Devan Shayde (Excerpt from one of the stories I'm writing)00:50 Oct 18 2014
Times Read: 260
I need to write this down rather than it floating about in my mind with the myriad of memories already accumulated there. This long life jig can get a bit tedious at times.
This technological age makes things so much easier for me as regards tidiness. Many journals I possess - handwritten I might add - which, if truth be known, are scattered around in various places that my journey has taken me. I doubt there would be luggage large enough to carry these written accounts along with me every time I moved on from one place or another.
You enquire as to who I am? Forgive my lack of manners in this instance. You may know me as Devan Shayde. I am somewhat of an entrepreneur, a traveller of life, a quester for inner peace and understanding. I people watch. I analyse. I live.
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Every so often I visit my old haunts, bringing back memories of days gone by. Much has changed since I lived there, some of it for the better. Manchester city centre is far more glamorous these days and although the crime rate is high it's not as high as in my earlier years. Well, I say my earlier years - if they can be called early in regards to the dynamics of age - but the age I refer to is when I was in my late twenties.
The area we lived in was very rough, working class. Come to think of it that experience moulded me into a strong person, able to stand my ground and throw a good punch when necessary. It was the way of our world then. You either stayed strong or crumbled under the cruel conditions. The area was a major factory town, cotton mills and the like. Also an inland port and was, by all accounts, over populated, which led to poor conditions in the town. We made do with what we had.
See now, I have gone off at a tangent reminiscing of those days, back to the present...
I recently had cause to visit the city centre a few weeks ago on business. The hotel I stayed in was in the centre of town - Portland Street to be precise - and I took a stroll down Canal Street. This is one of my favourite areas of Manchester. So many people enjoying themselves. Canal Street thrives with activity all week. You may know it as the 'Gay Village'. The diversity of folk there is wonderful and there are some wonderful sights to be seen in their choice of clothing. My penchant for the extroverts amongst us always leads me to the 'Village' on my stays in Manchester.
Saturday night I was stood by the railing looking down into the waters of the canal that ran along Canal Street. My mind was elsewhere as people walked by me chattering and laughing amongst themselves. I heard the chairs behind me slide out from the table (one of many along the side of the canal) which brought me out of my reveries. I straightened my shoulders and turned to walk away, almost toppling over one of the chairs. Quickly I composed myself in a dignified manner and found myself looking into a pair of deep green eyes. The female was mortified that she had almost caused me to stumble. Well, many apologies ensued from her and her man friend until we each began chortling about the whole incident. They invited me to sit with them and partake of a beverage or two, which, of course I accepted. They introduced themselves as Tom and Lizzie and I, in turn informed them of my name.
As the evening progressed I learned that they were in Manchester for the night, their home town being in one of the Greater Manchester suburbs. Deciding to chance my arm as it were I invited them back to my hotel room. I expected them to decline but they agreed and we spent the rest of the night intimately getting to know each other. I will not divulge these boudoir escapades to spare them their blushes and I am an old fashioned kind of gentleman. This particular night I will not forget, neither - I presume - will they.
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Whilst I am of a mind to write I will describe a little of where I am staying for a while. It is a beautiful place in Lancashire, a little hamlet on the edge of the countryside. It consists of four cottages looking out onto a cricket field. Rather secluded, just the way I like it.
It is somewhat off the beaten track, accessible by car or a good walk. A night time walk I find invigorating, helps me clear my mind of unnecessary troublesome worries. There is something magical about watching the moon play hide and seek amidst the branches of the trees, which appear as silhouettes in the darkness. No artificial lighting here. Occasionally I will spy a fox, or hear its distinctive 'bark' and as I walk the eyes of the owl follow my progress. It is times like these that I feel at peace with myself.
My wish is that I could stay in this place, in my cosy little cottage, for the rest of my life. Unfortunately that is not possible. The cottage I bought outright and reside there for a few months each year. To leave it empty for any length of time does not sit well with me so I lease it out to a couple who I have known for a long time and when I am due to move back in for a while I pay for them to go on a long vacation, somewhere abroad. Last year they went to Egypt.
One of the rooms in the cottage I have converted into a study. This room is always locked whilst I am travelling. I have trust in the couple not to enter this room but a lock adds more insurance to my privacy. Many a night I sit in my big, black, leather armchair researching cases of the paranormal. Tonight is one such night and I have found a case that intrigues me. It looks like I will be taking a trip to my old stomping grounds again to visit this particular young woman mentioned in the file.
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