For some weeks now I have had something on my mind. It’s one of those things that crop up in my head from time to time, and which is given due
consideration before being re-consigned into the mish mash of all the other
thoughts that languish in my brain waiting to be dusted off once in the
proverbial blue moon to spend a few more moments in the light of day.
But this ‘something’ has been hanging about for some time now, flitting about
in the semi-shadows reminding me it is there and wondering when I am going to give it a voice. And I have continued to consider it and wondering much the
same thing because, frankly, if I don’t give it a voice it will probably continue to loiter with intent to distract me from other things.
So then… I’m giving it a voice. Whether or not it will make sense is a whole other physical activity played (allegedly for fun) with a spherical object.
A few weeks ago, I saw two bees mating. One moment I was standing on my porch admiring the weeds in the garden, and the next moment a bee piggy-backing another bee were launching themselves in my general direction before blatantly charging into my shed to… well… do ‘it’. I was quite bemused and then amused at the time. And then, a bit later, after the pair had paused for a fag and then disappeared into the afternoon, I wondered if I would see such a thing again in my lifetime. I decided that the answer was “probably not” but it provided one of those internet-esque bumps to my thoughts…
A couple of weeks before the sexed up bees, I had been out walking. I was walking along a path (not a metaphysical or spiritual path, but a real honest to goodness, paved, flag-stoned path) that I have walked along maybe a thousand times before over the course of my life. I’d probably first walked it when I was five years old and, now (or then), there I was walking it again at the tender age of 105 years old, more or less, give or take the odd year or two (of which there have been several odd years).
And it occurred to me that sooner or later, the footsteps that I trod along that path would be the last time I trod it. Sooner or later, I concluded, I would walk along that path for the very last time.
And so, not one for looking an opportunity to think along maudlin lines in the face and refusing to look it in the eye, that sparked my mind into thinking about all the last times that were probably to come, and also the last times that maybe I had already had.
Let’s face it: We do things every day of our lives and some of those things are things that we do day after day and don’t think twice about, don’t give a second thought to. Yes, the usual take it for granted scenario. But yet, those things are always subject to being that ‘last time’.
From the trivial and fairly insignificant “will today have been the last time I ever eat chips?” to the less than trivial and fairly significant “will this be the last day I wake up?” Alright, the latter is extreme, admittedly.
So then, a less-extreme example.
Peeling potatoes. Will today be the last day I peel potatoes. Actually, come to think about it, I didn’t peel any potatoes today.
Okay… Forget potatoes. How about the act of me writing these words and posting them here on this website? Maybe this is the last time I will do that. For those of you who said "we live in hope" you are gits.
Okay, so forget this wordage too (well, not entirely forget as that will rather prevent you from reading further, obviously).
Forget wordage, think places, think locations.
There are places I like to go but don’t necessarily go that often. I like to walk up
the Zig Zag at Selborne Common. Once upon a time I would probably do that
several times a year but now, in my dotage (!), it has probably been a year
since I last went there. So, I have to ask myself, was the last time I went
there the very last time I will visit it?
Where else? Reaching into the memory banks – Cerreg Cennen Castle in Wales. It’s one of the grooviest castles stored in my memories and I have been there a couple of times, the last time being about 15 – 20 years ago. I’ve often thought about going back, to see its walls silhouetted against the skyline, to feel all the memories I attach to that place come flooding back, and yet I never have. Will I? Possibly. Maybe. Perhaps not. Maybe I have in fact already visited that place for the last time. Distance is… a barrier.
Okay then, closer to home where the barrier is somewhat less barrier-like - the Castle at Greywell, the ruin on the canal. I’ve been there perhaps a hundred times. The last visit was only a matter of a couple of weeks ago. But was that the last time I will do so? Probably not, but then again who knows when the double-decker of life will decide to jump the red light and…
Cheery? Moi?
Perhaps I attach too much importance to this way of thinking. Just because the thought has been bugging me and refuses to go away doesn’t necessarily mean it’s important; it might just mean I have too much time on my hands. And maybe the latter is true. Because, in all probability and in the greater scheme of things, the majority of these ‘last time’ moments that I have been rambling on about have, on balance, very little importance and/or impact on my life today.
We all visit many places in the course of our lifetimes and do a great many things, and the vast majority of these one-off occasions where the first time is more or less the last time is perfectly okay because that was how they were always supposed to be. One shot moments. And then finito. Done. Dusted. Into the recycle bin.
Forgotten.
Which is fine.
I suppose.
And I should have ejected the bugging thought pattern back into the mish mash at that point in the unwinding of thoughts and been done with it.
But then…
But then…
But then I extended the thought from places and things to something else: to people.
Because it’s about people too. And not just any people. Friends.
There are so many people, friends that I used to see regularly and now no longer see at all or see so infrequently as to be much the same thing. Many, if not most of these people, if not all of these people, are important to me in one way or another and yet how many of them have I already seen for the last ime? I suspect that the answer to that is too many. And if that is the case does that beg the question as to how important are they really, or does it simply
highlight the fact that no matter how important they are, sooner or later the
last time really will be the last time…
Last times, final words.
And also…
Last chord sequences.
Another sooner or later: Sooner or later, Simonitov and I will write our last song together. No, that is not a moment for rejoicing, thank you very much. But sooner or later, the final touches that Simonitov puts to one of our songs really will be the finishing touch.
And sooner or later the last lyric I wrote will be the last lyric I write – and no, that is still not a moment for rejoicing…
If you were thinking that then you too are gits.
Today a friend reminded me that in the end everybody dies. Not that I needed to be reminded. But…
…it’s a worrying thought.
Because I am sure that there is much left that I need to do. And much left that I need to do again. In my memories there are far too many ‘last times’ that need to be resurrected so that the last time of yesterday becomes the last time of tomorrow.
I wonder if I can achieve any of them before the double-decker hits me? Or before the double-decker hits one of those people, one of those friends?
Recently, a very good friend of mine that I see only rarely was viciously attacked in the street and badly beaten. If my friend’s attackers hadn’t been interrupted maybe they wouldn’t have stopped at just badly beating my friend.
Sometimes we do not dictate the last times; sometimes other people dictate them for us.
It’s a quite a sobering thought and probably the reason why the whole ‘last time’ thing is refusing to completely go away.
Because, maybe, it is trying to tell me something. And maybe, I should listen properly.
Just for a change.
Just one more time.
Just one more last time.
Steve B
:-/
consideration before being re-consigned into the mish mash of all the other
thoughts that languish in my brain waiting to be dusted off once in the
proverbial blue moon to spend a few more moments in the light of day.
But this ‘something’ has been hanging about for some time now, flitting about
in the semi-shadows reminding me it is there and wondering when I am going to give it a voice. And I have continued to consider it and wondering much the
same thing because, frankly, if I don’t give it a voice it will probably continue to loiter with intent to distract me from other things.
So then… I’m giving it a voice. Whether or not it will make sense is a whole other physical activity played (allegedly for fun) with a spherical object.
A few weeks ago, I saw two bees mating. One moment I was standing on my porch admiring the weeds in the garden, and the next moment a bee piggy-backing another bee were launching themselves in my general direction before blatantly charging into my shed to… well… do ‘it’. I was quite bemused and then amused at the time. And then, a bit later, after the pair had paused for a fag and then disappeared into the afternoon, I wondered if I would see such a thing again in my lifetime. I decided that the answer was “probably not” but it provided one of those internet-esque bumps to my thoughts…
A couple of weeks before the sexed up bees, I had been out walking. I was walking along a path (not a metaphysical or spiritual path, but a real honest to goodness, paved, flag-stoned path) that I have walked along maybe a thousand times before over the course of my life. I’d probably first walked it when I was five years old and, now (or then), there I was walking it again at the tender age of 105 years old, more or less, give or take the odd year or two (of which there have been several odd years).
And it occurred to me that sooner or later, the footsteps that I trod along that path would be the last time I trod it. Sooner or later, I concluded, I would walk along that path for the very last time.
And so, not one for looking an opportunity to think along maudlin lines in the face and refusing to look it in the eye, that sparked my mind into thinking about all the last times that were probably to come, and also the last times that maybe I had already had.
Let’s face it: We do things every day of our lives and some of those things are things that we do day after day and don’t think twice about, don’t give a second thought to. Yes, the usual take it for granted scenario. But yet, those things are always subject to being that ‘last time’.
From the trivial and fairly insignificant “will today have been the last time I ever eat chips?” to the less than trivial and fairly significant “will this be the last day I wake up?” Alright, the latter is extreme, admittedly.
So then, a less-extreme example.
Peeling potatoes. Will today be the last day I peel potatoes. Actually, come to think about it, I didn’t peel any potatoes today.
Okay… Forget potatoes. How about the act of me writing these words and posting them here on this website? Maybe this is the last time I will do that. For those of you who said "we live in hope" you are gits.
Okay, so forget this wordage too (well, not entirely forget as that will rather prevent you from reading further, obviously).
Forget wordage, think places, think locations.
There are places I like to go but don’t necessarily go that often. I like to walk up
the Zig Zag at Selborne Common. Once upon a time I would probably do that
several times a year but now, in my dotage (!), it has probably been a year
since I last went there. So, I have to ask myself, was the last time I went
there the very last time I will visit it?
Where else? Reaching into the memory banks – Cerreg Cennen Castle in Wales. It’s one of the grooviest castles stored in my memories and I have been there a couple of times, the last time being about 15 – 20 years ago. I’ve often thought about going back, to see its walls silhouetted against the skyline, to feel all the memories I attach to that place come flooding back, and yet I never have. Will I? Possibly. Maybe. Perhaps not. Maybe I have in fact already visited that place for the last time. Distance is… a barrier.
Okay then, closer to home where the barrier is somewhat less barrier-like - the Castle at Greywell, the ruin on the canal. I’ve been there perhaps a hundred times. The last visit was only a matter of a couple of weeks ago. But was that the last time I will do so? Probably not, but then again who knows when the double-decker of life will decide to jump the red light and…
Cheery? Moi?
Perhaps I attach too much importance to this way of thinking. Just because the thought has been bugging me and refuses to go away doesn’t necessarily mean it’s important; it might just mean I have too much time on my hands. And maybe the latter is true. Because, in all probability and in the greater scheme of things, the majority of these ‘last time’ moments that I have been rambling on about have, on balance, very little importance and/or impact on my life today.
We all visit many places in the course of our lifetimes and do a great many things, and the vast majority of these one-off occasions where the first time is more or less the last time is perfectly okay because that was how they were always supposed to be. One shot moments. And then finito. Done. Dusted. Into the recycle bin.
Forgotten.
Which is fine.
I suppose.
And I should have ejected the bugging thought pattern back into the mish mash at that point in the unwinding of thoughts and been done with it.
But then…
But then…
But then I extended the thought from places and things to something else: to people.
Because it’s about people too. And not just any people. Friends.
There are so many people, friends that I used to see regularly and now no longer see at all or see so infrequently as to be much the same thing. Many, if not most of these people, if not all of these people, are important to me in one way or another and yet how many of them have I already seen for the last ime? I suspect that the answer to that is too many. And if that is the case does that beg the question as to how important are they really, or does it simply
highlight the fact that no matter how important they are, sooner or later the
last time really will be the last time…
Last times, final words.
And also…
Last chord sequences.
Another sooner or later: Sooner or later, Simonitov and I will write our last song together. No, that is not a moment for rejoicing, thank you very much. But sooner or later, the final touches that Simonitov puts to one of our songs really will be the finishing touch.
And sooner or later the last lyric I wrote will be the last lyric I write – and no, that is still not a moment for rejoicing…
If you were thinking that then you too are gits.
Today a friend reminded me that in the end everybody dies. Not that I needed to be reminded. But…
…it’s a worrying thought.
Because I am sure that there is much left that I need to do. And much left that I need to do again. In my memories there are far too many ‘last times’ that need to be resurrected so that the last time of yesterday becomes the last time of tomorrow.
I wonder if I can achieve any of them before the double-decker hits me? Or before the double-decker hits one of those people, one of those friends?
Recently, a very good friend of mine that I see only rarely was viciously attacked in the street and badly beaten. If my friend’s attackers hadn’t been interrupted maybe they wouldn’t have stopped at just badly beating my friend.
Sometimes we do not dictate the last times; sometimes other people dictate them for us.
It’s a quite a sobering thought and probably the reason why the whole ‘last time’ thing is refusing to completely go away.
Because, maybe, it is trying to tell me something. And maybe, I should listen properly.
Just for a change.
Just one more time.
Just one more last time.
Steve B
:-/