Dynamic

In a side street that leads to one of the gates of the local park, a woman spruced up the bold lettering of a ghostly 24 HOUR ACCESS sign with another round of white paint. Around the corner was a blue van scrawled in generic graffiti with the shutter half way up, revealing tightly packed big blue plastic barrels. I usually see this van parked in the side street at the end of the day, the barrels on their sides and being rolled about as they take turn to be hosed down on the inside by the driver. Today I saw their incongruous green plastic screw-top lids for the first time. I've no idea if they were screwed on, but they looked like they were. The van was parked in front of a retired ambulance, it's side door open, as the driver busied himself on the pavement.

A man dressed like an old-fashioned undertaker, but without the tall black hat, had just finished sliding a dry dog poo off the end of his grey shovel into the drain by the kerbside. I don't think he'd seen me until then, and carried on standing in the same position with the shovel hovering over the drain until I walked passed. Only seconds later on the other side of the road, another man was walking away from his car and just as it beeped and the indicator lights flashed once to signal it was locked, he turned back in a quick flash like a pantomime villain, as if trying to catch the car out in the act.

I could have sworn on first glance the sign outside of a charity shop with the picture of a woman posing in a short sparkly black dress said 'Shit this season' when in fact it said 'Shine this season'. I think I'd been affected more by witnessing the dog poo incident than I'd like to credit.

At the supermarket checkout, a family made up of girlfriend, boyfriend, and mam and dad, were behind me in the queue putting their shopping on the conveyor belt. I guessed the mam and dad were staying with them to see in the New Year. The colour co-ordination of the shopping resembled their clothes. It was quite disturbing. There's was just something clearly wrong here, then I thought the display of shopping said more about the family dynamic, a charge led by two tins of tomato soup and a pale looking sweet and crunchy salad, its contents suffocated in the air tight plastic bag. The girlfriend proceeded to move a bottle of prosecco to the front of their shopping and in line with the two tins of tomato soup. The boyfriend cautiously moved in the same direction, on the periphery, as he was blocked by mam and dad who stood looming over the shopping which was all now on the conveyor belt. He suggested they buy another bottle to which she replied, 'To go with this one?' I thought it was a funny thing to say. 'Of course to go with that one,' I said, in my head. It felt like she'd closed down that line of enquiry down quite quickly with her own question as he was quite keen to buy another bottle. It was for seven people after all. I wondered if they should have bought another tin of soup.

That's electric

May I have a large doner kebab and some chips?

Each word was pronounced as roundly and measured as he was, as he faced the men behind the counter in their trade mark blue aprons. There was a collection box by the till made out of a roughly modified cardboard box badly wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper. On the stuck on notice was a drawing of a Christmas tree in permanent marker, which looked more like an electric pylon.

Leaving the house earlier I'd seen the ginger cat that lives at the end of my street. It was in its regular place, just outside its front door, tonight licking one of its legs. But just as I approached the cat and before I had a chance to say hello, it began to walk on, flattened into a dull silhouette by the headlights of a car which had just turned into the street. It looked like it'd received an electric shock, its soft furry outline now barbed and a bright neon white. I said hello.

Spin

The TV in the work canteen this morning was showing a fly-on-the wall documentary about a hospital. A man was having a mole looked at. Two minutes later and he's being operated on while fully conscious, flat on his back and startled eyes wide open looking directly up at the ceiling, most of his torso covered in a racing green coloured sheet, while flanked either side by two professionals under a bright white light. I suspected they were working away on his mole. I thought there was a lot of blood and the big incision unnecessary for a simple mole removal but there you go, I'm sure they knew what they were doing. By the time I got up to leave there was another man standing about, who looked quite jovial and I could sense the white flesh of a bulging belly under his old grey t-shirt and I thought, 'ey up, he's next.

This the third week on the spin. How much tax money you pocketing?

There are three destinations I hear announced when waiting for my train home and every single time I mishear Up Early, Migraine and Poorly.

A couple of nights ago I had a late bath. I shouldn't have really as my cold-state had left me feeling a bit woozy, but still I took the plunge in the hot soapy water and submerged myself up to my neck, and the tiled wall swayed from left to right a little, the grid of the white grout leaving a burning white impression when I closed my eyes. And still it rocked, more heavily to the right with each tilt as if it was slowly building momentum in that direction to set the room spinning like a Wall of Death, a tiled one, without a motorcyclist, but a man in a bath.

Vinegar

In the hardware store a man came up to me and asked if I knew where the lining paper was while consulting the face of his mobile phone. I was looking for the PVA. After a bit of a think I pointed him in the direction of where I thought the lining paper would be and said, "Whatever I'm looking for is never where I expect it to be in here." Then low and behold just as I raised my pointy finger and uttered those words a big suspended LINING PAPER sign appeared. Well, that is not actually true but I like to think that's what it said. I think it was more like WALLPAPER AND PASTE. I had to ask someone where the PVA was. On my to the PVA I saw the lining paper man as he left the aisle I sent him to. He was now speaking into his mobile phone and hastily told me they didn't have the grade he needed.

In the car park, a family had been getting into their car. The mam was bundling the daughter into the back seat and before the dad with a trolley full of tiles could get anywhere near opening the boot, he was approached by two men canvassing for work. They looked a bit pushy, in fairly casual get-up. Within seconds of a wary sideways glance from the dad, one of them was showing the dad something on his mobile phone, I suspect photographic evidence of his handiwork. By the time I left the hardware store, the car was gone, and only the man with the mobile phone was left loitering in the car park, eyeing up the loads people were packing into the boots of their cars.

Later, in the supermarket, a strong smell of vinegar started to follow me around and it got stronger by the time I reached the checkout. It was so strong I started smelling up close some of the items in my basket, first the jar of gherkins, then the fresh salmon, but both showed no signs of leakage. Then a woman at the checkout next to me dropped a big jar of pickled onions which shattered on the floor. The smell of vinegar slowly abated.

While-u-wait

A white cat sat by a car exhaust of a car parked in a residential street, its legs neatly positioned like columns in front of its furry black and white coat. The cat briefly looked up at me before resuming its pensive gaze at an empty parking space and a 'wee-only' bed pan that lay in the gutter. It was shaped like the tail pipe and silencer of the car exhaust and looked like it had fallen off the vehicle which had vacated the parking space. I don't know how it got there, it's a good ten minute walk to the nearest hospital. There was something about the cat's demeanour that seemed to imply something wasn't quite right. I couldn't help think some poor old soul laid up in the bed of one of the wards was having to wee into a car exhaust via a long rusty tail pipe.

It's not his fault. He just doesn't travel easily.

I carried on walking, and in the local garage by the train station, a man crudely lit by the overhead strip lights was bending something in a vice. The two regular mechanics weren't in sight. At that time of the morning they'd usually be stood in the garage entrance drinking cups of coffee, overlooked by the 'MOT while-u-wait' sign, advertising exhausts, tests, tyres, and a multitude of other services and car and van parts. And shocks. Every weekday morning I'm drawn to the big sloping lettering 'SHOCKS' and imagine a mechanic hiding behind an oil drum and leaping out into the street and shouting "Booo!" or taking the position of a bowler who has just bowled out a batsmen with a "Howzat!" or a gravely, "ROOOAAARRR!" hands held up like two tiger paws ready to pounce and claw a commuter's attire to shreds.

The pigs

There was a strong tinge in the sky tonight. The clouds blushed red, as the sun slowly sunk below the horizon with a simmering glug glug glug.

Boys on the train were imitating the sound of pigs. "Oink oink oink!" they went, keeping bad time with each other, the oinks overlapping and rendered syncopated, until one of the boys interjected and changed course. "This is the olden days." He began a solitary, "Oi oi oi..."

But before long another boy announced, "This is the pig!" Oinks were resumed.

"Oink oink oink..."

The power of soft

Someone was joking around this morning in the canteen about the amount of coins in his colleague's trouser pocket. "Look at all those coins," he exclaimed. "Look at that coinage," before touching the big bulge in his colleague's trousers with a "Wahey!" I was waiting for him to say, "Is that a lot of coins in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" but before long he was seeing comedy gold in the buzzer going off for the dumb waiter, as he began to imply the sound was being made by his other colleague buttering a slice of toast. He held centre court for a little while longer and tightened the metaphorical grip he had on his two colleagues with one last buzz! and, "Look, he's done it again!" What a funny man I thought.

A woman sitting next to me on the train to work was reading a hardback book The Power of Soft. I thought, the power of soft what? Cushions, linen, toilet roll, bread? It sounded like a typical vacuous title to me aimed at business people.

Working my way through the crowds after getting off the train another commuter was walking in the opposite direction with her mouth stretched wide open into a perfectly formed circle, an extended yawn that didn't look like it was about to diminish any time soon. Either she had stopped yawning and forgot to close her mouth or she was a vampire looking for her next victim in the hurried crowd.

A blaze of fury

There was a bit of a commotion at one of the staff canteen entrances early this morning where two men from Estates had set up to do some work with their step ladders and trolley of tools. Another member of staff on the way to the canteen said, "Thanks for not getting out of the way," as she squeezed passed one of the men who was resting against the ladders. He went a bit mad at the comment levelled at him, stood upright and yanked up his trousers as far as they would go as he launched himself off on a diatribe with only his workmate looking on. The expletives came thick and fast with brooding intermittent pauses during which his movement was erratic. "It's alright for some, eating breakfast all fucking morning [PAUSE] some of us work all day [PAUSE] best thing to do, pack up and go back to the workshop [PAUSE] bollocks [PAUSE] it's alright for some drinking coffee all fucking day [PAUSE]." He then gave the waist of his trousers a bit of a twist before walking off in a blaze of fury to "Fucking bollocks."

Pants

That cat's not right in the head, running around in circles.

The woman who works in the staff canteen danced vigorously to the fire alarm test this morning. It really made me laugh, I think because it was so out of the blue, and not something I'd imagined her doing. It was very courageous of her. And she put her all into it, knees bending underneath her apron to move her body up and down, back straight, hair still tucked into a hair net, and keeping time with her bending knees were her thumbs alternately held aloft and slung as far back as they would go over her shoulders as if they were fresh from holding onto a pair of dungaree straps.

I prefer you the way you was before with the false smile and the face pump and the foul mouth. 

Walking home from work random memories played out in my head as they quite often do, such as one of the rare times I spoke up in class at school, when I was confident that what I was about to say was going to be very funny. I'd learnt a new word, 'kegs', off my Dad, meaning 'pants'. I think the teacher had been talking to us about the school play and the costumes that would be worn by some of my class mates, and this is what might have prompted me to pipe up and use my new funny word when I asked if they'd be wearing their kegs. A very juvenile question, but I was only 8 or 9 years old. The teacher didn't know what kegs meant and looked perplexed as he sat casually on the front of his desk, and asked me to repeat the word several times and explain myself. I didn't feel too disheartened even though my big moment had died on it's feet, or in a pair of kegs you might say.

Nice to see you

It's so hard doing this. I need to be there, Lexi, to do this shit.

The wind whistled outside the supermarket, its pitch constant and wavering, located somewhere above the automatic doors. It was impossible to detect exactly where it was coming from. The branches of potted trees were pushed around in every direction like people in a mosh pit and sent swirling when the whistle soared.

It was a stark contrast to the air that stagnated during the humid day before and I looked on at the spot where a woman with dementia had sat in one of the metallic chairs, occasionally looked on by her carer, who sat a little further away on a low wooden bench to smoke a cigarette. The woman had tapped me on my elbow in the supermarket, as she held onto her carer's arm. I was unable to make out what she said, her speech impaired. The woman smiled and turned away after I said, "Yes," and, "Nice to see you." I didn't know what else to say.

Being human

There were three men covering the back of a truck and it's load this morning with a large blue tarpaulin. It was parked just outside the train station. One of the men stood back, and I could be mistaken, but appeared to photograph one side of the truck with his mobile phone covertly. The other two men were on the opposite side of the truck, fastening down the rest of the tarpaulin. I paused on the pavement and waited for him to take the photo. A small flash went off on his phone.

It felt like being part of a human unzipped zip being zipped up on the escalator, and then unzipped again when leaving the escalator.

It was busy when I got off the train, and I made my usual careful manoeuvre towards the escalator, where two lines of passengers were forming, shuffling side by side. It's always a tight spot, and one miscalculated step and you could trip someone up, or be tripped up. I think twenty years from now, we'll just be walking into each other.

A woman was telling her friends about being one of six bridesmaids, and that they all had very different body parts. Lucy had big boobs and her sister was pregnant.

Spit and polish

There was the usual sense of high-visibility on my way to work today. Out in force were the police, cleaners, private security, train operating company staff manning the turnstiles, and a banana rendered bright yellow under one of the harsh artificial lights of the WHSmith's housed in the steely grey train station. I witnessed the last bit of the banana brazenly peeled and eaten by a man in close proximity to a table with neatly stacked piles of paperback books, while he perused the titles and covers.

At work I heard about a member of staff spitting in one of the canteen bins. I forgot about this until my afternoon tea break when someone from security opened his mouth over the bin I was sitting next to and waited for the chewing gum to fall out. This incident wasn't technically spitting as he didn't use any force and it was a calm, quietly executed act. I was sat on a stone seat, which was so smooth I had to sit upright otherwise I started to slide off, the soles of my feet unable to get any purchase on the smooth polished floor as they slithered with my slumped body in tow.

George doesn't like cycling

While I was waiting by the staff lifts, a colleague was talking about her boyfriend, George, and when she started going out with George she had to give up cycling as he doesn't like cycling and won't even get on a bike. And since they moved in together there is no room in their flat for her bike. I thought, that's a shame, and, "On your bike, George".

I was trying to think of my earliest memory. I never believe people who say, "Oh, I was in the pram, and I remember people peering in". I don't think I have one memory I can confidently say was the earliest, as a few of them belong to a specific period, but one of them might have been of a corridor off the main hall at nursery school, and seeing a very wide broom there leaning against the wall. It must have been the caretaker's. The corridor was very clean, and filled with natural light. The main hall was where all the activity took place, where we played, made lots of noise and sat on the floor to listen to stories being read out.

I heard a story today about a famous gourmet who liked nothing better than to go down the pub and have a plate of baked beans.

Dance

Dance, dance, wherever you may be, I am the Lord of the dance said He...just after I switched off the bedside lamp and opened the blind of my bedroom window at approximately 6:30 a.m., to take in the subdued morning light. Several times today I recounted in my head what lines I could recall from this hymn. And I lead you all wherever that may be, I am the Lord of the dance said He.

On the train to work, a very itchy heel prompted me to move my left foot about inside my Chelsea boot in a fashion I think could have been mistaken for a dance move. It could catch on, this dance move with all focus and dance energy on the left foot only. It was a good job I was wearing these boots today to allow for the extra movement. They are a 1/2 size too big to allow for a thick pair of socks. I might have drawn less attention to myself if I'd just removed the boot and had a good scratch.

The running boy

In a small concentrated corner of the local park, a woman was frantically picking up stones and throwing them into bushes and the trees low hanging branches for her black dog to run after, the dog bounding through the tall, unkempt grass, almost as fast as the stones travelled. I don't know how the dog could keep up, but it did. The woman would throw the stones one direction, then change course to another, and so it went. I don't know if the dog found the stones. How could it have known which stones were thrown? There was no time for it to inspect them beforehand, for any distinguishing marks, or to identify the shape, colour or smell. If I was the dog, I think this would have drove me mad, but maybe the woman was trying to keep up with the dog. I did go back to the same spot after walking around the park for a bit, but they'd gone. I guess I will never know.

There was only two people out jogging. One man was running back and forth on the path within a short designated distance, not that dissimilar to the dog but on the hard tarmac in his sober running gear didn't look as if he was having as much fun as the dog. It did get me thinking about how I used to run long distances when I was a kid, with ease, and I was quite fast considering I was the shortest in my year at school. I ran all the way home one lunchtime without stopping. I can't think what for. I think I'd forgotten something. But I just ran, and ran, and remember vividly running down Fulwell Road, and feeling exhilarated.

A better date

I was on a bus this afternoon and got off earlier than I intended, just before the indoor shopping centre, as the roads were busy and I thought it would be quicker, or take just as long to walk home but either way be much nicer than being trapped on the sunny side of the top deck of a slow moving bus. I was baking hot.

I needed some bread. As much as I didn't want to go into the Sainsbury's in the shopping centre, it was probably best to buy it now otherwise I'd only have to go out for it later. There's only three types of wholemeal sliced bread I like, and Sainsbury's sell one of them. It's been a while since I bought the Sainsbury's SO organic sliced wholemeal bread but today it looked a little too big for the packaging, the dimensions were different, and the surface looked like it was sprinkled with sawdust. The tag on the shelf said it was thick sliced but there was no mention of this on the packaging. I'd say it's somewhere in between medium and thick. I stood there handling it, unsure, looked at the best before date, which was tomorrow, 30th September. I would have liked a better date. I squeezed it a bit. It felt firm. I picked up another loaf, and squeezed that one a bit too. A member of staff who'd been rearranging the bread on the top shelf whilst stood on a stool must have noticed me and my predicament, went away for a bit and came back with another identical thick sliced wholemeal bread and said "1st October, a better date". I thanked her, said I couldn't read the best before date because I didn't have my glasses with me, and therefore wasn't sure how fresh it was even when I squeezed it. It was a blatant lie, I did have my glasses with me and I could read the date if I held it at arms length. I don't know why I did that, this is not the first time. I sometimes screw my eyes up at checkouts or bars when paying with loose change to give the impression I have really bad eyesight, inspecting the coins I've singled out on my open palm to cover the amount due, before handing it over.

I went to catch another bus home and ended up on the same bus I'd got off earlier. It had taken all that time for it to work its way through the single lane of traffic.

A woman with bags of shopping who got off at the same stop as me started singing, repeating the line "I want to be more than an ordinary servant".

Madam

I was addressed as madam this morning by the man at the train station kiosk. I was only partly visible to him as I reached for a bottle of water from the refridgerated display. He quickly followed this up with "How are you today, sir?" It must happen all the time, as he took it all in his stride, or maybe it's his way of having a bit of fun.

As I left the house for work, there was a big spider suspended from it's big web right outside the front door. I got caught up in a bit of the web not knowing what it was at the time, but looking back as I closed the front gate I saw the spider, undisturbed, still hanging there.

Have a banana

Today I learnt that eating 400 bananas in a day could kill you, or least cause you serious harm, and Captain Cook is from Sunderland, my hometown. A colleague told me about Captain Cook this morning, although I've since checked Wikipedia and there's no mention of Sunderland, but I didn't hear him that clearly amid all the clatter in the staff canteen. To protect his identity I'll call him Chas. I can't think what the Sunderland connection could be. Maybe he had a short holiday or a 2nd home there, overlooking the sea. You'd think it would have sea views. I can't imagine him living too far inland, like Leeds or Carlisle, although the sea would probably have been a reminder of work when all he wanted to do was switch off and wind down at the end of the working day. I got chatting to Chas, who I've only seen in passing to and from the canteen, and he detected my accent when I struck up a mundane conversation about the lack of space around the tea and coffee making facilities. Chas is from Whitby.

On my way back from lunch I saw a bicycle helmet chained to a bike and all I could think of was how handy it would be to scrunch up the till receipt in my jacket pocket and throw it in there.