SCABs

When the weather’s good – By @aliceburden1

When the weather’s good

It’s so hard to focus when the weather’s good. It takes me back to secondary school and those days you could walk to the bus in the morning without a jumper. When the PE teachers finally gave up and let you play rounders for the rest of the year. Back to the long summer holidays wandering around the suburbs with nothing to do but laugh with my friends.

Warm days make me all romantic for the fun I could be having. When it’s nice outside, I can’t help but stare out the window, looking at all the people outside my flat, wondering where they’re off to, what they’re thinking. Surely, they’re having a better time than me?

Then suddenly, I’m with them. 

I’m cycling down the road, impressed that I’m not worn out. In fact, I’m not even breaking a sweat. Along I go, to my friend’s house where I will swim in her pool and sunbathe with my beautiful friends and eat fresh strawberries on a chequered picnic blanket on the lawn.

Then I’m running down my road to the Thames, its warm. This time I am sweating, but its that healthy kind of glow you get from a good jog. I don’t get out of breath, and when I reach Hammersmith bridge I look down at my perfectly chiselled abs, then my eyes go along the river. I drink it all in, and think how lucky I am.

Suddenly, I’m walking my black Labrador Jessie to the park. Once there, I see three little girls playing with their father, it makes me think of my husband and daughters. Of course, the girls are moved out now. As I walk, my mind wanders to my eldest, she had her first child in April and we haven’t been able to meet him. Still, I’m grateful we have our health, so the pain of not seeing my family is worth it.

Now, I’m pulling pints for the huge queue outside the pub I work in. I’m glad we’re so busy at the moment, and I’m happy we’re still making money, but sometimes I do wish I could have a break. We only close on Mondays and our take-away pints have been so popular. Sometimes I wonder why they’re so popular and I conclude that people just need a break from sitting at home. Because in all honesty, a £6 Birra Morretti is not really what anyone wants. Not really.

I’m banging my saucepan on a Thursday. Rat-tat. Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat. Tat-tat. I haven’t seen anyone but my wife for weeks now. Except on Thursdays, I get out there bang my drum, wave to my neighbours, ask them how they’ve been. I love how the community comes together for this. This is the highlight of my week.

As the day draws to a close, I’m delivering take-away to my own front door. I’m not sure which buzzer to press, so I call the number on the order. A woman peers out from the first floor and we talk through the open window. I leave the food on her doorstep and then I zoom off into the sunset.

And now I’m back. Sorry about that. I don’t know what happened.

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