One Green Bottle (Part I)

When I think back to the first time I set eyes on Little Willis Cottage I remember it was the type of warm September evening that used to remind me of the first days back at school. My brother Sean had bought the cottage three months earlier after being appointed Head of Chemistry at a high school deep in the heart of Midsommer Murders country. So when I learnt from my lover I had lost my job and from my employer I had lost my lover, Little Willis Cottage seemed to me the perfect retreat. A place in the country where I could forget what a mess my life had become.

To me what I saw as my taxi pulled up outside Little Willis Cottage was a quaint farm labourer’s cottages which displayed the scars of passing years and hinted of secrets waiting to be discovered beyond it’s facade. If it ever did once had a history as I walked through the front door I realised my brother had managed to eradicate each and every memory of bygone years. The warmth of the fireplace was gone forever replaced by a fifty inch plasma TV and where once may have stood aged oak dressers the latest offerings from IKEA took pride of place. It wasn’t until Sean showed me the guest bedroom overlooking the garden I discovered the soul of Little Willis Cottage. In that room with it’s lime washed walls I shared the cottage’s anger at the torments my brother’s refurbishments had brought upon it and looking up at the oaken rafters I felt a bond as I wondered how many souls had slept beneath them.

Oblivious to the needs of his own home and misconstruing the look upon my face, Sean began to apologise, “I’m afraid I haven’t got around to this room yet, what with the kids starting school.”

“How inconvenient of them,” I replied and Sean laughed. It was then I saw the little green bottle sitting on the bedside table. “What’s that?” I asked picking it up. Peering into the bottle I could see trapped inside four strands of golden hair.

“That! I don’t know I found it up here when I moved in.” Perhaps seeing the longing in my eyes Sean continued “you can keep it if you want I was only going to throw it out.” Gratefully I stowed the bottle in my pocket and followed Sean out of the door as he continued his tour of the house.

That night for the first time in months I slept like a newly born baby and when I woke with a smile on my face I discovered in my hand that little green bottle. Thinking nothing more of it I left the bedroom and looking back I remember smiling as I thought how happy I would be to spend eternity locked away inside those four walls.

Entering the kitchen I discovered Sean was already at the breakfast table and as I sat down he passed me the milk for my Coco Pops a wicked smile on his face. “Pleasant dreams!” he asked and when I didn’t reply but only looked confused the smile on his face widened. “The noise you were making kept me awake most of the night.”

“What noise?” I asked remembering how peacefully I thought I had spent the night.

“What noise? All I could hear all night was you moaning and groaning. If I didn’t know better I’d have thought someone was in there with you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied but  my thoughts wandered back to the smile on my face when I woke and my cheeks reddened as I remembered at least a part of my dreams. 

“What’s the plan for today?" I asked to change the subject. "I thought you might show me around the village,”

My brother looked up at me as he continued to shovel Coco Pops into his mouth. “There’s not much to see and I’ve got this rugby match I’ve got to do to but if you want I can meet you in the village pub for lunch?”

“I’d like that,” but before I could ask more maybe even where the village pub was Sean stood up and picking up a piece of toast walked towards the door.

Reaching the door he looked over his shoulder at me, “I’ll see you about twelve,” I just about made out as pieces of toast flew across the room and then Sean was gone leaving me alone in a strange but eerily familiar cottage. Now that my brother was out of the way my body began to cry out for it’s first nicotine hit of the day but as I looked for my lighter in my pocket all thoughts of cigarettes disappeared as my hand wrapped itself around a little green bottle. I can’t remember how it got there but it seemed I could not put down. Placing it carefully on the table I studied it for a few minutes building up the courage to pop it’s cork. Nervously I reached out my hand and placing it on the bottle I pulled the stopper. Then came the bang!

Where Have All The Pot Banks Gone?

Where have all the pot banks gone?

What is happening to my city’s sons?

Men being laid off at the Shelton Bar,

Workers wondering in the pugging yard,

Nobody wants anymore our ceramic wares,

We’re a city living on yesteryears.

A land called China sells at half the cost,

No history, no finesses, no cares if they get lost,

Who cares if my city is being laid to rest?

Thousands of workers ending up desolate,

Factories and smog some are thankful they are gone,

But not the lifeblood of my city, the voiceless ones.

Where have all the pot banks gone?

Why! Tell that to my city’s sons.

Hunters Way Drive

“I can see them down there you know, the little people, the worker ants of our society. People just like you and me scurrying around and for once I can lie back and just sit here alone with my crossword. Three down, seven letters, intense joy, that’s what I feel up here alone on top of this hill. I’ve always liked it here it has to be one of my favourite places in the world, somewhere I can come to and look down on creation and feel like a god.

I met him once you know, God he was right here. At least I thought it was him but thinking back it could have just been one too many joints, a little too much of the squidgy black. Whatever it was I was lying right here, on this very spot looking up at the stars in the sky when I saw him, or it could have been one of his angels looking down on me. You can imagine how surprised I was, it was one of those change of underwear moments and then. Then he spoke to me. I can’t remember the exact words but I remember he did speak and afterwards I remember being happy like I was at one with the world. It was like, you know religious in the words of a modern day philosopher, I wished I could fly.

Whatever he said and yes I’m pretty sure it was a he, I remember it made me look at my life in a different way. You see back then my life was shit, I spent my days working in the very same pot banks I swore I would never work in when I was growing up and the nights? The nights were just one long carousel of drink and drugs and girls. How I loved those girls! Every weekend we’d end up in the pubs or a nightclub if there’d been overtime and there they’d be. Make up plastered on like war paint, big hair and cheap perfume, god I love the smell of cheap perfume it takes me back to those pubs and clubs on a Friday night. I’ve got this friend at work who reckons the older you become the more expensive your tastes get, maybe they do but back then I liked it cheap. Cheap wine, cheap holidays to my Nan’s caravan in Rhyl and cheap girls, two pints of snakebite and black and they were yours. Well at least most of the time they were and this is where I would bring them, right here to my little room on top of the world and then!

You can guess the rest. It’s funny I still remember them all, the blondes, the brunettes, some a little overweight, some too skinny but they all had pretty eyes, every one. They had to have pretty eyes. And everyone they gave something to me, they made me feel. How good did they make me feel? You know that feeling right at the end? What’s that word? It was like, like I was wanted. They made me feel like I belonged. But I’m getting lost in memories a little distracted. What about the crossword? Fourth letter, T!

T! I went to T in the park last summer, what a waste of time. The only thing I got out of it was I learned I’m not just getting old, I am old. All the bands sound the same, sad, morose wanting to kill themselves. The audience never felt like that when I used to go to concerts back when I was a teenager but maybe I shouldn’t be so critical. I used to like Bon Jovi, Guns and Roses that sort of music you know, that tried to be rock but wasn’t quite rock the way it should be, a bit like the bands today they want to be different but! I even liked Skid Row, do you remember them? I bought their album on CD the other day and listening to it made me think back to Hunter’s Way Drive. I guess that’s why I’m here thinking of what used to be.

Back then I was young, still at school trying too hard to act the tough guy, chasing after girls and everything seemed, well I guess everything would seem different looking back now. Back then when things went wrong, like you’d been caught smoking behind the bike sheds, you felt as if it was the end of your days on earth. You couldn’t conceive of a future or even think of tomorrow, your life was over. On the other hand when things were good they were damn good. That first kiss made you feel like you were going to explode and your first love! It was a love that would never end until you met your best friend’s sister that is.

Feelings back then were so extreme. I guess you could say it’s just a learning curve but do we really learn or are we desensitised? As we get older do we learn to recognise feelings for what they are or do we become so hardened by life’s emotional swings and roundabouts that we can’t experience feelings the way that we used to? I don’t know I’m just a middle aged man sat upon a hill, looking down on my home town and thinking back to how it used to be, trying to complete my crossword.

I got it ecstasy that’s the missing word, like everything it means so much less these days, these days it’s just a word. I know the crossword clue says intense joy, it’s a feeling, a moment like when I was close to god or holding a woman in my arms but it’s not anymore, it’s just a drug. A synthetic, smiling faces and dilated pupils, a drug nothing more! The feeling you get when you hold your first born in your arms for the first time is amazing, life changing, emotions words can’t describe but if I had to pick a word it wouldn’t be ecstasy, it’s a drug nothing more. 

Words change as society progresses through the ages, what was once rapturous delight, a religious connection with your god is now a drug nothing more. When we were growing up weed grew in the garden and to our parents he lived with Bill and Ben now you’re more likely to find him hanging out with Charlie, who used to be the boy at the back of the class with NHS specs, now they’re drugs nothing more. That’s life, it’s progress, it’s what we call society today. God knows what we’ll call it tomorrow?”