Forget Forever

Example has made his way to the top of my CD playlist in the van today. We've had all sorts, but his albums merit playing over and over and over again. Live today, forget forever.

Today and yesterday I've been bouldering at Fontainebleau “The Font” to its followers. It is a Mecca for those of the bouldering persuasion. A strange lot of people. The kind of climbers who have discovered there is a way to be solitary in their chosen sport, and for whom it seems to take on a religious significance, the pushing of the grades. They are focussed, intense, and none of it makes sense. Of course it can be social, and that way of course your sessions can be longer and meandering. Alone it is purely you and the rock, and your efforts to find a way to scale the small but testing “route”. I confess I tend to think of the more intense ones as those who are “up themselves” but that's my prejudice and possibly envy coming through.

Yesterday I bimbled, scared of falling, scared of getting lost, scared of making a fool of myself somehow. Today though, I bouldered. Many a controlled fall, more like sliding off than full on crashing to the earth experiences, although a few heavy landings on my feet took place, my bum remained roughly speaking in the air at all times. It was interesting. I learned my level, I learned how polished the foot holds in particular are, and I learned that perhaps a bouldering mat should have a place in my future. I've already been sussing out the van possibilities, losing a couple of seat cushions, perhaps to be replaced by the bouldering mat which would then need to form part of a bed. Perhaps some kind of memory foam topper would bring it up to the same level as the other third of the mattress and make it comfortable. Or do they do semi inflatable bouldering mats or could I replace the roof bed by making the cavity contain the bouldering mat instead. There are options. We shall see.

And the rocks are weathered, very weathered and have been there for ever, before folk placed coloured dots on them and made them into a playground for the intrinsically idle (I resemble that comment). And there's a sense of forever.

Time is playing tricks on me. I'm aware my time in France is ebbing away now, almost grain by grain in the hourglass it's sliding southwards while I drive northwards. And it's weird because time has changed. When I was married we had plans. There were timescales on things. The house, for example was meant to be made saleable and sold within 5 years to find somewhere with more storage space for Dave's crap. I've now been there 12, 7 of those alone. We were saving up too, the dream of buying a narrowboat to cruise Britain's canals. That had long term written all over it. There was a hint of a retirement plan, some 20 – 30 years in the future. I cared about both our pension arrangements. Now I won't plan. I don't know if I can, I really don't think I want to. Because there's an overwhelming sense of “it doesn't matter” surrounding me, submerging me. I feel like the sense of “it doesn't matter” is shrouding me in candyfloss, and yet not threatening at all. Why would it, because it really doesn't matter.