Raining Again

"I'm just kind of tired. Like a monkey in the rain."

Haruki Murakami, Norweigian Wood

Dramarama

He smiles, the taste of Colgate fresh in his mouth, and all is right in the world. Her reaction is normal, returning the favour perfectly with straight white teeth. They walk next to each other in the twilight. In thirty-seven minutes exactly, it will be dark and they’ll sit cote-a-cote on blue crushed velvet seats as a mediocre badly-adapted drama plays out before them. He booked the tickets a week ago on a friend’s recommendation. Theatre isn’t his thing, but she said once that she liked it, and he filed the thought away, just in case.

“Have you been to the Old Vic before?”
“No, I haven’t – though I’ve always wanted to…”
“Oh, you’re gonna love it. I’ve seen loads of stuff here. Kevin Spacey is the artistic director.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, did you hear about The Philadelphia Story – it was a bit of a flop in the end, all the reviews slated it. You must have heard about it?”

Drat. His ignorance is poking straight through the chest of his Ted Baker shirt, and she she’ll be faced with the naked truth that when he said he liked plays, what he actually meant was he saw Puss in Boots once when he was nine, and he’s only trying to get the girl.

Haiku

I've developed a fascination for all things Japanese, including haiku. Here's my first, precarious attempt:

Dusk falls. A blanket
Of ash. Cool shoulders desire
Thin cotton v-neck.

- Fire -

Arcade fire,
Sun rising,
Clouds disipate.
Gentle footsteps,
Warm boots,
Tired arches.

Soho

Soho. Tuesday. Autumn. 7pm.
Girls in squeaky knee-high leather boots,
Yet too-warm coats slung casually over fragile arms.
The last of the sunlight lowers behind Autumn’s curtain.
King prawns. Phad Thai noodles, eaten quickly.
Alone,By an open window.
Crisp Pinot Grigio in a bowl-shaped glass.
Tongue pulsating with chilli sauce.
Bench seating runs into fellow lone diner:
Male. 20s. Dark hair (Toni & Guy). Duck curry. Thai Calamari.
Craving newness and a way through this cavernous life, this maze of a city.
Wherever I go, you’re there. You’re eating noodles with bamboo chopsticks.
Reaching into Louis Vuitton leather for change.

Seasons

How can I feel homesick for a place I've never lived? There's something disctinctly Manhatten about London at the moment. The way the cold is beginning to wrap its fingers delicately around my waist whilst the sun strokes my face. His rays have changed. They're blinding now.

I feel cold air on my skin and am grateful for cotton, polyester, rayon. I try on a wooly hat in Urban Outfitters - to buy it would be premature, but I play with the idea. Central Park on a crisp Autumn morning, auburn leaves scrunch underfoot.

In my head the seasons jump from summer to winter overnight. I'm expectant, as if waiting for a long-awaited visitor... I have the necessary objects ready: blankets draped across the end of the bed, black opaque tights and gentle knitted jumpers. I'll push three pairs of Havianas and two sundresses to the back of the wardrobe and move from pale pink to chocolate brown in the space of 24 hours. I'll dream of New York, steam coming up from the Subway, mittens wrapped around hot coffee... winter.

Countries

The wonders of modern technology. If you have nothing to do on a Thursday evening, like me as I'm waiting for some friends to go for a drink, you can go on the web and make a map of all the countries you've visited in the world. I thought this was pretty cool, until it told me I've only been to 7% of the world... that's really pathetic! And only went to Scotland on holiday this year!

Thanks to Paul for the tip on this one!

Diary (mis)management

Today I spent a good ten minutes on the phone trying to arrange to meet a friend for a drink. Or a coffee. Or dinner. Or five minutes. Or even a longer phone call. It kinda went like this:
Hi!
Hi! It's been ages!
Yeah, we should meet up.
Definitely. How about Tuesday?
No, can't do Tuesdays.
Next Thursday's no good - work thing.
This weekend?
Hmmm, got friends coming up on Saturday.
How's a week Friday for you?
Oh, that's my friend's birthday.
Right, two weeks on Monday?
No, doing a course on Mondays now.
Ok. I've got it. 14th October? Any good?
Yep, suits me!
Bit far away.
Yeah, but best to get it in the diary.
Might have to cancel though... think I might have a launch that night.
Never mind.
Well, catch up properly then.
Yeah, really looking forward to it.
Great, take care.
You too.
Bye!

Yeah, whatever!

You guys...

I don't know if I tell you guys this enough, but I love you! I love you all - my friends that is. If you've just clicked 'next blog' and hit upon my rambling, then I probably don't love you, as I'm not that comfortable with strangers, but if I do know you I want you to know that I have some of the best friends in the world. Between you, you're wisdom personified. Thanks everyone.

Feeling faint...

Today I visited a friend who's very sick in hospital. He's on oxygen, bloody venflon protuding out of his arm, machines bleeping. The bay he's in holds five mostly unconscious looking patients, and he's the youngest by miles. Somewhere nearby a woman is crying and screaming, "I don't want to go anywhere, just let me die. Don't make me move, please. Just let me die." A white-haired corpse of an old lady next to my friend doesn't open her eyes the whole time I'm there, though a rasping cough speaks of life -just - hanging on in her veins.

I'm scared of hospitals. I find it difficult to sit in the doctors' waiting room without feeling faint. Today was a test. I just about overcame my fear with friendship. At various points myself and the other visitor are ushered out of the cubicle. We wait at the nurse's station, making small talk, and I'm overcome by a wave of nausea and have to sit down, head between my legs. It's embarassing and completely psychological. I think about leaving, getting straight into the lift and walking outside. Yet I know if I succomb I'll have angry tears cascading down hot cheeks. I feel stupid. My friend is here through no fault of his own, gasping for breath, sweating, nil by mouth, and I can't even last half an hour. The other vistor chats normally, as if we're at a cafe on a Sunday afternoon, and after a few minutes the feeilng passes and I'm ok again. We wait for the consultants to finish their ward round and then reappear at the bedside. We chat about insignificant things, my face must betray my fear. The boys chat about the cricket and I smile, I know nothing about wickets, overs and LBW. He looks better and sits up for a few minutes and starts reading a magazine. Things feel normal for half a second and I rub his feet under the scratchy hospital blanket. The conversation dries up and as if on cue his whole family turn up for visiting. It's 5pm, they must all have rushed here from work. I quickly gather up my stuff and stretch out a hand. He squeezes and our eyes lock. His say hope, and I wish mine could say the same.

All you need is Graham Greene

"Hate lay like boredom over the evening ahead. I had committed myself: without love I would have to go through the gestures of love. I felt the guilt before I had committed the crime, the crime of drawing the innocent into my own maze. [A kiss] may be nothing... but at any time it may prove to be everything."

The End of the Affair

Cranes

A lot of what I write on this blog has an underlying subconscious reference to the loneliness of this great city. A friend commented that these words and phrases, clauses and subtle gestures were a verbal commentary on Edward Hopper's Nighthawks, above. The thing is though, I love being a fly in the ointment of the city, it's the annonymity that has the intrinsic appeal. I have heaps of friends - I love you guys more than you know - yet the privacy of the crowd is a constant comfort. I can walk through Green Park alone on a Sunday afternoon and lie on cool grass whilst reading the paper without anyone bothering me. I'm part of the chattering crowd, we're the red, blue, pink, yellow paper cranes hanging from century-old branches. Eventually the rain will soften the paper, colour will drip down onto the grass, sunlight will devour the pigment and we'll fall, gracefully to our end. Trodden into the ground from whence we came.

Saturday, 5.53pm

Are you scared of dying?
I’m on the verge of a fundamental lifestyle change.
It’s 4am, we’ve just got home and it’s almost light.
Do you like these ones? Too secretary?
Did you know the tube was closed today?
This is just between ourselves.
I think you’re hot.
Ow, get off my foot!
You don’t understand.
I love you.
Do you have the Hard-Fi album?
No, I don’t eat cheese.
If you carry on doing that I’ll be really pissed off with you.
Can we go now?
It’s one-thirty already.
I’m gonna make an almond torte.
How was the wedding?
I’m going to work at 5pm.
It’s all too much.
How can one person be so ….?

Back again

Ok, I've been away for a while.
You may have noticed.
You may not have noticed.
Maybe you missed me.
Maybe you didn't notice enough
To miss me.
That's ok.
I kinda missed you,
But this thing called:
Life
Got in the way.
But I'm back again now,
And it feels good.