STAIN

boxing day
when are we going to do some boxing? asks hannah
curious
as a kid i never questioned why boxing day was called boxing day
it just had a kind of right-sounding feel to it
chrismus day then...boxing day
anyway
the weather is mild n sunny n bright
we load hannah's scooter into the boot
and all six of us drive over to cannon hill park
birmingham's best park
according to my dad
who has a far superior working knowledge
of brum's recreational spaces
cannon hill is one of those victorian parks
which was donated by a kindly philanthropissed
once he or she had made a fortune exploiting their workers
i suppose
there are a couple of boating lakes
a black n white elizabethan-style cricket pavilion
wide open spaces
flower beds with exotic palm trees
kiddies playgrounds
a cycle track
and of course the 'mac'
the midlands arts centre
where i learnt to play classical guitar as a teenager
reaching grade six no less
in the so-called hexagon theatre
with my mate mike from number 83
and our wellspoken and slightly sexy teacher fran griffin
who always finished the lesson with a cheery 'toddle off now boys'
much to our amusement
once i played a piece for all the parents in a guitar concert
left foot placed on footstool
legs wide open
then realised afterwards i'd been flying low the whole time!
i guess the classical stuff helped me quite a bit
even though all i really wanted to do
was learn to strum chords
figure out how to play beatles songs
and get on with writing my own
the summer we left school
i played footy at cannon hill park with my mates from five ways
the summer i turned eighteen
and ironically got refused in a pub for the first time
the summer all of us headed off to university and adulthood
and the rest of our lives
eddie passalacqua
gavin rebello
nigel prosser
and all the others
where are you now?
'friends reunited' provides scant clues...
in the bright low-angled sunlight of the winter solstice
we feed the canada geese on the lake
hannah does a turn on her scooter
then asks for a hug
she's still not fully recovered from a pre-xmas cold
we do a brief tour of the playgrounds
then dad and i go for a stroll
while the others head off for a cuppa at the mac
back at the ranch
i experiment with a beetroot n cabbage salad
beetroot with its amazing healing properties
courtesy of our organic box
to accompany the festive feast
it turns out better than i could have dreamed
getting a rare unanimous thumbs-up
after dinner i resume my newly assumed role as games master
wrapping up a 'pass the parcel' from recycled xmas pressie paper
and organising a game of charades
the highlight is uncle johnny desparately trying and failing
to convey the concept of 'zen & the art of motorcycle maintenance'
while his bewildered team mates scratch their heads
unfortunately
in the middle of all the excitement
i have to blot my copy book
leaving a glass of ruby red port by the sofa
for someone to knock all over the carpet
we soak up the liquid with paper
and cover the stain with salt
but a long pink finger still extends stubbornly across the carpet this morning
suggestions on a postcard please...