Colours

My dream last night;

I do believe I was living in my grandmother’s house in Summer Hill, a narrow terrace house on a narrow street. 

My room was upstairs at the front and my parents were living below. In truth, when I lived there as a kiddie, they were in Europe for a year and more.

Odd this; my drama right now is that my daughter’s mother is attempting to take my daughter inter-state at exactly the same age that my parents temporarily abandoned me.

Back to dreamtime Summer Hill – as ever, I was an emotional law unto myself, keeping to my room and my counsel. 

There were shops at the end of the street and neighbours to talk to. Even an introvert felt connected.

At some point the downpipe of the house across the road, that was very rusty, broke off and hit our house, before crashing into the street. I watched it fall.

This caused a temporary black out and a big bang. Frightened, my mother moved from the downstairs front bedroom to the second one. And sent my dad looking for the cause. 

After tip-toeing to the back of the house, so as not to disturb my mother, I told him what had happened. We went exploring across the street. 

On the street there were derelict people that we had to walk around to inspect the ruins of the downpipe. And piles of rubbish. 

Later on, possibly years, the street was clean and I was out talking to friendly and prosperous neighbours. 

Then the road surface was leveled by the council with cement. Much to look at and much to comment on, during this process. Natter, natter.

I was told that it was going to be asphalted in colours, with no footpath other than that indicated by colour. 

Gentrification. Maybe it will all end OK.

But it’s still the same front gate that I used to swing on, 45 years ago.