It's Not Me, It's You by Jon Richardson

Author:Jon Richardson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2011-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

10.38

COFFEE BREAK(DOWN)

There is a place I like to go which makes the things I worry about seem insignificant. I would even go as far as to say that of all the places in which you could find me happiest (though I must point out that by finding me you have more than likely inflicted upon that happiness a fatal wound), an autumnal afternoon, sat quietly on a rock at the water’s edge some half a mile upstream of a certain waterfall is hard to beat. Quite a specific place to suggest, I’ll admit, though in truth it doesn’t have to be any waterfall in particular; to me they all share the same energy and characteristics. I close my eyes and transport myself to the last time I was there in the hope that some of the tension I feel will disappear.

A perfect afternoon involves me arriving first at the body of the falls and staring for a long while into the white water as it crashes downwards, pounding the rocks below, before climbing up its side and walking away until all the drama and the deep noise from earlier begin to fade. I walk until all that remains as a clue to what lies ahead is a gentle murmuring; a kind of radio static which, rather than irritate, serves to emphasise the feeling of brief purgatory from something more sinister.

What excites me first and foremost about this spot is that were you to have approached from further upstream, as the water itself has done, now slipping by me in blissful ignorance, there is no way that you could predict what lies ahead. Knowing something that nothing around me knows gives me an undignified but nevertheless inherently human sense of superiority.

Although picturesque and quaint enough in summer, and far more popular with daytrippers, I prefer to visit in autumn when the grey skies above lend the water a darker and more ominous power and make its depth more difficult to decipher. Huge, jutting rocks break through at irregular intervals along its width, breaking up its otherwise regular flow and dominating the trickling waters.

At that moment, those rocks seem impenetrably strong, as though the water has no option but to yield to their weight and simply skirt around them, but over time they will be relentlessly eroded into submission. This slow and steady approach to achieving its goals is the first attribute that I find fascinating about flowing water. Such great things will be achieved and yet no single step will be visible to the naked eye. It is not just the rocks that will disappear – the fall itself is working its way slowly backwards, eating up the scenery.

Eventually entire landscapes will be formed and re-formed by the relentless waters. In centuries to come, the spot on which I am sitting won’t even exist, never mind the problems which occupy my mind as I sit here. I laugh to think that, if such things exist (and I doubt very much that

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