No flights. Is this down to East Midlands airport being closed with the snow, or do covert airborne forces also fall to their not being able to get off their drives? Or is it a Sunday thing?
Call: response; a helicopter passes over as I write these notes, 6:46am.
Seagulls are in the garden, and this being not so far from the point in the UK that’s furthest from the sea; some village in South Staffs, from memory. Crows as big as cats on the white roofs, and on the fence that borders what was Agnes’s orchard, two male blackbirds perch, side by side, either at truce (adverse weather conditions) or reduced to menacing dialogue. No hits on Sundays in The Wire… until the decay began.
The village church here is an anomaly, situate a quarter-mile from any sort of centre, so positioned back in the day to serve travellers as they forked off up north from Derby, over the old bridge and then running east of the village. So it, the church, is stranded and apart. Bells come in on the wind sometimes. No market place either, and so these two un-collecting quirks kept the village in the main the size it was, forcing commerce and worship up the road to its beautiful retreat, and to bloom. (We did have seven pubs at one time.)
As a child it was my job to make the household mugs of tea on weekend mornings. Saturdays up as a paperboy anyway; Sundays up for mass as an altar server. Here’s your tea, one sugar… here’s your blood of Christ.
This morning there’s a spoon trapped behind the wood draining rack. It’s not a spoon I’d use personally, but it’ll still need liberating. Two, three years ago I started on a piece called Spoon Rescue – a Mitchell-and-Webb-esque extended sketch in the style of a very-narrated thing, like Motorway Cops, proposed as:
A gripping new television documentary following a brave and dedicated team of men and women, and one extraordinary dog, who will go to any length to retrieve spoons from difficult or inconvenient situations and, to a degree, or within limits, restore them to operational cutlery status (OCS). As the series unfolds we learn of personal hopes and fears and dreams of team members; of blossoming and fading relationships, and of the devoted passions that keep the team together as one… as Spoon Rescue!
I free the spoon this morning. My right-hand index finger doesn’t feel a thing. I have my favourite spoons – oh, for Christ’s sake, the only spoons I’ll use. ‘Derek Behaviour’, B. calls it, but I prefer to think Melvin Udall.
I have Helen Hunt on an iPlayer save of the USA’s Who Do You Think You Are? I take my tea back to bed to watch it, knowing I’ll be interested in the cultural differences in how ancestries are presented. And connections made.
© Steve Mitchell, Fisher Lane