Today my travels took me to Bath, though only in my business capacity so it’s not really worth mentioning and, apart from three and a half hours of hell in a shitty care home, I had a lovely day with lovely customers on a lovely sunny first day of spring. All that was missing from my world on this most gorgeous vernal equinox was spring lambs bounding around in the meadows, little bunny rabbits hopping here and there and fluffy young chicks, too young and fluffy even to have sage and onion shoved up there arses.
Actually, even the shitty care home wasn’t all that bad. It was hot, smelly and grubby and one or two of the people I happened to have dealings with there rubbed me up the wrong way (I charge extra for that, you know) but it did involve a certain degree of humour. Ninety two year old Cockney Flo told me I was posh which I found hilariously funny until I saw that her daughter was laughing even more than I was, as if to say she had never heard anything more ridiculous in her life. Well I can be posh sometimes . . . when I’m asleep!
So today being the first day of spring it was also the anniversary of my return from my wonderful, beautiful, awe-inspiring, life-changing trip to Cuba. I have always loved travelling but today was the first anniversary of the day that love turned to sheer obsession. I think about it all the time. All I want to do is travel. I have friends who suggest meeting up and doing things and I’m never miserable or negative about it but in the back of my mind I am always thinking how much it will cost me and how much that cost will eat into the price of another overseas trip.
I’ve got to admit it, some bits of England are nice but on the whole I loathe the place. I can’t get excited about its food, its beer, its customs, its history or even its music. The Rolling Stones and the Clash don’t count in this respect. There are a lot of lovely people here but we also seem to have more than our fair share of rude, aggressive, ignorant, selfish and lazy folk. I can never be bothered to even take a photograph because this country just doesn’t look as interesting as places I visit abroad.
I know I’m not comparing like for like because I only ever see other countries when I am on holiday but this feeling of not wanting to be in England has been with me so long there must be much more to it than an over-enthusiastic fondness for holidays. I feel like a displaced person and I feel that I need to spend enough time in other countries to reach the point where I start to miss England. Only then will I appreciate the country of my birth but this feeling inside of me is so strong I’m not convinced that I will ever reach that point.
I have really struggled today even though the weather has been sunny and warm, which I love. I am weary from working such long hours to fund my trips abroad and to pay the mortgage for a house that is far too big for me, and I am weary from taking all the rubbish that goes on in the likes of today’s horrible care home and that goes on on our streets and within English society. I have a good life and I am extremely thankful but I know it could be an awful lot better if I could spend less of it cutting toenails and more of it overseas.
Just a few more vernal equinoxes and I'm sure I will be gone . . .