Big news this week. One that will not affect you, or my mission. But I have decided to quit my job.
With furlough ending, return to work emails popped up in my inbox, each one a sharp needle of panic. Forget the safety measures. The idea of leaving Clifton every day is beyond stressful.
I have squirrelled away emergency cash. The petrol dial remains unmoved since my parental trip. Social trips with friends are fun memories. My overdraft will squeak, but with baked potatoes and a jumper over heating I will reach the end of the year..
To celebrate my release I took a stroll around Clifton. Any embarrassment associated with wearing my costume outside has vanished, but I needed time to think. So when my clock ticked down to one in the morning, on went the bowler hat, suit and mouse, and I slipped into the dark.
The pubs do not open late anymore. Bar the odd yowling cat I walked in silence under the moon. Figures appeared and vanished with the speed of flash bulbs. Some wore stiff tall collars or deep brown cloaks. The huge frame of a wooly mammoth marched down the road near a zebra crossing. Was I a flicker to them?
The scents in the air changed to the fresh salt of the seaside. Ghostly shadows of grass overtook the macadam of the streets. The bottom of my trousers slipped under my trainers, and if I had stumbled, I doubt the ground would have been there to greet me.
I ended up near the zoo. My fingers touched my rough brickwork of the external walls, and the animal cried out. The grunts of gorillas and the roar of polar bears mixed with the howl of elephants long since gone. Insects buzzed, and parrots popped in and out of existence amongst the stars. I thought of ice creams and Punch and Judy shows all the way home. Dreamt of shapes below the water, triangles of light playing on their feathers.
Tasks to follow next week, then a trip to the Troubadour Club the week after. It shut forty years ago. If my costume is a space suit then I may as well go travelling.
Is the Butter mouse out there somewhere?
