Ivan

A post-industrial tale...

 

Ivan

 

 

 

   Ivan was set in his ways like many men of Burnton at his time of life. The days seemed long now since he had finished working in the factory and he got up later, but not too late, as you had to maintain certain standards.

   After breakfast he would walk down town to read the morning papers in the library, often seeing old acquaintances and exchanging a quiet word or two. There were computers in the library now too, but no-one had shown him how to use them and he had little interest in learning. He did do a newspaper crossword or two though, if they hadn't been done already, as he liked to keep his mind active.

   When he finished his reading, and if the weather was fine, he would sometimes take a coffee at an outside table in one of the town´s cafés. He would roll himself a cigarette and watch the world go by. He watched the shop assistants and office workers as they rushed about on their errands and envied their urgency and purpose. He used to have that kind of energy.

   Then he would walk slowly up the hill to his home for lunch. He lived alone and his midday dinner was a simple affair - soup and a sandwich perhaps - and was soon over. He usually resisted the temptation to turn on the television set, instead settling down to read for a while. Historical novels were his preferred reading as he liked to transport himself to other times and places, far away from 21^st century Burnton. He would often nod off over his book but tried not to, as he knew he would find it difficult to sleep that night if he did.

   He lived near the edge of town and almost always took an afternoon walk. He normally walked around a recently wooded, man-made lake, observing the ducks and the occasional imported deer, but sometimes struck out over the moors and put in a couple of extra miles. He enjoyed the movement and the solitude and liked to feel hungry at tea-time.

   He always tried to cook himself a healthy meal for tea, rather than resorting to microwave fare, as he felt that he needed the vitamins that fresh vegetables supplied. A year earlier he had been feeling run down and a bit depressed and his doctor had told him to watch what he ate and drank if he wanted to get past the three score ten. He had heeded his advice, started to eat as well as he could afford, and had cut down considerably on the booze.

   He always watched the evening news, even though it usually depressed him. He had come to despise the smarmy-faced politicians and their posh, empty words, and didn't even enjoy the football news much any more, as he couldn't afford to go on the match since he had stopped working.

   He sometimes went down to the club in the evening for a couple of hours. He preferred the club to the pub as it was cheaper and they didn't mind if you didn't drink much; it was a club after all. He would chat with his mates and they often talked about old times. One or two of them were still working and might have a bit of news, but on the whole the conversation revolved around the same old things. Tonight, though, his oldest friend Mick remembered something.

  “Hey, Ivan, isn't it you´re birthday on Saturday? How´s about we come round to yours for a few beers and then hit town like in the old days? I've got a bit of spare cash after painting old Frank´s kitchen last week.”

  “Well, we could, we could. It´s been a while since we went out properly.”

  “How old´ll you be this time? Thirty-two?”

  “No, you must have missed one. Age of Christ, pal, age of Christ.”