Every time I sit down to write a blog post at the moment, something happens – or rather, something distracts me. You may have noticed the appearances of huge swathes of my memoirs from this year’s NaNoWriMo appearing over the last few weeks – this is where I confess that the only reason they appeared was because I couldn’t think of anything else to share. Better to share something than nothing, right ? Of course eventually I’ll empty that well entirely – then you’ll be stuck with me pontificating about things to write about, which I’m doing right now.
If there was some sort of award scheme for procrastination, I’m pretty sure I would have a special school in Okinawa, with belts, and dans, and all the rest of it. My suit would almost certainly be black, and I would sit on a hilltop, under a tree, contemplating the nature of the procrastinatory universe. Maybe.
I suppose today was SORT of eventful. Early in December, the main road through town is closed off, and all the shops stay open for late night Christmas shopping. It lasts for one night – and tonight was that night. I noticed them closing the road off while cycling home from work, and didn’t give it another thought until walking towards town for coffee with Miss 18 after dropping the younger kids off at their dance class.
“Oh crap – Starbucks is going to be busy”
As we turned the corner, the high street scrolled into view, filled with thousands of people, huge numbers of market stalls, the distant sound of a brass band, the sanctimonious tones of one of the local radio presenters, and a cacophony of children begging their parents to buy them this or that.
After taking perhaps ten minutes to progress a hundred yards through the crowds, we ducked behind the market stalls and hid in Starbucks for the better part of half an hour. While queueing to order our drinks, a barrista shooed a table filled with teenagers out onto the street. There were perhaps ten of them – all the typical entitled children of wealthy parents wearing label clothes you tend to find in this town. Thankfully they didn’t cause a scene, and silently slunk out onto the street – leaving the single drink they had bought between them on the table – pretty much untouched.
After acquiring a cappuccino, and an ice team, we found a table, and I finally got a chance to catch up with Miss 18. This used to be “our thing” – going out for coffee while the younger children were at dance. I would listen while she recounted whatever drama was unfolding at college, and try to think of non-commital responses. My other half became somewhat jealous of the bond that formed between us – in reality I think it was just the “Dad and Daughter” thing though.
While in the middle of a conversation about a potential search for penpals (for her) on Instagram, my phone rang. We needed to finish our drinks. Miss 14 needed ingredients for cookery at school in the morning. I needed to find caramel sauce at the supermarket. Have you ever looked for caramel sauce at the supermarket before? I haven’t. I still have no idea how we found it. Tucked away above the condensed milk, and hipster inspired supplements, we found “Salted Caramel” in artisan style jam jars. No doubt the millenials spread it on their organic crumpets or something.
Anyway. We returned home from town brandishing a small shopping bag, and thought ourselves somewhat victorious after completing our random mission. There has been no medal ceremony of course. There never is.