Now, I said I'd be back, and I was right. England, and all there is left are faint hints that remind me of things there were. Memories and ghosts.
I have to remind myself, because I'm looking for an escape route into the past. There ain't one. There'll never be one. So, what is it that remains? There are tokens that call forward long-forgotten details from the dense fog of a vast nowhere land. Places, people, familiar situations - and in a way it's me overlooking all of it, and I have succeeded with my attempt to travel back in time. Only this time it's second hand. Stale beer if I had to put it into words.
"History isn't the lie of the victors [...]. It's more the memories of the survivors, most of whom are neither victorious nor defeated. (Julian Barnes in The Sense of an Ending)"
So here is what it breaks down to:
Thursday 16/02/2012. I'm on my flight to Brum. Everything seems so familiar when I arrive and I feel a shiver when I see that nothing's really changed as if life here had stopped the moment I left. But people - strangely - don't stare at me. For them I'm just an ordinary passenger on an ordinary train on an ordinary day. Then I walk through the neighbourhood where I used to live. Someone told me that the English are predominantly pragmatic - I'm not sure whether this is true, but it could be a reason why all houses look the same - give or take.
I'm staying at one of my friend's, just to find out that it could have been yesterday or, confusingly, ages ago since we last met. Of course he has moved on with his life, and so have I. We talk and remind ourselves of that common ground of memories that we share. I have forgotten a few things already. On the same night I meet two other friends of mine who are still studying at university. It is nice to see them, and that's all there is to say. Just as ordinary as the journey on the train - is it not?
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| Naked tree near bus stop, Moseley, Birmingham |
Friday 17/02/2012. I'm going out tonight - I'm trying to force that feeling back that I had when I partied with my 'Erasmus year'. Doesn't work - I get drunk instead.
Saturday 18/02/2012. I meet one of friends and we catch up on life. It is epic. One of these persons who you can talk to after months and you still feel close. I also watch a rugby match that day and meet two Irish guys who were in my 'tag tournament' team - reunion day!
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| Moseley vs Bedford scrum |
Sunday 19/02/2012. Today is the time to travel onwards to Cambridge where one of my English friend lives who I have known the longest. I actually mentioned Laurence in one of my earlier posts - we have a nice cuppa along with a round of scrabble which Laurence wins, I come second, Charlotte third. We treat ourselves to a nice dinner at an Italian restaurant and head on to a local pub with a pub quiz on. I'm super excited and really eager to play. The stake's one quid per person and most teams have a minimum amount of four players, so I don't really expect to win, especially since I'm not a native, but I surely don't expect to finish last! Well, the wooden spoon goes to .... Joe's team! (Laurence has the wise foresight to name our team after me :/). We are well-served by that result.
Monday 20/02/2012. Today I arrive at Pascal's where Max has already stayed since a couple of days. We get cracking on things we are planning to do and on top of my list there is punting on the Cam. I can hardly believe that I have never managed to do this during all my years in England since 2006. Well, today is the day and I'm excited - maybe a little too much. What at first sight looks if I'd never done anything else but punting...
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| Captain Jo |
... soon grounds me on the hard soil of the river bank:
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| Soaking wet idiot being dragged out of the Cam by nice English gentleman in the background |
Well well, it wasn't too cold (even though Pascal and Max still don't believe me) and I've learned yet another lesson (which is: better let the pole go before you fall off the boat^^).
