Bridges to another life, and other stories

A nice day yesterday, if somewhat bittersweet in parts, as I set foot in Cornwall for the first time since October last year. I met K in Plymouth as planned, and we went for lunch, then on to do a little shopping (stuff for me, to quash the 'girly shopping' stereotype).

The first picture (taken by K) from the new camera - anyone think my daughter knows me too well?!

There had been considerable indecision as to what we were going to do next, but we eventually made our collective mind up, hopped on a bus, and, fifteen minutes or so later, I was going over the Tamar road bridge for the first time in fourteen months (my two intervening visits had been by train), en route to the town I'd lived in for nine years until last June.

The eponymous bridges (from the bus)

And not only the town, but the pub that had been the nearest I had to a 'local' while I was living there. Apart from the obvious, alcoholic, reason for going there, another nuance came into play, one that K recognised immediately I mentioned it. One of the last days, or part of a day, of completely unalloyed happiness in my life was a summer afternoon, about three years ago, when K met me in the pub after school - her school bus stops more or less outside - and we spent two, maybe two and a half, hours, talking and playing games on her first 'smartphone', being as close, perhaps, as we'd ever been. A big part of that closeness is our being on the same wavelength so much of the time, and that came to the fore again yesterday, easily illustrated by one moment. We sat in the pub garden for a while, until the attentions of a wasp or three persuaded us back indoors. While we were out there, a couple of workmen who had been doing a job in the car park were packing up, and one of them knocked two shovels together, presumably to clean them. In response to the metallic 'ring', both of us, more or less in unison, said 'dinner time!', before bursting out laughing at our 'great minds think alike' moment. It made our parting, a little while later when I caught the bus back to Plymouth, all the more poignant, for me, anyway. K is still enthusiastic about the idea of moving to London for her A-Levels, though, so, by this time next year, the 'long goodbyes' may be a thing of the past. I certainly hope so.
Perhaps because I was already feeling emotional about having to leave K behind again - or was it because of the alcohol I'd consumed by that point, or both? - I managed to get myself thoroughly upset by something I saw from the bus that was both trivial and absolutely none of my business. On a bench close to the first principal bus stop on the 'English' side of the bridge, was a frankly beautiful boy of 12 or 13. Sitting on his lap, though, was a girl of much the same age, who to my, probably biased, eyes was a chavvy little tart. The idea of his having his heart broken by the likes of her brought tears to my eyes, a reaction it took me some time to realise was stupid and inappropriate. Apart from anything else, he certainly looked happy that she was there, which is, realistically, the only thing that matters, and, with his looks, if anyone is going to be a heartbreaker, it might very well be him. Either way, it's his life to lead, and his choice to make. It maybe also involves something I said to K yesterday, which earned me a huge, almost cartoonish, frown, namely that I'm in a rather misogynistic frame of mind at the moment - not in the sense that I think that women are inferior, or that they shouldn't be treated equally, but that my experience with them, K excepted, hasn't been a very happy one, for the most part. Another of my problems, and no-one else's.
Today, the last day of my 'holiday', such as it's been, has mostly been spent in a sunny London, although I'm back in 'domicile-ville' now. A couple of beers, a bit of grocery shopping, and then it will be back to base for an early-ish night preparatory to getting up at 'stupid o'clock' to go back to work in the morning. Don't you just love every minute?!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B