Simple
Pleasures
By
Dominic Horton
The
first cup of coffee in the morning should be a simple pleasure, a
minor indulgence almost, when one can sip at ease and let
the caffeine flow into the body's system in order to gently
stir it into action to start the day. I always sit and read a book
with my coffee first thing but pretty much without fail just as I
start to relax half way through the cup nature comes calling and I am
summoned to a pressing sit down meeting in the toilet. I am then
posed with a dilemma: I can either sit uncomfortably bottling things
up, so to speak, until I finish my coffee or I can expediently attend
the sit down meeting in the knowledge that my coffee with have lost
its heat on my return.
 |
| The Walk Works Group on the Dudley No 2 Canal. |
It's
is a bit of an Hobson's choice. A classic case of “is your cup half
full or half empty?” Not only is my cup half empty but the
contents have gone cold as well. It was suggested to me that I could
always re-heat my half finished coffee in the microwave but the drink
does not taste quite the same after following that procedure, so I do
not favour it. I could always re-heat the drink in a saucepan but
that would be too much of a faff and would simply extend my
irritability over the matter. In Damien O'Donnell's wonderful
film East is East the character Zahir 'George' Kahn,
played by Om Puri, famously requests “half a cup” when he is
asked if he wants a cup of tea. This must be Khan's tactic to avoid
the dilemma that my morning coffee confronts me with.
My
whole morning routine seems to be getting increasingly longer and
somewhat out of hand. Breakfast and coffee are followed by exercises
for my bad back and stretching exercises for my legs, which over time
seem to have increasingly stiffened up in the morning in direct
proportion to a decreasing stiffening of another part of the body at
that time of day. A bath or shower and a shave is followed by
inhalers for asthma, cream for eczema and cod liver oil and vitamin C
pills. My breathing exercise is next to slow down my anxious, racing
heart to reduce my waking state of panic to mere fretfulness.
I
am not moaning (for once) about my morning maneuverings as I know
that we all have to do similar things to propel ourselves into the
day ahead but it seems the older one gets the more bothersome the
start of the day is. Lord only knows what morning time trials and
tribulations a septuagenarian like my crony Harry Stottle has to go
through; by the time he is ship-shape and Bristol fashion to start
the day it is probably time for lunch.
 |
| The Abdul. |
The
inconveniences of my early morning routine did not dampen my spirits
on Thursday when a triumvirate of cultural events made
for a highly nourishing and fruitful day. First, I went
off with fellow Flagoners the Abdul and Frank Henstein to a morning
canal walk organised by Walk Works
(https://www.facebook.com/pages/Walk-Works/189252334592080)
whose fabulous well being walks not only encompass local history but
also creative art. The enthusiastic Fran and Vicki of Walk Works
throw ideas into the air and set little thought provoking tasks to
summon the cogs of the mind into motion and they facilitate the
members of the group in taking an alternative perspective on things.
Fran
challenged the group to use two colours to draw what we saw canal
side on the opposite bank – one colour for straight lines and
another for things that are not straight. Then in another
two separate colours we had to draw the reflection of the
image on the canal's surface. Despite none of the group (to my
knowledge) being keen artists people came up with the most alluring
and fascinating pictures, all of them different, which shows the
innate, often untapped, creativity that we all have within us. All
the drawings were placed next to each other on the canal towpath in
an impromptu exhibition and I was even half pleased with my amateur
effort.
As
we walked away from the canal I chatted to Joan, who is an
interesting and genteel lady who is a canal enthusiast. We came
across an odd sculpture of what appeared to be a goddess of some
description, who had one bare breast exposed. I heard footsteps
behind us only to find the Abdul had joined us to study the sculpture
and I was suddenly filled with trepidation at the thought
of the Adbul making a lewd but witty comment about the exposed
breast, which is something that he is talented at doing. I
quickly tried to usher the refined Joan away from the sculpture and
out the earshot of the Abdul, due to the imminent threat of her being
offended. But I underestimated the Abdul's level of tact and whatever
mirthful smut filled his thoughts he kept it to himself. There is a
first time for everything, they say.
 |
| Max Keen, by request of Toby In-Tents. |
Back
at my Codger Mansions bolt hole at lunchtime I reflected on what had
been a wondrous experience on the walk. I remembered that I had my
drawing in my bag and I took it out to study it. Looking at the
picture in isolation, away from the other drawings, I realised that
it was a sorry looking and dismal pile of sh*t. I dispatched the
picture into the recycling, where it forlornly rested, fittingly,
next to a discarded cardboard toilet roll tube.
After
lunch I drove to the second of Thursday's events, a talk for Black
History Week at Dudley Library entitled The Black History
Football Project for by author John Hume. I hurriedly
arrived at the library only a couple of minutes before the talk was
due to start and a friendly librarian eagerly lead me up a flight of
stairs to the room that was to host the event. I thought to myself
that the escort by the librarian was very kind but beyond
the call of duty as I could have easily found the room myself if
she had provided me with directions. But on arrival I could see that
the reason why the official was anxious to deliver me safely to the
room: other than the author I was the only person there.
After
exchanging pleasantries with John Hume I stated that if no one else
turns up that he had need not proceed with the talk solely for my
benefit. But in the spirit of “the show must go on” Hume was
adamant that he would plough on with his talk anyway, which made me a
little uncomfortable as the thought of him staring intently at me
whilst delivering his address was not a pleasant one. Sensibly Hume
gave it a minute or ten before making a start and thankfully three
others joined us.
 |
| Sir Francis Drake. |
Oddly,
during the course of the hour long talk the librarian periodically
ushered more people into the room to boost the crowd, with the last
attendee turning up as late as forty five minutes into it. It stuck
me that out of embarrassment the librarian could well have been
drumming up support by bullying or bribing the library's normal
punters into going to the talk: “It's up to you mate, you can
either pay the £12.57 fine for your books being late or you can go
and sit through the talk upstairs and I will wipe your slate clean.”
Not only was the talk an entertaining and informative history of
black footballers in Britain but also each attendee was generously
given a copy The Black Heritage Football Book at the
end of the talk, which like the Walk Works walk, was free to attend.
I
had devoured the starter and main course of the three events of the
day and after tea it was time for the welcoming dessert of one of Max
Keen's riotous history talks, this time on Sir Francis Drake, for the
Stourbridge Historical Society. As ever Keen was on top form
and not only informed the full-ish house all about the life and times
of Drake but he theatrically brought the subject to life and he
frequently filled the room with laughter.
All
in all it was a day that I shall not forget. For at least a week. To
round things off I decided to pop into the Flagon & Gorses on the
way home to sup some of their magnificent ale and to ruminate of the
events of the day. In the pub I was greeted by the sight of Neddy La
Chouffe sporting a decidedly damp pair of trousers, which was the
result of Toe-Knee Tulips behind the bar erroneously spilling
beer on him. Neddy should count his blessings: at least he was not
scolded by a the contents of a cup of hot coffee.
©
Dominic Horton, October 2014.
Email:
Lordhofr@gmail.com.
Lowlife
is dedicated to the memory of the late Jonathan Rendall
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