|A Plus- Or Is It A Minus?
||[Sep. 15th, 2013|11:31 am]
Something we don't get at my mother's: People telling one another to "fuck off" in the street in the middle of the night.|
Because there isn't a street.
I, personally, can do without it.
But a street means neighbours and kids out playing and life passing by. I'm willing to put up with the odd midnight row for the sake of all that.
Me, I'm tired of people passing by on our streets, mostly the ones who pass by late at night EVERY night from the pub and man, oh man, the word "fuck" really does have amazing carrying/penetrating power, doesn't it? Even if you can't hear what else they're ranting about, you can hear that.
That's very true.
Ours is a quiet street most of the time. It's not really on the way from anywhere to anywhere else. Late night ranters are a rarity.
2013-09-17 10:16 pm (UTC)
I like the fuck offs in the middle of the night.
When I was in a village in the Home Counties it was pitch black and you might get an odd dog bark.
I like the reality of a street. I like it when someone is clip clopping at midnight in the rain, it sounds like soldiers. I imagine martial law and them protecting us from politicians...
Best wishes, Arabella
(who has been reading for years, but now seems to be the time of speech!)
PS I'm enjoying your insights into the differences between north and south, town and country. Thank you.
We're going back to my mother's tomorrow. There are good things about living out in the country- woodpeckers for instance- but this life up here- on a multicultural street in a northern town- is the life I chose.
I'm happy the time for speech has come. May I ask you a question (which of course you don't have to answer)? How did you find me? are you a friend of a friend?
I have no idea how I found you...I vaguely remember many years ago having an account here and we had a mutual friend. But who that was (and who I was) is a mystery to me now!
I lived in the Chilterns and loved watching the red kites, and barn owls would glide past my bedroom window and there was a family of tawny owls who, every year, would parade their new family on the chimney stacks viewable from the attic room and hoot to each other throughout the night.
I miss it, although I very much felt I was living in the middle of a 1930s novel.... Up here, further north than my old home, I seem to have landed at a halfway house. I can see fields and people walk past (once I even called the police in the middle of the night!), but it's neither one thing nor another, and is somewhat soulless to me as a result.
I rather envy you, you know...I look after my mother, here in this small house in this small town. I'd quite like to be able to drive the length of the country every now and again to get away. But that's the rose-coloured glasses!! The reality can't be particularly enjoyable.
It sometimes crosses my mind that I'm living in an Agatha Christie novel (only without the murders). This place is very St Mary Mead.
I'd rather be back in Oldham. I miss the neighbours. Here the nearest human beings are a field away.