The sun is peeking through the gaps in the cumulus clouds. The air is fresh and the light breeze brushes my skin. Birds sing their song in the nearby trees. Somewhere in the distance gulls squawk.

Life has taught me that there is little point in stressing about my daughters taking ages to get ready in the morning. On school and workdays, it can be difficult to maintain that thought, however while enjoying some vacation time, I need to be able to let those stress moments pass.

So, while my eldest (15) is complaining about being tired because of my snoring and refusing to get out of bed, and my youngest (12 going on 13) is getting herself sorted in the bathroom, I am taking this time for a short moment of peace.

Sat on the wooden, covered terrace attached to the caravan my family has rented for the week, this is the reclamation that I mentioned in a previous post. Ever since I was a teenager, I would constantly be writing when I had moments to myself. Whatever the moment, I would always have a small notebook, with a pen shoved into the ring binding, tucked into the back pocket of my jeans.

My thoughts, whatever they happened to be, would be written down. If I had no pressing thoughts, bursting for their freedom on the page, I would often just sit and meditate over a cigarette. Words would begin to flow and I would jot them down.

Back then, they were in the form of song lyrics. Most of those songs I only ever played during the acoustic nights I occasionally played at. Unfortunately, the songs my band (Born Stupid) played, were mostly stupid stuff. The bedrock tunes had been written when I was 15-18, and some had lyrics that I’m somewhat grateful were very slurred when I sang them on the recordings. 

By the time my songs were maturing, the band had already pretty much fallen apart. Then my focus shifted to narrative fiction. In a sense, that writing focus was me going back to an even earlier place. I’d always wanted to be a writer. Even as far back as primary school, I had in my head that I wanted to be a writer. Life tends to push you in all kinds of directions, though. Often the one you least suspect, if you have any suspicion at all. (I could never have imagined that I’d end up in Germany, working for a video game company.)

But I am again going to write. Step one, is journalling here, on The Purgatorial Man. I will make that time that I neglected for so long. And I hope that I’ll capture a bit of the sunshine from between those clouds in the process.