Monday
“How are you?” I wait while he winds the rest of the window down. “The usual. Y’know.” Lies. He’s always more cheerful than this, even on a Monday.
“The other van has packed up again so there’s two of us.” He jerks his head back slightly. Ah. Across the park I see a man dressed head-to-toe in orange high vis. I say I’m sorry. He rolls his eyes. I tell him I’ve dumped three heavy gas canisters of nitrous oxide by the bin up there. I jerk my head too, in the direction of the bin. He says ok, he’ll deal with it.
It’s an odd morning. The sky was a vibrant pink but I only caught a glimpse of it through the bathroom window. When I walked through the park the grass squelched and threw up water with every step. It seeped through my old trainers and my feet were cold and wet when I got home.
Tuesday
Yesterday I woke from a dream about the perfect piece of copy. I could see the shape of it: one perfect paragraph. Today it was a service diagram. Every possible outcome documented and dotted blue lines showing the routes between. All the edge cases wrapped up and ready to go. But I can’t quite grasp either of them. I can see them both, just not close enough to read.
This morning I already knew the sky was a mess, I could see it from the bedroom window. Plane trails from Gatwick and Biggin Hill like scribbles suspended.
I walk across the park and pray for my trainers. Without thinking, last night’s band rehearsal bursts out and I’m singing Life on Mars at the top of my voice. I replay the session in my head: a few people hate this arrangement. Last night the drummer played it as written and when forced to defend himself said “But it says here…” while someone else yelled “IGNORE ALL THE MARKINGS! This arrangement is TERRIBLE! It’s not even the right bloody notes.” Lawman beating up the wrong guy. To be fair, he’s been saying this for weeks.
At London Bridge there’s a violinist somewhere and the sound bounces between the buildings. It’s beautiful. (Oddly, I think it’s the chap I wrote about on 27 Feb, 2022). I wonder again what the world would be like if classical music played continually from every public speaker.
I go to the caff at lunch for the first time. While I wait, someone orders a tuna sandwich. “Anything with it?” “Pepper”. The man behind the counter nods and hands the order to the person behind him. “…And a cheese sandwich”. “Oh. Ok. Anything with it?” “Salt”. I look up at the man behind the counter and see his mouth twitch.
There’s a sign above his head. If you have any allergies it says, you must “inform a member of the hospitality team.” It’s so out of place in this caff of 3 people I want to hug them all. Instead, I pay for my jacket potato and take it back to the office.
Wednesday
It’s raining and it’s dark. So dark you’d think we’d slipped back a season. On the train two people talk about Guinness:
“I wanna try that Guinness on draft. I had it out of a can and it was rank.”
“Yeah no don’t. It’s rank.”
There was an agency in the early 2000s that used to pay cool people to drink – and talk loudly about – new drink brands in bars as a way to market them. I wonder if they still do that? They should pay these guys not to talk.
I’m 12th in the queue and the balance is tipped this week. 9 hoods, and 3 umbrellas. I’m with my people.
Later, I wonder how anyone talking numbers writes ‘less than three’ on iChat. You can try it, but when I did, it sent a heart automatically. <3. There must be a setting for that.
Thursday
Sunrise: 7:00am. We’ve hit the milestone.
I get to the station with less than 30 seconds to spare. I hit the barrier at the same time as someone else and we tap in simultaneously, hear the beep and run. I then spend the next 10 minutes wondering: did it beep for one of us or both of us? One for sorrow, two for joy… Is there an inspector on the train? I hope not.
I’m first in the bus queue and it builds substantially behind me. I feel the weight of everyone’s expectation. Instead of modelling impeccable queuing behaviour I yawn uncontrollably. Proper lion’s yawn, teeth ‘n’ all. Then I do it again.
Wait. On Googling ‘lions yawn‘, maybe this was impeccable queuing behaviour? “A lion’s yawn may be a subtle social cue that helps the group move together.”
On the way home, I see a Letters of Note instagram post for the second time. A letter from Charles Darwin in which he says:
“I hate myself, I hate clover & I hate Bees—”. While I don’t particularly want Darwin to have suffered, I do want this to be true. It is.
Friday
I went to the Cute exhibition at Somerset House, with JD. Perhaps if it hadn’t been so full of children I’d’ve felt differently about it. As it was I just worried about the kids. I don’t mind the combination of cute and sinister – and I’d love to see a show about it, but watching a video of a cute animated character stabbing another character with a massive knife feels awkward when you’re standing next to a wide-eyed child trying to make sense of the blood.
I wish they’d split the exhibition in two and slapped a parental advisory sticker on one half. Then they could’ve got into it properly. Also, they could’ve interviewed James Bridle and asked him to expand on his essay, something is wrong on the internet. Either tackle it all or don’t. But going from watching kids go nuts for Hello Kitty to watching them look bored or confused was less fun than expected. Felt like half a thing.
In other more cheerful news, primoses are out, roses are perking up, the bleeding heart has popped its head above ground and the tulips are coming.
Walknotes 