May’s Waitrose magazine was on the theme of Levant – food of the Eastern Mediterranean – but I discovered the word can also be a verb, meaning to run away leaving unpaid debts. In the many years I’ve been writing this blog, there have been a few instances when, by quirky kwinkidink, I’ve pre-empted something happening or the timing has been dramatically ironic.
Last month’s was another example: my lauding of Carlo for being such a good egg, how much he seemed to love life in the same town that I also call home. Fast forward a couple of weeks and he’s gone, his time leading the blues and being generally fantastico and magnifico as if in a dream, dreamt by another, and I can only liken the experience to that time in 2005 when I asked a girl out and we had a lovely evening until towards the end of the night I came back from the toilet to see her getting off with her flatmate at the bar. I was over it pretty quickly, but recently told a class that anecdote and this past week brought the memories flooding back once again. Still, it was generally good while it lasted, however no amount of memes or emojis will bother me at all when some of the other things that happened recently, have happened.
I’m talking about the tragic sudden passing of my cousin; my breaking a rib, bringing constant pain and discomfort; the trials and tribulations of working with teenagers during these times and ongoing, overdue renovations bringing separate stresses.
It wasn’t all bad and sad during the rest of May, mind. New arrivals, wedding bells, huge strides in progress at school and nursery. In terms of football, end of season disappointment was quickly followed by positive play off results for two seaside teams close to my heart, and a third whose badge I love. I actually think I might have brought them luck that day, what with my choice of beer:
Earlier in the month we’d enjoyed a first meet up with friends for ages, an actual meal out and a trip to town to see the mixed bag of sculptures and murals that make up this years Biennial. There was also the lovely story about the menu being found inside the wall of a cafe being renovated, which made me think of my own restaurant based time capsule being uncovered in a hundred years’ time, too.
Talking of which, the work in the house (which will all be worth it in the end) has resulted in very little TV being enjoyed, but I was alerted to an amazing series on Netflix: Maradona in Mexico. It’s quite sad, at times – dramatic irony again – as he goes from singing and dancing to hardly being able to walk, but the fire and passion come through. A must watch for any Maradonistas.
I’ve also really enjoyed This Time With Alan Partridge, despite its mixed reviews, and the quite fantastic sixth series of inside no 9. A couple of episodes were breathtaking, as was the Jimmy McGovern series Time featuring several stellar performances, including one by a lad I used to teach (who was also in an episode of Inside No. 9) and incredibly intense.
Meanwhile, May had ended on a real high, with a day out in sunny town. It had felt like a lifetime since we’d sat in a beer garden and just talked, reminisced, like old times… marvelling at the surroundings and the fashion choices of many of the younger crowds around us. Some great new al fresco places have opened, too, so special mentions to The Entry Bar, The Roof at Pins, the fantastic souvlakerie Laros, and the beautiful Sicilian fayre of Cose Buone, bringing Palerman street food to St John’s.
The sun was shining, the Euros were coming, the GCSE TAG process neared its end and despite everything else, things remained positive. June took us for pizza, to Southport for more sunshine and slot machines, trains and a first trip to soft play for a long time. Beers on an Open top bus at the marina; my own take on souvlaki, barbecued nicely; the start of the Euros, such an exciting tournament so far… then, the sad journey to funeral.
I learned a lot about Marc that day: his early rugby career, his vast collection records, the wonderful music choices.
On the way there and back, I started to read a fantastic novel: The Swallowed Man by Edward Gorey , all about Gepetto and funnily enough in the same week that a Canadian fisherman was actually swallowed (and then spat out) by a whale; the fascinating autobiography of my childhood hero, Pat Nevin, just before the England v Scotland match… then, on Disney+, the brilliant Luca, on Fathers Day, just as Italy were emerging as the best team in the tournament.
Next came some long awaited beers in town, with friends I’d not seen for eighteen months. We enjoyed the footy and the catch up. Father’s Day came too, with a wonderful tomahawk… then it was all about the fortune teller wine and festival memories.
Next up: July, a bundle of contradictions.