Somehow this feels like the kind of entry that should go in my personal journal, my little red book. It’s probably the kind of thing that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else in many ways. But aren’t those entries often the best? Besides, since I feel I’ve confidently exorcised a large content of the usual flavour of my black ink scribblings on red leatherbound parchment, I’ve sort of redefined what I use my personal journal for. Mostly it’s a bizarre mix of occult observations in the tiny schema of my little human life, mingled with the eclectic addition of such things as shopping lists and recipes for the perfect green curry, with brief spasms of personal joy when I realise that life isn’t always that bad.

For one reason or another however, this entry goes here.

It’s been a long day at the end of another long week. A good day at work, if such a thing really exists. Everything that should have arrived did, and everything that was meant to go out went out. Leaving a little early, I could see three 214s in the distance at my bus stop and, naturally, I missed all of them, so I got the 390 instead. Twice I saw two solitary magpies on my way home. Briefly I considered if the superstition was worth it, and ultimately decided it too fallible to hold on to.

I walked back through Waterlow Park, taking advantage of the incredible weather and taking in the incredible scent of Summer having returned to North London. Briefly I paused to chastise a timid squirrel I passed that I wasn’t remotely interested in the crisps it was feasting on and to not be so precious.

As I crossed the bridge over the water I saw a young man in light blue standing on the other side. He seemed pretty enough, but I got this strange feeling from him. I can’t really describe it. The only way I can describe it is that it’s the sort of feeling you’d get if you saw someone you weren’t supposed to recognise – someone you knew from reading someone else’s diary or spying on them through a window everyday. I smiled at him as I walked past and then carried on, looking at trees, smiling at the concluding light of another happy day. Suddenly I was aware he was following me – don’t ask how I knew. I just knew. I turned around and he indeed was, in that clumsy endearing way that people do when they’re trying to look like they’re not following you

I thought I’d have some fun.

I left the park and immediately slouched against the cemetery wall and lit a cigarette, smoking it with one foot against the brick in a sort of James Dean Devil-may-care manner. Soon the man exited the park, apparently in a hurry, and then slowed when he saw me. His body language seemed to be of someone who was embarrased. I looked ahead purposefully, so I could look at him as he passed me. Nice blue eyes, like seawater – my favourite shade in a human. He was smiling coyly as he walked – it was a smile that said “I know what you’re doing”, and still shy in apparently trying to look at me out the corner of his eye without looking as if he was looking at all. He went round the corner. I gave it a minute, smiling to myself, and then carried on walking, but he was halfway down the hill and apparently not inclined to look back. “Oh well,” I chuckled, “fun and games over for today.”

As came up to The Statue, I passed a tiny old black woman coming up the hill. I’d seen her before – I think she lives on the estate. I know she’s not quite all there – I remember passing her once as she was shouting something at some builders about her mattress. I had an urge to say hello to her as I passed her, but she beat me to it.

“The boat sank,” she said instantly to me.
“Really?”
“The ferry.”
“Which ferry?”
“It sank before it reached the ferry. Listen…”

She then whistled a tune, apparently by way of explanation, though I didn’t recognise the tune or the logic. Briefly I noticed her teeth – crooked and brown. I smiled at her as she whistled, with little else to do.

“One breath!” she announced gleefully.
“Well done!”
“The boat sank.”
“Where?”
“The ferry, it… ugh,” she then grunted in a scowl, walking off in disgust.
“Have a good day,” I chirped sincerely to her back.

I watched Mr Blue walk down the hill, and then crossed the street to my flat. The gate to the estate was closed. I remember thinking this was odd. The gate is very rarely closed. I stood outside the front door to finish my cigarette, wondering if it was a full moon tonight, when a black haired woman with a kind face and some heavy shopping approached. I recognised her from when the whole estate’s electricity had been knocked out a few months back, and I’d opened the front door, candle in hand to look at the hallway in total darkness. To my surprise I encountered her standing in her own open doorway at the other end of the hall, doing exactly the same thing. I remember we’d both giggled nervously at discovering each other indulging our own inner children.

“Hello,” I smiled pleasantly.
“Hello,” she replied with a smile. You can always tell a genuine smile from a fake one. “Hot,” she then said, simply.
“Isn’t it just?”
“I think there’s going to be a thunderstorm.”
That got me excited. “Really?!”
“Yeah, look at it,” she motioned to the sky.
“Fantastic!”
She looked at me like I was a lunatic, and laughed. I laughed too. I can’t help it. I love thunderstorms. I was born in one, a fairly wild one. Maybe that’s why.

I’ve just checked – it’s a full moon tomorrow. That makes sense somehow. It certainly leaves a little more time to prepare. Somehow it almost seems to explain things. It seemed such an odd journey back, but this heat makes most things seem odd.

• This entry was posted on Friday, May 12th, 2006 at 6:16 pm and is filed under thoughts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.