Local Author Matt Jacobson reflects on a day that had nothing to say.
Tick tock, alarm clock, tick tock, alarm clock, tick tock, morning shock. The nightime shutters that cemented the eyelids overnight, slowly raised up and Thursday pulled up in front of my eyes in a patronising, pristine limousine with a purring engine to annoy my groggy and foggy mind. At quarter to five, I realised that I was still alive and the day ahead was placed in front of me in patterns without promise and shapes without substance. The duvet was thrown to one side and a disillusioned mind knew the day ahead was going to be an hourly fight with tiredness and torment, until one of us stopped fighting to watch Emmerdale. And the chances are that it would be me…
I was tired, grumpy and angry and thought about change, but the time for a revolution was not now as I had to iron my trousers and shirt. A revolution without either is foolish, especially as it was a cold and bitter November morning. My yawning was louder than the radio playing in the family home, so I tried a cold shower to wake me up but that didn’t work and only made me much colder. I then made a cup of coffee which was too strong which led to me using the iron with Zorro like moves. At least I was ready to leave the house in a flash!
I walked to the bus stop and on the way, I walked past the shops and their loving owners. I could see the bus stop on the other side of the road. The buildings had protected me from the bitter conditions but as I passed them, I looked left and a snappy wind then hit me, slicing and slapping the cheekbones with cheeky and sneaky determination. I eventually reached the bus stop and stood under the shed-like gathering point, but a window pane was missing so the wind laughed and pounded my back with a fierce force.
I waited around twenty minutes for the bus, just as the woman next to me announced her eye spotting news: “Here comes the bus”, she yelled as ‘Here Comes the Sun’ played in my ears. I was listening to four lads who shook the world, as three lads shook a fence with a football providing commentary along the way. One teenager then picked up the ball and placed it up in his jumper and told his friends he had eaten it.
I boarded the bus and I quickly spotted a seat, sat down and leant my arm on the window ledge. Looking out of the window, my reflection looked at me and I decided to close my eyes as I could see the pain and truth in my face. And this journey was too long to look at my own pain and truth. A plastic bottle then rolled down the bus and hit my foot, snapping me out of the moment. I looked down and noticed its contents had seeped onto the floor under my foot. As the sticky floor met my stickier foot, I raised my eyes to the roof but the ceiling offered nothing in return.
So, I turned to music to gather my thoughts and to ease my mind, body and soul, in part and in whole.
The journey continued into the cold and dark morning, passengers were quiet and considerate but uncomfortable as speed bumps and traffic lights gave people the hump and made one lady drop her purse onto the floor. Eventually, after what seemed like 42000 bus stops and 420001 traffic lights, I arrived at my destination.
Matt Jacobson – Photograph by Michelle Marshall
Work was quiet and colleagues said hello as I wanted to say goodbye. I knew immediately that it was going to be a dull day as a friend of mine, Steven, had phoned my manager Patrick and declared himself off work due to being still ill. So, I made a hot drink in my Morrissey cup and sipped it slowly as the morning passed me by. I dipped my head into the tasks ahead, rarely speaking or looking up at the people of the world. I had a feeling that the day was going to be just one of those days…
But, lunchtime arrived and I headed down to the local record shop and found some voluptuous vinyl. I checked the pockets for currency to sweep me to the till, but I didn’t have enough money to buy two. So, I purchased one and spent the walk to the sandwich shop and back to work with a plan to return for the twirling record full of promise with substance, words and a ready made danger to a bedroom carpet floor where toe tapping had already caused damage to the pattern.
The afternoon progressed and the lunchtime sandwich was difficult to digest. Then, around 1.30pm, for an hour or so I felt the gallant and suspicious humour of a mesmerising wind up, turning up to say hello; teasing me, ensuring I regularly noticed the clock ceasing to do its job of moving us along the conveyor belt of life. The clock remained still and I found myself arguing with time. I gave the clock a sly look, a snarled lip, a cold stare but it didn’t care, didn’t flinch – of course it didn’t. A quick fire two fingers didn’t work either and my idea to throw a biscuit at the clock was flawed as I had eaten them all. I decided that I was not going to win this battle and looked away for the rest of the day. Time then gave me a nudge and a wink, to tell me it loved me really and home time arrived. I packed up, shipped out and skipped to the nearby bus stop. Once again, it was cold and dark but a celebratory journey home commenced.
Matt Jacobson – Photograph by Michelle Marshall
On board the bus, passengers were full of conversation and all seemed happy. The lady behind me had plans to visit Seven Sisters with her three brothers; a Mum and her two sons discussed the recent three nil win whilst those in their twenties wondered what life is like in your forties. The chirpy family behind me planned a chippy tea as the couple in front of me planned a bottle of wine for the time the kids fell asleep. Regret then met me for a chat and I tutted and muttered under my breath because I realised that I had left my new vinyl in the office. As the gut wrenched, Thursday evening cheered with delight at the prospect that I had a long night ahead. Oh well, enough said..
At the end of the bus journey, I turned the corner and walked the short distance home. I then turned the key, walked up the stairs and then the evening was mine. I was quiet, hidden in my room with food, music and books, keeping me going until the shutters on the eyelids started to come down again.
I reflected on the day behind me and ignored the new day ahead of me as today was more than enough. I concluded that some days are better than others. Today wasn’t a bad day, nor a good day, just somewhere in the middle. A day that placed the words ‘not much’ into the answer to the question, what have you been up to? There was no mayhem, no betrayal, no issues, no rib chuckling laughs and no interesting views or news. It was a day when life couldn’t even be bothered to give me a pen that leaked. It was Thursday, it was pathetic. As for Friday, well let me tell you – that was just as bad. But Saturday, well that was…………
Not to be continued….
Love and Peace
I would like to say ‘Thank You’ to former Lord Mayor of Liverpool, Hazel Williams.
A lady of honour and dignity with a true passion and love for family, the City of Liverpool and the communities within.
“A true inspiration”