Leavin' with a Fat Lip

'David! Over here! I'd like you to meet the Dregs of Society. Dregs... David.' *David extends his hand in greeting and gets punched in the face for his trouble, falling to the floor as the altercation passes over the top of him*

True story. What a way to end a night out. Laughing, apparently, too loudly as some guys had to stop their car and get out to remove some traffic cones placed in the road earlier. Perhaps placed there by my friends. 'You think that's funny do you?' Comes the thickly accented shout from the car. 'Yes' goes our innocent reply. And the rest passes in a blur, shouts from one side, laughter from ours, culminating in a windmill of a punch that blindsides me. In the movie version of my life, I'd catch his fist in mid-air and flip him over my shoulder. In the factual account, I was looking away, thinking the whole situation was stupid, and got clocked. I think, and I'm still trying to figure how this justifies the result, my crime was saying, 'So you had to get out of your car... life's pretty tough isn't it?' And please feel free to read as much sarcasm as you like into that statement.

I was trowelling it on.

Slave to the Machine

However did people manage to waste time at work in the pre-webbedworld days? Was part of a lengthy conversation last night on the various methods for hiding internet pages on one's workscreen. The ideal configuration, laptop extensions, whether to open a window on the edge of the screen, or right in the centre, thus allowing one to shift to block it from anyone behind. Me, I go for the two screen approach, open a work program across one and a half screens, and let the other window, this window, hide in the corner. Then you can even pretend to work on the opposite screen. Not that I would really do that. I didn't participate in this conversation. It was them. I've been focused on work all day. I mean look, it's lunch time already. Where does the time go? Think I'll go for a wander outside... Funny. Now that I'm allowed to be on the internet, it's suddenly lost its charm.

Time to be not here.

Five Minutes Fast

Me and time have this thing you see. It’s not that we hate each other. No. Heaven forbid. It's more that we just don’t understand one another. I mean, I can say I’ll be somewhere in twenty minutes, with every intention of being there in twenty minutes, and then time, the bastard, steps in and conspires to make certain I don’t arrive in anything under thirty minutes. And if I dare to name an exact time when I’ll appear, well... time, the bastard, waits for no man. Half five becomes six thirty becomes seven, and a million apologies fall flat at eight. ‘So say you’ll be there later,’ says the smartass in the front of the classroom. Which is just such a smug solution as you’d expect from the front row, but it’s not an answer. It doesn’t solve my compulsion to ‘not leave early,’ which lies at the root. If you don’t ever allow yourself to leave early, then you only have two options. On time. Or late. And on time resides nestled somewhere within about a one minute window, so you can guess the odds of that happening. Yeah. Time, the bastard, closes that window and sends me hurtling through the space-time continuum to reach every appointment late.

But at least I like making an entrance.


*As an addendum to the above, written the morning after the post of the night before, and as if to prove a point... I woke this morning before my alarm clock, got dressed and ready, even played on the keyboard and guitar for a while, and was still early to leave for work. So I went to the kitchen to make breakfast and... dropped the jam jar on my way from the fridge to the counter, shattering glass, and spreading raspberry jam all over the unbuttered floor. Fifteen minutes later, having swept and vacuumed glass flecks from the floor and I leave the house late for work. See? See what I'm up against?

Time, that malignant bastard, wins again.


*As a post-script to the addendum above to the post further above, written an evening after the morning after the morning before... today, I left the house exactly on time. Went swimming and left the pool exactly on time. And arrived at work, exactly on time.

I just felt I should mention it.

Sur le Quai

And change.

The crowded platform becomes briefly more crowded, and then suddenly devoid of people as one crowd pushes for the exits and the other flickers away, lighted faces in a dark tunnel. Then, for a moment, the whole world holds its breath... until the first returning footsteps echo along the hall and life slowly returns to the platform, the pulse slowly quickening as more and more gather to wait.

And change.

A light sweeps through a darkened tunnel, preceded by a blast of hot air, then the train itself, driver hunched over his controls while behind, flickering too quickly to be seen in detail, then slowing, then finally stopping for a moment, a hundred passengers wholly absorbed in their own lives. Then the doors open.

And change.

A heartbeat for the clamour to appear, then disappear. And the world’s quiet again, tail lights receding into the darkness. Noises in the distance. Movement. Lights.

And change.


(scribbled in my notebook, Paris, 2nd June)

Time Is Fluid Here

There's a feeling here, that you've lost something. But to find it again you need only look around the corner. Of course, there's time for a coffee first. Maybe a glass of wine with dinner. maybe I'll find it tomorrow, once I've decided to look. Properly. Or maybe I'll find it next week. Next month. Next year. Time moves differently here. Sometimes sluggish, in sharp counter-point to the people forcing their way past. And sometime's time is piecemeal. I don't know where yesterday ended and tomorrow begins.

But it's not for the lack of todays.


(scribbled in my notebook, 30th May)

Machu Pikachu!

Heard from a friend today, who, after having been inspired by the latest Indiana Jones to dream of escapades through jungles and ruins, said he thought first of me as a companion in such an adventure! Now, it's always nice to be thought of by friends. Yeah, muse on that. And then think of me. But in such a context as an action archaeologist? Holy flip flop, but what a compliment! Coincidentally, and for once this isn't too great a topical shift, for me at least, I just read an article in the Parisian Metro newspaper, I know, gotta have something to do on the underground, that detailed the existence of native tribes in the jungles of South America who haven't yet had contact with modern civilization! Note the rising pitch in my delivery of that sentence, designed to express an element of shock and wonder. And the accompanying picture, in the paper, shows them, the natives that is, painted red and black and brandishing spears up at the helicopter, in what I assume they hope to be a menacing fashion. How's all this for a lark? Close your eyes, blink twice, and I'll be hacking my way through the jungles of Peru.

I've got my face paint all ready.