It’s been a good week for the moon. Last Saturday night it was almost full and there was a huge halo around it. I made J come into the garden to look. Later I saw friends’ photos on instagram. From Sussex to Yorkshire, pictures of the moon’s halo.
Monday
Awake at 2am, and again at 4am. By 5am the rain started and by the time the alarm went off I’d decided I wouldn’t walk today. I gave myself an extra forty five minutes in bed. I spent those 45 minutes dreaming of admin and then I got up and started work early.
Winter is coming. In the evening we waited for friends on the street and our faces froze in the cold.
Tuesday
I’m walking up the escalator but the woman in front is blocking the way. She’s holding someone up, making sure she doesn’t fall backwards. I step into line on the right and say “don’t worry” as she mouths an apology. I tell her it’s fine and she’s doing a good job and she says, “I don’t know her.” I ask if she’s ok and she says “she’s got a cut on her face and she’s…”
I step off the escalator to see that her face is covered in blood and she laughing. Laughing and liquid, finding it hard to stand, body pooling at the points where the other woman is holding her.
My train is already there and I ask if this is hers too and she says no it’s the next one and it’s fine, everything is fine. And she carries on laughing, eyes rolling and blood in streaks across her face.
Earlier, I went to Us Two (a design agency) to hear Russell give a talk about the Do Interesting book. Someone asked him if things have to be true to be interesting. I’ll think about that all week, even though I don’t really remember Russell’s answer. It’s an odd question. Novels don’t have to be true to be interesting. We know that news doesn’t need to be true to be interesting any more – depending on your definition of interesting, I suppose. Shareable, maybe.
The truth is I told the woman holding up the drunk woman to get a guard and I ran for the train. Then stood in the doorway in a panic and watched. The truth is, I’m not sure it was enough. I should’ve stayed.
Wednesday
Sunrise 7:40am
Walk to the station staring at the moon. On the train a woman says “Scuze me wanna swap?” She’s loud and everyone turns their head, assuming we’ve all forced someone pregnant to stand. “I’m happy to stand if you wanna do your makeup, that’s fine.”
Silent sighs of relief. “No, I’m fine thank you”.
People who put on makeup on public transport are fascinating.
Later on the bus, I look down to see my knees are slotted between a stranger’s knees. Blame Heatherwick. The owner of the knees is tall and the space in these seats is inadequate for anyone with legs.
Before I sleep I skim-read VOL 31: THIRTEEN CUSTUMALS OF THE SUSSEX MANORS OF THE BISHOP OF CHICHESTER. This edition was first published in 1925, but it’s a translation, “translated, not from the originals, which are lost, but from copies, made by order of Bishop William Rede (1369–1385)”.
There’s a lot of going on. A lot of people owe a lot of eggs, and they must help with fences and gathering hay. A certain degree of pig ranking is also required.
“He shall give the Bishop the third best pig he keeps, or 7d., at the Bishop’s choice, and shall give 7d. even if he keeps no pigs.”
Thursday
Zero degrees. The sun won’t be up till 7:40am and there’s a hard frost. Everything from the grass to the rooftops is tinted white. Of course it is; last night the band shared the set list for the memorial concert we’re playing on Sunday – it’s outside. Just like last year it looks like our fingers will freeze.
I walked across the park towards the station. It’s been too risky to do that for weeks. Today the grass is crunchy and the mud underneath is just hard enough not to screw up my decent trainers. Because I came this way, I know the beech leaves are bright orange rimmed with white, but from the train the world is just a pale wash. It’s 7:45am when we pass Big Yellow Storage and that’s the sunniest thing around. If the sun is up, it’s not in a hurry to get to work.
The dude opposite sneezes and says “Excuse me” and I turn automatically and say bless you. I’ve looked out of the window for so long there’s no time to read a book. 29th in the queue. On the bus I wipe a hole in the condensation – twice. Look at the world through a smear, everything outside it at 40% opacity.
It’s around midnight when I get home. Before I take my coat off I stand in the back garden and look at the clear sky. Everything is lit up by the moon. I can hear the traffic in the distance, maybe a train, definitely an owl.
Friday
Antsy.
This week started in autumn and is ending in winter. It’s snowing as I type. Fitting for a week that started in November and ends in December. Time to go. Things to do.
Walknotes 