you want me out the way?’
My mobile rang. It was DB.
‘I’m free the next two Saturdays, you want to get a gig at the cafe?’ he said.
‘I’ll take them a demo now and see what they say.’
That’s what I did and I’ll go back Thursday, see the manager, what he says.
After the cafe the library, took three books back and got a DVD out, then on to Otto’s where I bought a secondhand bass pedal for fifteen pounds.
‘It’s pretty basic,’ he said, ‘but it’ll do the job,’ when I said what I wanted was a dull thud for a beat.
‘There’s a certain glamour, if that’s the right word, to using a suitcase instead of a drum,’ I said.
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Character might be better,’ and I agreed.
I put the pedal in the re-usable bag I’d bought at Wilkinsons in Broadmead yesterday. It’s a black light canvas bag in the bottom right corner of which it says, “helping our environment,” written around the top of an image of the globe.
It’s reassuring to know that by simply walking around with shopping in a bag I’m “helping our environment.”

AN UNSOLICITED OPPORTUNITY

GoodDay,

I am Mrs Caroline Hawa from Sierra leone . I was married to Late Cheif Hawa Banura who was a contractor with the government of Cote D'Ivoire before he died after few days in the
hospital.

When my late husband was alive he deposited the sum of US$22.5 Million with a Bank in Cote D'lvoire. Presently this money is still in the custody of the Bank here in Cote DIvoire.

I want you to do me a favor and receive this money for the purpose of investment there in your country, If possible we can use your Bank account while transfering this money from Cote D'Ivoire to your country Or you can state up a new Bank account and forward the account particular's so that i will submit it to the Bank for the immediate transfer to take place.

I will like to invest some part of the money into these three investment there in your Country, But if there is any other business that is better than what we are suggesting, I will be very glad to follow your advice: 1° Pipe Industrial company. 2° Real estate. 3° Transportation Company.

If you can be of an assistance me I will be pleased to offer to you a very pleasant percentage of 25% Of the total fund while the balance will be invested by me. I await now for your soonest response.

Best Regard's,

Mrs Caroline Hawa.

THE OTHERS

Until yesterday morning when I woke and received the reply to a text I’d sent my daughter I’ve been waiting for a man to die. He was on his death bed for most of week saying goodbye to members of his family and then spent the last two days snoring...
...in Bristol me and the children waited...Thebus said, ‘Why shouldn’t he?’ when I expressed irritation at the hanging on.
The hours after his death I wrote a message to my ex-wife, sending my condolences. She hasn’t, at the time of writing, acknowledged my message...
...I was on the bus, my way to work, wondering what to say to her, wrote several drafts before deciding which one to send...
...now I think I said too much, was too intrusive with my remarks, would better served with something more general...
...thought about ex-wives, I’ve got two, one of whom, the first, I had a child with, my only child, which is why I remain in contact with her and not the other.
When my second wife left she said, ‘At least I won’t have to put up with her anymore,’ meaning my first wife. I didn’t say how glad I was not to have to see again, her father, who never said a word to me, who in fact pointedly ignored me every single time we met.

TWO GULLS ON A TRAIN

LOST LOVE LETTER

Miss you so much, its really hurting
being wothout you, Im finding it so hard
and 5 weeks is gonna go so slow if I
carry on feeling like this, cos my head
is constantly filled with worrys spinning
round my head. I hope you dont think Im
just being stupid, I hope you understand
what Im on about cos I know you always
worry about me cheating on you (which is
never gonna happen by the way). Im
sorry Ive gone on, I want you to know
babes that this isn’t an angry letter,
it’s just me being silly I hope, but
please reply to this straight away
so I get a letter back quickly, and be
completely honest with me in it ok cos
I really need you to be, dont just
write what you think I want to hear
write down exactly how you feel, deep
down in your heart. Tell me the honest
feelings you have, and I promise I’ll
take them in, whether they are good
or bad, I need to know for sure.
I want you to know that I love you,
really and truly deep down, this is why I
do worry so bad, cos I really dont wanna
loose you and the love we have. I promise
you that I will always be faithfull to
you and you should never worry that I
will go off with someone else ok.
As long as you want me by your side,
I’ll be there, as long as you want my
love and my heart you will have it. As
long as you want me in your life, I will
be. Im always gonna love you, I just know
I will, Im sorry if Ive been silly in this
letter, but I hope you know its only cos I
love you so much and care for you so much.
Every single little word I say to you in all
my letters I mean from deep in my heart,
so dont you be stupid like Im being and
ever doubt that ok babes. Please send my
V/o ASAP cos I have been apart from you.
Please reply to this straight away cos you
know Ill be worrying. I love you, I miss
you; Im always thinking of you. I wont
be happy until your back home with
me where you belong. All my love, Amy
xxxxxx

MSS REBECCA DEM

Dear, Sir/Madam

It's a pleasure writing you this letter, and to inform you about my intentions , My name is rebecca am a student of 21years old girl and I inherited a significant sum of amount, which I intend to invest in several fields, especially in real estate.

I am soliciting for a foreign partners who is serious and honest with whom I can associate with, for future investment, and also entrust the management of all my inheritance, I got your contact address in a search to get an honest person.

I have no concept of investment. I will like the money to be invested in your area of specialisation.Your suggestions and advice will be a great importance to me. I will highly appreciate your favourable response to this mail.
Your sincerely.

rebecca.

CEX TALK

In Cex, waiting: customers do a lot of waiting in Cex. Workers in Cex aren’t in a hurry to serve.
‘Anyone like the films of Sylvester Stallone?’ shouted one of the staff from behind the counter.
‘No,’ I said back at him.
‘You don’t have to be sarcastic, Sir,’ he said.
‘You asked a question, I gave an answer,’ I said. ‘And don’t forget,’ looking at the outraged face of someone’d not expected a reply in the first place, ‘the customer is always right.’

I CAN’T HELP MYSELF

Standing on Gloucester Road above Pigsty Hill and a little way down from the wine bar I’d just paid six-fifty for a glass of house red. I hadn’t had enough money on me so left looking for a cash point I found on the corner they’d said it would be.
A woman stood in front of me. She wore a denim jacket and trousers. A low cut shirt showing the tops of smooth freckled breasts. She had long straight red hair, was slim, tall, and wavered in front of me like she’d been drinking.
‘Let’s have some of that,’ she said tapping the bottle I held in my hand.
I gave it to her and she necked a quarter before giving it back.
‘I’ll get another when this is finished,’ I said. ‘But quality not vinegar.’
‘Ok,’ she said and, after a slight pause, ‘Aren’t you drinking?’
‘I don’t know.’
She took the bottle, drank some more, moved closer to me, her breath sweet and light against my dead face. I ducked down behind a wall so the man putting out the rubbish from the wine bar couldn’t see me.
‘Why’re you hiding?’ she said. ‘You embarrassed?’
I took her hand and we walked to an off license where the man serving sold us gin after saying, ‘You need something stronger than wine.’
‘I like this,’ I said as we sat on a wall passing the bottle of Gordon’s back and forth and watching the traffic go by.
‘Do you mean the gin or being here with me?’
‘Both,’ I said. ‘I can’t help myself.’

FIGHT'S END, JAMAICA STREET

PEGASUS DESCENDING

...awake in the small hours again, thought this’d ended, that I’d be spared these times since the trial’s been over...
...read a couple of chapters of James Lee Burke’s Pegasus Descending I’d bought the day previous from a small shop just off a corner of Cotham Hill...
...fell asleep a couple of hours, got up and out of bed half seven, washed, drank a coffee, out the flat half eight and walked to Charlotte Keele to collect a rolling prescription for sumatriptan...
...originally planned to catch a bus from Stapleton Road but instead decided to walk back along the Frome, left of the new carpark on the edge of Broadmead, to a medium Estima from the drip in Starbucks on the Haymarket...
...up to Greggs on the third floor of the Galleries and bought two cheese and onion pasties I ate leaning against the rail facing Robert Dyas from across the walkway...
...through Waterstones to the toilet in St. Nick’s market...
...down Corn Street, over the crossing by Gusto’s on Baldwin, across the centre, fountains barely dribbling, up onto College Green, into the library to return two DVDs, one of William Burroughs and Co, the other A Kind Of Loving starring Alan Bates...
...up Park Street and a double espresso in Nero’s at the top...
...into the museum and a sit down...
...work, late shift...

GRAFFITI LINE

TWENTY YEARS

A friend’s house got raided by the police at the weekend.
‘...they wouldn’t even let me get dressed,’ she said. ‘Not until they’d searched the place.’
‘Why they raid you in the first place?’ I said.
‘Well, apparently my son’s been looking on the internet about how to make a bomb and then he bought the ingredients online.’
‘So what happened?’
‘The police found a bomb in the garden shed big enough to blow up Horfield so they cordoned off the street because they had to make it safe before they left and let us back in the house.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I phoned my lawyer,’ she said.
‘And what they say?’
‘“Is he white? Is he middle class? Then he’ll be fine.”’
‘Really?’
‘He said if he was Asian he’d be looking at twenty years.’

TREVOR MAKES A POINT...

‘Tell you what,’ he said as we stood in his shop just off the roundabout at the bottom of Jacob’s Wells Road. ‘...we should get rid of the middle class then the working class can really see the enemy, the cunts, the fucking upper class.’
‘Sounds like an idea,’ I said.
‘Why aren’t people angry? They seem to be asleep nowadays, for fuck’s sake. Punks were angry. I had some of them used to come in here, red hair out to here, drunk most of the time they were, but lovely boys...
‘...the French know what to do, when they’re angry they do something with it don’t just sit around and put up with it they start a riot, got rid of the royal family, that’s what we should do, revolution, take to the streets, take the streets back...’
‘How we going to do that?’
‘...raid any police station round here, they’ll have enough guns to go round, the cunts...’
‘You think?’
‘...fucking right. They’re ready for any trouble, the cunts. You’ve seen all the cameras so they can respond to any sign of trouble or uprising. See it one place and then give directions from a control centre, the cunts...’
‘And they’ve got helicopters.’
‘...the cunts.’
He took a breath, looked down, shook his head.
‘The problem is, everyone’s a fucking Tory. My fucking family, my brother, the cunt, he says, “oh, I’ve got a good job, with good money, and I don’t need anyone else,’ yeh, cunt, and I said, “Did you go to the boss and say, “I want more money?” he’d’ve laughed in your face, it was the union got it for you,” just looks at me the cunt...’
‘Couldn’t do it on his own.’
‘Course he fucking couldn’t, made me sick, the cunt, still does. He might be my brother but...’
‘...you don’t have to like him...’
‘...and I’ll tell you something else...’
‘...go on...’
‘...he’s a cunt...’

A BETTER WAY

Island John texted me from Stokes Croft outside Mackies, where we’d said we’d meet and watch the football, at least that was the idea.
‘If I’d seen who was at the bar I’d’ve said let’s go somewhere else,’ said Island John. ‘But he blanked me so it should be alright. If he was going to punch me in the mouth I think he’d’ve done it already.’
We had a drink during which we decided to go elsewhere because a) the barman wasn’t able to find the channel with the football and b) a man we identified as having mental health issues was getting a little too close to us for our comfort...
...elsewhere was the Hare...and Chelsea won, though we hardly noticed, talking throughout the game, I’m glad we did, it’s been a while...
After the pub we came back to mine for coffee, wondered about different ways of communicating, and our personal favourites.
Island John thought about calling a taxi to take him home but, leaving to catch a bus, he said, ‘I don’t want to go through the pit, is there a better way?’

THE ZONE

Set into the side of the hill over which the sun was rising, the Zone is a teepee in which I sat between two women before leaving to look for a toilet.
Walking through light undergrowth and a few trees I came out onto a golf course near a green and a man making ready to putt.
In the distance the young son of someone used to be a friend of mine stood next to a dark green white top portaloo.
‘I need a wee,’ he said pissing himself as I reached him.
‘I was looking for a toilet myself,’ I said.
He took his hand from out the back of his trousers and held it up to show the shit on his fingers.
‘I’ll help you with that,’ I said putting on some rubber gloves.
‘Can we go back to the Zone?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘When you’re all cleaned up.’

YJ AND THE DOGS

Coming out of the post office on Stokes Croft the paper I’d just bought under my arm, YJ, from the flats, with his two dogs on leads, stopped on the pavement in front of me and said, ‘Hello, how are you?’
‘Hello,’ I said, surprised, unsettled. ‘Yes, I’m good thanks.’
‘You busy today?’
‘Yes,’ suspicious. ‘Got a few things on. You?’
‘Walking the dogs, is all.’
‘Where you off to?’
‘We’re on our way back already,’ he said.
‘How are they both?’ meaning the dogs.
‘Good, yeh, good.’
We passed the Big Issue office as a small dog pulled in the doorway on a lead towards YJ’s two who pulled toward the small.
‘Come here, come here,’ said YJ and I went on not really comfortable wondering how it’d be walking back to the flats with him who I’ve only spoke to in the lift before now.
‘Anyway,’ he called after me and I turned round, ‘Have a nice day.’
I waved, relieved, ‘Thanks, you too.’