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.