randoms

On the Central line, an old man, dishevelled, but not homeless-looking, stark white hair, goes from one end of the carriage to the other, stopping all the while to hold up a crucifix and do the sign of the cross in front of each couple of people. Its weird and cute and amusing. We all take part unwittingly in this man's purpose and I wonder if he is doing it under authority.
The funny thing is, in his wake, nearly everybody has a smile playing in their lips.
The energy is completely different.



The sun is beautifully warm and bright on my face, through the window of the tube, still above ground before its descent. I'm on my way underground to soar through the skies again, to the land of candles.
The Indian lady opposite me, opens her styrofoam box and takes out another piece of oily, oniony spicy meat, and pops it in her mouth, discreetly. As if the pungent smell isn't wafting all the way down the carriage anyway.



The red headed, compulsively nail biting girl turns and offers me a sweet on the plane. I take it, and in the split second from her bag to my mouth, i am awash with dread, and a glimmer of hope that it might actually be blackcurrant. It is not. It is the dreaded liquorice, the most hated of sweets. It sits in my mouth, poisoning my saliva yet refusing to dissolve. I can't stand it, so when she turns her head to look out of the window, i spit it out into a scrap of paper. Thank goodness.



Flying home, we are above white cirrus clouds and blue skies, and I wonder, if maybe, just maybe, it will be summer, when I step off the plane onto the tarmac. It's not. It's still January, but it's a beautiful sunny day. An accompaniment to my mood.

Approaching the bureau de change, where you can also buy train tickets, I ask the countergirl whether you could buy the tickets on the train itself. She didn't know. ??? But she also had the worse case of mouth herpes I've ever seen in my life, so I think I'd be miserable too.

I sit opposite a man whose trouser crotch has been badly hand sewn back together again. The air is fetid. I move.
I sit opposite a young Russian woman, wearing lace, leather, zebra print and satin, simultaneously.

I had quite a nice cupcake yesterday. Not as good as the ones i make, but it had a massive swirl of yellow icing on top and a white flower made of sugar. It looked like Spring, only in cakeform.



Still listening to Soundboy Rock by Groove Armada
Rediscovering Paul Simon



------------------