Kingston Court – The name of my street, where I have my home. A little home on a street of adjoining red brick houses. Only five rooms in fact. But my home all the same.  Large and cosy living room, my favourite room in the house. Where I can relax and put the feet up – literally, on the Ottoman – with a cup of tea or a beer or glass of wine. And a good match or movie on the big screen. Throw in popcorn, chocolate, more beer and I’m happy out! A small functional kitchen, where I love cooking in the evenings to relax and unwind after work. As well as enjoying tasty food. Chilli beef, hot stir fries, tomatoey pasta dishes, chicken and chorizo paella. All prepared carefully while listening to a favourite album or sports on the radio. My bedroom, and one of my prized possessions…my bed! One of the most comfortable beds I’ve slept in during my lifetime, making bedtime a treat every time. A second bedroom rented out, and a small bathroom with a big window getting plenty light. Five rooms. A little garden with a rectangular patch of grass, and a shed with a red door. An old but solid barbecue and newer picnic table and chairs means I’m all ready for al fresco dining and entertaining for the summer. Bring it on.

I sit here now in my living room tapping away on a keyboard with feet up in low lamp light. Looking around at this room and feeling content. One day I’ll buy a bigger house and hopefully settle down with a woman, maybe start a family. But for the moment, what more do I need in a house?!

So here’s a little fiction, slightly cheating here as it wasn’t written today!

The Soldier

Winter evening draws in as the soldier takes his place in the watch tower.  An icy mist swirls over the river below. Within minutes his binoculars will be useless. For now, he looks across the wide expanse of the river and his eyes barely make out the dense forest on the other side. The treetops flecked with light snow exude a dull glow and sit perfectly still. The attack is expected from across the river before dawn.  Without warning, his mind floods with images of the carnage to come, of pine trees and human limbs mutilated and hanging at unnatural angles. He shakes himself from the thought and takes in the peaceful scene across the river one last time before darkness takes over.

He thinks of his comrades huddled together in the trenches below, misses their body heat. Now, alone at a height and guarding a cold river in a land he does not know, he feels momentarily cut off from everything. He can sense the presence of his comrade on watch in the tower fifty yards from him, but is forbidden to call out to him. He turns back and looks below to where the trenches would be, invisible now in darkness. He can make out a lit cigarette here and there, barely hears the sound of comrades speaking to each other in low voices. Voices devoid of emotion, jokes told without humour and empty laughter betraying fear. No more talk of home and of lives left behind, lives which can never be resumed as they were left. Scenes from a different past that will always be on pause in the memory.

The temperature drops below freezing, numbing his fingers and toes despite thick gloves and socks. With the cold his mind numbs also, blocking out some of his own fear. He takes comfort in this. The situation is not new to him or to any of them; lying in wait to attack or to be attacked. The landscape may change from one battlefield to the next but always the same result:  fields, rivers, villages, mountains become the unwanted witnesses to brutality and bloodshed. His mindset stays constant too on the eve of every battle with one overriding thought…live through this. No room for any other thoughts or emotions. He has watched many close comrades die in this war, never understanding the logic of the dice as they fall in his favour each time.

In the first few years his thoughts would have been different on the eve of battle. Mixed with raw fear was a huge swell of emotion towards his family. A desire to fight bravely and with dignity for them. How his heart used to fill with pride as he imagined his mother, father and younger brother eating a warm meal together by the hearth. He can still picture clearly the small house at the foot of the mountain. Though the scene is vivid, he has a recurring dream of approaching the house and as he enters he no longer recognises the faces of his parents and brother. Nor they him. Lying now looking out into blackness he cannot picture his mothers face. His mind struggles to bring it back to his memory, but sheer tiredness wins out and his eyes begin to droop.

The sound of approaching footsteps below jolts him back to attention. How long have I been dozing, he wonders.  He hears the clink of a spoon on the bucket below, hauls up the rope and takes the metal bowl and dried piece of bread from the bucket.  Warmth creeps into his body as he noisily eats, oats from the watery soup falling from his mouth onto the bread. Can the enemy hear me eating he wonders, and smiles to himself. Despite his exhaustion, he instantly feels a release of energy with the liquid nourishment.

One hour of his watch remaining as the first slivers of daylight begin to break through. Not long now. All of his nerve endings on fire as he scans the dark horizon, listening intently for movement on the far shore. How many will die today? He leans on his rifle and lies in wait, his mind clear and focused…live through this.

Kevin McCarthy

My favourite song. Released in 1997 as the second single from the brilliant Foo Fighters album ‘The Colour and the Shape’, surely Dave Grohl and the band knew they were on to a winner. Arguably the best indie rock single of all time and one that managed to enter mainstream radio, still played regularly on the airwaves. And it still sounds fresh and energising every single time. From the edgy opening chords through to the build up to a relentless and soaring chorus, every note is pitch perfect. The music video (link below) to accompany it is surely one of the most original of all time, both hilarious and downright strange! A glimpse into the creative mind of Dave Grohl; a musical genius as well as an all-round nice guy.
What makes a favourite song? This will always be a subjective decision, and it’s not only the quality of the song that decides it but where the song sits in the soundtrack to a life. Songs are always intertwined with personal emotions. A song can instantly bring back the strongest of memories from a seminal time in our lives, whether euphoric or heartbreaking. Memories of being in a particular place, memories of a person and all the emotions attached to them. On the simplest level, a song has the power to instantly bring positivity. A song you love suddenly comes on the radio when you’re sitting in evening traffic and within seconds you’re singing along while stress fades away!
For me, Everlong will always bring back memories of university and in particular the Erasmus year spent in Aachen, Germany (See ‘A’ in this blog!). A soundtrack to accompany cold crisp winter days exploring the streets of a beautiful city. Memories of endless laughter and chat with fellow European students in warm bars and cafes, with shoulders light as we weren’t yet burdened in the slightest by life’s tough responsibilities. Memories of my sparse room in the university accommodation nestled in the shadow of the massive science-fiction looking Klinikum, the university hospital. ‘The Colour and the Shape’ album was played to death on the CD player in my dorm room during that time, and Everlong was one of the standout tracks. Every time I hear it on the radio now, not only am I singing along instantly. I’m also transformed back in Aachen as a happy-go-lucky twenty year old with not a care in the world.