I went for a stroll in the graveyard with my Butter Mouse suit on. In Clifton this is not a weird activity. Well, excluding the suit.
Birdcage Walk and the graveyard that surrounds is my favourite piece of greenery in Clifton. There is Victoria Park, and the small scraps of land near the high street, but I saw dead rats at both when I was a kid, and this tainted them forever.
A twisted roof of greenery forms a natural ceiling over the path through a Victorian graveyard. The crumbling graves hides hundreds of years of history. A church once sat where the green space is on the other side, a victim of the war. Only a rim of stones remains. On a sunny day and act of destruction like this is impossible to imagine.
All these spots used to rougher. Cans and needles in the grass. My mate got his wallet nicked when stopped for a half hour game of football. Now Mums sit with their children next to students reading for their PhDs.
Now we can sit outside again I lie on the grass. After an hour the couples and pushchair vanished. I had ten glorious minutes alone under the sun.The tweed boxed in the heat, and my hair forms a soggy wall around the brim of my hat. Looking forward to a haircut.
The graveyard of Birdcage Walk, sadly after the man had vanished.
Someone emerged from amongst the graves. Rusty fences enclose the tombs, but they are still open to the sky, and you can see all the way to the other end.
A figure stood at the far side, partially obscured by plants and stone figures. A bristling beard covered half their face, and despite the heat they wore a red coat made of something like velvet. They were familiar, like a character from a cartoon I had not watched for years. Dots of red glowed in the beard hair, unknown tiny fires.
I tried to get a photo. Something to share with you. But my phone was in an inside pocket inside an inside pocket of my coat, and by the time I fumbled the device into my hands, the man was gone.
Perhaps there was evidence in the graveyard. Footprints at least. But a slick detective persona refused to emerge at the thought of the fiery beard. I scarpered back to the flat.
Had another crisis upon my return about continuing with the project. Had that scary twisty stomach when the rollercoaster ticks up a gear. But for now I will keep on going.
Spoke to my parents on the phone. Line was scratchy. Told them to stay safe and keep away. My friends accept I am busy.
Story follows next week.
