Tag: Winchester

The Woodwork

There have been times in the years since 2017 when I’ve assumed I’d never pick up a bow and arrow again. Not because I didn’t enjoy it, though – I was making up excuses in my head. After all, my last club, while welcoming, was fraught with obstacles and difficulties. Dad had to drive me there and back, I couldn’t go at all if the field was sodden, and in the winter we retreated to an indoor shooting range only accessible via a seemingly neverending flight of stairs. When I threw in the towel and left after just over a year, I had no reason to think any other club would be any different. Perhaps archery had put up yet another barrier that would be tricky or impossible to overcome. Mind you, that was before I lived in Winchester. There’s a club that meets 15 minutes – if that – from my flat, would you believe. What’s more, they were all too happy to let me have another go, so at 10am on Saturday morning that’s exactly what I did.

I must have been there for little more than half an hour, but it was well worth setting my alarm on a weekend for. I shot six arrows at 20 yards, the same distance I’d previously been used to. Two of those hit the wooden legs – but the woodwork’s still part of the target, isn’t it? It was exciting and I slotted back in very nicely, however rusty I may be. Besides, the beginner’s course they’ve recommended can sort that out. I don’t want to say too much for now in case it all comes to nothing, but I just wanted to bask in how much I enjoyed it, and the fact I pulled my finger out and made it happen. Given how naturally laid back I am, it would have been all too easy not to bother and restrict it to a pipe dream.

What next? The club will be in touch once a date has been agreed for the course, apparently. We’ll have to see what transpires, but I’m sure our paths will cross again before long. Even if I never shoot again, I need to return the wrist guard I forgot to take off!

Mason

Blueberry Buttercream

What’s in a picture? Even the most unremarkable images have some kind of story to tell, and I was thinking about that as I panicked about what I’d write here next. This one was taken during a coffee and cake meeting I had with our departing student ambassadors early last week. Admittedly, when I snapped it (and I had to make the most of that blueberry cake, because I’d certainly paid for it), I probably wanted nothing more than social media likes. The most cherished – and most meaningless – form of 21st Century validation. Looking back on it, though, it’s more than that, because it’s attached to memories. Senses. The sight of smiling and friendly faces, the sweet taste of that rich blueberry buttercream. I savoured it all at the time, and by taking the photo, I could continue to do so for a little bit longer.

What’s in a picture? In this case, it’s calmness. Contentment. Gratitude. Friendship. Winchester’s own unique buzz and vibe. That slight dash of smugness you feel when your colleagues are working but you aren’t. Apart from all that, of course, it’s a celebration of all the small things that have made me happy – most of all, my stomach. Other people my age go travelling and plaster it all over the Internet, and that’s great, even though it does make my life look a little dull in comparison. I do this instead, and I might not be at the Grand Canyon or Great Barrier Reef, but I’m still soaking up every aspect of everyday life. Nobody should take that for granted, should they?

Mason

Pottery

Every Friday when I’m at work, someone in my office asks me how I’ll be spending the weekend. I usually say I’ve got nothing on, and that that’s just the way I like it, but that’s not always strictly true. I do a lot of pottering – well, as much pottering as one can do on six wheels rather than two legs. Sometimes it leads me to people, places and plans with purpose. Other times, it lives up to its name, and I’m wandering aimlessly.

Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing – I actually spent a lot of today doing it. It clears the mind. It’s a calming, comforting, familiar routine, and one that requires no effort on my part whatsoever. But every so often, when I’m traipsing round the same shop for the hundredth time, I do wonder: is this something other people do, or is it just proof I need to find another hobby?

As is often the case, I can’t help worrying about what other people think. Every year, I get older and older, and now and again I feel like life is passing me by. Have I got enough to show for it? It can be hard to tell sometimes. Do I get myself worked up for no reason? Possibly. Probably. I don’t know. The jury’s still out…

Mason

The Bigger Picture

The coffee shop – 7 October 2023. A busy Saturday morning…

One of the first times I can remember ever feeling genuinely proud of myself was in Year 8 at school. I’d just written six paragraphs on the merits of Macbeth. Producing page after page in English class had never been out of the ordinary for me, but this particular piece was all the more remarkable given that it had been entirely untouched by Microsoft Word. In those days, that was a rarity – I didn’t dare stray away from my laptop if I wanted my writing to be legible – but for whatever reason I pressed on that day and it paid off. Why am I mentioning this now? Because this very post you’re reading is also being crafted entirely by hand. And don’t I know it. The muscles in my hand are aching and I have to stop after every line. The pen is slipping and I’m making mistakes all over the page that I have to scribble out. Nevertheless, the more I write, the more satisfied I am. Progress is progress, after all, and with every passing word I’m stronger. In any case, next week my broadband will be switched on and I’ll have access to WordPress again.

Yes, you read that right. Broadband. My broadband, in my new flat – which, at the time of writing, I’ve been living in for just over a week. It’s in Winchester too. Who’d have thought it – an oik from Minehead living there full-time? Dreams do come true, kids! Then again, so do a lot of new responsibilities. Bills to pay every month. Carpets to keep vacuumed. Surfaces to keep clean. At times, I doubt my ability to do all three, but I’ll carry on regardless because I’m focused on the bigger picture. Independence, which I’ve achieved at long last. The pride that comes with every small accomplishment, every little win. Whatever the challenge, I know it’ll be worth it in the end – even if there are aches and pains along the way.

Mason

Beyond The Wall Of Smiles

Remember that writing group I referred to recently, in one of Winchester’s coffee shops? I loved it, don’t get me wrong, but I haven’t been in a little while. To tell you the truth, work and other stuff – which you’ll find out about very soon – have been taking it out of me a little bit, and there’s the small matter of an ongoing Grand Prix season to consider too. I’d feel uncomfortable sitting at a table of writers knowing Martin Brundle was on his grid walk at home. Most of my Sunday afternoons between March and November are very antisocial.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about the group, though. More specifically, I’ve been thinking about what I wrote last time I went, in the notebook Liz gave me a couple of months ago. It seems pretty apt to share with you, talking about delaying going back to things. “Describe the scene,” they said, as I reached them that morning. “Describe everything you see, hear and feel in as much detail as possible.” Believe me, that was easy enough:

“The coffee shop is alive with the thrum of conversation, and music blasts throughout, but when I enter I know what’s in store. Beyond the wall of smiles at the counter, a trio of disapproving faces awaits me. My only hope is that when I reach them, they’re distracted by their writing, too immersed to even notice my arrival – but they aren’t, and they do. And they haven’t even started, because they’ve waited for me first. Curse my lateness. Turns out I didn’t know quite how long being ‘on my way’ would take.”

Mason

Snack Time

I know Winchester and its residents can often be stereotyped as being pretty affluent – and, in some cases, a little bit posh – but I rarely expect to see said stereotype play out in front of my eyes. I certainly don’t tend to think I’ll see it when I’m shopping in Sainsbury’s. And yet I did, just the other day!

Picture the scene. A mother and her daughter, no older than 10, are making their way up the aisle ahead of me. It’s the weekend and there’s been a buzz right through the city centre all day, so the little girl is slightly hyperactive. She’s jumping and dancing around, she can’t stay still even for a second. To be honest, she’s exactly the kind of child I try to stay as far away as possible from in my chair. That’s because I’m moving with the constant fear that she’ll come barrelling into me at any moment, there’ll be lots of noise and tears, and the blame will land squarely at my feet – after all, there’s no way the little angel could have done anything wrong.

Thankfully, that doesn’t happen. Instead, the girl’s mother notices that she won’t settle down, and decides to resort to bribery. I remember Mum doing that a few times in my own childhood, and it always worked.

“Would you like a snack?”

There’s no response. The girl still isn’t listening.

“You should have a snack before bed, otherwise you won’t sleep.”

This time, the girl listens and stops dancing around. She considers the suggestion.

There’s a long pause. Then comes the clincher.

“How about an avocado?”

“Yeah!”

Mason

A Restaurant In Athens

I think my latest snippet of overheard conversation is particularly appropriate to share if you’re in the UK at the moment. I was eating my lunch in the sunshine last week, and a couple of benches along, a lady was speaking on her mobile phone:

“Yesterday it was a restaurant in Athens, and today it’s a sandwich at work. All over, just like that. I haven’t even unpacked!”

She might not have been in Athens any more, but with the weather we’re having in Winchester right now, I’m not sure it’d be all that easy to tell the difference between them – right?

Mason

One Sentence

I’ve referred every so often in these posts to writing prompts, or words and phrases that might make good ones. I then ask myself whether I’ll ever use them, but I don’t. If I’m honest, every time I mention one, I know full well it won’t see the light of day again. I don’t know whether that’s because of laziness, a lack of confidence, or the absence of a good idea, but whatever the case I don’t push it. It’s in those situations that I wonder what I’d write if I was put under pressure to come up with something, as I have been on occasion. Two weeks ago, I was tested in exactly that way when I attended a writers’ group at a coffee shop in Winchester.

It’s a place I’ve been a loyal customer of for a number of years now, but until that day I’d had no idea that they met in there. I approached them tentatively, notebook and pen on my lap. Unlike some of the others – including an ex-diver working on a memoir about his time exploring underwater caves in Mexico – I had nothing to share, because this was my first week and I needed to establish the lay of the land. Don’t get me wrong, I was still an active participant, but I kept relatively quiet, only dropping in the odd nugget of feedback here and there. This back-seat approach paid dividends, because it quickly allowed me to feel comfortable around the others and in what I was getting myself into. It wasn’t long before I was scribbling away without a care in the world, which is where the aforementioned prompt comes in.

“What I want you to do,” said the lady leading the session, “is to find the last message you sent on your phone, take it out of its original context, and use it as a starting point for a piece.” All I’m going to do now is present you with the line I found on WhatsApp, and the two-person dialogue that evolved from it. It’s amazing what you can manage when you’re given a little nudge in the right direction. In fact, I think it was enough of a nudge to convince me to go back again soon. Make of this what you will…

“Luckily, I won’t need it today, because I’m busy over lunch.”

“What are you so scared of anyway?”

“What am I scared of? What am I NOT scared of? This is huge!”

“It’s a coffee and a chat, and then you never have to see her again. My mother always said difficult conversations are best had quickly.”

“Or not at all?”

“Oh, come on!”

“It definitely will be difficult as well. She’s hardly the kind of person you can make small talk with. Everything’s either world politics or high culture, and there’s a time and a place for that.”

“Yes…”

(a beat, then the same character speaks again)

“So why did you agree to marry her then?”

Mason

You Owe Yourself £2.85

If the title of this post looks familiar to you, it’s because it’s already shown up on this blog once before, when I wrote it on a Post-It note a couple of months ago. I presented it entirely without context, and predicted that I’d soon forget what the hell I was talking about. Sure enough, I have – it’s just as well it clearly wasn’t anything important. I actually found the note in the corner of my desk the other day, and now it just amuses me as a completely random sentence. I thought of it again over the weekend, when I was crossing the cemetery that separates the University of Winchester from the city centre. Passing a couple coming the other way, I heard a guy say to his girlfriend:

“You see, Milton Keynes is a brilliant middle ground.”

As it turns out, that cemetery is awash with out-of-context lines. I overheard this one just this afternoon:

“A lot of Hampshire is very Austenesque.”

What makes something Austenesque, I wonder? I don’t exactly know, but I bet you wouldn’t hear that in many other graveyards.

Mason

The Best Possible Way

Before I left Somerset to move back to Winchester in January, I jokingly said to the (always very helpful) lady in the job centre:

“In the best possible way, I hope I won’t have to see you again.”

We both laughed, but at that time I didn’t know whether that line might come back to bite me on the behind a few months later. Happily, after Monday’s news, I know that it won’t – at least not for a little while. Why am I bringing this up? Because yesterday morning, at precisely 11:40am, I had the opportunity to repeat those words to the gentleman I’ve been speaking to in the Winchester branch, and I can’t pretend it didn’t feel good. Not because I necessarily have anything against job centres or the people who work in them – they’ve done everything they can to guide me in the right direction – but because I now feel vindicated.

Many have reacted with genuine interest upon learning of my plan to move purely in the pursuit of work, but a few have definitely betrayed a distinct note of scepticism in their expressions and responses. There’s no doubt about it, some of them must have thought I was destined to fail. I guess I can understand that, in a way. It is quite a gamble to do this with no solid plan, but in little more than a month, that gamble has paid off. That’s possibly what pleases me the most about the whole thing, actually – even more than sealing the deal. It pleased the man I saw yesterday, too (who told me he also hoped I wouldn’t be back). Maybe it’s official, then. I’m not so deluded after all! I won’t be after I’ve signed my contract, anyway.

Mason