Walknotes

Monday

The wood anemones are almost out. This morning, their little white heads are bent. Tiny emo flowers, waiting for the sunshine to reach ground level. When it does, they’ll lift their heads and spread their petals out.

As I walk past the sheep, two of them walk towards me, curious. But a terrified pheasant makes an undignified, unscheduled flight and crash lands in the field opposite. It makes such a racket the sheep run away. God, pheasants are anxious. I look over and he tries to style it out. Not this time, dude.

Tuesday

First sunrise before 6am this year (5.58am). I can’t sleep, so I watch as the curtains start to glow and then get up and get on with it.

In the park I hear what sounds like football chanting, but it’s a man calling his dog. He’s obviously loving the freedom of yelling his head off and the dog loves it too. As the tiny fluffy dog crosses the grass in little leaps, the man does cartoon kung-fu moves with a ball thrower in one hand. Excellent team work. 10/10.

Wednesday

I saw T yesterday as I was litter picking and I finally remembered to ask him what he thought about the horses. He goes through that field every day.

“Naaaah, they’re alright!” he said. “One time though, one came charging across the field, out of nowhere. It was like Black Beauty and…” I know the rest, I saw it myself the other week. Neither of us know where the horses come from though.

I thought about that as I scanned the empty horizon for gaps in the fence. No gaps, no gates, but then… a horse! Spawned, like some low-rent video game. Out of nowhere it’s racing across the field towards me. Not again. Turns out there really is a glitch in the matrix and it’s in a field in south London.

At work I try to explain the idea of ‘data as a material’. It’s an analogy that just doesn’t resonate with everyone, or I’m explaining it poorly.

Thursday

I pass the massive magnolia on the way to the station. It’s like a floral car crash. Flowers and petals everywhere. Petals on the pavement, the wall, the tree, petals all over the cars, and when you look up, petals in the sky. It’s a glorious mess.

Later, after the team meeting, I read an email about something that will be done ‘tomorrow at 10am’, and catch myself just in time. I was going to reply “don’t do this on a Saturday because…”.

But yup. Today still isn’t Friday. Tomorrow still isn’t Saturday.

After work, I walk to Waterloo. London looks spectacular as the sun goes down. St Pauls, the Thames, all of it. That moment just before dark when neon looks like magic.

Friday

I’m late as I walk to the wood. The sun’s already high in the sky and the hill ahead is hazy and colourless – almost black and white. I feel like I’m walking into the past. It’s a beautiful morning.

The anxious pheasant is still in the cow field, but way over the other side, so I say hello to the sheep in peace.

I think about last night. I saw a director talking about a documentary she’d made. She talked about the edit: hundreds of hours down to ten, ten hours down to four. Then whittled into its final shape. It was only through the editing process they discovered the story they wanted to tell. The more I think about it, the more it sounds like it was the editor’s film.

I suppose this is often how these things go but I hadn’t thought about it before. Can you make a decent documentary without a director? Get a good cinematographer and an editor. Decide you’re going to make a film about X. Shoot X beautifully. Give all the footage to the editor and get them to shape the story once they have a good understanding of the materials.

For the past 2 weeks we’ve had an issue with a project at work. Everyone thought it was a design problem. It wasn’t, it was a story problem. We didn’t know the story we wanted to tell. We solved it, but I still don’t think people really understood the issue. And I have a horrible feeling I did a poor job of explaining it.

Saturday

Grass cut, weeds pulled, plants repotted. Earlier, I tried to imagine the diary of a lesser celandine. It would basically be “Woke up, aced it, went to bed.” Every fricken day.

Guess what. I just noticed I have 2 different email accounts open in 2 different browsers. Guess who the last person to email each account was?

Yes. It was me.