Buds

I have one dream in life. A writing room with a huge window that shows the seasons as they come and go. A large garden with an expanse of water at the bottom. A clear view of the sky - which must be blue for at least three-quarters of the year. That's it.
I popped my head out the attic window earlier. That view wasn't there. The sun was though. So I left my head there for an hour, watching nothing much, as it came and went with a whispering breeze that I'm nearly sure was saying, 'Don't pay the Household Charge.'
I'm lucky. I don't have too. It's Mum that rents this place. Even if they tried to get it from her I wish them luck. In her condition and all.

Sonny and his missus finally went south yesterday. It was bound to happen. He popped round earlier for a cuppa. How Irish.
"I think we're incompatible," he said.
No shit, Sonny!
They are going to share their house until Sonny gets sorted or the banks take it. Shouldn't be a problem. They've been at that most their married lives already.
He rambled on. Blaming everything from the Dame St. Occupation, his continuing money issues, and his failings between the marital sheets for the break-up.
I tuned out early. I don't know how Sonny went from being a motivator to this half-shaved hobo, that was starting to outstay his welcome. I'd things to be doing.
Things!

Why is this house always invaded by the defeated? Is it because I let them wear the lug-holes off me by nodding and throwing out the occasional 'yeah.'
I'm glad people don't ask me, 'What did I just say?' I'd be screwed 99% of the time. That's acceptable in most quarters nowadays. Plus, I rarely get screwed.
I got an invitation to Denise's latest launch yesterday. Don and Friend. I'm not a launch person. Unless it's on a rocket off the planet.
I'm sure it can be avoided. I'll come down with something before then.

Gustav, the foreigner from next door popped in this evening.
'Come. We shoot something,' he said, armed with a new camera.
'You want swig with this,' he said, handing me a vodka flask he had in his other hand. There was no-one about - so why not.

We walked up to Haunted Hill. I took in the surroundings as he wandered around poking his lens into whatever he could find.
Got to admit it. On a clear day, there's no beating this place. For all her faults. Probably why the spirits never leave here. Roaming around like they are supposed too. Like Cirrus clouds.
I lay in the lengthening grass as Gustav swapped the camera for the flask, before meandering off again searching. I think i feel asleep. I woke grasping for breath. Gustav had closed my nasal passage with his fingers.
'I spend twenty minutes trying to find you,' he laughed, as I regained myself.
'Come, I show you on the computer,' he said, walking away back toward town. Once I got my breath back and wiped the water from my reddened eyes, I followed.

Once back Gustav made two of his specials. Vodkatae. He began downloading the photos from his camera on to his computer. We came across one he'd taken of me. Asleep. Mouth wide open. Looking auld. Beetroot, I was. That pesky sun.

Between the misses Gustav had scored a few hits.
'Look at this,' he said excitedly as I made two more specials. I went back to the computer.
'Buds' he said, smiling. Someone happy. How rare.




I hope Sonny's alright. I might give him a bell tomorrow.
That's if I don't wake in the morning a bleedin' blister.