Walknotes

Monday

At band practise the person I sit next to is lost.
“How does this work then? Where are we?”
I say, “You play to the end, go back to the start and play to—“
“Did you see Ruth Davidson on a buffalo?”
“—the coda sign and—what?”
“You know who Ruth Davidson is?”
I nod as the conductor says “We’ll go from 116.”
She says, “Bareback on a buffalo—where are we going from?—I saw the clip online.”
We start playing from 116 and this time, when we get to the coda sign, I point. 

I know who Ruth Davidson is. I know what a buffalo is. I even know how to say buffalo in Greek, because that and ‘flaming torch’ are perhaps the only two words that stuck when I was using Duolingo. But I do not, at this moment, know what she’s talking about.

Later she says:
“You heard about AI?”
“Umm… what about it specifically?”
“It says you should put rocks on pizza and eat worms.”
“Right.”

It was a beautiful morning. The first T-shirt and jeans morning of the season and the wood was glowing dark green under the dense canopy. I went for the Long Walk; I need to speed up and walk further, all this dawdling is getting me literally nowhere. I took the (now dry) path between the fields and carried on, up to the micro village (three or four houses) and out past the stables. 

The paths there are thick with everything from stinging nettles to cow parsley, wild roses, clover, wild sweet peas, buttercups and bladder campion. Everything is out all at once. Sometimes you have to lift up your arms and put your hands on your head to avoid the nettles. And sometimes you have to duck under the lowest branches.

For all the speedy walking, it’s worth paying attention. There were caterpillars entwined and swinging from the thinnest threads. Walk too fast with your mouth open and you’ll get breakfast earlier than expected. 

Honestly it was such a beautiful morning it felt like a holiday. 

Tuesday

Walk past the local caff and think again I should go in. You can tell it’s a caff because the sign says ‘Restaurant’ in a red chunky serif and it’s open before 7am. White vans are parked outside and all of them have one person dozing, head on hand while someone else picks up their order. If I had a hi vis I’d go in, but there are just some places where you’re too noticeable without one. 

I ran for the train but the summer timetable has started. There’s a whole extra four minutes now. I see Consecutive Morning Lady coming out of the station with her dog and she smiles hello before I’ve even realised it’s her. Perhaps she does remember me after all. Perhaps she’s also on a summer timetable as she’s normally further down the road by now. 

I was planning to walk from London Bridge but there’s not enough time, so I follow the example of the two people ahead and run for the bus. A stampede follows behind. 

In the evening I go to Putney and pass a block of flats with at least three blue plaques. Two are too high to see but the last is in honour of Fred Russell, 1862-1957, The Father of Modern Ventriloquism. Later I google ventriloquist to check his name, and boy, old ventriloquism is quite a ride.

Originally, ventriloquism was a religious practice. The name comes from the Latin for ‘to speak from the stomach: Venter (belly) and loqui (speak). The Greeks called this gastromancy (citation needed). The noises produced by the stomach were thought to be the voices of the unliving, who took up residence in the stomach of the ventriloquist. The ventriloquist would then interpret the sounds, as they were thought to be able to speak to the dead, as well as foretell the future.

Wednesday

Picked up new glasses. Or indeed old glasses with new lenses so good that by the time the optician hands me a sheet and asks “What’s the smallest line you can read?” I’m already reviewing the paper on a molecular level.

Thursday

“How is walking further and faster working out for you?” I tell myself to shut up. “Perhaps you’re like Gimli, good over short distances?” (Dwarf, Lord of the rings). Shut up.

I’m late again. I catch a bus I didn’t even know I was allowed to get (thought it was a school bus) simply because I see another adult get on. It’s a gamble but it works. I miss the early train, get the best seat on the next one and settle in to more of The Lonely Londoners. At London Bridge the sun is shining and I’m 28th in a queue which is dressed like my indecision: some in T-shirts, others in jackets and jumpers. I tried a jacket but ditched it. There’s a hoodie in my bag and I’m wearing a T-shirt.

We get closer to the office and the bus starts to empty. The seat at the very front becomes free and a man at the back rushes for it, friend trailing behind with his backpack. He sits down and when his friend arrives, the smile on his face is 10 miles wide. Best bus seat.

In the evening I head to Soho to meet our visitor from out of town. I don’t go to the West End much any more and it’s changed more than you can imagine. Every time I get the tube to Tottenham Court Road I’m confused by the scale of the new station. I wonder if you could just get rid of all the other tube lines and have people traverse London by taking the exits from here. I came out on Dean Street. 

Friday

I had to use LinkedIn. I don’t understand LinkedIn. I don’t think normal people do – it’s not something that mirrors normal human behaviour. Having said that, I spent 10 minutes this morning telling snails to fuck off, so what do I know? They creep into the watering can at night and then get stuck in the spout. Too fat to come out, the only option is to push them back with your finger and see if you can tip them out through the top. Perhaps if I did understand LinkedIn, I’d turn that into a metaphor and write a #thoughtleadership post, but here we are.

The blackcurrants are starting to change colour, the gooseberries are getting fatter and I have a guest to attend to.