Then and Now

Originally a long facebook post I’ve decided to turn this into a short blog entry.

Walking in the rain tonight, cosy in my coat, I remembered a particular Saturday when I was about my son’s age. It had rained and rained all week with an intensity that followed as logically and as relentlessly as a mathematical proof, from our axiomatic valley position near the Atlantic coast. 

I got up on that particular soggy Saturday, and put my heavy, untrendy second hand tracksuit on over my pyjamas, then put on my gloves, and peaked cap, then my quilted brown anorak (gloves and cap first so that the ends of the gloves were inside the cuffs of the coat, and the cap was sealed in to the hood), socks over trousers, and then feet into my wellies. Then I went outside and I ran around like a delighted dervish in the pouring rain, protected by my layers of clothes.

The sunlight was pushing through the clouds giving the landscape an amber-grey hue and an other-world, dreamlike quality. I can see now the flickering and scratches on the Super8 of my memory. 

I rolled down a slope in our garden compressing hundreds of huge heavy drops from overburdened grass blades into the quilt of my anorak and the thick cotton of my trousers. I remember now the thick nature smell of freshly wetted earth and squashed grass. Then, before the water got through to my skin I ran inside to my mum, to towel my face, to dump the heavy wet clothes in the laundry basket, and fill my chilled red cheeks with hot buttered toast.

But I wouldn’t have done that if I’d had an iPad to play with.