part two
…I then continue, ‘houses not actually as rough as I would of thought for this side of town.’ As I approach I scan the row of shops…hairdressers ‘Shall I just go in and get it all cut off?’, Tanning shop….’Oh I need a tan’, Haberdasheries, ‘I don’t believe it…I traipsed all over town the other week looking for a place that sells thread, well must remember for future’ and then nisa for my milk. Wander round, get my milk, bump into a lady, ‘Oh sorry’, she too says sorry like it was her fault but it was clearly mine. Wait at the till for a lady with a young boy to be served. Another woman chats to her just off from the till….’Does she know her?’ ‘Is she mad?’ They discuss having their kids at home for the summer…’what a pain’ the boy makes some brum noise, taking no notice of the fact that his pain in the arse presence is being discussed. The lady serving smiles a lot and shows agreement at the conversation. The other woman leaves…abruptly it seems. I see her walking away muttering to herself (definitely bit nuts!) The lady finishes and takes her stuff and off she goes. My turn… Asks me ‘would you like a bag?’ ‘No’ I feel a little sense of pride. I give the exact money and feel a little more pride. 51p…and I’ve got it exactly. (go me!) She calls me darling and seems so happy at her place in life. I reflect on this as I leave. ‘How are some people so content with what they have?’ I feel it’s admirable…is it? Heading back with a cold finger around the handle of my milk I feel something like achievement, yet don’t acknowledge it really. A man chats to a couple walking in front…’does he know them? Is he mad? He doesn’t look it.’ He gets nearer to passing me; I don’t know whether to say hello or not. ‘Will it make me feel good?’ He bounds by, looks and says ‘milky!, milky!’ I laugh and that’s it…I’m a bit stunned actually, but it genuinely makes me smile. I carry on down to the park. There’s the man with the grey hound coming back out. ‘Shall I smile at him?’ I half look, half not. Suddenly he blurts out…’All that way for milk, and you could of had it delivered to your door!’ I laugh and that’s it, thinking inside…’what? and miss all this?!’ ‘It’s not about the milk really is it?’ Isn’t it the journey? I reflect on something connected to the Jerwood Drawing prize and my failure to get in. ‘It’s not about getting in but the journey’
You find consolation in the strangest places if you really need to.
