The last week of summer, the shit sandwich that is winter will begin soon. Mmm, eat up, nom, nom, nom. A lot of people like winter, the changing of the seasons, the leaves falling on the ground and all that jazz, unless you are an old person living on your own with not a lot of cash when the freezing cold weather hits and the only way you will feel any warmth is if you choose to be cremated.
The next few days in Ireland will be like an episode of Game of Thrones with people starting or ending every conversation with winter is coming or it’s supposed to be a bad winter, like there was ever such thing as a good Irish winter.
‘Hey, Jimmy, remember the winter of ’95? That was some winter altogether. Spent Christmas Day on the beach. Remember that? No? Me neither.’
I knew a guy who used to say that cars were like old people—the shit ones wouldn’t survive the winter. He’s gone now. The memory remains. It’s strange the things about a person you remember.
They painted the local national school near where I live. They painted it grey. They have some prefabs outside the school that are used as classrooms to deal with the overcrowding and those are grey too. It used to be bright and fresh but now it looks like Arkham Asylum.
What a way to greet the new kids coming to school for the first time in September and setting their nervous eyes on that.
Hello kids, if you have any colourful hopes or dreams please deposit them in this box near the entrance door, if you survive this colourless coma over the next few years then they will be returned to you.
Then again perhaps I am wrong, maybe it sets the tone for a world where the majority will grow up to have STD’s rather than PhD’s, you can’t mollycoddle kids these days, it’s a rough world out there, best to prepare them nice and early for the sucking vortex of anguish and despair that is ahead of them.