I’ve been doing something ridiculous. A sort of inside joke with myself, an influence of banal and excessive television viewing in my free-time (yes it was one of those modelling competitions where one lucky girl will win a contract and be the face of blah blah blah). Over the past couple of weeks every time I walk, I pretend I’m modelling an outfit. The idea is so silly that I have to laugh inwardly. But I make myself go through the charade and I’ve realised it actually does make me a bit more confident. It definitely works better than the time I used to pretend I’m invisible to other people. This makes me stand taller, hold my head higher, walk with a spring in my step (though that depends on what I’ve chosen to mentally model), and not avoid eye contact with people. It’s also a good laugh and helps to lighten the stress.
I thought it had to do with wearing my trench coat. But that I lost a few days ago in an airport in the Balkans. (There is something very sad about losing a coat, something that’s kept you warm and protected, has been your outer shield against the world, a constant travel companion, whose pockets your hands know well. Goodbye dear friend, I hope you’re with someone who loves you.) And yet I continue to mentally strut. I realised it’s to do with the boots. High heels that go klackety-klack.
I’m next going to pretend I’m a ghoul. I’ll float noiselessly pretending my feet don’t touch the ground. And that people are afraid of me when they can see me.
Why the stomping? Why the need to pace that stupid wooden floor so many times. I can hear everything you do Bigfoot. And why do you keep opening doors so many times. And why do you bang them shut? Why do you drag chairs. And you seem to have something heavy on wheels, please can you stop dragging that. Bigfoot I can hear your big heels punishing your flooring. Why Bigfoot couldn’t you have been a ballerina. I do think you wish you were one, which is why you leap sometimes. But each time you land with a heavy old thud don’t you Bigfoot. And you never understand what it is I mean when I bang on my ceiling with my broom, do you Bigfoot. I imagine you putting down your chewy treat (a small human being) for one second, straining to listen, scratching your head and then getting on with your meal as you continue to pound the ground. Oh Bigfoot, you know I secretly wish you were some sort of petty thief and one day the police comes and takes you away. Enjoy pacing your prison cell then.
A passenger had been taken ill at the train station today and it was shut. I was already very late but had no option but to take the bus. Actually in retrospect I did have an option, go to the next station and get the train there. But anyway, I took the bus. Buses don’t care if you are in a hurry or not. They get stuck in various places – traffic, signals, behind cyclists, in little one way lanes behind four toy cars because a van is being loaded. Drivers have to answer questions when people don’t know if they’re on the right bus, or wait to drive if someone’s card isn’t working and they have to fumble about for change. Sometimes the driver announces that he will have to wait at a bus stop for two minutes because the bus is ahead of schedule (but I’m way behind!). Or you have to wait while the drivers change. Time ticked on. Slowly. Behind me a man called the agency to let them know he would be ten minutes late for his appointment to register for unemployment benefits. Someone else called and said they’d be quite late. Two girls chatted loudly about a third girl and her obsession with uploading her naked pictures on her Facebook or something. A student in front of me put down her book and started to eat her lunch slowly. Morning had made way already for brunch time.
Here’s a lousy ill composed shot of canary wharf from the ride today. I did have all the time in the world to do a better job but I’m still squeamish about using my tab let’s camera (oh my god I’m one of those people!)
Saturday was a rainy day. I was returning home on the overground. A lot of people left the train at shoreditch. A number of seats opposite me were suddenly vacant. A pretty girl, plainly dressed sat down in front of me, her black hair wet from the rain. She sat there self consciously, her hands fidgeting. A handsome lad was seated next to her, absorbed in his phone. She took hers out too. And then breaking from protocol, she asked the boy sitting next to her for help with something on her phone. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He replied helpfully and solved her problem. She thanked him with a nervous laugh. And then they both didn’t know what more to say so tried to go back to their lives. Except that they both sat there blushing stupidly instead of diving into their phones.