Yesterday I found myself reflecting on ‘the meaning of life’ on the 27 bus. A bit of a weighty subject for popping to the bank, but the sea was raging and I could hardly see out of the window.
As the mums with baby buggies (we get a lot in Brighton) jostled with the pensioners for seats, I slipped off to the back of the bus and pondered on some of the things I would have liked to have done in a lifetime. The list included such things as eating the most expensive thing on the menu -Lobster Thermidor, seeing Sydney Harbour, visiting my Uncle in California, watching a performance of the Commedia dell’arte in Venice, or gaining recognition as an artist, becoming a novelist of note. (best to at least have written a novel for this one) and of course to have done lots of goodly deeds.
Commedia dell’arte puppets, not the real thing!
It was cappuccino time in the tea shop near the Pavilion (seats only available on a good day) and I wondered if I should have become a nurse or a nun. Or worked in Kenya for a charity, like my Godmother had done. I resolved to buy Big Issue and a Poppy on the way home as a small recompense for having drifted, pathetic but true.
Alan’s shed is progressing well. I’m not sure he ponders the meaning of life too much, busy playing his banjo, which is just as well really!
One can after all only do one’s best, look after loved ones, try and be a good friend. None of us can really expect to halt dreadful world events or heal natural disasters. I guess I’ll just continue to lobby politicians, write a bit, make films that people seem to enjoy, grow things and enjoy the autumnal colours, the crimson Virginia Creeper, blackberries lingering on the hedgerow for the birds and everything turning from brown to gold.