small things

Cooking with Kate, skating around the kitchen in synchronicity.
Finding honesty growing in the wild.
Being left to sleep until I woke up (albeit on the hardest mattress in the world).
A meal with old, old friends.
Chattering and laughing as we walked the loop for the first time this holiday.

A road sweeper blaring 'Give it up, baby give it up' as I wandered across the road. Amusing.
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better. (Beckett, 1983)
Sitting around the kitchen table.
Reading on the steps by Liverpool Street station, feeling like I'm on holiday.
The first songs on my podlet, as I sat waiting in the warm dark air after landing, were Leonard Cohen, the Mamas and the Papas and Oasis. All proper France music, all by coincidence.

A follow up to this story.
Lunch in the canteen.
Hip-hop-food flavoured banter.
A magnificent barney as I walked to the pub. Couldn't have been more X-Rated Eastenders if it tried.
A cool corona when I stopped for the day, accompanied by entertaining conversation, cashew nuts and the moon marking time as it moved through the sky.

An encounter with a master plasterer with particularly mobile eyebrows. God bless the habituees of the French House.
A texted image of Tim, arms a-flying, playing the piano. Wish I'd stayed.
The hideously ironic timing of a mis-sent email. Turns out, I really will never learn.
A greasy, greasy cold samosa - bliss.
A minute on the steps looking at the moon, while the road was silent.

Wine and home made cheesey nibbles on a slightly precarious perch under the Fourth Plinth.
Initiating another believer into the glory of Beaujolais.
Inadvertantly entertaining the couple on the table next to us (a couple who had been intriguing me no end) when they caught my protestation about just one more drink. I really did have to go home and clean the poor fish. (However, I still didn't actually do it. Am bad, bad, bad.)
Giving the gift of books. Such an easy way to make friends and influence people.
A promise that I would not be indoctrinated into the ways of sci-fi nonsense. What a relief.

A north London soiree..
Bacon and maple syrup in the sun. Bliss.
Brief Encounter, cheeseburgers, ginger ale, blanket, Ms Hartwell. Day after the night before, perhaps?
The moon, the night before it's full.
We like short shorts... my earworm of a theme tune today. Hmm. Maybe the short / shirt combo was ill advised.

Reading fiction. How I've missed stories.
Cava and pringles at 4pm. Why not?
An orange, eaten with sticky fingers on the way up Holloway Road.
A very male interaction around a £20 pair of reebok classics. I'm going to take a wild guess, and assume that they 'fell off the back of a lorry'...
An unexpected but welcome denoument.

Blog Archive