Beauty right under your nose

The Dead Duck Day

Let me guess, the cogs are turning as you dig out the Hugh Grant Rom-Com which first coined that phrase. But on this occasion I am quite happy to plagiarise, as there is no more eloquent way of summing up what was a tragic loss in my life.

Confession: I am a creature of habit. You could set your watch by the humdrum of tasks that make up my average Tuesday for example. Anyway, a daily acquaintance who similarly you could set your watch by was the 8.40am viewing of an exotic duck in my local park. I am fortunate enough to, at this time be peddling to the office, unless of course it’s raining, in which case your watch will be very out, as I take the bus.

Not wanting to sound like an M&S advert but, this is not just any duck. No, this duck was the only one of its kind in the park. Brightly coloured and seemed to keep himself to himself. It is due to this self-inflicted solitude that he first caught my eye. From then on, sure enough at 8.40am he would be there waiting on a waterlogged branch which served as a convenient perch.

Given the title of this piece, you can probably see where this is going. After weeks of looking out for him proudly watching over the pond, yesterday morning I received a shock. Not wanting to make a CSI worthy analysis; it appears that my dear friend had got caught on some rubbish on his perch and would no longer be brightening my days.

This is not a sermon about litter-louts much as I despise the practice. It is however, a challenge to you to look for the simple pleasures in your humdrum. It may not be a colourful duck but whatever works for you. Let it be a window of joy in the mundane.

Oh, and by the way, it was ‘About a Boy’

Always looking up

More than a passing phase.

The crescendo of the buzz of a bee draws near. A distant component of the background soundtrack bringing reality to the day. As a dog pricks his ears, so heads are turned to view the approaching source of the sound. This is no bee.

The scuttling shoppers, school children and office workers are parted by the fast approaching addition to the high street scene.

A character who with cannot fail to replace a furrowed brow with a glimpse of cheer. The weathered face of a scaffolder overhead, downs tools to watch. The ruddy faced  toddler is silenced mid-tantrum. Here he comes.

Velvet slippered feet straddle the standard issue mobility scooter. Collar turned up against the breeze of momentum. The tweed trilby, perhaps a nod to a smarter more youthful day. The look completed by the highly practical, somewhat amusing addition of a pair of rubber science goggles. Either this speed merchant was making a hasty getaway from a lab experiment gone wrong, or he simply had a reckless love of speed.

Assuming the latter, there is a tangible respect felt on the street for this overgrown daredevil. As smirks are shared between those witnessing such unbridled rebellion, a challenge is brought to the table: You are never too old to have fun. Those brave enough to take the challenge will be met with the turning of heads and nods of admiration. Quite rightly so. 

Simple pleasures of life

Meat Feast or Blood Bath?

Picture the scene. A small crowd gathering. Faces of desperation as limbs flail and food is grabbed. No regard for broken nails. They say ‘every man for himself’, and this scene is truly a testament to that philosophy. So you've conjured up the image. Let me guess, you’re thinking sand between the toes of shoe-less refugees as they fight for the handouts from the back of a long awaited Red Cross lorry.  

Think again, this my friend was actually the scene witnessed in Aisle 3, as I too clutched my basket in the crowds, fighting for the end of the day rejects. The unwanted, droopy Little Gem is now a bargaining chip in the fight for a cheap dinner. 

Along with countless others, as the clock creeps to 5.55pm we await in earnest to see what goodies are on offer for tonight’s meal. The assistant braces himself as he wheels the trolley of manna to the appointed fridge. Like a moth to a flame customers as far away as the household aisle drop their half price Windowlean and dash across the store for a slice of the action. Flashbacks of the nineties occur as ‘Supermarket Sweep’ becomes a chilling reality.

Now don’t get me wrong, I like a bargain as much as the next person. In fact, scratch that. I like a bargain more than the next person; spending many a happy Saturday afternoon with my nose in the Bric-a-brac shelf of the local Oxfam. But is this one step too far? Should we really be witnessing a tug of war over a nine pence cucumber? Is this a sign of the times? Are the days of waiting 4 deep at the bar being replaced with waiting 4 deep at the fridge?

Pickings were slim tonight but I walked away with a family sized quiche Loraine bought with change found in my sofa. Let’s see what tomorrow brings and if I again will manage to walk away unscathed.