Nostalgic Anticipation

Hovering outside the Night and Day, and the day is holding on for longer, the warmer half-light left, lingers still, fighting off the dusk. The air has taken on a scent once again; there is sweetness even in the blackened Northern Quarter, as though the plumes of Peak District pollen have stooped in the afternoon and onto Piccadilly. Nostalgic anticipation and excitement for lighter night’s sweeps across my sky blue mind like wisps of summer cloud and the sound of light aircraft overhead. I am waiting for Rich to join me for an after work beer, the first of the year, and my senses transport me as he runs late. First, to childhood, and of a smashed lollypop on a neighbour’s hot door, the ginger cat and the orphaned robins, allotments and a red toy car thrown in rivers, then, the angst of goading sunlight through bedtime curtains. To flattened nettles, apple fights and trees, the meadow and the madness of its gypsy horse, to the dens and the gangs, and chippy teas. Next, to early adulthood, and the electricity that charged explorations into the realms of the night out. Entering the buzz of busy pubs, over the lip of open doors to meet friends before the summer’s sun sets, and the nervous anticipation of meeting someone you fancied, and yet willing it so, with all of the will in the world. Then, onto to the clubs that were an extension of sixth form, the short skirts lined up and queuing around blocks. Eventually, to the bigger cities for a taste of independence, and for more of the same - right up until Rich tapped me on the shoulder. Like a near death experience the best bits had raced before my mind’s eye, the present hint of seasonal change triggering nostalgia for the past such seasons, looking forward now with excitement for what was to come around again.