Different Roads
For much of much adult life (although there’s not much of my life that could be considered adult!), I was vaguely troubled. I worked (and I believe that I worked hard and was successful), and prospered – it’s just that not of it really seemed to matter.
I used to buy sailing magazines and dream of sailing a small boat around Europe; I was too stupid to seize my dream and do anything about it. At least that was the case until 2001 when I jacked in my job (as a reasonably successful IT manager in the city), to start a new life as an abattoir worker in France.
I was in Redon today and saw a small motor sailor tied up on the quay – a young couple were hanging out some clothes on the stern rail.
It all came back to me. What a way to live; moving from town to town under my own steam, working when I needed to, living quietly, living decently – living life the way it is meant to be lived. I was jealous of that couple on that small motor sailor.
Looking back through this little collection, I find that this is an underlying theme (I’m thinking here about Mike Kaminsky in The Prodigal Son; I’m thinking about the poor guy in The Waiting Room – I think some of the other stories lean on the same theme, as well.
I hope that you’ve enjoyed this little collection of stories. If you have, please drop me a line to let me know (if your ever dans le region, pop in and say hello) – I can be contacted at Keith@RodasideTales.com
I’m currently working on another collection of stories, this time most of them will be set in France – there still about motorbikes though, motorbikes and the people that ride them – it’ll be called The Mapmakers Tale.
The twisty lane threaded its way through the woods and then straightened up as it ran alongside the river. The marshy fields that bordered the river seemed to glow slightly in the shadow of the dying sun.
Every now and again I’d pass something that I recognised; a cottage, a farm gate, a road sign that I’d seen before. I was back in Cornwall; there were memories here.
The last time that I’d been down this road was many years before. Then, it had been summer and Christine had been on the back. The bike had been my old Honda.
Now, I was travelling all alone and the bike was a Suzuki. It was the time of the year when Autumn turns to Winter and it was raining. I hadn’t stopped since St. Austell and the pain in my backside indicated that it was about time for a rest.
I had just about had enough when I saw the pub. I hadn’t known that it would be there. I hadn’t even remembered that it was on this road but, as I pulled into the car park, it was as if I had never left.
Different Roads is published in Different Roads (due to be published in February 2010). To find out more, take a look at… Different Roads
