The day after the Summer Solstice

 It’s early on Saturday morning. June 22nd. The day after the Summer Solstice. The longest day, making today the second longest day. I’m worried that life is simply passing me and my family by. It’s as if I’m sitting in a window seat on an express train and as I pass through stations I notice they have names I can briefly glimpse as the train whizzes past: Christmas, New Year, Easter, Summer Time, the Summer Solstice, Wimbledon, Summer Holidays, all things I allow to pass me by because they’re all things that other people do, especially holidays. There are ads on television depicting families splashing around in swimming pools and running hand-in-hand on the beach or enjoying an evening meal, but it’s not me and hasn’t been for a while. And it’s not because we can’t afford it, it’s because we’re unorganised and indecisive. We leave things to the last minute and I always hear myself saying: “Every year I say we must book it up in January, but we never do.” That’s because there’s something else to spend the money on and soon it’s the summer time and we have no money - or not the huge lump sum of cash needed - to buy a holiday outright, it’s going to mean using the credit card and getting into debt for the rest of the year. All sorts of ideas have been bandied about, like going to New York for a few days or spending a week in Croatia, but we’re incapable of getting our acts together and soon I’m of the opinion that nobody really wants to go away anywhere and things start to drift and I find myself back on that imaginary train watching the world go by outside the window. Something has to be done.

What today holds I don’t know. I said to my brother that I’d meet him on the green later, the plan being to cycle over there for a bit of exercise as the guy I normally ride with, my pal Andy, isn’t riding today, he’s paying a visit to the dentist, which is what I should be doing, but I’m such a baby where the dentist is concerned, always have been. There’s that, but also the fact that I went down with an inner ear infection, not pleasant. It made me feel dizzy and meant that sitting in the dentist’s chair was simply out of the question. It took around 15 to 18 months to clear, although if I’m honest, it’s still there, nagging away in the background, and I really worry about it coming back. While there was no connection, I gave up drinking as a result of the dizziness and haven’t touched the stuff for 21 months, probably a bit longer. I don’t think I’ll be going back to the booze either, because it never really did me any good, I would invariably make a fool of myself and wake up feeling awful in the morning. I’m truly glad I stopped because it means I can go anywhere in the car without worrying about drinking and driving. 

I’m off to Dusseldorf on Monday for a week at an exhibition and conference. I decided to take the train rather than faff around with aeroplanes. They are so much hassle: taxi to the airport, going through security, taking my laptop out of its case, all that messing around with toothpaste and shaving foam, the hour or so wait for the flight to be called, then the flight itself - always a little nerve-wracking at the best of times - and then arrival and the whole process in reverse: pick up suitcase from baggage reclaim, go through security, find my way to the city centre and so on. The train is much better and far more relaxing. The great thing about the train on this particular journey is that it will deposit me bang in the centre of town and just a short walk to my hotel, which is close to one of the best Italian restaurants in the world. In fact, that reminds me, I must get a table booked. It’s a shame I’m not drinking as one of the only times I really enjoy a glass of wine is in Da Bruno, the restaurant in question. They’re pretty generous too, preferring not to measure out the wine but instead to pour a huge glass of it AND leave the bottle on the table, even if I’ve only ordered a glass. That said, the last time I was there I enjoyed the meal without alcohol and while, back then, I felt that something was missing, I’m so glad I didn’t weaken and start drinking again. I would have been so disappointed in myself. It would have meant starting again, day one, and I would have felt so demoralised, a bit like I used to feel if I lost count of the lengths I was swimming and had to start over, but worse, far worse. Also, if I started again, I’d probably drink more too. No. No, no, no! I’m so glad I held my nerve and stuck to the Pellegrino. I remember that evening and how I went back to my hotel room relieved. I remember waking up the next morning with a clear head. Sometimes I dream about drinking and it’s always the same thing: I dream that I started again and there’s an awful sense of self-disappointment. But when I realise I was only dreaming there’s a great sense of relief.

I can hear the radio. It’s coming from my bedroom upstairs where my wife is still asleep. It’s very early. I jumped out of bed around 0515hrs and it’s now 0720hrs. I’ve checked the BBC website (there’s a story about a disturbance at a residential address involving the possible future Prime Minister of the UK, Boris Johnson). I don’t like him and not many people do. This latest revelation could mean that Jeremy Hunt, the other contender in the race to become the next leader of the Conservative Party, could win through and I think most people, bar the Brexiteers, will let out a sigh of relief. 

Right, I need to get changed. I’ve just texted Jon and he’s up for meeting at our usual meeting place on Woodmansterne Green. The weather looks fine so it should be a pleasant ride.