Saturday Riders

Its my misfortune to have a job that requires occassional evening and weekend work. This saturday morning was one of those days.

As I approached the tube gates at Kings Cross with the usual haste I was overcome by a feeling of being a bull in a china shop. And then it dawned on me - the tube was full of the underground equivalent of Sunday drivers. Everyone was on go-slow mode, not sure of where they were going, having to slow-down to peer round corners and at signs. Tourists standing on the wrong side of the escalator. People with large rucksacks. I kept finding myself almost falling over people - something to do with the fact that I automatically go into commuter rush mode when down in the tube (never travel on it at the weekend if I can possibly help it). Easier at the time of day to get a seat though.

Transformation: a post for Harry

Bails had an extreme realisation: she no longer needed dreadlocks to feel like herself. Made an appointment that day at the hairdressers and within a week was reborn, free from the constraints of locks (and praying that she had in fact done the right thing). A week on and it seems that yes, change is good.





Things I didn't know about really knotted up hair:
It took 3 people the best part of 3 hours to comb out. There was stuff in there that looked like the reminants of the beach at Valencia last August. The combing out process was done dry. Once combed out the hair had to rest before it could be cut - time needed: 2 days.

Boy Trouble

I'm sat next to a woman in the depths of despair. We sit facing backwards by the bend in the 73. She attempts to muffle her chest-wrenching sobs and snotty tears with her hands. Middle of a relationship breakup, snorting snottily into the phone to a succession of girlfriends who are attempting to level some calm.

As I step out of the bus at Newington Green I catch the strains of a different conversation, "but, like, d'ya fancy 'im?"...it'll only lead to trouble.

First Lecture

I think I might be an anti-intellectual. I find myself in the midst of class feeling frustrated by the other students' intellectualising, or their attempts to out-smart each other, or their need to bring everything back to their own work, or their inability to transfer knowledge across to other situations. I'm an inverted snob. Having spent my entire school life being one of the swottier ones I now feel like I'd rather sit in the back and not do my homework. I'm hoping to get over it soon.

9th & Hennepin

And I've seen it all, I've seen it all
Through the yellow windows of the evening train...

From the overland up above the street, through the window of a smart warehouse apartment in Borough, a man packs a bag, grabbing clothes from the wide low-slung kingsize bed and patting them down inside, his hipsters hanging just a little bit low revealing a whisper of builder's bum.

Blogging Year 2

Oh my gad! My second blog birthday is upon us.

Right in the middle of a total blo(g)ckage. I've been thinking a lot about how In the Aquarium may have changed over the second year of its existence. My little sis made an observation after her last read that it has changed a lot - more descriptive and 'deep' (her words) and less light hearted and funny.

Particularly lately, work has been harder. I'm tired. Less enthralled by going out. Staying at home more, staying local more. Almost like the 34th year has brought great change - my restless self has learnt to be more controlled, considered, settled. Much less need for constant motion, excitement. Like I've become an observer of life rather than a participant. And yet, and yet. I have a yearning for being entertained, for doing new things in new places, finding other more exciting scenery. I think its the fact that the search for excitement is so often disappointing, great expectations dashed.

I have a feeling this is reflected in the writing here. I feel like I've had fewer ideas, fewer exciting experiences. Less to laugh about.

And then there's been the hemorrhaging of blog buddies left right and centre (hey Elsie, Mr rather more Invisible Stranger, My Ace Life who I still visit to see Floella Benjamin popping up). I miss you all.

BUT. I intend to rediscover my life. Its a couple more weeks until I reach my most dreaded mid-30s (hating every minute of being over 30) and I don't want to be bored or boring any more. Dad's old adage, "only the boring get bored" rings in my ears. I intend to look with new eyes at the things of old. I intend to go on holiday and recoup some enthusiasm. I hope I haven't driven you all away!

I started an MA in January, the first module of which was in computer mediated communication. Whilst trying to figure out how CMC can help students learn and teachers teach I have discovered that I like blogging as a medium for computer mediated communications better than the software we were using for this module. I like the fact that I feel part of a community of bloggers; people come back over and over and comment; that I can tell that there are more visitors than those who are commenting (my stats tell me so - hello to all you lurkers out there); that every once in a while a new person comes along and makes contact - making the whole thing feel like its gathering steam. I feel a great attachment to my fellow bloggers - my favourites are linked on the further reading column, some of you I have met in the flesh - which has always been hugely enjoyable. :-)


[Incidentally, isn't it weird that the spell check in blogger doesn't know the words blog or blogging!]

Two Pair

On a narrow balcony in a block of flats two men cut metal poles in half. One holds the poles while the other weilds the chainsaw, sparks flying off the balcony onto the grass below. This looks a little dangerous me thinks.

A couple of houses away a man in a grey suit stands outside the front garden and takes a photograph, through trees, of the other man (also in a grey suit) as he stands by the doorstep posing with one hand in his trouser pocket. Two estate agents? They don't usually pose in the photo. Perhaps its a new purchase.

Grey Skies

Grey clouds swirl past the window left to right threatening rain and/or hail.

Occassional black birds pass right to left, and back again.

Bright blue plastic bag passes left to right held fully inflated by the wind.

Reminds me of The Red Balloon - fab film (and book I had as a child). All black and white apart from a red and a blue balloon.

The Fingersmith

(Not that version, My version!) Some man gets on the bus pushing a sleeping toddler in a buggy with one hand, a rucksack slung over one shoulder which he is trying to keep up whilst talking on the phone. My mind makes a comparison to those men you see parking their cars (cars with powersteering) whilst holding and talking on the phone. Trying to do important things together without due care and attention comes to into my mind.

He parks the buggy in the alloted area and then comes and sits by me, which I think is strange because the bus isn't too crowded and this isn't usually a seat of choice for baby carers. He acts a bit weird. He keeps thinking I'm looking at him when I'm not really I'm just looking past him at the street on the other side of the road. Then he starts shifting in his seat, ever so slightly so his back is towards me. His rucksack in covering his lap and leaning on my leg.

then I become aware of the faintest of tickling sensations on my thigh, close to my coat pocket. I shift. He shifts. I feel it again. When I move my hand down it goes away. I get my pass out of the other pocket on that side. The tickling starts again.

I feel sure he's checking my pocket out. But I have a slight doubt. I am relieved I never keep anything in there. But when I get off I feel violated in a creepy kind of way. And everyone in the street seems to be behaving like freaks. I can't wait to get inside where I can get away from people.

Public Personal Habits

Number One.
The Public Nose Pick.

So we return to a subject I've comtemplated with some disgust several times. This time to consider what could possibly be considered 'acceptable' for the length of a public pick.

In my estimation a public pick should be swift, over before it has really got going, only long enough that it can still be mistaken for an irrespressible itch having to be scratched.

On no account should it be used as an alternative to a hanky and involve persistent deep digging. In both nostrils. With contemplation of finger. For ten minutes.


Number Two.
Female Grooming.

Today the train was delayed for over half an hour. So I had to ride the tube for a considerable number of stops (in comparison to normal). I always manage to forget that there are women who are unable to get all the necessary grooming tasks done before leaving home and have to do grissly things like clipping their nails or curling their mascara-laiden eyelashes with torture implements whilst on the tube on the way to work.

This morning I watched a woman brush her hair (not so bad). And then something else caught my eye.

When I looked back she was angling a mirror to see what must have been offendingly dark chin hairs so she could tweeze them out. The tweezing actually pulled the skin before the hair popped out. It reminded me of a cruel thing I learned in biology once about ageing skin and how it looses its elasticity, proved by pinching the upper hand skin of my mother vs myself to see which sank back quicker AND some art film which used to show constantly in the Great Eastern Dining Room basement bar where a man put hooks into his skin and had a crane lift him across some landscape hanging by them. One of those hideous sights you can't quite tear your eyes off.

Monday's Life Class




The model was 7 months pregnant. Interesting to draw. Poses were longer - so she didn't get so tired out with all the moving around - first one a 20 min pose, then all 10 minute poses until the last one which was 35minutes. I quite like it but its sort of too smooth by comparison to some of the others. I prefer the marks to be a bit more interesting. I missed the short fire poses which really help to loosen you up.


Candid Arts Trust: open access sessions and more formal taught courses in both life drawing and painting. Behind Angel tube, Islington - first left down City Road. Contact: The Candid Arts Trust, 3 Torrens Street, London EC1V 1NQ, Tel: 020 7837 4237.

All original drawings £25 excluding postage and packing (A1 sized). Or alternatively, A4 sized prints for £5 excluding postage and packing. For further details see the lifedrawing gallery or email me.

Regent's Canal Stroll




In search of lunch we went over to the Narrow Boat Inn. Unimpressed with their menu we decided to walk along the canal to Camden, certain we would be more in luck there.

Its mostly tranquil along the canal between Islington and shortly before Camden. Quiet. Walking along beside the green slick water. Passing locks, canal boats moored, aquatic birdlife, fishermen and other towpath users. The gas towers that used to mark the skyline in Kings Cross have all but one been removed, mass building work happening in its place bringing the channel tunnel link closer. The water was very high and gushed at some rate through the overflows on the locks.

On making it to Camden we were thrust into the mayhem that the market has become, all tourists, youths, noodles and tie dye clothing. We stopped by Camden Lock to decide where to head. A man close by was packing up his folding chair - a man with a mass or rings through his face, ears, head and neck. A face painted green and red to match the tattoos smothering the rest of his body. A body exposed to the air on this warm spring day, no trousers just silver pants.

We crossed the market to walk up the main road towards Chalk Farm in search of the perfect menu, failing to find it, we found ourselves at Marine Ices, behind the painted and pierced man who somehow had beaten us there and was eating a single cone sitting on his folding chair by a lampost on the side of the road.

Marine Ices - great ice cream, a favourite of my mother who would treat us on occasion in the early 70s after swimming lessons at Prince of Wales Road Baths. We never had a double cone like we all did today though.

Sherlock

The man strolls down 21st Century Borough High Street with a long gait. He's wearing a Sherlock Holmeseque half-caped coat and carrying his deerstalker in his hand. Next to the sandwich bars, neon signs, cashpoints, fast food rubbish he's looking quite hilarious in his Victorian attire with his blond highlights. And he's quite some way from Baker Street.

Summer Time

I don't know why but when the clocks go forward it always fucks me up. I'm overly tired. Can't wake up at the right time. Its a good few days and I still feel like I'm minorly jet-lagged. Surely its time we stopped doing this to ourselves and just settled on one time or other!

Itchy Feet

Bath salts melt into the water like cigarette smoke evaporates into the air. Slow curling whispers.

The exertion of gardening is apparent in the muscles of my back. A slow weekend has left me craving excitement. To see a wider horizon, drive on different roads, in new scenery, meet other people, listening to foreign sounds.

The vapour trails of jet planes criss crossing the skies draws my eye away from my daily routine. Oh for a journey that doesn't have a defined destination. Oh to feel hot sand between my toes and swim in warm water. To drive open roads, across the landscape of movies. To have awe. To be breath taken.

The Creep

Short bus ride home. Sitting looking out the window, a young man sits down next to her. She can tell out of the corner of her eye that he is looking at her intently. She pretends not to notice, but in actual fact sees that his hand is in his trousers. Uncomfortable, she contemplates telling the driver, how long would it all take to sort out? Walking distance from home she decides instead to get off the bus. Its 2.00am. She gets out and starts walking. Then she notices he has gotten off as well. She walks slowly. He overtakes and then waits up ahead until she has to pass him. She walks quickly. He walks quickly. She changes direction, thinking she could go into the pub and tell them she's being harassed. She says to him, please leave me alone. She turns back and sees a woman ahead. She catches up with the woman and asks to walk with her. They walk a little ways together. The creep disappears.

Dr Who

Personally, I liked Tom Baker, and everyone who came after seemed to be gradually more and more ridiculous. I liked the oddness but also liked when they took it a little more seriously. And I liked the assistants to be adult.

So to the new Dr Who - I actually thought it did a not too bad a job of going back to how it was when I watched it properly. Christopher Eccleston makes a good doctor. And yes I can see a wheelie bin eat a person, the London eye being used as a transmitter and the consciousness be down a manhole by the GLC building.

The Trainspotter

As we wind our way across the rooftops on our journey to London Bridge the man's excitement visibly rises. Nose pressed against the window feverishly trying to jot down numbers in his well-thumbed notebook. Its a busy time, evening rush hour - trains passing, laiden with passengers - his head is swiveling this way and that, desperately trying to make out the last digits of the treasured number. I think this trainspotter is interested in engines, he doesn't note down the numbers of the carriages (but then maybe nobody collects those). There appear to be numbers all over the trains - each carriage has one, each set of doors has them, each engine...

He's wearing a teal fleece and carrying one of those bags popular in the 70s as carry-on luggage. The bag is also green. He's carrying other old well used notebooks - the sort that have an elastic to help keep them shut. He's writing with a very ordinary but totally functional biro.

Watching him there I get this burning desire to ask him what exactly he does. Do you collect engine numbers? What's the aim, to collect all the numbers of all known working engines? What do you do when you have them all? Do you take your numbers home and put them into a database of some sort? How long have you been collecting them? But mostly Why?

As we stand up we are gathering by the door next to each other, and there's this moment when I am looking at him too long and too intently and it makes him catch my eye, that was the moment. And I bottled it, looked away and busied myself with my pass. When we escaped the train I watched him bustle along to the bridge. I expect he was rushing over the platform 6, where the trainspotters tend to gather at the far end. I've seen them, videoing, writing with pencils that have to be licked, or talking into dictaphones. Trainspotting gangs.

Why?

Monday's Life Class





Top row: first three (from left to right) 5 minute poses, far right was the first picture of the night - 20 minute warm up pose. Middle row: 30 second drawings all done with left hand. Bottom: last drawing of the evening 40 minutes - I personally think its one of the best drawings I've done for ages. Really managed to get some form, three dimensionality, depth and tone and a feeling of the woman.

All original drawings £25 excluding postage and packing (A1 sized). Or althernatively, A4 sized prints for £5 excluding postage and packing. For further details see the lifedrawing gallery or email me.

Candid Arts Trust: open access sessions and more formal taught courses in both life drawing and painting. Behind Angel tube, Islington - first left down City Road. Contact: The Candid Arts Trust, 3 Torrens Street, London EC1V 1NQ, Tel: 020 7837 4237.

DAUK Film Night

Pops roped me into going to see two documentary films shown by the Democrats Abroad UK. On friday night. Not really sure what posessed me. I roped in Bails.

We arrived. On the door was a man who looked like he was trying to emulate a 30s movie star - blue suit, very high pulled up trousers with red braces, round thick rimmed glasses, bald. He looked rather suprised but I think that was because of his prescription. Inside everyone was very serious and intellectual in a sort of academic kind of way. We tittered at the back.

The hosts of the event couldn't quite decide what to do - start on time or wait for those who hadn't arrived yet. They waited. For half an hour. On starting there was some confusion as to whether to explain why we were here and what the Democrats Abroad news was. In front of us 5 people sighed heavily and finally piped up that since we were starting late couldn't we skip the speeches. Herman thought yes, perhaps we should and then launched into a brief intro, only to be interrupted by the long Joan Baez haired woman who snapped either we skip it or I'll do it. Herman shut up. Joan Baez hair started into her speil. The 5 huffed and sighed and squirmed in their seats.

So then they started the film. The lights in the lecture theatre dimmed. The video started. It was barely audible. Someone asked for the volume to be turned up. Herman, at the podium with the controls turned the lights on and off for a couple of minutes, evidently trying to find the volume. Then he lost the picture (data projectors - rather temperamental). Then he found the picture and turned the lights back on. Then 2 others ran up to help. The three of them stood round the podium turning the lights on and off, losing and finding the picture. Finally they said its as loud as it can get (better to blame the equipment than admit defeat). Bails, Pops and I had quiet hysterics. Lights out, picture on, some debate as to whether the film (which had been running through the lights on lights off section) should be rewound to the beginning. The 5 said NO. The rest of the audience thought yes. It was rewound and begun again. Still could barely hear it.

We left after the first film. Is it any wonder they couldn't win an election Pops wondered later.

Was an interesting film though - Unconstitutional about how the Patriot Act went too far too fast.