I'm starting to think "posts intermittently" is my middle name...

Seems unlikely - firstly, I'm pretty sure your middle name should be after a saint?

And I don't recall a Saint Posts Intermittently... Although, God knows, he or she would be the perfect patron saint of Blogger...

And I'm also having one of those "should there or shouldn't there be an apostrophe in the word posts" moments?

Damn you poorly taught grammar...

Tonight's story? Will we try some descriptive work?

===================================

Some days the beach has so many colours it's almost confusing...

Sure, the yellow sand and the blue water, the subtly different blue of the sky, the whites and greys of the clouds that drift over head... They all come to mind straight away, filled in as quickly as one of those terrible paintings, sold by the hamfisted paint-by-number artists who lurk by Stephens Green or Merrion Square with their poorly executed masterworks swaddled in polythene...

But, that's only half the story...

There are the different shades of colour in the water... deep startling greens, a light clear blue that feels like exotic distant seas, white caps breaking and rising... Then as you walk close to the edge, the water is clear, completely lacking in colour... more about the sand beneath and the seaweed and the crushed shells that sparkle...

Then you glance at the sand and again there are so many layers of colour... the dark, packed wet sand, ridged and pockmarked by the sandworms... the drying sand a gentle latte colour, and the clear powdery white sand, untouched by water...

And on windy days, the topsand flows in liquid streams like a mystical fog across the beach and you feel like a Master of the Universe as you stride on a floating layer of wispy fog...

Today was a day full of meetings... Oh and two taxi rides, both with incredibly polite, well mannered drivers...

And Manchester Utd finally won a game this evening... All good news... Dinner, of filet steak with rocket and baby spinach... And a cheeky little red wine, which is terribly, terribly easy to drink...

So, forgive the spelling msitakes...

Tonight, we're doing some dialogue

==============================

Phone, ringing

"hey"

"Hi, how are you?"

"yeah, m'ok"

"Ok... what are you up to?"

"nothin' much, ya know... bored"

"Right... emm... I went to the opticians today..."

"yeah?"

"Em, yeah... all good though..."

"great"

"Look, are you? I mean, you don't seem to be..."

"just a bit distracted , ya know?"

"Ok..."

"yeah"

"Well. Emm... Did you want to talk about something?"

"nah"

"Ok...

(interrupting) "well, yeah"

Ok..."

"it's weird ya, know..."

"What's weird?"

"this..."

"What's this? You're being weird... what's going on?"

"just..."

"WHAT? WHAT? what is it? Fuck... what are you doing?"

"i miss ya, ya know?"

"Fuck off... you are so fucking emotionally retarded, grow up"

CLICK, HANG UP, BEEP, BEEP

"yeah, yeah, i'm the problem..."

Interesting weekend... I met my ex... In a completely random and unexpected encounter... Very odd... She looked well... She wants to be friends...

I don't think so

Anyway... Time for today's story...

============================

The wind is persistent. It returns, huffing and banging at the window, like an irritated dog, begging to be let in with just a hint of a threat underlying...

It taps and whistles and tweaks and howls and still makes no progress...

We peer out through the curtains into the murky night, but you can't see the wind... looking to the rooftops to see wires dancing or maybe a bird battling to stay on course... But this wind is invisible, sulking now, refusing to make itself available... angry that we will not let it inside where it can whirl and dance, tossing papers and flicking fabric...

Wait, it's gone...

But no, it's back with a vengeance as if it has stepped back, gathered itself and made a determined headlong rush in the belief that this time, this time it will make it... cracking the glass, finding a weak spot, bursting open the window and gaining entry into the warm lighted cocoon that the humans hide in...

And somehow the spirit of the wind does gain entry... there's an uneasy silence... You look at me and I look back... And there's something there in your eyes.

A discontent.

I can feel it coming, swirling, invisible between us...

Now, in the room, already a row has started. I don't even know what it is yet, but it's here... waiting... just needing a spark to start the flames...

And this is the moment I hate more than anything...

I can handle the process of the row, I know my role - to argue and block, to turn over your words making them slip apart, finding gaps in your logic, picking holes and tearing apart the argument, without acknowledging the feelings...

I know you hate me when we fight, I know I fight too hard and will not concede... I know how it will end - how I can break you down and make you surrender in an unhappy heap...

Then I can be magnanimous in my victory - soothing and calming, condescending.

I know how it will play out...

But I hate this part... I would give anything to avoid it - but once it starts I will not bend...

I silently beg you not to to begin... but I don't have the courage to agree with you, to apologise to accept whatever slight I have committed and be a big enough person...

Still, the row slithers around the room, twitching at the corner of your mouth, flashing in the look as you turn towards me...

It's coming, like the wind outside...

"Why do you always..."

And it's begun...