Writing Flatly in London: 3/7/17

2/6/17

1/15/17

1/8/17

 

 

I stood at the mountaintop one day last week

And I looked down

Looked down at what I did and how I got there, how I got here

How some boy from the islands conquered Europe in a week

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Madrid on a Monday evening

A wind laced with ice, fit to blow me back on the plane

Foreign words in a foreign land, hustling bustling noise and cigarette smoke

A taste of Thailand to fill me and a hotel bed to fill

Strutting through the Royal Palace like a black king, basking in the beauty of it

Photo snapping and getting snapped at in Spanish

Shaking something in my face — a walkie-talkie to get me to stop

“NO FOTOS!”

Walking away, no talking back from me

 

Lunch — a Spanish one, this time

Seafood paella and blood sausages, the usual thing

To drink, Coke and a dash of whiskey

Two dashes

Three dashes

One shot, two shot, three shot, four?

One sip — waiter, why you do this?

Two sips, too strong, more Coke to turn it down a notch or three

No way José, not gonna be drunk by four, that’s for sure

 

A train to visit a long-lost friend, next stop: Segovia

Joking and laughing again, first real smile in a while

Too little time to talk, but a glimpse of Carnaval out of the corner of my eye

Chilly air befitting chilly costumes, Halloween in February

But back on the train again, much too soon

A hug goodbye and a selfie with the stick, fit for an indelible moment

 

Wednesday and another plane to take, hello Edinburgh, Scotland

A quiet night to recover, comedy at The Stand

Thursday was the day though, the day I climbed to the top of the world

Stumble here, trip there, an anxiety filled affair

My life, its ups and downs

A microcosm in a few hours

Looking up, was I good enough to make it?

Did I have what it took?

Self-doubt and self-consciousness, questioning myself but selfishly dismissing self-pity

One step at a time, closer and closer to overcoming another obstacle

And I made it — to university, to the student senate, to the newspapers, to London, and to Arthur’s Seat

And I knew, knew with pride, where I came from, and what it took

What it took to get there

What it took to get here

 

It isn’t long now, I know that

Days slipping, dripping through my fingers like the London rain

A quiet happiness about that, but a feeling of melancholy too

Maybe I’m tired, ready for the slow down

Maybe I need a breather, need to go run down

Run down one beach, maybe Montagu or Cabbage

Or walk maybe, sit down in the sand, kick my feet up and smile

I think I have reasons to smile today, reasons to be grateful

So, I’ll smile

But I’m ready

Ready to climb another mountain

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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