Oh this spring has been ruinous. These reflections, thoughts! And then heating up yesterday’s leftovers of stew, listening to some millionaire on the radio, distracted by the garden’s bare earth and stunted buds. I got a text from friends on holiday earlier: the sun had come out and they had gone swimming. Here there are flurries of snow again. Tomorrow will be the same. We are becoming desperate. We do not know it but we are.
‘There’s only so long a coat keeps out the cold.’ It was all dad said as finished his pint and returned home to sleep.
The stock exchange has declared that trading will be suspended until Thursday. The parliamentary vote on the bailout is being postponed. The man in the shop was in tears this morning; the shelves of his grocery almost utterly bereft. Across the town, cashpoints are running out of notes every ten minutes. Queues are restless, fraught. A military plane carrying a million in cash flew in yesterday evening as part of contingency plans for foreign nationals. At least some people will get to eat.
Back at the hotel it still feels warm enough for a swim – but the water is icy.
There is a queue spilling from a greengrocer’s door into a gentrified street. The customers are affluent and wrapped up in tweed and heavy knits. In a pub round the corner the rugby has just finished. The landlord kills the screen and the afternoon’s drinkers begin to disperse. Everyone goes home to cook or order something in. Drink.
Oh this spring has been cold. My neighbour says that if they don’t feel the warmth of the sun, narcissi grow up blind. They rise, look strong, but never flower. I think of this sometimes when I watch the wealthy at play.