Biron waits for post.

Biron is similar to someone you might know. Biron likes to live in a world where colours are muted and things move at a reasonable pace. And there is nothing regrettable about taking things slowly, and thinking.  He likes what he likes and makes no excuses for that being collections of, what other people would describe as, junk. A dour little man with arms attached to his grey, blue face with a perplexed expression. He makes his home in a crack under the kitchen cupboard, in an ordinary kitchen, in an ordinary terrace found in an ordinary street. The crack is how he likes it - although some days after wallowing in his bed, he thinks about giving it a little tidy but mostly he is content to share his home with his thoughts and collection of bits and pieces.

One morning, Biron lay in his bed and mulled over the oncoming day. Apart from wallowing in his bed and drinking coffee he had no plans after that.  'What to do?'  he thought. After meticulously opening and adjusting his curtains and pouring another coffee in his favourite chipped mug, Biron settled down to write. He had been enjoying a correspondence with a companion of his, who he hadn't seen in many years. On some days it was difficult to find things to write about because his normal life had been disrupted, no surprise in the middle of a global pandemic. Nevertheless, he wrote a meticulous and substantial letter which he took dutifully to the postbox, down the door step, across the road and through the town. After he posted the letter, it began to rain. Biron liked the rain. After all that exertion Biron was tired, cold and wet so he settled down in his nice, comfortable bed to drink coffee from his favourite chipped mug. 

The next morning, he lay in his bed and mulled over the oncoming day. After the correct amount of wallowing and noticing his favourite chipped mug was empty. He meticulously opened and adjusted his curtains only to be interrupted by a familiar 'thud'. The postman had delivered a letter to his crack.  Biron walked steadily through his bits and pieces to retrieve the letter. It was pleasing to discover it was from his companion and even more pleasing to read an interesting letter. Biron glanced, feeling guilty at the pile of unopened mail from his cousin, thinking 'I must reply back soon, when I have some spare time'. After reading and rereading the letter his companion had written he thought how pleasant it will be when they would be allowed to meet up. He promptly wrote back. 

A few days later, Biron was listening to the radio in bed with a cup of coffee in his favourite chipped mug. As he wallowed and listened, it became clear- after someone else had explained what Boris the Prime Minister was saying. Apparently, Boris the Prime Minister had lifted some of the restrictions. Biron got up and meticulously opened and adjusted his curtains. He settled down to write a meticulous and thorough letter. Today it was not difficult to think of things to say. The grey-face man outlined the upcoming meeting, they would meet, keeping their 2 metre distance and walk through the town, across the bridge and alongside the river. It would be easier to talk in person and it would make Biron's daily exercise easier. He could meet his companion and keep the rules, as long as he didn't invite them back to his crack. 

Biron waited for many days for a reply from his companion. His wallowing was a bit longer this morning, but eventually, once his favourite chipped mug was drained of coffee he decided to meticulously open and adjust the curtains. 'I suppose I should take my daily exercise', Biron thought ruefully, pausing to wonder what was taking his companion so long to reply. Biron took a walk, through the town, across the bridge and alongside the river, occasionally he glanced across over to the 2 metre distance that his companion could occupy. But the sun was hot on his face and Biron did not like the sun. After his walk, when he returned safely through the kitchen to his crack under the kitchen cupboard, he discovered the postman had been. He took the letter from the doormat and placed it on top of the pile of correspondence he had accumulated from his cousin.  

Later that evening, whilst tucked up in bed - he pondered again about the walk he could of taken with his companion and wondered how long he should wait for a reply.



*Of course many of you will have recognised the influence of the character Murun Buchstansangur - I would love to track down the writer Timothy Forder and say thank you for the inspiration. But please enjoy one of the many youtube posts. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJHGg9c86fs