Smells

There's someone on the bus with bad breath. Dont know if its the young man next to me who is leaning against me while playing a crap phone game. 

Earlier there was a man in a leather coat which had a fur lined collar. He stank of dog. Which was strange - he looked cool and most unlike a street person - y'know trendy, well kept. I had to turn away sometimes because it caught in my throat and stopped me breathing.

Girls

Bright sunny day walking from Bank along King William Street with lots of bankers on lunch breaks, serious suited, women in court shoes and slick american-style dark blond hair. Two teenage girls dolled up a la Towie stars - all fake tan, pitch black hair, and track suits with legging-style bottoms are mingling along the road. One closes on a group of women and barks as she passes making them jump. The girls walk off laughing like hyenas. Passing Starbucks she flattens herself on the glass licking it as she slides down in front if a man in a crisp white shirt and tightly knotted tie sitting inside the window eating a sandwich. He is somewhere between bemused and amused. Moving on along the road she barks at women and propositions men in a manner that has the effect of scattering the serious workers as if they have been suddenly repelled by a magnet. Much to the girls continuing mirth. 

London Bridge Sheep Dip

London Bridge station is being renovated to match the glass and steel look of the Shard. They have gradually removed the Victorian steel and brick train shed that used to let snow through in the winter and replaced it with concrete brick flooring in a parquet style and platform roofs in undulating waves. 

Platform 15 is the current perimeter of the station on one side and still has fencing dividing the platform from whatever major building work that is going on beyond. Platform 15 is therefore very narrow. And serves a popular route. Lots of people off, lots of people on. So, they've introduced a herding mechanism to help with the traffic calming. The last time i saw corralling like this was at the Great North Fair when they are trying to keep handsome bulls calm enough to do a circle of the ring showing off their stocky solid muscles and massive balls. Or at sheep dipping time when the dogs have slinked around and managed to get all the ewes and their lambs through the gate and into the sheep dip in an effort to escape. 

There was a section of fencing today allowing people off the train into the station concourse in single file. To say there was a pile up that wasnt pretty is putting it mildly. And on the other side the  people trying to catch the train were attempting to scale the fences while being told off by the station staff. I thought of a programme i watched earlier in the week when a bull in a bull ring got so mad he lept out of the ring into the bleachers full of fans. 

Its going to lead to trouble. The public only takes so much crowd control before rioting was what it felt like today. 

Finding some peace

Its the day after the 48hour tube strike. A day when i find my resiliance totally depleated. Its raining. Properly raining. I run across the road to catch the 318 bus which is sitting at the bus stop. I shouldnt have - its a little one door bus that goes round the houses and is picking up heaps of local sorry-arse people too thick to move inside the bus properly and allow their fellow passengers to get on after them. This delays the bus. At every stop. It takes a long time to get to the station this way. I am now late. And sweary. 

The tube is packed. Everyone is irritated. A woman wraps herself round the central pole in a way that nobody else can hold onto it. At my interchange at Highbury the train is due in 6 minutes. Too long for my agitated self to wait. Back onto the Victoria line - one stop to kings cross to pick up the Northern line instead of riding the overground to Moorgate. 

The Victoria line train is packed still. I squeeze myself on. Shoulder to shoulder with a man my height and my head bent out of shape by a woman's arm hanging onto the overhead bar. Behind me a tall black man's buttocks fit into the small of my back. His lower back rests against my back. Its a strange in the moment thing. But i find i don't mind. Its a sort of intimate strangers' touch that makes me reconnect with human kind. Touch. It can be very important. And it replenishes my reailiance enough to complete the commute more calmly. 

Crossing the river

If you have to cross the river as part of the commute there's nothing better than doing that above ground - over one of the many bridges. This morning i rode the train from St Pancras and it took me over Blackfriars Bridge - part of the new station. Sun dappled the Thames sparkling brightly. The view east included the Millenium footbridge straddled with people walking, and London Bridge with Canary Wharf and her cronies misty shadows as a backdrop. I tried to ignore the awful walkie-talkie building. Monstrosities like that, which take up more air room than their footprint on the ground, shouldn't be allowed - they flout the aesthetic rules for skyscrapers with blatent disregard - and the only fun thing about them (the concave surface focussing sunrays into such powerful light that they can melt jaguar cars) having to be fixed to save the wrath of the banker wankers who may want to park outside them. South london train journeys are above ground which gives a great view of London going past - its mesh of new, victorian and older. And a totally empty train which is a commuting revelation. 

Beards

When will the Hoxton Beard thing be over? On the train on the way to work there were two men both with impeccably well groomed hair - short back and sides, slicked quiffs - sporting short beards (trimmed over the upper lip and cut to an even length all over). The beards not really matching the hair for grooming, despite there clearly being work done on them. Not enough work done on the lower neck below the beard line however, stubbly, unattended growth. Not keen on the way the whiskers look around the lips. 

Off the train in Peckham there was a man with the same haircut but a proper full-on long beard - hiding at least half his face, growing length well below the chin, fanning out like it had been brushed. 

This is a look like lumberjacks from the 1930s. It seems inappropriate in the same way range rovers do in the city. What are all these young men hiding from? Or do they think we will be impressed with their hair growing prowess? I'm not averse to a bit of stubble, or even a bit of a goatee. But these big square jaw beards in all shades of brown and orange and white are quite unattractive. And sometimes are just odd when teamed with a waxed mustache or pulled out into strange shapes. It doesnt even seem to be a lazy perspective of not being bothered to shave because there is still quite a bit of looking after to be done.  

Pub games

Never been very good at pub games - crap at pool, bit of a danger at darts, dont know how to play bar billiards. Used to play Mortal Kombat in the Vibe bar in Brick Lane but was rubbish at it. Was in the Grafton Arms yesterday and apparently they have car racing video games in the urinals (i've been reliably informed, evidenced by pictures of said game not in use). The controls are in tne bowl - hit this spot at the back to go left and this other spot to the right to go right. I was very intrigued to see it but didn't know any man well enough to go in and have a look... And it doesnt seem to be a good idea to ask for film evidence of it in use - men pissing in public tend not to watch so i hear. 

Lunchtime

Today the sun is breaking through the crispy white clouds to warm a chilly april day. The rays are so bright passing the glass of the cafe window i have had to take off my glasses to allow my eyes to deal with the light unhindered. The Shard is looming over the street with a glinting sunspot harshly flashing off one of its fascias. People walk up and down the street, fetching lunch, looking about, taking in the daylight. I think of people who are not here right now. Wonder what their day is bringing them. Concern, and hope for good things. I prolong the agony of having to go back to the battery-hen open plan office. So much grey utilitarian desking. So few people of interest. So little colour and spark. Like so much mud to wade through. Maybe it's time to wear red. 

Words i learned this week

So i do a bit of pinterest pinning: collecting visual stimulation into groups. Lots of ceramics, photos of the human body that i might eventually draw, quotes and stuff. I learned some new words this way this week. Words that seek to explain or describe aspects of my psyche that i didn't realise had names. 

Sehnsucht (pronounced zEn-'zukt)

German

Noun

"The unconsolable longing in the human heart for we know-not-what"; a yearning for a far, familiar, non-earthly land one identifies as home. 

I didn't know there was a word for this ache - i have it most of the time - particularly when there is not enough stimulation in my life. Bails says she doesn't understand my craving for excitement - she thought i would grow out of it and is suprised that i havent so far. But this is how sehnsucht manifests itself in me, an urge for something more, more than i have, more than I'm experiencing, more, just more. I fear i live a boring life. I don't want it to be dangerous or scary but more eventful and perhaps slightly debauched. Less routine. See more things. I think that might be why i am drawn to people who are edgy. And why i get itchy feet when i've been in London too long without a break. Im currently dreaming of selling everything and taking myself around the world to see if i can find what it is that the heart desires. 

Nyctophilia

Noun

Love of darkness or night; finding relaxation or comfort in darkness. 

I first felt this when i was a child and we drove into Exeter at 2am. Something thrilling about the street lights flashing past the rear window of the car. I didn't know that would become a stimulation in later life. A second wind comes to me frequently after dark, things are more exciting then, in the city anyway. Something in the darkness allows a release that daylight confines. I dont think I have done enough in life to harness this to its most advantage. 

Basorexia

Noun

The overwhelming desire to kiss. 

I love kissing. There are people who you know without testing will be good at it. Something about the set of their mouth, or an arch of eyebrow (not that there is any correlation but when a man has good eyebrows they are generally ok - perhaps its just something about attraction). Sometimes its a test of will not to kiss someone, even a stranger - I get that sometimes on the way to work on the tube. Crushed in, focused only on a small fraction of the face - not staring. Then there are times with people known to you where the time or setting makes it inappropriate and that is a harder-still test of will. But it is no longer attractive to snog furiously in public (at my grand age I really dont want to look like middle-aged desperately clinging to youth). I remember a night bus journey home from Leicester square to Enfield Town where the man and i didnt draw breathe once. The thrills of youth. All in the past. But its the worst part about the complacency of a lengthening relationship - less kissing, and less passionately. 

Spring is sprung

Blossom. Its beautiful. A flurry of delicious scent and floaty petals. Sunshine with a hint of heat warming it up and wafting it around. One or two particles hit the nasal passages. Turning the face to the sunshine and feeling the rays for the first time this year. Warmth into the collars of the winter clothes. Enough to know it is now ok to reduce the number of layers. Not warm enough to do as some of the crazy sun worshippers have done and put on short lightweight cotton dresses and flip flops. These peoole are slightly goosebumpy in the breeze. Warm enough for open jackets and no scarf and a teeshirt in case its truly hot in the middle of the day. Obviously lengthening days. Glory of the coming summer months. 

Out out

So friday night - went to see Her with pops. Was a good film. Liked it more than i thought i would. After we met Bails and her friend Steve. Had a drink. Cocktails in a little side street bar in Canonbury. Old fashioned's. Warmth of whiskey and sweetness of orange zest. Marvellous on a chilly evening, with good  mixologists behind the bar. 

Being quizzed on the stance of the modern middle-aged woman (supposed to be a joke but sadly feel it may not be possible, any longer, to feel this is far from the truth) by an ever so slightly old fashioned man, as it turns out. He decided we were the right age group to be MILFs (not flattered exactly) and then decided we were probably cougars (still not flattered exactly). And if we are cougar - does that mean automatically that we are preditory and looking for younger? Don't know about the influence of interent porn - seems to give you too many boxes to be put into! Its no longer possible to just be whoever you are - you have to fit into an appropriate category to be able to be understood by the world at large. 

Woke up this morning

Woke up this morning to the alarm ringing and couldn't understand why. The phone alarm has gone wrong - just another minor irritation in the slow breakdown as we get closer to the date they will upgrade me. And then it dawned on my dream addled head - its bloody Monday. That's why the alarm is ringing. Bad luck for you its work today!  Whoop. 

Night bus

Long evening of drinking and dancing followed by a night bus journey home.I haven't been on a night bus for some time. And especially an N29.

I was lucky the doors stopped right by me so i got on second and found a seat. 

I was sitting opposite a couple of dollybirds who looked a bit worse for wear. Not a coat between them. No tights. Just a thick layer of fake tan keeping them warm. One of them was carrying her extremely high platform shoes rather than wearing them. They were slumped in their seats - one with her back to the other. Hair messed so you could see their extensions sewn in where the outer layer of hair was no longer covering it. 

The one nearest the window was softly whining and crying. There were black mascara streaks running down in furrows through her foundation on both cheeks. Fake eyelashes holding large drops of tears. Her sister (it transpired when she turned back to her) said why does it happen every time? You can't live with me anymore, you're a nightmare, go back to Mum, you aren't ready to look after yourself. She then got up and stood by the door ready to get off. At the next stop the doors opened and she shouted at the tear stained one, are you coming or are you just going to sit on the bus? When her sister just managed to get off in time she jumped back on, in the hope to leave her sister stranded on the street. 

Some how both girls were still on the bus but without a seat. Tearful one was mumbling to herself how she couldn't fucking cope with it anymore. It wasn't clear whether that meant life in general, her sister, this night in particular or having to stand on the bus (she turned to an older woman at one point asking when she was getting off because she needed to sit fucking down - older woman ignored her with distain). The annoyed sister sat on the floor and at some point kicked out at her sister's ankles whereupon they set about each other in a half hearted manner - punching and kicking. The other passengers looked on in disbelief. Eventually they fell out of the bus at Holloway and wended off into the night. Drunk, disorderly and discordant. Bet they had a horrible Sunday - hungover and arguing, or hungover and ignoring each other, trying to avoid one another in a flat. 

Leaving home

Recently my nephew (aged 9) got so mad about having to do guitar practice that he packed a bag and stormed up to the front door announcing his intention to leave. He didn't in the end. He packed his bear-suit onsie and his wrestling figures. His dad gave him a toothbrush and some toothpaste to put in. And then his mum cried and said she would miss him if he went. So he stayed. I'm interested in what the important items to take are, in a 9 year old's mind. I dont remember wanting to leave at that age either. My sister recounting the story made me laugh actually. And that made her laugh also. Perhaps i should provide him with a tag with my address and phone number on it so if he really decides to do it he can come to me which would at least be safer.

The evil of curly hair

We went to see a digitally enhanced version of the black and white film Night of the Hunter at the BFI. Robert Mitchum plays a serial killer who pretends to be a priest. In the beginning if the film he is driving a car along the road and offering a prayer to god,"There are things that you hate Lord, perfume smelling things, lacy things, things with curly hair". As a naturally curly haired person this made me laugh out loud. What is it with all the jealousy of the curly haired that we get all this? Like the girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead... Don't straight-haired people know how difficult curly hair can be to manage?

Airports

Funny places airports, excited and tension of waiting for your party to arrive. Tired people over packed. Endless searching the crowd for recognition. Its exhausting. And i dont think the plane I'm waiting for has even landed yet. Hate that nervousness wondering whether everything has changed or if it will be the same. Experiences can change people. 

And greetings, love and hugs and flowers and laughter. 

New bad neighbours

The neighbours who lived next to me to the left when I moved in have recently moved away. They were chavvy but nice enough. But in some ways it helps me avoid the little embarrassment of my cat names.

When I saw pictures of the kittens I was getting I had an epiphony for names in tbe night - the girl cat was Philomena, and the boy cat was Leopold. My sister said its a good thing I don't have kids because they would be lumbered with some godawful names going by those. But these names suit the cats and you can shorten then to Philly (or Pip if you are my dad and are looking after them) and Leo. Better for shouting out the back door. What i hadn't realised at the time was that my neighbour was called Wilimena. And her 16 year old daughter had just had a baby and called him Leo. You discover these things in London due to proximity of living conditions hearing family life go on over the wall. I hadn't realised I had named my cats after my chavvy neighbours. And was then totally embarrassed to shout their names at all!

Anyway. They moved and in their place a new family moved in. On the day they arrived they had a fight and an ambulance and the police had to attend. Then there were lots of arguments, slamming of front doors, and shouting. Drunk dad would arrive home opening the door saying don't any of you fucking piss me off, not you, or you, or the fucking dog. I feel sorry for the dog. It's confused. They were concerned it didn't bark when people came to the door, so they taught it to do that. Now it does that, they shout at it because it barks when they get home. They also have three or four cats, I can't quite figure it out. But of all the things, the worst is they don't do any recycling and they make rubbish like its going out of fashion. Our bins are only emptied once a fortnight. Once they fill theirs up, they fill mine up as well. Which as long as I can fit my rubbish in wouldn't be so bad, but I can't, so it really gets my goat. Antisocial. Bring back the chavs, would be my preferance!

Alternative employment - the options

What other job could i do, discussion with my sister. Suggesting i teach adults in the kind of setting i already work in. Not that keen. Not enough salary. 

She's been watching The Bridge, and thought i could be a detective. But don't you have to be a policeman first? I laugh. Loudly. Me? A policeman. Hilarious. Wouldn't mind the detective bit. But not sure it would work with my politics and stuff. 

Fireman? just laughing. Not even a need to examine why not (don't love ladders at height, couldn't throw a man over my shoulder to rescue him, might be able to drive the engine...), nah. Ludicrous. Never was that keen on wearing uniforms. 

Maybe i should be a criminal she says. What sort? I'm slightly indignant. Fraud says she. But I'm not a great liar. Could you lie on the phone and be a scammer of some sort? I think. Its a bit shitty though isn't it? And my IT skills arent up to it. 

You could run a house. She says. I pause. Madam, she means. How does she come up with that? Thats one of my joke dream jobs! Hostess. Make men comfortable. Make sure the girls are clean. Don't actually have to shag the dirty mac brigade myself. But i like men. As a gross generalisation. We laugh. I can't believe she said it! I've said it myself before. As a joke! She knows me better than i think. I'm an open book, sadly. 

Morning

Jack frost has coated the cars and grass. The bus is crowded with school children. They can see their breath in the cold air, even inside. 

Filming

They are filming Youngers in Choumert road today. They have transformed the Internet cafe into 'Shorn Combs' barbers and have parked three huge lorries along the street. Lots of young actors milling about in clean bright urban streetwear, getting tea and soup from the refreshment cart. And cameramen, lighting, sound engineers, etc. Inside the cafe at lunch the regular iPad engrossed clientele ignore the hubub on the street. Me I kinda want to join in!