• The shedding of the telly

  • Posted on 30/04/21 07:33am
  • I tend to keep things for the future.
    When the future comes, they sit there still, unused.
    I realised this the other day. A big fat B&O telly in my bedroom,
    ya know, to watch in the future? Except it has never been connected
    along with a DVD player underneath and another contraption that I cannot
    even remember the use of. It did something fancy 15 years ago and I
    haven't a clue what that was.
    I have a telly in the living room. A good one.
    The fatty telly in my bedroom has sat there for at least 12 years.
    So I've been on this shedding trip. I've been slowly getting rid of
    stuff that stares up at me from draws I rarely open.
    They stare up at me like a dog that thinks it's going to get a treat
    or go walkies. That frozen, held excitement, the anticipation of
    a delirious soon to be happiness. Then I close the draw for 3 years.
    Now and again, I see myself partake in crazy behaviour and I change it.
    I think, 'what are you doing, you utter clot?' or similar.
    This happened the other day.
    So I got a load of garden refuse sacks and went to work on my draws.
    I went to work on clearing things. I threw shoes out. I realised I was
    a bit Imelda Marcos except my shoes looked like shrivelled raisins
    but shrivelled raisins as big as size 13 shoes.
    I stuffed clothes in the refuse sacks. Horrendous clothes I'd never wear.
    Why do I have that shirt and what possessed me to buy it in the first place?
    Moth eaten T shirts, clothes I feel I must have bought blindfolded or on a dare
    from the school of mockery.
    As I was clearing this stuff that had slowly closed down my physical space
    which in turn encroached on my thinking space, I stopped suddenly,
    and I looked at the telly.
    I do put feelings into inanimate objects. This is true.
    I talk to my car. Congratulate it on getting me where I need to be.
    I pat the steering wheel with, 'well done, you'.
    So, I must admit some resistance when I stopped and pondered
    the shedding of the telly.
    I loved that telly in it's day, and it had been with me 25 years.
    I remember seeing it, in a shop window on offer, shop soiled.
    So I felt, at that time, like the rescuer.
    And now, I was contemplating my new role of executioner.
    This was difficult.
    I waited.
    I turned to books instead. I usually have about 20 books
    either side of my bed. They sit there having been read,
    or waiting to be read. Why do I do this?
    It's something to do with the Great Perhaps.
    I don't mean God. I never had that gene not even as a catholic
    child and I was horrified when the priest lunged over me with
    a wafer and said 'the body of christ' with a view to putting it in my
    mouth which would have been agasp had I not had the forethought
    of sealing it shut as I saw the tortured looks of the other kids.
    I never did take in the body of christ.
    I used to pretend I was wearing glasses when taking confession.
    Father Mulholland would be looking away, staring at the floor
    or a daily paper, absolving me of sins I'd made up and I'd
    circle my fingers and thumbs and place the circles over my eyes
    like glasses. This made confession much more fun.
    Father Mulholland once came to our house. I was about 9 years old.
    When he sat down he fell right through the chair.
    I see it now. Mortified Mother, child laughing covertly into his sleeve,
    and a priest with a look on his face that said 'what fresh hell is this?'.

    I digress. I do that sometimes. Digress.
    What a funny word that is. Di...... gress.

    Having cleared away books, thrown some out, boxed some for Oxfam
    along with clothes I hilariously thought some fool might wear, perhaps
    to commit unspeakable crimes, I turned once again to the telly.
    This time, I made a move. A tentative move of detaching wires
    so that it stood completely alone, unfettered and moveable.
    It's heavy. An old analog telly as deep as it's wide.
    I embraced it. I lifted it. I moved with it. I didn't ask questions.
    I moved stealthily, with purpose, through the quagmire of my doubts.
    The stairs were tricky. Slowly, one at a time, and down, down, into
    the kitchen.
    The move had been made. The deed was done.
    All the electrical sundries that had lived underneath it for 12 years
    were placed directly in the car. Then the telly.
    Driving to the tip was a solemn affair. I thanked the telly for its years
    of service (i didn't thank the electrical goods.... is this a size thing?).

    When I got back, I looked at the space it had occupied.
    A space fat with unwatched telly.
    I left it a day.
    When I woke the following morning I had a feng shui moment.
    Things were clearer.
    Because of the shedding, I was able to see other things that needed to go.
    The top of the wardrobe thick with god knows what.
    I cleared it. Found pictures I hadn't seen in years.

    I'm still on with it. Shedding.
    New horizons beckon.
    Clutter free.
    And suddenly, I remember, as a child,
    lying down in the long grass of an empty field,
    and the sky, an ocean.

© Mike Walker 2024