Ironbridge “Coracle Regatta” (part 3)
A beautiful end to a beautiful day
Returning to my friend’s sweet shop (Wine Gums and Rhubarb and Custard were my delicious booty this time) it was clear that Ironbridge was now in full bank holiday Monday effect: the line in the chip shop was snaking back in on itself as well as back out of the front door, patrons lined the outside of the Tontine Hotel with the greatest view possible of the town’s famed iron bridge. Every shop was busy and fit to bursting, the bikers had taken up residence in full view of the bridge and in their customary bank holiday position too. Children were devouring ice cream. Dogs too! Families everywhere, tourists mingling with bikers dancing with the human life of passers by, couples sharing a prized and freshly cooked fish and chips in the shadow of the “Grand Old Lady” and a toy town that comes alive, truly alive, on days such as these.
My only concern, and a regular one at that, was the lack of battery life on my camera phone (my oft decried “shitty camera phone”) but what the hell. I had just enough life left to capture a swan or two or maybe a gaggle of still hungry ducks. I might even take a trip back in time to my parents lounge and so many of the now formally known “antiques” that fetch quite the price for a cherished memory of long ago. I couldn’t help but snigger in astonishment at my pool balls (MY pool balls from MY youth) and the exact cherished set I bought and owned with my own pocket money some 4+ decades ago, were now deemed antiques. Individually priced too.
What larks!
Memories were quick to return of being a rather popular junior schoolboy on account of having a 6 foot snooker table squashed into my parents spare room. So many afternoons and evenings with Matthew and Marc, Shane and Danny. Shame there wasn’t a Luke and John too, but God has never believed in me so why should I waste my time believing in her? These thoughts occur to me now, exactly a week after this beautiful Bank Holiday in Toy Town, and then? I was probably smiling to myself that I was going to read yet more Hunter S Thompson whilst eating yet more old fashioned sweets in a public park, the sounds and smells of the regatta wafting and drifting over the trees around me. A little bit more Dr Gonzo and get a little more stoned before a lot more from the regatta, I reasoned.
And why not?
With Dr Gonzo and some old fashioned sweets for company (the Wine Gums simply had to be eaten. I saved the Rhubarb and Custard for later) I journeyed back to the year of my birth and arguably the great man’s greatest ever writing period. I’ve read “Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ‘72” three times now and although it’s a cliche to say I find something new every time I read it I do, so it must be true. Right? Who knows? So I tucked the Rhubarb and Custard delights into a back pocket marked “later” and joined the regatta once more and now at well past 2pm, in full swing. The smells emanating from the Bangladeshi Curry stall continued to call to me but I resisted, as I had the long queue at the chip shop earlier. Today wasn’t for curry or fish and chips but for old fashioned sweets and old fashioned boats in an old fashioned toy town on the banks of the longest river in England. Today was for watching children trying desperately to win at the coconut shy, for watching families from a distance camped on the steps leading from the rowing club and into round shaped boats from two centuries ago, bobbing merrily along the river. Today was for watching lady Morris Dancers enthrall and entertain a growing crowd of enthusiastic well wishers, for marvelling at this tiny festival in a tiny toy town that sometimes only feels real in my own twisted imagination.
But Ironbridge is real and lives within an aura and time zone all of her own.
And this should be celebrated.
So I do.
After bidding the regatta a fond farewell I retraced my well worn steps of twice today and so many hundreds upon hundreds of days and nights before. I thought of my son and my sister and a grand old lady we were lucky to call “Mum” and how much she would have loved to visit here. Maybe she does? I feel her presence here and Ironbridge is so full of ghosts and stories and weirdos dressed in Radiohead t-shirts who talk to the bridge when they’re alone, lost in thoughts and tales of a lost diamond ring and drunken nights out at the Tapas Bar, shenanigans late at night in the churchyard high atop the hill that overlooks Toy Town and the trees full of singing owls on the other side of the river. So many full moon nights when I’ve had the entirety of Ironbridge all to myself (except the owls and bats and the church bell chimes drifting through the mist across the bridge) or the busiest of days when I’ve shuffled along with the tourists with a cup of tea in one hand, a book in the other, as I find a place to sit in the greatest ever “back garden” known to mankind. I was incredibly lucky to live in Ironbridge and I continue to be fortunate enough to return when I wish.
I’m lucky to call this place my (spiritual) home.
Thanks for reading. Parts 1 and 2 are above and below, well quite frankly a book that you simply must own and place upon your bookshelf! Here’s a helpful link and some pretty pictures:
"At the end of a Storm" - link to Amazon
Thanks for reading. I hope this message in a bottle in The Matrix finds you well, prospering, and the right way up in an upside down world.