Tag Archives: holiday

The Empty Chair


Breakfast time. He’s gazing at the green wicker chair opposite. It’s staring back. Its rows of gaps and slats gape at him like multiple mouths; empty caverns gasping in mock shock. “Oh look”, they seem to sneer, “look who’s all alone. Who’d have thought it?” Then a pause for effect, before hissing “I’d have thought it, that’s who. Along with anyone else with half a brain cell and eyes to see.” The chair’s eyes, vacant and harmless to the casual observer, find him no matter where he shifts his own gaze. As he nibbles and sips he feels watched from all angles. Murmurs and glances scratch at every inch of his skin.

He’d not truly noticed this before, the sheer isolation and predicament of the solitary diner. Something about this particular chair, the way it reclined nonchalantly but never left his line of sight, the unoccupied, unshakeable presence, made him feel naked without a companion. As time dripped relentlessly onward, he simultaneously wanted to leave and was reluctant to retreat. The lifeless, faceless seat appeared as a harsh flash of green, even in his peripheries as he sought comfort in the splashing palms through the window. That morning, his first in the sunny retreat hotel, he’d been woken by the sounds of rain. Later he knew he’d resort to venturing out in it. There was no alternative.

Already he felt as though the trip had descended into a time killing exercise. He knew he’d have the same gripes and troubles and dissatisfied feeling with everyday life back home, but he knew too that he missed it, if only for the familiar company. It was obvious nothing miraculous or exciting would happen to him here. He would not “find” himself, he would not party wildly or meet new, compatible, worthwhile friends. He would waste time dragging out breakfast for another five, another ten, another twenty minutes. He’d drift in the drizzle by the marina and lose himself briefly in the wealth. At best he’d finish some books he’d been putting off reading.

A pair of waiters floated past, animated in hushed Spanish. The conversation did not seem professional, such was its urgency, but the music of foreign tongues rendered its meaning, and any recognisable comfort he might derive from it, impenetrable to him. He sought it instead in other diners but again failed to find it. The majority were all in groups, clusters close in proximity but distant in reality. He found himself sitting up and forward, mindlessly burying his vision in the green wicker chair. Watching it intently he noticed how perfectly the curvaceous arms would cradle the female form. Against his will his imagination conjured up girls he knew, girls he cared for, girls he loved. Their figures were framed by the wicker, their colourful clothes vivid against the green. Their bright, shining, brilliantly alive eyes were lifted and held by the chair to look straight into his own. They smiled and laughed with him and he was happy. Then his lips flickered as if to speak, his hand twitched involuntarily towards the imagined companion and the ghostly illusion abruptly dissipated. Noisy plates filled his ears as the recordings of blissful, hysterical giggles faded and died away like echoes in the chambers of his mind. Waiters hovered and pounced. He was alone.

He didn’t head immediately back to the room. His books weren’t going anywhere. He knew it was terrible, foolish and ungrateful to be already thinking of the day of his return, mentally calculating the countdown, but he couldn’t help it. He knew he’d regret an opportunity missed when he got back, total freedom squandered. But what was there to do? He wanted to plunge into the waters of the Med, but rain poured outside. He would stroll by crushing waves later, check out the Marina bars again. Maybe he’d be hit by literary inspiration. He was already rationing his contact with friends; no internet for a while, no post-cards yet, a maximum of one text per day. He had to be doing things, justifying the Gap Year, or appear to be.

He’d plucked an apple from the stand in the breakfast room and tossed it from hand to hand now. He was sprawled on a ridiculously stylish and comfortable black leather chair in the luxurious lobby. Shiny marble glistened. Later, on his way back to the room, he would nearly fall over twice. Why did this hotel insist on tiny, imperceptible slopes everywhere? They were too steep to walk over normally and naturally, but too slight to be negotiated as one would a couple of steps. Someone would break their neck on the polished white marble and what a ruinous mess that would make. He would read and wander. And the eyes of the empty chair would plague him all week.

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I have neglected this blog terribly. December has thus far been a totally barren month and this is not at all in the spirit of festive good will. I must rectify this. I doubt I have such a thing as a “regular reader” anymore, the friends I’m aware of that used to follow this are simply far too busy these days. But if you’re out there and by some miracle check things here often enough to have been disappointed by the lack of output, I apologise. I was away in Spain and since I have simply been lazy and slightly emotionally erratic. Here is my bumper Christmas plan to put things right:

1)      Firstly I shall publish two reviews that are already available via the excellent FlickeringMyth, of an African documentary and blockbuster Iron Man 2.

2)      Secondly I’ll unleash a trio of top British films I’ve watched over the last two days on my new Blu-Ray player. I have only watched them as DVDs but all three look marvellously upgraded by the technology, a pleasant surprise as I assumed it all to be a barely noticeable gimmick. Any of the films I watched would be Christmas gift worthy. (The Disappearance of Alice Creed/Fish Tank/ In The Loop)

3)      Thirdly, or perhaps in between to break up the movie fest, I’ll publish one of my doodles from my recent holiday.

4)      I also plan to release a political piece on the Lib Dem tuition fee saga and…

5)      … a football based article about the controversial FIFA host nation decision for the 2018 and 2022 World Cups.

6)      Finally I’m currently devouring Michael McIntyre’s book Life and Laughing, which has personal significance to me as well as being truly gripping and funny. I’ll jot down my thoughts on this and some books I read on holiday when I’m done here for your (whoever you might be) pleasure and amusement.

Right that’s it. I’ll get on with it and try not to get bogged down with friends and the snow.