Seeking inspiration for today’s narrative, I am indulging in a spot of people watching from my office/spare bedroom window. With deciduous trees currently barren, my perch affording unhindered views of the busy road and pathways of the main Wakefield to Barnsley thoroughfare.
Insulated against the sub-zero temperatures with wooly hat, anorak and fleece, the folks no doubt long for warmer climes. All apart from a snowman in a neighbour’s garden who will be enjoying an elongated life courtesy of the prevailing icy chill.
As we have only had a smattering of snow in this part of West Yorkshire, the snowman’s presence in this manor baffles me. But he looks happy enough with his carrot conk, black pebble eyes and snooker cue arms. The long cues making his makeshift limbs disproportionate, but hey he has a smile on his face, so all is good.
An old man, who I have named Ted, is stood around 50 metres from my window nattering with a lady similarly in her dotage. I imagine their conversation goes something like this…
Ted – “Hiya, love. How’s Arthur doing?”
Lady – “Who’s Arthur?”
Ted – “Your husband!”
Lady – “My husband is called Bert.”
Ted – “Are you sure your husband isn’t called Arthur?”
Lady – “Positive.”
Ted – “How’s Bert, then?”
Lady – “He died three weeks ago!”
Ted – “Oh, that’s unfortunate… Errrrr, forgive me for asking, but did you get rid of that really smart cromby coat he had?”
Lady – “Yes, I dropped it off at a local charity shop with his other belongings.”
Ted – “Shame. I could have done with it in this bloody cold weather.”
Lady – “The only possession I have left are his false teeth. I assume you don’t want them!”
Ted – “Waste not, want not, love.”
To my right, I’m constantly catching sight of steam from the gas central boiler flue of a ground floor neighbour. Well, I am assuming it is steam and not smoke from a fire!… I best check.
Right, I am back. I have checked and it is condensation emanating from the apartment’s boiler flue; not a fire… Phew!
A man walking his dog has just passed. When I say walk it would be more accurate to say dragging his pooch. The West Highland terrier seemingly reticent to walk past my neighbour’s flat with steam emitting from flue… Maybe, like I was, he (or she) is concerned about taking collateral damage from a flat fire.
With so much grit on the highways we are in filthy car/van/bus territory. Each vehicle passing on Barnsley Road either sporting a ‘Clean Me’ or juvenile penis drawing on its grit coated bodywork. My car is similarly impacted, although as I drew that penis it can’t be classed as graffiti. Seriously, though, it is pointless getting the car washed until temperatures rise and they stop gritting the highways.
Yours truly is awaiting a furniture delivery as I write. New more comfortable dining chairs and a six-foot telephone box to be precise.
The telephone box a quirky impulse buy from a shop called Loom Loft. I am currently on the lookout for a retro telephone to place on the box’s top shelf. To augment the old school telephone box experience further, later I plan to urinate in it!
Right, it sounds like the delivery men are here. Must dash!
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