Gary Numan

So Friday night was gig night - invited to come by Bails and her fella - joining the Numanoids for a special one off at the Hammersmith Apollo. These days the Numanoids are largely ageing ex-punks or those sorts that used to wear black jeans and old men's overcoats or greatcoats from second hand stores in the late 80s and early 90s. Some attempts to still wear gel-spiked-up hair (hair permitting) but quite a lot of baldies unable to do the style of their youth. One or two brought their kids. Lots of leather jackets and the occasional denim. I'm glad I've left that all behind. I used to wear a floor length black skirt all the time. Wore it until it had holes that needed patching, then patched them and wore it until the patches needed patching. Absolutely no idea why I thought that was a good idea. My mother's friend taught fashion and wanted it off me for her project in distressed fabric. Distressed didn't really begin to describe this rag that I wore. Tortured, would be closer.

The music was good. Reminded me a lot of that time. I don't listen to a lot of punk music anymore... Numan was late on stage - he had a sore throat and had an injection in his ass a course of hours earlier to try to make it better. He apologised if his voice was croaky but did a full gig none the less. The singing only occasionally getting the better of him. 

I like being in a crowd listening to music, people singing along, joining in, doing the arm movements. It's why football crowds are exciting. I love watching when people are really getting into something. And the crowd were friendly. Only a couple of irritating drunks, and one man who went to the bar a lot and could never remember where his mates were standing. Spent ages squeezing in and out of the crowd looking for them each time. So maybe next time it would be more appropriate to dress a la the 90s and take a proper Numanoid standpoint!

Early Saturday mornings

Not a usual time for me to be abroad, most usually tucked up in a sleep worthy of a poisoned princess at 8am on a Saturday. But by 9 the high street is awash with shoppers, busy getting their chores done. Workmen are in the street holes which usually just look like traffic obstacles placed there for more interesting driving. And there is a traffic jam just like a work-day morning. So this Saturday is an extra ceramics class. I'm late already but  as I said, it's before getting up time on a Saturday!

Full rainbow

It's apparently going to be the wettest winter in record. Oh joy. Personally I hate umbrellas - it's not the keeping you dry bit, it's the lugging it round while you don't need it that I hate the most. I think that's why I take pictures of broken ones - reminding me of the Tom Waits lyric "broken umbrellas like dead birds" - all wirey skeletons and flaps of skin, lying dumped and strewn over wet pavements covered with slippery yellow autumn leaf-fall. 

https://flickr.com/photos/76973645@N00/sets/72057594082213332

This morning there were showers. By the time I arrived at work the sun was breaking through at its low wintery level and a full rainbow stretched over Peckham. 

Love at First Sight

I don't know if anybody believes in love at first sight anymore. It seems like the stuff of fairytales long since discredited like the tooth fairy and Santa Claus. And these stories always start with Once upon a time... Reminiscent of days before.

Anyway, I have one for you. Once upon a time. In a distant galaxy. Far far away.
No I jest.

It was October 3rd of the year 2014. (A month ago). Having just watched the opera Carmen in a church in Shorditch I was walking over a traffic island when I crossed paths with a black panther, who stopped me and said he liked my shoes. I stopped and looked him in the eye. It was a strong and solid look, held totally and intensely by the panther. I cocked my head, thanks. He said he was going into the Cornershop with his friends and he asked me to come, he'd buy me a drink. Eyes locked. I considered it. I should go home. I had to go to my brother-in-laws' wedding the following day.  My head said fuck it, you're single do what you like. My mouth said ok, the panther took my hand and we ran across the street. Standing outside while his friends smoked I considered my actions. And then we went in. I bought a round of drinks and we talked. I can't remember what about. Mostly I remember the intense looking.  Something in the eyes was telling me something. I'm unused to another person doing that. I've been in trouble before for staring too much. The panther went to the toilet. I talked to his friend Dave.  And then he was back. I'm ready to leave anytime. I don't mind leaving this drink. Say 149 and we're out of here. I finished my drink. And helped him finish his. We left.

Outside he offered me the crook of his arm and we walked that way to the bus stop. On the bus we sat with heads turned to keep the gaze while he talked about places he knew on route. And about buses. A vaguely geeky knowledge of buses. Which makes me laugh - I am a bus siren - spent many hours riding the buses from home to the end of the line and back just to be out of the house and seeing the world.  We spent the night looking at each other and stroking. In the morning he needed to leave. It took two coffees and a toilet break before he could finally tear himself away.

I slept for three hours and awoke to banging on the door. Blearily opening the bathroom window and asking who it was. A friend, came the answer. Downstairs I opened the door and there stood the panther in a sharp pinstriped suit and white shirt. I was overwhelmed and stood there in the doorway looking at him. Can I come in, he eventually asked. Of course, I said and stood aside. He said he was there to deliver me to the wedding I was going to and get some lunch beforehand. I got dressed. We left looking very Saturday night on a Saturday afternoon, catching a bus to Islington Town Hall where we found a restaurant. Over lunch we held hands across the table and he asked me if I believed in love at first sight. To which I glibly answered I didn't know. After lunch I went to a wedding. Two grooms, one in red, the other in blue. Lovely and full of love. I texted the panther.

The panther texted me on Monday. We met after work for a meal. We talked. In my head I considered the concept of love at first sight. My parents met on a blind date and got married four weeks later and stayed together until my mother died. I never heard them say a cross word to each other. It was a seemingly impossible romance to live up to. But it was real. Not a fairytale from a bygone era.

On Tuesday I didn't hear from the panther until late in the afternoon. I spent the morning in realisation that if I never heard from him again I would be upset, may even be devastated. Could that even be true after four days. On Tuesday evening he wanted to meet but I couldn't because I was at my dads having dinner. He came all the way there to stand on the street kissing for five minutes. I was totally relieved. On Wednesday I went to a classical concert with Susanna and she asked me what it was I had to tell her without me saying a word. And I told her I met this panther and I think I'm in love with him, but is that even possible? She said it can be. There was time spent again on Thursday and Friday. On Saturday morning he texted me and asked me if I believed in love at first sight. And I replied that yes, since meeting him I did. Then, he said, I'm coming home to galvanise that truth. And then he knocked at the door. I love you he said. And I love you back I replied.

And that, was that.

So it doesn't just happen in fairy stories. It's been a month.