Monday morning

Every now and again you get something that sweeps in as a great unstoppable wave.

An enforced change of mind, sitting in Monday's delayed train, not going anywhere. Thinking (as I will) about being, as Dylan's Simple Twist of Fate plays on battery-depleting repeat.

Reflecting on weekends, friends, parties, alcohol. Simple facts of life. Remembering how we talked, how we listened, how we played and watched each other.

The fun's still going on way up in the North. Whirling around a good friend who likes to party - thank fuck, because it's all too easy to forget.

My head was full, on Friday night, of things I thought were important at the time. They weighed me down as we drove six hours into darkness, diminishing roads and hidden mountains.

When we found the place at 12:30 am we felt like visitors to a foreign land, unaccustomed to the joyful sounds coming from within.

My bones ached, my muscles were stiff, my head was dazed. We thought all we needed was bed. But we didn't realise bed can be had any time.

So we drank and we danced and we shouted and tried to listen. We didn't even bother unpacking the car.

I couldn't tell you what time we went to bed, but I know the following night it was 4 am because I looked at my watch.

It took seven hours to drive back yesterday, hung-over as hell, but I wouldn't rather have been anywhere else.

Last night, we slept like the dead. You can go to bed any time, but you can't always sleep.

Now I'm sitting with Bob in a delayed train and I really don't mind.

I'm aching still, but differently. My head is full of songs, voices, names and faces. The tendons in my legs are sore.

But my head and heart are in the sky, still dancing and talking the hours away with friends.