The Distant Echo

The distant echo –
of faraway voices boarding faraway trains
To take them home to
the ones that they love and who love them forever
The glazed, dirty steps – repeat my own and reflect my thoughts
Cold and uninviting, partially naked
Except for toffee wrappers and this morning’s papers
Mr. Jones got run down
Headlines of death and sorrow – they tell of tomorrow
Madmen on the rampage
And I’m down in the tube station at midnight.

Paul Weller

The just like this of my current mode of living is very, very simple. It does not really impinge overmuch on anyone. As a rule of thumb {aside from the wife} I might speak to one checkout lady a week and that is about that. I do some gardening, I cook, I type here, I do some DIY, I eat, I drink some wine and watch TV and films.  Once a week we go for a walk. This blog is relatively low impact, it gets less than fifty reads a day. It is not in any way earthshattering and nobody is forced to read it. If people drop by read and maybe leave a like, that is nice.

So, what could possibly be the problem with me living like this?

What is there to be upset about?

This is how it is. It is unlikely to change much in the foreseeable future.

Yet why am I getting distant echoes in my dreams of people in London. What, if there is one, is the fuss all about?

As far as I can tell I am not breaking any laws.

I am not forcing anyone to do anything, I am not leaning on anyone. I am not making any demands or requests.

My best guess is that I will eke out the rest of this life, pretty much like this. I will obviously get a bit more decrepit and then we will have to down-size to a nanna flat up by the coast.

Bizarre, the echoes were here yesterday and again today.