On Sunday, after the fantastic Free-wheel event, K and I went to the Imperial War Museum to do a treasure hunt test (don't ask).
I've never been to the IWM before - looking at a load of gun, tanks, shells etc. doesn't appeal. And why Imperial anyway? There were lots of visitors, mainly men taking extremely careful photographs of plane propellers.
There was one couple who stuck in my mind. A young man with short dark hair, standing with arms behind his back, legs planted firmly wide apart in the 'I've had military training' position. He was wearing camouflage trousers. It takes a certain person to wear any item of camouflage to a war museum. A certain person who wants to make a certain statement.
He was staring intently at an information board as I raced passed trying to find the name of one of the planes hanging from the ceiling (Big Beautiful Doll if you want to know). He gave the impression that he had given each and every item in the museum the same single minded level of attention. His girlfriend was sitting in a huddle on a bench behind him. A dejected sort of thing, shoulders all in a bunch - a bored slightly desperate expression on her face.
War is wrong, of that I have no doubt, but life is never clear cut. Museums like this serve a valuable purpose, even though I might try and turn away from the brutal side of human nature and violent way humans have of brushing up against each other. It's how the world is I suppose.
We ended the visit in the Tibetan Peace Garden which was how I wish the world was.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
One, Two, Three.....
I'm reading a book about Chile called Travels in a Thin Country by Sara Wheeler. No particular reason, I'm not planning a trip to Chile, I haven't heard great things about Wheeler's travel writing. No, it has just been sitting on my bookshelf for 10 years, half read and abandoned. So I am finishing it now.
Wheeler talks about a group of native Indians who are now extinct, wiped out by the actions of brutal and careless Europeans. So far, so depressingly familiar.
They had an extremely rich language, including a word for the feeling you get when you bite into something soft and your teeth hit something hard. I tried to make up a word in English for that feeling of biting into a oyster to find a pearl or a chomping down on a hamburger to find a thumb nail clipping. Squigdack? Murminct? Any other suggestions?
But given this richness, they had no words for numbers above three. I have three numbers to watch today, a meeting at 11 in Leicester Sq for a possible bit of freelance writing, an appointment at 3 in Blackfriars to register with an agency who have a part time job I'm interested in and finally dinner at 7 in Southwark with a friend. Phew.
I tried to imagine living a life with no numbers, no money, no debt, no appointments to be made or kept, no worrying about the big three oh, four oh, or any other oh. But I gave up because I didn't want to be late for my meeting.
Wheeler talks about a group of native Indians who are now extinct, wiped out by the actions of brutal and careless Europeans. So far, so depressingly familiar.
They had an extremely rich language, including a word for the feeling you get when you bite into something soft and your teeth hit something hard. I tried to make up a word in English for that feeling of biting into a oyster to find a pearl or a chomping down on a hamburger to find a thumb nail clipping. Squigdack? Murminct? Any other suggestions?
But given this richness, they had no words for numbers above three. I have three numbers to watch today, a meeting at 11 in Leicester Sq for a possible bit of freelance writing, an appointment at 3 in Blackfriars to register with an agency who have a part time job I'm interested in and finally dinner at 7 in Southwark with a friend. Phew.
I tried to imagine living a life with no numbers, no money, no debt, no appointments to be made or kept, no worrying about the big three oh, four oh, or any other oh. But I gave up because I didn't want to be late for my meeting.
Monday, September 10, 2007
A can poo attitude
It's me. I'm back. Sorry for the break in communications. The summer has blinked by, MA done and dusted, my year in Cornwall is over and I'm back in London.
Yesterday I went for a walk to the shops, smiling at the bustle and hustle of people. The sun was shinning and I thought, maybe, just maybe it wont be so bad being back. As long as I make sure we get out of London, slicing the weekend off the week - pulling the days out of London and pushing them in the sand in Llangenth or Woolacombe?
On the way back I saw a Tennants Extra can glinting in the sunlight on the pavement. Not to strange a sight in the litter strewn streets of London. What did make it stand out was that there was a small cat poo drapped over it. Was the cat bored? Did it wish to set itself an extra challenge that day? Was it trying to make a comment on the contents of the can, a kind of catty review?
Maybe it just had a can poo attitude.
Yesterday I went for a walk to the shops, smiling at the bustle and hustle of people. The sun was shinning and I thought, maybe, just maybe it wont be so bad being back. As long as I make sure we get out of London, slicing the weekend off the week - pulling the days out of London and pushing them in the sand in Llangenth or Woolacombe?
On the way back I saw a Tennants Extra can glinting in the sunlight on the pavement. Not to strange a sight in the litter strewn streets of London. What did make it stand out was that there was a small cat poo drapped over it. Was the cat bored? Did it wish to set itself an extra challenge that day? Was it trying to make a comment on the contents of the can, a kind of catty review?
Maybe it just had a can poo attitude.
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