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Meanwhile: The musings of Englishman, Simon Jones. Simon Jones writes Meanwhile. Simon Jones, people watching, ebook, online book
Meanwhile, articles and short stories written by online author, Simon Jones. God, Jesus, stars, flying, night sky, electric storm, creator

Hey old man, remember me-your past? It's been a while, how have you been? I would have written sooner but you know how it goes. Time just filled up with things to do, the way it always does, and then before you even notice it years have past, so many years. But you'd know that better than me I suppose.

So what's it like there, in the future? It seems so far away to me, but I guess it's not really that far is it. Of course you know that when I was a boy anyone old enough to wear a suit seemed old to me. They could have been twenty, thirty, forty or fifty, it didn't seem to make a lot of difference, they were older, and to me a lot of the time they were simply just old.

When you were a child time was like a vast ocean, you accepted the passing hours and days without question or thought. They came and went like waves and tides. Six weeks of summer holiday used to drag on and on. The days slowed like music on a walkman with fading batteries. Do you remember how Christmas Eve would always out stay its welcome? You'd be in bed willing yourself to sleep so as to be able to open all those wonderfully wrapped presents under the tree, but you were too excited. What could they be? Will you get what you want? Eventually, without you noticing sleep comes and moments later it's Christmas morning. You race down stairs and rush into the front room where the smell of pine needles is thick in the air, one of the benefits of having a real tree. And what a magnificent tree it is too, weighed down with tinsel, lights and decorations that somehow give it a magical quality that makes this the best Christmas tree in the world, or at the very least the best Christmas tree in your world.

So how come that the rainy days were always longer than Christmas day back then, regardless of how late you were allowed to stay up. Way past dinner, way past the family game of 'Trivial pursuit' in which Louise would always cheat and Mom would shout the answers from the Kitchen as she clattered about putting things away. Way past Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom, way past James Bond with all his wonderful toys and the wonderful women you only noticed when your voice became a little deeper. The curtains are closed and the fire is on. The smell of Christmas diner hangs in the warm heated air with the sounds of well fed people talking and laughing loudly late into the night. But Christmas day was always over too soon, wasn't it old man?

It's funny how the moments you remember, that stick in your mind for years after, can be so utterly random. Like the time Granddad let you sit in the front seat when he drove you home in his little orange mini. And how the indicators made a noise like an antique metronome as a green light flashed below the overemphasized speedometer that was positioned in the center of the dashboard unlike any other car you'd seen.
"Why do the indicators make that noise Granddad?"
The stiff suspension of the little car made the road feel fun, like bumper cars at the fair.
"So I know when I'm turning." he answered as we stopped at the junction.
The explanation seemed so logical at the time.

How come these random moments stay so locked in. They're not life changing poignant moments, they're not even that special, but somehow through the years these images have remained flawless. Like walking home from Chelmsford town centre with my Mom as she pushed my younger sister along the 'Bunny's walk' pathway in a stroller. It was a hot clear afternoon in 1979 and I had just bought a tape player for fourteen pounds from Boots. A flat black tape recorder with chunky buttons, the type where you had to press play and record together to record something.


--- Article Notes ---

Time of death : 15:51 (Nov 14, 2004)
I had fully intended to complete this 'meanwhile' at a later stage. But as with so many 'later stages' it never happened and so after many months of living on literary life support I decided to turn of the ventilator and let this 'meanwhile' pass away peacefully.

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