The Joy

Having taken the decision to eschew Facebook (WHAT KEPT YOU? you might well ask) and turn again to WordPress and a neglected blog.  Among a legion of drafts, many more than published posts, I click on this title: The Joy.  The page is totally blank and I wonder what I could have been contemplating so many weeks, months ago and decide to appropriate the title, today of all days, in my stand against the pernicious Facebook on whom I have relied, turned to for publicity since publication of a first book seven years ago.   If it has done any good, or served a useful purpose is impossible to tell.  The joy I feel at renouncing its middle of the night scrolls in search of sleep I hope will not be short lived. And then a cold voice of reason prods me. What about friends? What about WhatsApp, to which in these Covid times especially, I am slavishly devoted? Facilitated by Facebook: I make allowances for my faiblesse.

Bright Horizon

The evening sky although not an all singing, all colours sunset, more of a Turner, was beautiful; the hint of brightness on the horizon as if proving there are hearteningly better times to come.

A family was exercising in the circuit of the beach car park (which has been closed to visitors since the outset of the debacle when the whole world and its mother agreed this a better place to self isolate or take daily exercise than any city, until dissuaded). The parents raced in opposing directions at full speed on their bikes and a little girl, no more than three or four, ran a whole lap. Impossible not to cheer her on. She glanced at us undeterred.

Sea Fever

I’m trying to commit Sea Fever to memory. Mostly for the last line about the long trick being over. The pandemic being the long trick in point. Spike Milligan often intrudes on the Masefield version.

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky. I left my shoes and socks there – I wonder if they’re dry. Of course, vest and pants also works here.

Sea fever seems preferable to cabin fever and while we still have the option of daily exercise and we live by the sea, I must go down to the sea again. Etc

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.