Timeslip/warp

Last Saturday I read a dinosaur book with my kids.

50 million years ago. 100 million years ago. 250 million years ago. The mind bends. I find it comforting when the world feels heavy. Donald Trump and our current ills will be farts on the wind soon enough, and it reminds me not to let the fuckers pull me under.

On Sunday, Salisbury Cathedral try to wow me with 800 years, and I just snigger, thinking of those gigantic beasts all that time ago. Historic, ha!

And yet in Preston, where I spent 6 years including the three years of my undergraduate study on a BA (Hons) in illustration, where I’ve returned to give a lecture at the UCLan design conference week. I’m hammered by the realisation it was 22 years ago when I arrived with my several bags of possessions and a key to my halls of residence. TWENTY-FUCKING-TWO!

What is time, anyway? They say it’s all relative, Hawking and that. Or something?

Buildings I spent significant time in have disappeared and I can’t handle the deluge of memories and sensory ripples.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so dismissive of the cathedral’s efforts to impress.