Stuff

How do you end up with nothing? It’s not as hard as you might think. It’s surprisingly easy, in fact. Well, it was for me.

I was reading a left behind Sunday supplement in the park a few days ago. It had an article about people who were trying to live with as little as possible. It included a discussion about whether an i-Pod with several tracks and albums on it was actually one item. The point is, it’s still stuff and the people in the article are as focused on stuff as those who are trying to amass all they can of it.

A year ago I had stuff. A collection of books, records, yes, records, CDs, football programmes, 1960s soda siphons, a home, a job and a partner, Jennie. Then I lost my job. The slump in the housing market meant there wasn’t much call for my services erecting ‘For Sale’ and ‘Sold’ signs so they said they had to let me go. I felt I’d had the wind knocked out of me and didn’t handle the situation very well. It was uncomfortable relying on Jennie to provide for us both. If you’d asked me before all this happened, I’d have said that I wasn’t one of those traditional males who saw himself as the provider, but I guess I must have been after all. I was depressed and angry and took it out on her, which I knew was wrong.

I moved out to give us both some space, although we both knew it was over. I took my clothes, books, records, CDs, football programmes and soda siphons with me which showed the move was more permanent than either of us was letting on. Fortunately I had some good friends who let me stay in their spare rooms and on their sofas. I did the rounds so I didn’t wear out my welcome anywhere. Over the weeks and then months my things whittled away as I gave them to friends as thanks for putting a roof over my head or pawned them for money to pay my way. I felt free in a way but also a bit anxious about what the future held.

This is how I came to be sitting on my favourite park bench in the faint morning sunlight. I tried to get out early in the morning so as not to get under people’s feet and then headed back late at night to give them their space after work. Beside me was a small backpack of all I had left. A change of underwear, a tee shirt, a photo of me and Jennie, an old, splay-bristled toothbrush, my last, favourite book and my birth certificate. In the near distance I could see tiny Lillian walking Jules, her huge Great Dane or, rather, he seemed to be walking her.

Lillian had a little café near the park entrance. She’d been really kind to me. We often chatted and she gave me coffee, sandwiches and the odd tenner in return for help with heavy lifting and table clearing when it got hectic. As I watched them, I saw Jules take off after a squirrel and Lillian, after gamely hanging on to start with, letting the lead go. The squirrel, followed closely by Jules, ran out of the park. I knew Lillian wouldn’t be able to catch him so I ran across the grass and out of the entrance after them.

I eventually found Jules drooling outside Marsh the Butcher’s window on the High Street, the squirrel long gone. I grabbed his lead, drama over, and headed back towards Lillian’s café. She was there to greet me, all smiles and relief, followed by coffee and a big bacon and egg sandwich. After flicking through the paper I realised that, in my race to catch Jules, I’d left my backpack in the park.

I reached the park entrance, now cordoned off with police tape. A buzzing crowd had formed. “What’s going on?” I asked a tall, hefty guy next to me. He was chewing gum so hard that his baseball cap moved up and down on his head. “Suspect package” he said. He seemed pleased to be able to share this exciting information. “The bomb disposal blokes are sorting it. They’ve had a robot-thing checking it out. The work of our friends bloody al Qaida, I’ve no doubt”. I could smell his minty breath as he spat the words ‘bloody al Qaida’ out.

I looked in the same direction as he did as a man in army fatigues bent over my backpack and then retreated to a safe distance before blowing it up in what I now know is called a controlled explosion.

As I say, it’s surprisingly easy to end up with nothing.