BATMAN

A beautiful morning sun beamed through the window for Batman on this wednesday morning in Gotham, he was in a particularly good mood as he awoke, for he allows himself a doughnut on wednesdays, but what flavour? he mused, always a difficult decision, raspberry, strawberry, cream? as long as he is not surprised by another apple one, what a shock that was!

Enough musing, time to get out of bed, he swung his tiredy legs out of the bed and felt around with his toes for his bat slippers.
As he was putting on his Bat pyjamas Alfred arrived, “what would you like for breakfast this fine morning sir? and what to drink?”, “oh some toast would be smashing Alfred, with honey, and darn if I am not going to treat myself to a Cappuccino this morning too!”, “right you are sir” replied Alfred before obediently shuffling off downstairs.
Batman’s house was a fine place, a place you inherit not buy, enough finery to keep the antiques roadshow going for years, with a beautiful formal garden which he enjoyed pottering about in one corner, a place to look at with the pride for it being done himself, it almost looked as good as the gardeners primped, preened and pruned work.
Batman looked out of the kitchen window as he munched his toast, the birds sang and he spied a small deer edge into the garden, far away just by the fountain. What a lovely sight, if they weren’t so nervous he would go tickle her chin, but alas dark knights are not a deers cup of tea.
“Right, time for action!” he said, and promptly opened the paper to the job section, not much in here today, just a couple of building jobs and an opening for a car sales representative, certainly not anything for Batman’s specific qualifications, a city and guilds in tupperware design. one day, one day..
Batman senior was very well off, leaving a large sum of money, executive toys and this expansive mansion, so Batman can afford to bide his time till the right job emerges. wonder what job dad did? he would never say, always so mysterious, up at all hours, sometimes not back till dawn. Mum said he was a baker, that would explain the excess of bread, buns and various cakes coming into the house. Batman missed the cream slices, but the Bat belt is less strained now. The stationary Bat bike has also been good for his health.
Midday and it is time to fix lunch, Batman goes to the bat fridge and retrieves some butter, ham and cheese, to go in his ciabatta, which Alfred had warmed in the oven for a few minutes. Who does not like ciabatta? the perfect bread, though excessive air bubbles can leave one feeling short changed, but the reward is worth the risk.
Ciabatta sandwich in hand, Bat bag over shoulder, he heads out to see what the world has to offer today. Only a few minutes up the road the bakery comes into view, a small family run baker, with few customers, but good news for Batman, as it means he does not have to get up too early for his doughnut, it ruins a day when your favourite sweet treat has gone already. Tom puts Batman’s doughnut in a bag and says “Thank you Batman that will be eighty pence, thank you for keeping the streets safe” Batman gave Tom a confused look “Ok.. Thanks..” and turned to the open door and headed out to face the street. As soon as he turned right he spotted the Joker just stepping out of the barbers, he looks very happy for someone who has just had that done to their hair he thought, but he is always a very cheery person, Batman went to wave but the Joker did not see him and turned the other way, slightly self-consciously, Batman put his hand back down..
Heading across the road, Batman spotted that yet another village shop had closed, sad to see a budding business falter, but jet skis are hard to sell even by the sea. Next door the shop keepers are out gossiping, Batman over hears “isn’t it sad what happened to him? at such a young age too” “but it did say ‘external use only’ on the box..” the gossip faded as he walked further away, up towards the book shop, past the charity shops that always seem to filter in when the quaint shops falter. Looking in the window, the same familiar covers peer back, dust settling on each one, except one new book, looking out to a new audience, a book by a TV chef on baking without eggs. still, at least this is a sign that there may be new books in the shop, the shop keeper has not given up on custom quite yet. upon entering a familiar smell wafts to the nostrils, a smell of old flat wood and dust. Batman heads to his favourite section, hobbies, a favourite for many unemployed I have no doubt, the next hobby could well be the next profession. Batman is no different, he has experimented in painting and sculpture but what is in mind does not arrive at his fingers, leaving him frustrated. So back to gardening, who cannot dig a hole and plant a seed, who cannot water and feed? nature does the work, yet we sit satisfied with ‘our work’ no less.
Looking through the volumes on the shelf is quite the task in its self, the thing that we all do, twisting our neck to one side as we read the titles is hard to do in a full head mask! but they are familiar titles, no new watering technique has been found it seems. Heading back past the desk Batman peruses the postcards and animal shaped bookmarks, hmmm, maybe a reading light bookmark, just for something new to take home he thought. The shop keeper was miles away reading a small biography by a well known sportsman, and barely acknowledged Batman as he took the money and continued reading.
Just pop into the news agents on the way back Batman thought, back down the hill he enters the news agents, it seems to be open permanently, a tiny shop smelling of vegetables. Inexplicably they always have a huge array of dirty magazines, as if the internet never happened. Batman keeps his head down as he browses, yes I’m here for the hobbies he says entirely in body language. He picks up a wood turning magazine and gives his money to a small girl who seems to be hypnotised by her phone, grudgingly he receives his change and goes on his way, back to the comfort of home.
“Tea Sir?” asks Alfred as Batman plonks his Batbag on the kitchen worktop, “Mint tea please” said Batman, “To help digest that doughnut, I suspect it may not have been made recently”. “right you are Sir”.
Later Batman sits in his favourite chair in the living room, reading about wood grain and chisels as he sips his tea, the curtains drawn a little to try his new bookmark lamp, it works perfectly fine as long as you have no desire to read the bottom half of the page.
Opening the curtains he looks at the late evening light twinkle on the lawn, a soothing sight.
Turning back inward he takes the remote control and switches on the TV, its temping glow of nonsense flickers on, and takes Batman in its spell.
The spell is broken as the smell of dinner reaches his nostrils, a welcome aroma as his stomach is starting to say fill me. Alfred dutifully walks in, tray in hand, roast dinner and red wine floating to Batman’s lap, then ice cream and a coffee.
He sat to digest his meal, contemplating the end of the day, for night has arrived, Batman loved this time the most, where he came alive, could do anything, he loved it, for what he loved best was to dream.

Good night.

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