When I was 18, I was given, as a present, a trip on the ferry to Spain. It was a 2 day crossing from Plymouth to Santander, with 4 glorious hours ashore before another 48 hour return journey.Now obviously, I wouldn't be allowed to make this trip unaccompanied, so I was to be chaperoned my my Grandmother, a redoubtable woman of indestructable stock, high moral values and a god fearing attitude.
I hate remorse. I hate the way it gnaws at you. Constantly eating into your memories, chiding and prodding and poking you with "you ought to have's" and "you shouldn't have's"
So I did drink, against her wishes. I did smoke against her wishes. I did things, against her wishes that, at the time I was fine with;but now, I perhaps think I shouldn't have done.
The crossing was good, Santander a misery hole of rain slicked streets and unwelcoming Spaniards.
On the return trip, I was propositioned by a gay man, which was quite an eye opener for an 18 year old lad from the sticks. I have no remorse regarding telling him "I wasn't batting for the other side, thanks".
As for the odd oval discoloured part of the photo? It was on my Grandmother's bedside table in a frame 'till she died. I guess I wasn't alltogether a bad Grandson, just her only one.
Better than none at all I guess.
3 comments:
regrets are what we all have, but a total waste of time...from the mere information that she had this next to her bed tull she died, i bet she adored you!!
Thanks soulbrush.Yes she did love me, and I was adored. The trouble is, I don't think i kept to my end of the bargaiin, and there was perhaps an imbalance of payments. That's the remorse I hate. I keep finding as I get older that like an inevitable, unstoppable spreading stain, all memories are now tainted with this remorse,and nothing will wash whiter than white to remove it; rather like a red sock in my brain defiling evrything it comes near.
I suppose you could learn to love that sock-washed shade of pink..no?
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