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The coffee goes cold, at home I would put it in the microwave for forty seconds, take a sip then let it go cold again; I would repeat this process several times or more, I am a stickler for repetition.

My thoughts turn to those writing colleagues who I met at college; of how they brought something into my life that I had lost whilst getting caught up on the treadmill of work and family life. They may appear to some as fleeting relationships, for what is a year or two, in a life of four score year or more.

I suspect that a sense of community was some thing to do with it, and the relief of no longer being the leader; I wasn't the boss, I wasn't the father, I wasn't the provider, I wasn't even one expected to offer love and understanding; but I think I joined in, I hope I joined in; I think I made friends, I hope I made friends.

To be a part of something brings a richness, carries a vitality into my life. Right now I am taken to that talented young footballer who asked me how we could beat our opponents from several leagues above us. Richard I said, we will bring passion, and fire, and spirit. They will be overwhelmed by our enthusiasm, our ferociousness; and you Richard, you will show them the sort of flair that most of them can only dream of. We won that cup game, but not the next; this episode in my youth helped form my now long held belief that each new challenge needs a new leader.

I change my glasses, I am considering going out into the sunlight; I would be happy to sit here all day writing, yet I know full well that there is a slight restlessness within me. I guess everyone suffers a bit from the inability to sit still, unable to be calm and quiet with a settled mind. I am lucky, I suffer from it much less than most.

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I will order another coffee, in a few minutes, but for now I am indulging myself with the peaceful quiet. Even within myself I am almost peaceful, almost quiet; yet still alive to beauty, to the beauty of people and their places, I have just watched a video of my grandson Thomas singing happy birthday to me, from his holiday cottage in Wales.

Earlier I had the luxury of five snoozes, each with its own set of dreams, each with its own trail back to my youth, each with its own knowledge, good knowledge, that another snooze could so easily follow.

I am at Carsington Water in the Peak District, it is very cold and very beautiful. I walked around, took photographs; through the stones on stone island, took photographs; of the birds, in the water and in the sky.

A second cup of coffee, but no second cake, those days are over. Sunlight falls onto my table, and reflects brightly from the aluminium chairs and tables outside on the patio. The sun forges a thick, bright and solid stripe, straight down the water towards me; I am reminded of the song Do You Realise by The Flaming Lips.

I thought that today I might write something deep and meaningful, for I am reading Paul Auster's The Invention of Solitude at the moment. It is a memoir; the first part being about his father and their relationship. He claims to have had little rapport with his dad, and I think that mine and my father's relationship, apart from a few sparkling moments, was much the same. I couldn't tell you much about my father's psyche or what he thought his raison d'être was.

Suddenly, a slight darkness comes to mind and I declare that today I will not try to remember anything that I don't want to remember. I will try to stay on the path of the ethereal light.

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The cafe, all to myself

It is how I hoped it would be

Except there is no verandah

Overlooking the rippling water

The coffee is neat and the cake is ok

It isn't brilliant, but it could be

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Long shadows

Ice cold, zero degrees

The waves lap

I shoot a short video

Later I might listen

To British Sea Power

Remember

Being sat by your side

On our sofa-settee

Watching their video

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Big blue sky

Golden, Tate & Lyle, sunlight

The farmer, with his muck-spreader

Has been here before me

To the top of the hill

Long shadows, dry stone walls

A caravan in a cold cold field

Down the hill

Round the corner

To see that long stretch of water

To the maker of puddings and cakes

Stones and walls and geometric columns

Strolls past fire pits with frozen fingers

On snow and ice, beside expectant geese

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One day, by the water, by the woods

Trying hard not to think

Of being beside the sea, on the beach

To drink in the nothing of nothingness

Silent in these silent times

Of no one here to share the day, or night

It is a chosen celebration, a rehearsal of sorts

Force beyond the force

Which settles, without thought, for the status quo

So with pen and pencil, and a closed

Or ever so slightly open mind

Let the weather join in and the love be with you

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