After work
Long day at work. On the bus at 9.45pm couldn't face going home and cooking. Dropped into Pizza Express instead. Table for one. Got my book out to while away the time between the order and arrival of the food. The waitress chatted about books. She suggested reading Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis De Bernieres, encouraging me to get through the first 2/3 chapters (boring bits of history apparently). She was studenty and excitable. Not sure if she just didn't want me to feel lonely. It was nice. She forgot to add my water (bottled) to the bill of £5.75, so I gave her a £2 tip. I hoped she didn't get into trouble with her boss for talking too much. A French woman was talking too loudly to her boyfriend. As the customers thinned out, the background hubbub died down, she became more instrusive.
I sat behind a man whose hair was purposefully greasy. It stank. When he got off I almost expected him to be a tramp but he wasn't - a respectable wool coat, nice jeans, sweater and shirt.
We can't call a tramp a tramp anymore in our PC work world (we need to be inclusive rather than judgemental and derogative). But in writing it down I wonder if it evokes the same imagery if we say homeless person. Homeless people makes me think of body shapes sleeping in doorways in damp sleeping bags on flattened cardboard boxes. Tramp seems to be more characterful. Or something.
A man comes out of the chicken shop and hands the plastic bag carrying his box of chicken and chips into the mouth of his black labrador. The labrador takes the bag obentiently, doesn't tuck into the box or anything, just holds it off the ground and jogs along side his owner. Eager to please, dogs are.
Saturday, 24 January 2009
Journey Home
In the dark of the early evening in a bus winging its way northwards. The streets are bathed in the particular light pools that streetlamps provide. Away from the crowds of Oxford Street, past the eastern end where all the businesses are boarded up. Past the shops closing up for the evening, security staff guarding the doors as the last customer purchases are rung through the tills. Past the large darkened buildings on Euston Road - municiple Camden Council Buildings, closed offices. Occassionally a pub emitting yellowy light from windows, a couple of the clientele standing outside smoking. Into the bright shabbiness of Kings Cross (still the south side of Euston Road remains largely untouched by the regeneration) - all illuminated fast food joints.
An elderly man walks purposesfully, while keeping steadfastly to the shop-edge of the pavement. He holds his over-large suit jacket close around him. He has no trousers or socks though.
Crawling up Pentoville Road. Roadworks at the top of the hill hold us up. Trees are bare - upper branches in the dark above the streetlight.
In the dark of the early evening in a bus winging its way northwards. The streets are bathed in the particular light pools that streetlamps provide. Away from the crowds of Oxford Street, past the eastern end where all the businesses are boarded up. Past the shops closing up for the evening, security staff guarding the doors as the last customer purchases are rung through the tills. Past the large darkened buildings on Euston Road - municiple Camden Council Buildings, closed offices. Occassionally a pub emitting yellowy light from windows, a couple of the clientele standing outside smoking. Into the bright shabbiness of Kings Cross (still the south side of Euston Road remains largely untouched by the regeneration) - all illuminated fast food joints.
An elderly man walks purposesfully, while keeping steadfastly to the shop-edge of the pavement. He holds his over-large suit jacket close around him. He has no trousers or socks though.
Crawling up Pentoville Road. Roadworks at the top of the hill hold us up. Trees are bare - upper branches in the dark above the streetlight.
Thursday, 22 January 2009
Pigeon Man
On the tube, standing, crowded between people. He kept looking all around, persistently changing where his eyes were directed. Head back, nose forward, peeking out from almost closed eyelids. Couldn't decide whether he was really tired or wearing varifocals and only looking out of the bottom third of his glasses.
On the tube, standing, crowded between people. He kept looking all around, persistently changing where his eyes were directed. Head back, nose forward, peeking out from almost closed eyelids. Couldn't decide whether he was really tired or wearing varifocals and only looking out of the bottom third of his glasses.
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Students
Elephant and Castle, Northern Line exit, 10.00am. Crowd of students waiting to get up to street level. Noticeable by their youthful trendiness (skinny jeans, day glo, big hair, stripey socks, all stars or ugg boots), or their europeanesse. I suspect they are traipsing over to the London College of Communication fashion or graphics departments. I followed a person up to the lifts wearing a moth eaten red fox fur coat, and a forties hair do complete with hairnet (front part of the hair wavy around the face, back part of the hair in the net). As I passed her by she changed from an elderly eccentric trapped in her youth, to a youth, clearly flowing against the tide at college and choosing an altogether different style. I did wonder if it was granny's coat.
Elephant and Castle, Northern Line exit, 10.00am. Crowd of students waiting to get up to street level. Noticeable by their youthful trendiness (skinny jeans, day glo, big hair, stripey socks, all stars or ugg boots), or their europeanesse. I suspect they are traipsing over to the London College of Communication fashion or graphics departments. I followed a person up to the lifts wearing a moth eaten red fox fur coat, and a forties hair do complete with hairnet (front part of the hair wavy around the face, back part of the hair in the net). As I passed her by she changed from an elderly eccentric trapped in her youth, to a youth, clearly flowing against the tide at college and choosing an altogether different style. I did wonder if it was granny's coat.
Friday, 16 January 2009
Fame
Browsing the cheap DVDs at the supermarket I came across Fame. I loved it when I was a kid. It was exciting, dramatic, different to my boring school life. So I came home and put it on the and lo! but here was Dr Romano from ER when he was a very young with lots of hair. Still like the movie. Probably because its a part of my youth history, rather than it being a terrifically good film.
Its got the excitement of self discovery as you grow into what you want to do, the pain, loneliness, waiting for things to happen, wild life to find you or you to find it, and then it occasionally does. Then there was the Rocky Horror Picture Show scene with Tim Curry watching in his Frank N Furter costume, and an audience full of goths all dressed up reciting the words.
Browsing the cheap DVDs at the supermarket I came across Fame. I loved it when I was a kid. It was exciting, dramatic, different to my boring school life. So I came home and put it on the and lo! but here was Dr Romano from ER when he was a very young with lots of hair. Still like the movie. Probably because its a part of my youth history, rather than it being a terrifically good film.
Its got the excitement of self discovery as you grow into what you want to do, the pain, loneliness, waiting for things to happen, wild life to find you or you to find it, and then it occasionally does. Then there was the Rocky Horror Picture Show scene with Tim Curry watching in his Frank N Furter costume, and an audience full of goths all dressed up reciting the words.
Friday, 9 January 2009
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
The Perils of Long Hair
I have long curly hair. Well I say long, actually, if we're splitting hairs its actually mid-length. I don't brush it because if I do it gets fuzzy and fly-away. Much better to wash it regularly and condition the knots out of it. The bad thing is that I molt quite badly in the bath.
The boyfiend popped in the bath water after me the other day. After a while he called me to come and look at something. When I got there he demonstrated some very impressive penis puppetry using a string of hair that had become wrapped around the end. He wasn't amused. I tried not to laugh. Honestly. But it is hard to take someone seriously when they are naked, floating in the bath and performing tricks with their willy (even if those are not really intentional but intended to demonstrate how awful it is to have to bathe with all the loose hairs).
I have long curly hair. Well I say long, actually, if we're splitting hairs its actually mid-length. I don't brush it because if I do it gets fuzzy and fly-away. Much better to wash it regularly and condition the knots out of it. The bad thing is that I molt quite badly in the bath.
The boyfiend popped in the bath water after me the other day. After a while he called me to come and look at something. When I got there he demonstrated some very impressive penis puppetry using a string of hair that had become wrapped around the end. He wasn't amused. I tried not to laugh. Honestly. But it is hard to take someone seriously when they are naked, floating in the bath and performing tricks with their willy (even if those are not really intentional but intended to demonstrate how awful it is to have to bathe with all the loose hairs).
Thursday, 1 January 2009
New Year Fireworks 2009
Happy New Year!
"I've got to hold on", he said taking a large handful of her satin-encased bottom. She shaped her very-red lips into a mock oo and carried on chatting to her friend, reaching out and adjusting the feather in her hair. A jolly time. Squeezed into the 243 winging its way towards town. The bus driver was very fond of his message buttons, particularly the please do not stand on the upper deck or stairs, which he replayed over and over until the offending passengers realised that meant them.
All the cool kids were going to Old Street - different cliques dressed in their own style. Passing old haunts and wishing I was actually going to one of them. It gave me a twinge of feeling old before my time. Urge to go clubbing, dancing all night, meeting new people. Instead I had the brilliant idea to go and watch the fireworks on the Thames. Arranged to meet the boyfiend at Waterloo, bus chucked us off at Holborn, walked down Kingsway, cut off at the bridge (shut for crowds) and headed off towards Blackfriars.
Finally made it to that bridge along with thousands of others (for a while it felt like going to the most massive flashmob) and by midnight was crushed on a pathway that was still attempting to move despite there being no where to go, when the fireworks started and were out of sight around the corner of a building. One drunk group opened their beers after shaking them up - spraying everywhere. Another youth was telling his mate that if anyone else shoved him he was going to elbow them in the face. I decided to leave.
The boyfiend was chucked off his train at Charing Cross and didn't make it to the fireworks either. Heading back home we stopped in a pub that had hired the typical crap-wedding DJ and was playing a Bucks Fizz track - we didn't stay. Waiting at the bus stop there was a third floor flat holding a party playing music off the balcony, occassionally someone would lean out the window and shout Happy New Year! This, it turned out, was the best our new year party would get!
So anyway, wishing you all the best for the new year. Happy 2009!
Happy New Year!
"I've got to hold on", he said taking a large handful of her satin-encased bottom. She shaped her very-red lips into a mock oo and carried on chatting to her friend, reaching out and adjusting the feather in her hair. A jolly time. Squeezed into the 243 winging its way towards town. The bus driver was very fond of his message buttons, particularly the please do not stand on the upper deck or stairs, which he replayed over and over until the offending passengers realised that meant them.
All the cool kids were going to Old Street - different cliques dressed in their own style. Passing old haunts and wishing I was actually going to one of them. It gave me a twinge of feeling old before my time. Urge to go clubbing, dancing all night, meeting new people. Instead I had the brilliant idea to go and watch the fireworks on the Thames. Arranged to meet the boyfiend at Waterloo, bus chucked us off at Holborn, walked down Kingsway, cut off at the bridge (shut for crowds) and headed off towards Blackfriars.
Finally made it to that bridge along with thousands of others (for a while it felt like going to the most massive flashmob) and by midnight was crushed on a pathway that was still attempting to move despite there being no where to go, when the fireworks started and were out of sight around the corner of a building. One drunk group opened their beers after shaking them up - spraying everywhere. Another youth was telling his mate that if anyone else shoved him he was going to elbow them in the face. I decided to leave.
The boyfiend was chucked off his train at Charing Cross and didn't make it to the fireworks either. Heading back home we stopped in a pub that had hired the typical crap-wedding DJ and was playing a Bucks Fizz track - we didn't stay. Waiting at the bus stop there was a third floor flat holding a party playing music off the balcony, occassionally someone would lean out the window and shout Happy New Year! This, it turned out, was the best our new year party would get!
So anyway, wishing you all the best for the new year. Happy 2009!
Monday, 29 December 2008
Christmas passed
After the maniacal build up - all the shopping and crowds and hoopla and parties and spirit - a 10 hour drive up up up the country to Scotland. When we started out I was thinking about who else is going as far as we were. Eating up the miles as tarmac passes under the wheels. The rhythm of the vehicle on the road, extended soft bends of the motorway taken at full speed, smooth surfaces, wide lanes. Newer cars move easily sliding along at 80. Only the tentative keeping to the speed limit, middle lane drivers steady 80s, fast lane way over (which feels different to the last time we drove up a couple of years ago). We only passed one car all the way there and back that had that old car drone of exertion. A beetle - an orange beetle, peddle to the metal, roaring at full capacity, doing 65 as we slid silently past in our comfortable and temperature controlled space listening to the radio and chatting. Reminded me of Georgia's cars - no speed and if there was any speed absolutely no talking could be heard above the roar of the engine.
Was glad to be getting home but since I've been here it feels a bit empty and lonely. Christmas was a crush of eight people in a three bedroom house, presents, cooking (too many chiefs and not enough indians was quite a common occurance), eating, playing games, walks, tantrums (all ages, but more from the children), some sleeping (but not as much as I get at home), tv. Its now the count-down to going back to work. 6 days and counting...
After the maniacal build up - all the shopping and crowds and hoopla and parties and spirit - a 10 hour drive up up up the country to Scotland. When we started out I was thinking about who else is going as far as we were. Eating up the miles as tarmac passes under the wheels. The rhythm of the vehicle on the road, extended soft bends of the motorway taken at full speed, smooth surfaces, wide lanes. Newer cars move easily sliding along at 80. Only the tentative keeping to the speed limit, middle lane drivers steady 80s, fast lane way over (which feels different to the last time we drove up a couple of years ago). We only passed one car all the way there and back that had that old car drone of exertion. A beetle - an orange beetle, peddle to the metal, roaring at full capacity, doing 65 as we slid silently past in our comfortable and temperature controlled space listening to the radio and chatting. Reminded me of Georgia's cars - no speed and if there was any speed absolutely no talking could be heard above the roar of the engine.
Was glad to be getting home but since I've been here it feels a bit empty and lonely. Christmas was a crush of eight people in a three bedroom house, presents, cooking (too many chiefs and not enough indians was quite a common occurance), eating, playing games, walks, tantrums (all ages, but more from the children), some sleeping (but not as much as I get at home), tv. Its now the count-down to going back to work. 6 days and counting...
Monday, 22 December 2008
Christmas at Border's Starbucks
People stake out a place at a clean table - toss the remenants of the previous dweller onto an unoccupied space. A particular man in a beige cap ran back from the queue to chastise a woman putting the remenants from her table onto his (denoted by his scarf draped over the chair of a table that he himself had previously cleared).
Two young women exchange gifts. One has bought the other a book - comedy sketches. She opens it, flicks through it and puts it to one side. She has bought the other a stack of ever-decreasingly sized gifts - four are stacked up. The friend unwraps each one carefully and coes over each revealed thing. There are earrings, and other wearables. Not sure how pleased with a single book the one of many gifts will be.
People stake out a place at a clean table - toss the remenants of the previous dweller onto an unoccupied space. A particular man in a beige cap ran back from the queue to chastise a woman putting the remenants from her table onto his (denoted by his scarf draped over the chair of a table that he himself had previously cleared).
Two young women exchange gifts. One has bought the other a book - comedy sketches. She opens it, flicks through it and puts it to one side. She has bought the other a stack of ever-decreasingly sized gifts - four are stacked up. The friend unwraps each one carefully and coes over each revealed thing. There are earrings, and other wearables. Not sure how pleased with a single book the one of many gifts will be.
Thursday, 18 December 2008
Christmas Season
Ratchetting up to Christmas there have been parties and lunches and endless boxes of quality street in the office. The parties are passing us by (wrong team, wrong management structure) and we're building up to an inspection after Christmas. Nothing quite like it to dampen the Christmas spirit.
After the success of the pumpkin carving I was charged with coming up with a sustainable christmas tree to enter into the departmental contest. 2nd prize this time.
In the shops sales abound and the credit crunch hasn't stopped the shoppers. Crowds, lights, and singing. I can't seem to find a really suitable brother-in-law figt - last year I got him a stunt kite - and its hard to get a better gift than that.
Can't seem to muster the enthusiasm - too much work on and not enough time.
Man standing at the bus stop wearing a top hat and silver glitter shoes.
Someone at the back of the bus is playing rap music out loud. I keep listening to it and its good, rather than irritatingly tinny like mobile music usually is. When the music man gets off the bus is quiet. Sniffly. Hiss of earphones.
Ratchetting up to Christmas there have been parties and lunches and endless boxes of quality street in the office. The parties are passing us by (wrong team, wrong management structure) and we're building up to an inspection after Christmas. Nothing quite like it to dampen the Christmas spirit.After the success of the pumpkin carving I was charged with coming up with a sustainable christmas tree to enter into the departmental contest. 2nd prize this time.
In the shops sales abound and the credit crunch hasn't stopped the shoppers. Crowds, lights, and singing. I can't seem to find a really suitable brother-in-law figt - last year I got him a stunt kite - and its hard to get a better gift than that.
Can't seem to muster the enthusiasm - too much work on and not enough time.
Man standing at the bus stop wearing a top hat and silver glitter shoes.
Someone at the back of the bus is playing rap music out loud. I keep listening to it and its good, rather than irritatingly tinny like mobile music usually is. When the music man gets off the bus is quiet. Sniffly. Hiss of earphones.
Sunday, 14 December 2008
Scenic London
Today the people of London were especially filmic. Everywhere there were people who could be followed with the expectation that their life would lead you through a story that wouldn't be out of place in a movie.
Coming down an escalator after a man wearing his hair in purposefully multidirectional peaks, carrying a guitar case. Not a regular sized one, slightly smaller than normal. Pristine. He was careful not to bash it against the sides. Clearly a prized instrument. Off the escalator his shoes clip loudly on the tiled floor. I feel myself running after him as if he's a character in a French film, like Amelie, wanting to see how the story unfolds.
Jamaican woman sitting on the tube creaming her hands - rubbing them together over and over to get it absorbed. The left on has a tatooed skull with a ring over its head and some algerian font writing running up the thumb. Quentin Tarantino would linger on this hand as it engaged in some kind of deal, so that next time the tattoo is seen a little clue will slot into place.
One of those young blond men with red lips stands tall in the middle of the carriage chatting to a friend in tweed. He has grown a beard to add some age to his boyish face. He wears his open collar up. Hairy chest grows up his neck. A fop in a costume drama, not the troubled, dark, but ultimately good lead, but one of the sporty brothers or friends who is always bounding in with gumption to dance, drink or play the piano with aplomb.
Today the people of London were especially filmic. Everywhere there were people who could be followed with the expectation that their life would lead you through a story that wouldn't be out of place in a movie.
Coming down an escalator after a man wearing his hair in purposefully multidirectional peaks, carrying a guitar case. Not a regular sized one, slightly smaller than normal. Pristine. He was careful not to bash it against the sides. Clearly a prized instrument. Off the escalator his shoes clip loudly on the tiled floor. I feel myself running after him as if he's a character in a French film, like Amelie, wanting to see how the story unfolds.
Jamaican woman sitting on the tube creaming her hands - rubbing them together over and over to get it absorbed. The left on has a tatooed skull with a ring over its head and some algerian font writing running up the thumb. Quentin Tarantino would linger on this hand as it engaged in some kind of deal, so that next time the tattoo is seen a little clue will slot into place.
One of those young blond men with red lips stands tall in the middle of the carriage chatting to a friend in tweed. He has grown a beard to add some age to his boyish face. He wears his open collar up. Hairy chest grows up his neck. A fop in a costume drama, not the troubled, dark, but ultimately good lead, but one of the sporty brothers or friends who is always bounding in with gumption to dance, drink or play the piano with aplomb.
Saturday, 6 December 2008
Winter
After midnight in December. Street light dimly glows. The wet grass smells green. It is lush and even.
In the morning 5 sparrows frollick in the shallow birdbath at the end of the garden, swooping into the sunlit shrubbery to dry off. Frost crispy on the blades of grass that are still in shadow.
After midnight in December. Street light dimly glows. The wet grass smells green. It is lush and even.
In the morning 5 sparrows frollick in the shallow birdbath at the end of the garden, swooping into the sunlit shrubbery to dry off. Frost crispy on the blades of grass that are still in shadow.
Monday, 1 December 2008
Syrup
Cold, misty, slightly damp. Walking along a smell of strawberry creeps up. Strawberry syrup spilled on the pavement from a broken bottle, like ink on blotting paper, spreading but contained within its edges.
Once in Lewisham market an elderly Jamaican man taught me how to recognise a good bottle of syrup. Tip the syrup bottle and watch the contents seep back from the inside neck, a good syrup is thick and takes time, a poor syrup looks watery.
Cold, misty, slightly damp. Walking along a smell of strawberry creeps up. Strawberry syrup spilled on the pavement from a broken bottle, like ink on blotting paper, spreading but contained within its edges.
Once in Lewisham market an elderly Jamaican man taught me how to recognise a good bottle of syrup. Tip the syrup bottle and watch the contents seep back from the inside neck, a good syrup is thick and takes time, a poor syrup looks watery.
Friday, 28 November 2008
Kiss
She looks longingly into his eyes, her neck bent right back to see, he is a foot taller than she. Huddled together, swaddled in tweed against the cold.
* * *
Tall and willowy, he held her body close to hers and they kissed - still but deep, sucking the energy from one another. When they parted their cheeks were flushed pink as they rushed to jump onto the bus.
She looks longingly into his eyes, her neck bent right back to see, he is a foot taller than she. Huddled together, swaddled in tweed against the cold.
* * *
Tall and willowy, he held her body close to hers and they kissed - still but deep, sucking the energy from one another. When they parted their cheeks were flushed pink as they rushed to jump onto the bus.
Thursday, 20 November 2008
London Life
Amidst the endless commuting, working and commuting and working, there's been an incident where a pickpocket hit me on the head with his plastic bag shortly after he was caught dipping the pocket of a tourist on crutches. Big caffuffle. Useless bus driver. Scary thief. Then the next day I was propositioned on the street. Too much street life going on.
Amidst the endless commuting, working and commuting and working, there's been an incident where a pickpocket hit me on the head with his plastic bag shortly after he was caught dipping the pocket of a tourist on crutches. Big caffuffle. Useless bus driver. Scary thief. Then the next day I was propositioned on the street. Too much street life going on.
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
Tube reading
Is it ok to read pornographic novels on the tube? Well perhaps not quite pornographic but certainly graphic. In my current book-reading surge I picked The Crimson Petal and the White off the to-read stack. Little did I realise that (despite the back cover saying it was about the rise in society of a prostitute called Sugar) it was going to go into steaming detail of sexual encounters every 10 pages or so. I'm trying not to let anyone read over my shoulder in case tehy catch sight of all the spewing, juicy, slicks and nipples peppering the unnaturally white pages from which text leaps blindingly out.
Is it ok to read pornographic novels on the tube? Well perhaps not quite pornographic but certainly graphic. In my current book-reading surge I picked The Crimson Petal and the White off the to-read stack. Little did I realise that (despite the back cover saying it was about the rise in society of a prostitute called Sugar) it was going to go into steaming detail of sexual encounters every 10 pages or so. I'm trying not to let anyone read over my shoulder in case tehy catch sight of all the spewing, juicy, slicks and nipples peppering the unnaturally white pages from which text leaps blindingly out.
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
Remember remember
Mist hung in the damp air - London as it is depicted in Dickens - perfect fireworks night weather. Pop and fizz of fireworks in the distance, occassionally coloured sparks fly in arcs over the top of the rooftops. Smoke drifting across the air, smell of gunpowder. Didn't catch a display this year though.
Mist hung in the damp air - London as it is depicted in Dickens - perfect fireworks night weather. Pop and fizz of fireworks in the distance, occassionally coloured sparks fly in arcs over the top of the rooftops. Smoke drifting across the air, smell of gunpowder. Didn't catch a display this year though.
President Elect Obama
Today I woke, having heard the news in the early hours, and spoken with Dad who was also awake, and it was a good day. I'm proud of America. Elated. Relieved greatly. Morally the right result. New dawn. Excited. At work people were uplifted, talking, engaged, optimistic.
By contrast I feel embarrassed about Britain - sluggish, and impeded by its history. Depressed and in recession. Gloomy and old.
Today I woke, having heard the news in the early hours, and spoken with Dad who was also awake, and it was a good day. I'm proud of America. Elated. Relieved greatly. Morally the right result. New dawn. Excited. At work people were uplifted, talking, engaged, optimistic.
By contrast I feel embarrassed about Britain - sluggish, and impeded by its history. Depressed and in recession. Gloomy and old.
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