Down At The Fossils Club

I go there once a week on Thursday afternoon’s with what I call my spending money. That is the money which is not taken up with just surviving, although that makes me far from unique I know. Down at the club you will meet every kind of couple, happy and sad, angry or merely contemptuous, loving, gentle or blissfully unaware of their partner’s misery. In fact you’ll meet the human race, metropolitan style, excepting almost every story begins with “I used to” because very little happens now apart from organised games of bingo or cards which, let’s face it, just says you’re past it more than anything else can do.

Me, I sit at the bar mostly, sipping on a husbanded beer, swapping remarks with people I recognise, friendships are harder to grow after a certain age, and lusting in my hopeless way after Penelope of course, who is not interested in me, and has not been these three years. Not that I’m capable of expressing my interest in her on any physical level. Not to worry, being passed by in life, by people off to the shops, or restaurants, theatre’s or their weddings is what I’m all about. Invisible really, but always good mannered I assure you, that is one standard I insist on. You’ll never hear me shouting or expressing a crude appetite.

Anyway, enough of me, or you’ll be calling me “self-centred,” which is so true it hurts. At the Fossils Club, as I’ve said, the normal start of any sentence is “I used to” or “We used to” for those couples both of whom are still alive and can admit to enjoying each other’s company. And after that phrase come the careers and hobbies, “Be an accountant,” “Run a betting shop,” “Walk the Pyrenees,” or “Sail single-handed across the Serpentine Lake in London’s Hyde Park.”

Those of us not lost in daydreams or envy nod our heads in admiration. (Admiration of others is one of my talents by the way, along with envy if I’m to be honest: something I hate ) and if the conversation lulls, one of those who know me better than most might ask me “What about you Michael” and I will always say, I’ve applied to become a barrister, or I’m training to be a structural engineer, or any other profession I can think of, the entrance to which is unlikely given you are nearing your seventieth year.

But I don’t mind, because I’ve earned just enough to sit by the window in my lodgings out of the rain and live in daydreams. Daydreams are good you know, because in them Penelope always smiles at me and says “You know I like you” and someone from a major publishers knocks on the door and says “We demand to publish your manuscript” and holidays are enjoyed without the bother of leaving your recliner. In my imagination I’m just loved for who I am. In my imagination I will never be short of breath and the possible is just the start of my new life.

About Peter Wells aka Countingducks

Trying to remember what my future is
This entry was posted in character, community, creative writing, Fiction, humour, old age, Peter Wells, writing and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

22 Responses to Down At The Fossils Club

  1. Ina says:

    You know I like you 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. asklotta says:

    I’ve gone on the most wonderful vacation and have met the most interesting people in my “day-dreams” 🙂


  3. ‘…sail single-handed across the Serpentine Lake…’ – priceless, Peter!


  4. That’s what’s great about being a writer. At any moment, that future could become the present. I must remember to listen to my neighbor’s past with more enthusiasm next time we meet.


  5. Oh to be lost in a daydream. One of my favorite past times.


  6. laroseedespetiteschoses says:

    I like the name “Fossils Club” and how can one go through life without daydream!


  7. gotham girl says:

    Here’s to daydreaming!!!


  8. Oh how I love your writing, and this entry does not disappoint. One day I believe a major publisher might just knock at your door….Janet:)


  9. Sylianna says:

    I came by to check you out because you left a like on my blog, The Hunt for Freedom. This…this I didn’t expect. Once I began reading, I couldn’t stop = and by the end, there were and are tears in my eyes. You are so very sweet, so very darling. I just want to hug you! Shame on you for making me cry! lol I’m going to visit your blog as often as I can and…I, like so many others here, like you. Something tells me if I saw you…I’d never pass you by and you’d never be invisible to me.

    Liked by 1 person

  10. If your mind is a terrible thing to lose, your imagination is an even worse thing to lose…as you so cleverly point out here.


  11. joey says:

    I just love that last bit 🙂


  12. DanicaPiche says:

    “We demand to publish your manuscript” 🙂


  13. This has a most melancholic, yet sadly true, ring to it. Perfectly crafted and a wonderful read.

    Liked by 1 person

  14. sinrenter says:

    aaah, I can feel things here. It reminds me my own what-if thoughts :”)

    Liked by 1 person

  15. ksbeth says:

    it all really happens in our imagination, doesn’t it? we make each experience, at any age, into what we perceive it to be, and perhaps not as it really is. no age limit on that. and that’s what keeps us feeling alive.


  16. Al says:

    Is that the same Penelope that inhabits my daydreams? We need to investigate this further.


  17. Oh what a wonderful piece! And Michael’s imagination sounds like a very attractive place to reside I think.


  18. Peter, you’re amazing my friend. I am sitting here daydreaming. I got so into it, that I almost missed my train LOL. Thanks for the read.


  19. restlessjo says:

    I think I’ll come and live in your imagination 🙂


  20. nelle says:

    Indeed… got me through a whole lot in life. 🙂


  21. Haylee says:

    Thanks for stopping by and liking my micro story. This was so sad! It’s an awful fact that society does overlook the older generation. It was the part about being invisible that was upsetting. Nobody should feel that way 😦 Daydreams keep us all sane and happy I think though!


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