LAST Sunday it was. I woke late, feeling dead depressed.
Don’t know why. There was no obvious reason, but I’m a poet, of sorts, so this cruel world was never meant for one as sensitive as me.
Anyway, during the night a blue funk had enfolded me in its heart-slowing grip.
But I knew just what to do to dispel the gloom on waking up last Sunday morning...
Though it took a great effort, I got out of bed, did my ablutions, then pulled on my running gear and went outside.
I didn’t run at first, I just walked down to the Tower Promenade in New Brighton.
It was about 11.30am and I've never before seen the old resort looking quite so lovely.
The sky was the purest blue, fringed with fluffy cloudlets.
The tide was high and the waters choppy. Very choppy.
A series of multi-coloured freighters chugged in and out of the estuary.
Across the water, I gazed at the rooflines of Liverpool, the city of dreaming council projects, glittering in the sunshine.
I noted all the work underway to rebuild the Floral Pavilion with bars and restaurants alongside it.
Further along the prom the ornate Victorian rain shelters of New Brighton are being restored. One is almost complete, painted in a handsome black and gold livery.
(I hope all that hard-won redevelopment work is not going to be jeopardised by the moaning minnies who live along Wellington Road in the old merchants’ houses, counting their piles of money, and travelling out of the area to spend tiny bits of it now and then on beige cardigans – to match their personalities – in Chester, Liverpool, the Trafford Centre … ANYWHERE but dear old Wallasey.)
At the fort, the flags and pennants were flapping in the stiff breeze and little sailing boats with orange sails were zipping merrily across the Marine Lake.
I walked around the lake and admired the view across it to the awesome beauty of Ss Peter and Paul Church.
The sun glinted on the cross atop the great dome – a symbol of hope amid all the despair caused locally by the Roman Catholic authorities who want this beautiful basilica closed and demolished.
What an insult to the parishioners that is, and to the faithful departed – and to the Catholic martyred dead.
Then I noticed that the amusement park at the Palace had been painted with jaunty, multi-coloured slogans. Excellent!
Everywhere, were happy people … parents with their children, young lovers, elderly couples sat in the alcoves in the sea wall, their wizened old faces turned blissfully sunwards.
On the Dips, the kite-flyers were out in force. Happy days.
I stopped on the Kings Parade to do my warm-up stretches (I was in my running gear, remember).
Then I ran like billy-ho along the sea-edge. Before I reached Harrison Drive Beach a huge wave of surf crashed over the sea wall, drenching my body and overcoming my senses with saltwater and refracted sunshine.
It was like a blessing from God himself. The last slivers of my depression slipped away.
* Coming soon to this blog – nights of Magic Realism in New Brighton.
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David wrote...
I too enjoyed the bracing New Brighton sea air on Sunday morning, what a glorious day it was. Rather than refreshing myself with a wave from the Mersey Estuary, I decided to opt for a quick pint in Tallulah's.
REGAN REPLIED: Glad to hear you enjoyed your liquid refreshment, David.
Posted by: David | October 31, 2007 12:20 PM