Patches

Four days proper in Horsham. Decided to spend time with the cousins - namely the pickle. Notwithstanding I didn't have a place to stay, I haven't seen him since winter where I visited after my excursion to central Europe and the Balkans. After the past few hectic days, it'll be good to relax and recharge for my trip around southeast Asia.

Day 1: Friday. Spent the day around town where an authentic French market was being held in conjunction with the French Horsham Fest. Spices, flowers, dried fruits, olives, green plants, onions, garlic, pancakes, biscuits from Brittany, French bread, tarts, croissants, cheeses, charcuterie, tartiflette, garlic mushrooms, prawns, cold sausages, basketwork, wooden toys, jewellery, scarves, bags, sunglasses, Parisian handbags, Provencal soaps, sweets. Boxes of sweets like quilt patches. Patches of sweets.

Day 2: Saturday. The pickle's school holds a summer fete. I find out from his parents that it's a Catholic school but keep my reservations to myself. Pretty quaint little thing with stalls selling second-hand books and toys; burgers and hotdogs; as well as cakes and tea. I salvage my deprived boyhood by tinkering with the fire engine that's dropped by.

The pickle goes off and does his thing: playing footie with his mates. I go off and do my thing: check out if there are any good books on sale. Before leaving, I challenge him to a race on the obstacle course meant for ten year olds like himself. There's no way I'm going to go through the sramble net, the tires and collapsible tunnel.

We both end up with green patches on our jeans where the knees are. I give him a piggy-back all the way to the car to stop him from feeling too disappointed. At least, he's back to laughing now.

Day 4: Monday. Weather forecast: intermittent showers. Woke up to windless rain today. Made my way to the local park where the sun peaked out from a break in the clouds. Wind started blowing rain underneath my umbrella halfway there.

Now on the swings. Patches of blue amidst dark rainclouds above. I was just thinking: I'm quite glad to be on my own. If I were to be in a relationship, I'd run to my boy, cry myself in his arms whilst feeling sorry for myself. Most likely end up not doing anything about my problems because I take comfort in knowing that everything'll be alright as long as I've got my boy. But now that I'm single, there's no point in feeling sorry for myself. There's no time for helplessness. I take control of my future and change it where possible. I guess I feel happier but I still wish for a pair of arms to fall asleep in.