Seagulls ahoy!

It’s 9:00am and I’m lying in bed. I’m considering getting up and then simply think:

‘Bollocks to that.’

And why’s that then?

Because for the last two weeks, I’ve been coughing and spluttering, occasionally feeling better and then relapsing big time. It’s been a pain in the butt, and I’m fed up with it.

And it’s not just me. Apparently, lots of my friends have the same symptoms, with a persistent cough the common thread throughout.

So yes, right now, at 9:00am, I’m simply lying here on a mattress on the top floor of my house, looking at the ceiling, and coughing occasionally. Half an hour later, a rash thought flashes around inside my head: maybe I should get up now? But I feel a nip in the air and think better of it once more.

Of course, this all begs the question, why am I on the top floor, and not in my normal bedroom on the first floor? The answer is simple: because at this time of year, it’s a bit too chilly down there. For some reason, the top floor feels warmer, maybe because during the evenings, I have the heater on downstairs and hot air rises – all the way to the top floor. Who knows if this is really the reason, but it seems to be the one that’s most likely.

Above my bed and next to me is the sole window to the room, a large square window. From my place on my mattress, I can see very little through it: I can see the overhang of the roof; I can see part of my rolled-up awning flapping in the breeze, the one that provides well-needed shade in the summer; I can see the sky… and that’s about it.

This morning, the sky is a luminous blue. It’s beautiful and makes a change from the recent grey skies.

The other morning, I woke up to find that it wasn’t just that the skies were grey. In fact, the whole world was grey. As I stood up and peered through the window, all I could see was the house opposite, and beyond that nothing – a blanket of nothing. This blanket was hiding the houses in the next street, hiding Fuseta, hiding the hills in the distance. It offered a depressing scene, one which remained for much of the day.

But today is different. From my position on the bed, as I said, the sky is a luminous blue. There isn’t a cloud in sight. There’s just a pristine azure canopy.

Then a seagull appears: then another, and another. These seagulls seem to be floating, dancing on the breeze, riding the thermals (if indeed, there are any). They aren’t flustered. There is no flapping of wings. They simply seem to be at one with the elements, floating, skipping, skimming through the air outside my window. I’m entranced. It’s like an old-school video game, with birds floating onto the screen and then slowly leaving, only to be replaced by another, or at times, more than one.

I lie on my mattress and watch – and don’t cough once.

And then, one particular bird appears, floats its way into the middle of the pseudo screen, seeming to hover, not moving forward, not slipping back, not rising, not descending, simply enjoying its ride on the breeze, in the centre of my world.

I lie there mesmerised, watching him. I’m smiling.

A minute later, the gulls have gone, presumably heading off to the roof of Fuseta’s mercado, a roost of which they seem particularly fond.

I lie there looking at the empty blue sky and eventually decide that I simply can’t avoid it any longer. I get up, dress, head downstairs and have some breakfast, once more coughing as I go.

Despite this coughing, the morning’s viewing has got the juices flowing. I want to be outside, outside in the sun, enjoying the cloudless sky. I want to be walking through the salinas, free as a bird.

Yes, I’m going to go for a walk, despite my cough. Hopefully, I’ll feel as free as that gull.