Diary of a Booker Winner (in waiting) – 14

May 2nd 2020

Rainbow Country

Curious (and Churlish?) Questions Created by Covid and its Consequent Occurrences:

Is it wrong to be envious of the impressive size of Captain (now Colonel) Tom’s garden?

Is it wrong to be envious of his 140,000 birthday cards when you only got 6?

Weekly Lockdown Stats:

Hours stressing about potential chaos caused by Mammoth Mongolian Sunflowers: 3

Generously shared ingenious short story ideas sent by text: 1

Hours spent re-arranging my fridge magnets: 2

Damp and unexpectedly moving moments: 1

The text I received was from a very good friend (cheers, Kev) who is clearly onside with and very much behind my valiant push toward the literary peak. It went like this:

I had a dream, someone discovers that the common toad secretes a poison on its skin when threatened that prevents/cures covid……so all over the country people fight each other to find toads, scare the shit out of them and lick them……..sounds like a bestselling short story to me………..10% will be fine…..ta

I texted back to inform him we would discuss percentages once the royalties rolled in.

The sunflower paranoia was caused after I planted four Mammoth Mongolian seeds (a £2 bargain on eBay) by the dividing fence in my back garden. I then read the small print. There was a possibility they would grow to 25 feet tall. And it was likely that 14 foot would be guaranteed. The fence is six-foot-high and I don’t know my neighbours well. They only moved in recently and I’m not sure how they will react to towering triffids bending over the fence, blocking their light and flouting every facet of social distance etiquette.

(So much for new hobbies and the argument that gardening promotes mental wellbeing.)

The fridge magnet rearranging was necessary and I was pleased with the results.

The week ended on an upbeat note – I took advantage of the allowed out for one bout law. I took my allotted exercise allowance in the form of a short stroll through the park. The incongruously early summer had turned into the fabled truth of April – showers of the sudden and intense variety. My luck however remained consistent and I was consequently caught in the middle of one. I muttered in the manner one does when not appropriately dressed for such occasion. But when I raised my head after the worst had passed, I was significantly rewarded.

The rainbow over the sealed-off and forbidden play and fitness area could have been a sign or it could have just been a rainbow over the sealed-off and forbidden play and fitness area. Maybe it was a symbolic signpost heralding a strong glimmer of hope for our near and distant future. And maybe I was simply witnessing a meteorological phenomenon that is caused by reflection, refraction and dispersion of light in water droplets resulting in a spectrum of light appearing in the sky. I didn’t know for sure but either way it stopped me in my tracks and it made me ponder.  And those moments are always welcome.

I no longer begrudged my bedraggling and squelched home with my head high. I’d been powerfully surged with optimism and was newly confident of my neighbour’s forgiveness.

H. B. O'Neill

H. B. O’Neill is a London born writer inspired by the City and its myriad opportunity for comedy, pain, drama and adventure. He is a prize-winning poet and short story writer, a screenwriter, playwright and author. His much-anticipated novel According to Mark is out now!

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