“Don’t make me angry. You won’t like me when I’m angry”. David Banner was forever getting angry. A gamma agitated mis-timed state that transformed him into a raging green giant.
Time is all in the mind – isn’t it? When falling out of control, that one split second can feel so much longer. Just like a slow-mo movie clip. Your mind runs at a faster pace than time itself. Creates an invisible time and space interval. Just for you – or rather itself. Applies a frantic fast-forward in the vague notion that you’ll be able to park up ahead. See the danger coming. Reach out. Rescue it and save your-self in the process too. More often than not you get fooled. Fail and fall. Crash to the floor.
Why is it that when we want more time, there isn’t enough? And when we have too much, we often don’t know what to do with it . . .
Time and again, we tend to judge a camp-site on four criteria: cleanliness; hot water; toilets; showers. All other facilities, not part of the picture. Considered enhancing add-ons only.
Our Camping Poncione two-nighter at Sorico is in a beautiful location. A stone’s throw from Como’s feeder Fiume Mera and a five minute riverside walk from the lake itself. The view from our pitch, pitch-er perfect.
We discovered on arrival that to shower will cost one euro. “How much time do we get?” – “Five minutes”. Later that evening we compare after shower notes. “That was a quick five minutes. Felt like three and a half at a push” – “More like three I’d say”. So this morning I time mine. I just about get through the final rinse. The temperature plummets and the power cuts out. Three minutes six seconds, excluding a twenty-four second warm up period. I dry myself. Look in the mirror. All I can see is the colour green . . . . later, the owner’s shrug and apology do nothing to water down my anger. Only our afternoon lakeside bike ride does that.
Apart from straggling pedestrians the ride holds some other interest as we head down towards the lake proper. It’s not all plain sailing . . .
We never know what we’ll find waiting around the next corner . . .
At Domaso we about turn. But not before finding somewhere to while away forty minutes. Chill out in the late sun. The time passes far too quickly . . . naturally.
