A life in the country side?

I just got back from a creative writing course in Headington, a village shortly outside Oxford. It was fantastic to get out of London.
As I got off the bus in Headington I was hit by a wall of smell. I could smell flowers, grass and soil. I was in the nature!
I could smell the nature, despite standing on the busy London Road that leads out to M40 from Oxford.
Then it entered my head for the first time in my life – maybe I should move out to the country?

 I walked through the cute village on my way to the college. It was lovely with the peace and quiet. I passed pretty cottages and started to dream about a slower life.

 

I got a great room with en suite and the college grounds were beautiful.

We were only four students in the class and the teacher was brilliant. However the three other students were very different, if I put it that way.

There was an 83 year old man that had a slight touch of dementia. He had a constant look of surprise on his face and he got lost all the time. He also could wander off in the middle of the class. Funny enough he was sharp as a pencil when he wrote and gave feedback to the rest of us. There were also moments when you could actually have a full rational conversation with him. But in-between that he was lost.

There was a lady in her seventies that had a walking stick and arthritis and she also got lost. She was in pre- Alzheimer’s and she was aware of it. Her memory was patchy. She had a pair of red shoes that was broken and she called them her fancy shoes! She constantly spoke about how she should have brought her walking shoes instead of the fancy shoes.

She had only brought one pair of socks and the other lady in the group was complaining about her feet being smelly. I didn’t really notice but then again I had a cold. Her jumper and trousers were dirty and the second day she showed up in a skirt with a missing button so we could see her underwear through the hole. She was constantly talking and it was difficult to get her to stop. The teacher however was quite good in getting the lady to focus. The last day she turned up in her nightie and said she had nothing clean to wear!

The third lady was really strange. She had anger outbursts and was over sensitive to everything. When the teacher told her to stop rustling her papers and listen to the Alzheimer lady, she got a fit and sneered that she will indeed go out next time she need to sort her papers. As if we cared. Later when I started to cough she said, “So, it’s ok to cough in class then but not to sort your papers!”

She was overactive and couldn’t sit still, she shouted at me once. But again, there were moments when she behaved normal and you could actually have a conversation with her. Then of course, I was in the group...

Despite the strange company I actually warmed to them after four days and was sad to leave them.

One evening I decided to attend the healing mass in the village church. I thought it would be a great way to join village life. But alas there were only three old ladies attending, which made me feel old too. Despite the low attendance the priest wore the full regalia and followed the whole ritual as if the church had been full.

When the healing thing started I joined the three other ladies kneeing at altar as the priest started to put his hand on the first lady’s head. In my head I started think that the priest saw us as his bitches. It took the seriousness out of the situation.
I am in deed a heathen.

The week went fast and before I knew it I was back in Brixton. As I came up from the tube station I was met with the sirens of police cars and the Brixton Road was blocked off because a young man had been hit on his head and there was blood everywhere. His girlfriend was in chock and a police woman spoke with her as the boyfriend was driven off in the ambulance.

Home sweet home, or?