Home thoughts from beat Z
Drew the longest, quietest beat on the rota for a Saturday. All things said and done my feet are sore from walking so far to so little purpose, apart from to give the Uniform an airing and show a patrol presence. Still, it’s been a nice day and a quiet week for me with only the drama of a relatively mild dose of food poisoning to enliven things.
As the vista of long empty streets unrolled itself before me, my unencumbered mind drifted off to happier times when I didn’t have to work weekends. When opinionated arseholes didn’t take cheap shots at me because I was probably the only guy who could (And did) rescue their under resourced and over budget (Before I even arrived) projects. When I could afford the petrol. When the sun shone on an Autumnal weekend.
On sunny days like these I’d juice up the old jalopy and go for a buzz around the A-roads and maybe end up in Devon or Cornwall. Go rapidly up and down steep, sharply cornered hills while everyone else was watching the footie on television. On even happier days I’d be zapping around on my old 1000cc Motorcycle, no real destination in mind, but just the joy of riding at my own pace, sometimes quick, sometimes slow, as the mood took me. No one to argue with, placate or explain to, just me.
It’s like that when I’m at the keyboard unloading the contents of my overheated brain onto my hard drive. No excuses, just the sheer balls to everyone exhilaration of writing what I please, when I please. Of course with teenagers around this isn’t easy, but they have their space, and so long as they allow me mine, the armed truce of our relationship seems to work. My work out on the streets provides plenty of material for this outlet, so until I sell a manuscript or get a better job, this will have to do.
As the vista of long empty streets unrolled itself before me, my unencumbered mind drifted off to happier times when I didn’t have to work weekends. When opinionated arseholes didn’t take cheap shots at me because I was probably the only guy who could (And did) rescue their under resourced and over budget (Before I even arrived) projects. When I could afford the petrol. When the sun shone on an Autumnal weekend.
On sunny days like these I’d juice up the old jalopy and go for a buzz around the A-roads and maybe end up in Devon or Cornwall. Go rapidly up and down steep, sharply cornered hills while everyone else was watching the footie on television. On even happier days I’d be zapping around on my old 1000cc Motorcycle, no real destination in mind, but just the joy of riding at my own pace, sometimes quick, sometimes slow, as the mood took me. No one to argue with, placate or explain to, just me.
It’s like that when I’m at the keyboard unloading the contents of my overheated brain onto my hard drive. No excuses, just the sheer balls to everyone exhilaration of writing what I please, when I please. Of course with teenagers around this isn’t easy, but they have their space, and so long as they allow me mine, the armed truce of our relationship seems to work. My work out on the streets provides plenty of material for this outlet, so until I sell a manuscript or get a better job, this will have to do.
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