Looking through my mum’s dining room windows outside an uncharacteristic, almost dream like, serenity plays out in front of me. Bereft of breeze and the usual noise from nearby house builders and coyote howl, it appears life in East Ardsley has been placed on pause.
This scene instilling thoughts I’ve stepped into an art house film. A movie that’ll only appeal to a niche market, my character mute, the scenery panoramic views bereft of animation. My only accompanying sound that of a cynical voice reverberating in my head, admonishing me for my understated portrayal of the role.
The voice that of an alter ego who spitefully shares his misguided and unwelcome opinions. Overtly sneering “How did you end up in this movie?….. It’s more boring than Ken Barlow’s jacket!”, and “I’d rather watch Ken Barlow’s jacket, than this s***e!”………. For some strange reason, this voice seemed to be preoccupied with the dress sense of Coronation Street’s longest serving character.
I don’t watch the soap opera set in the fictional inner city borough of Weatherfield, so am unsure if actor Bill Roache’s character is the owner of uninteresting jackets, meaning I was unable to make an informed comment on this comparison.
However, I did beg to differ with my alter ego with regards how we react to the current paucity of action at this point of our life’s sojourn. Advocating patience, I argued not everything can be resolved by proactive actions; there’s circumstances we can’t legislate for which are dependent on reactive responses.
If truth be told, I didn’t know where I was going with my ‘twopennath’, but tried to cover this aimless waffling by adding the equally vague comment “How we deal with the fallout in those circumstances is what maketh us as man.”
Despite my best efforts at attempting to urge a more tolerant outlook, the voice resident in my cranial corridors seem unimpressed. Dismissing my assertions about proactive and reactive actions depending on a situations circumstances as “Pretentious b*ll*cks!!“.
Although, he may have had a point, disparagingly he then added “I’ve had enough of this, I’m off to watch Corrie on Catchup TV. I want to see if Barlow’s smartened himself up yet!” Prior to concluding “Why can’t he dress more like Dev in the convenience store whose an incredibly snappy dresser!”
Disenchanted by the negativity and confrontational nature of my neurological nemesis, I focused once again into the garden of Mrs Strachan senior, where it was heartwarming to witness normality had returned.
Once again this historic village was ‘blessed’ with builder’s clatter, bird song and the sight of mater’s eight foot buddleia plant swaying in a newly arrived summer breeze. The pause button had been released and normal service had resumed.
Following this return to the status quo, I sought my normally unwelcome alter-ego to admonish him for his negativity, lack of patience and disparaging remarks about the sartorial elegance of the world’s longest serving soap character.
This turned out to be a futile search, as positivity or addressing these character flaws aren’t on his agenda. My other personality otherwise occupied, no doubt looking for further toxic ammunition in preparation for his next vitriolic tirade.
Spiteful epiphanies, such as how rough the women are on TV’s EastEnders (although that’s not be without foundation), how presenter Richard Madeley was an insincere pratt (although that’s not too far off mark either) and that Simon Cowell is a smug, self-satisfied tosspot (again perhaps something with basis in fact).
Actually, looking at this more objectively, the spiteful one does raise some very valid points!!
