Have you ever woken up, and, for no apparent reason, just wanted to sink immediately back beneath the covers and disappear? Well, for me this morning was one such occasion. I can’t honestly remember feeling as despondent since hearing a nasty rumour, way back in the mid-eighties, that the Beatles were considering reforming with Julian Lennon taking his dad’s place in the band. Even after I’d eventually managed to pull myself up from my nightmare-infested slumber, injected my system with a full pot of strong Lavazza coffee and endeavoured to lift my spirits by watching a couple of episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm, there was still no sign of those dark clouds disappearing.
Then, to add to my inexplicable gloom, real life suddenly kicked in; more war, crime and famine in the newspaper, nothing but bills and abuse from Fab Four fans in the mail, a cold coming on, the usual computer trouble and to top it all off, a phone call from an old friend experiencing worse financial difficulties than the U.S. Federal Reserve, who rang for a rant in the midst of my mid morning melancholies.
Trying to write on days like today is never a good idea. The head won’t work. The heart won’t work. The hands won’t work. It’s like being trapped inside an emotional straight jacket with a constant itch you can’t scratch. Even though it’s at times like these that I feel the urge to get my feelings down on paper more than ever, I actually ended up spending most of the afternoon staring at a blank screen, whilst simultaneously trying to ignore the sad eyes and occasional whine of Big Bear Henri (the King of the canine world), who, regardless of my foul mood and the relentless rain outside, was not prepared to settle for a quick piss in the garden and was holding out for his daily W. A. L. K.
In fact, it was only when I finally caved in and decided that, despite the weather and my state of mind, it was time for us both to get some fresh air and exercise that the dark clouds suddenly disappeared – metaphorically at least.
Within minutes of leaving home I found myself in a rain-sodden garden on Mulgrave Avenue performing my ‘Responsible Dog Owner’ duties. As I was knelt down, I heard what at first sounded like a donkey braying, but on closer scrutiny appeared to be human cackling and screeching coming from inside the house of the garden I was in. As soon as I had pulled myself up to my feet, I couldn’t resist tiptoeing over and having a quick peek through the window where the noise was coming from – half out of curiosity and half out of genuine neighbourly concern – to find out what all the commotion was.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget as long as I live the sight that greeted me through that window. It was a spectacle so distressing that it instantly put all my so-called troubles into context and reminded me of the fact that no matter how bad my problems were there is always somebody, somewhere, worse off than yourself… through the half open curtains, I could quite clearly make out some poor bastard sitting in his chair watching the Paul O’Grady show!