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There were a number of changes that would need to made in fact, to adjust to 'London Life'.
One such thing would be the acquisition of a satchel, or 'man-bag' as they were now popularly known. He never needed one in Ely, for you see, he had a car. When you have a car, your possessions have a permanent home away from home. It's easy to transport things from one place to the next. But here in the centre of London, where cars are seldom used by anyone who are not taxi drivers or millionaires, you are a perpetual hermit, or human snail. Whether you are a female or a male, you have a bag, and in that bag you need just about everything to deal with whatever life may decide to throw at you.
To this end, he had planned a survival kit with the advice from some university friends who had previously made the move to London the year before. He had made sure to write it down on a piece of paper so he didn't forget. John now took said list out of his pocket and double checked the contents.
London Survival Kit:
1. Bag (Should be big enough to carry a small umbrella).
2. Book (in case of Tube delays - likely according to Stephen).
3. Painkillers (self-explanatory).
4. Lighter (good conversation starter).
5. Bottle opener (see above).
6. Sound isolating earphones.
And so on...
Happy with the list, John continued to walk. He noticed a Sainsbury's supermarket on the road when his dad had helped him move in. His father had offered the use of the car for John to pick up the groceries he would undoubtedly need, but John could not wait to kick start his independence. "I'm going to have to go by myself all the time and carry the shopping back by hand. There's no point starting my new life off by being spoiled."
Martin Burrows sighed, but he understood. Poor John had to live at home whilst at university, what with Cambridge being so close, and money being tight. They couldn't afford for John to live away from home, and now at 22, he deserved the freedom he so rightly deserved 4 years ago. It can't be easy for a young man to watch all his friends fly the nest at 18, move into student halls, and enjoy those late night student parties... amongst other things. But it was a side of university life John very rarely got to experience. 'Well, now is his chance to be free,' his father thought, 'and if he wants to get his own shopping, so be it. We can't mollycoddle him for life.' For a moment John's father wondered if anyone from a generation beyond his own even knew what mollycoddle even meant, let alone used it in everyday life. His daughter often told him that if he insisted in speaking such an ancient language, he should try to speak both quietly and infrequently. His wife on the other hand thought it best he didn't speak at all.
"Dad? You alright?" John was looking at his father with what could only be described as light concern... or perhaps even 'concern with a smile'. Yes, that was it. Martin looked at his sons face. John had raised an eyebrow, his eyes were wide, but there was a smile on his face. Martin knew that look. It was the same look his own mother gave to his father when he started to forget little things like where he put his keys... turning off the light... or being married - an incident that led to their inevitable divorce some months later. But Martin's mind was wandering even further away from the matter at hand.
"Yes John. I'm fine. I was just thinking about when I first moved away from home. It's an exciting time."
"I can't wait to go explore."
Martin smiled at his sons enthusiasm. "Now, before I go, there's a couple of things your mother wanted me to say."
John groaned and raised his eyes. "Seriously dad?"
Martin tried his best to look stern and nodded. "Okay. Your mother says to keep safe, don't go out too late, and call her every night so she knows you're okay." Martin could hear John gasp in shock, but continued nonetheless. "Although I think after the first couple of days, she'll be fine. I'll talk her round. Secondly, she says be careful of London girls, and I quote 'they're trouble: they'll chew you up and spit you out.'"
"But isn't mum from London?"
"Precisely." Martin responded with a chuckle. "Anyway, forget the rest. I'm sure you know to keep away from drugs, discarded needles, homeless people and murderers."
"She really said all those things?"
"I haven't even scratched the surface. She spent an hour and a half last night listing all the things you shouldn't be doing."
John sighed. This was so typical of his mother. She couldn't bring herself to let him go. John supposed all mothers were like that really although he didn't understand why. They spent nine months trying to push you away from them, and the rest of your life trying to pull you back. Perhaps it was some kind of subconscious guilt. John felt that this is something Sigmund Freud might have concluded, and quite possibly did. He was obsessed with mother-son issues to an unhealthy degree. Perhaps Freud also suffered a mother similar to John's.
Regardless of his mother's subconscious intentions, whatever they may be, he knew that certain measures needed to be taken to ensure she was not here when he moved. For example, he had deliberately packed more than he would need just so there wasn't any space left in the car for her to come along. And when his mother insisted on taking the train, John had pointed out that the weekend line works would make her otherwise hour long journey, take approximately three hours, by which time his dad would already be back home.
It wasn't easy to dissuade her, but with a little help from his father, they had managed to keep her at bay. It wasn't as though John didn't love his mother. He did in fact love her dearly. But he hated it when she mollycoddled him. As the thought crossed his mind, John wondered if anyone else in the world still used the term 'mollycoddled'.
"Right. I know you want to get on and what not. And the last thing you need is your old man getting in the way."
John began to object but Martin stopped him. "Anyway. Look, take this." Martin handed John an envelope. "Put it in your pocket and don't open it until I'm gone. Go on."
John folded the envelope and put it in his pocket as instructed.
"Okay son. I'll see you in a couple of weeks when you come home." Martin raised his hand expecting John to shake it. Martin knew that when a boy reached a certain age, he no longer hugged other males. It wasn't the proper thing to do. Unless of course one was 'that way' inclined. Although he was sure that John was not 'that way' inclined. Or was he? How much did Martin know about his son, really?
"Thanks dad." John said taking his father's hand and then pulling him and giving him a hug. If John could have seen his father's face at that moment, he would have noticed a look of concern... with a smile.
Now approaching the doors of the supermarket, John remembered the envelope given to him by his father less than an hour before. John opened the envelope hurriedly and pulled out a cheque made out in his name to the sum of five hundred pounds! John stumbled as he walked through the supermarket doors. He never thought his dad would give him such a large amount of money. John thought it typical of his father to write a cheque however. Most people these days used internet banking these days to transfer money, but his dad was of the belief that if something isn't broken, why change? And rightly so! Cheques had always worked for him in the past, and until they stopped issuing them, he would keep using them.
Pocketing the cheque he made a mental note to find a bank nearby. This time John could not stop himself smiling as he took out his phone to give his father a call.
1 rantings:
Very well written Mo! And I assure you, no one smiles in Milton keynes either. Except maybe in the privacy of their own homes haha.
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