Ting a ling (from the archives)
toot toot
The Caleta version of the Wally Trolley makes its town centre stop....
ting a ling
toot toot
I’m people watching plumb in the middle of the bauble proffering tourist trap, which is gaudy in extremis. Only last night’s detritus and today’s broken neon’s give the merest hint of a decaying future, but they don`t really count.
Do they?
the people have spoken. the people want.
Don’t they?
This temporary community of holiday humanity cross the square and each other’s paths with equal anonymity.
Some buzz in and out of retail heaven, bees collecting honey for the hive, sweetly packaged by tempting designer labels, such lies handed down as alms from the controlling class. Others merely window graze visually digesting and mentally storing for a last day shopping glut which will impress the back home Jones`s.
A push chair pushing couple push past, heralded by bickering discontent. One family addition in situ and another on the way. The sum total of trapped hangs on the faces of a union only just begun. This package holiday break serving merely to compound a painful yet common brand of unhappiness.
I want to play guess the nationality, but find no challenge…..English and yet more English with not even a Scottish brogue to waft along the airwaves and give a little equilibrium. Guessing the area is similarly facile. Manchester, Manchester….and Manchester. It’s a no Teutonic Saturday.
My forearms are now medium rare to medium as the afternoon sun sucks away any remaining oxygen and begins to baste unprotected flesh. Of course I should know better, so why is that first kiss of sunstroke so tempting?
Ting a ling
Toot toot
All aboard.
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