Existentialist Speed Dating

Notting Hell

It was colourful and loud and crowded.
I pushed through but could barely see the parade. I caught glimpses of brightly coloured headgear and surreal cardboard beasts between bobbing heads and hands holding mobiles as cameras. Occasionally a lorry would go past blasting out music that shook the earth.
I turned away, walking over crushed beer cans and soiled paper plates, past smoky stalls selling curious foods, past lines of policemen in day-glow jackets.
I dived into a crowd blocking the road, it jumped up and down to the speakers, twisted and turned to the music. The air was a thick mix of sweat, alcohol and pot. Half way through I came face to face with a young guy blocking my way.
"Smile," he shouted and offered me his beer.
I declined and he grabbed me and we danced a waltz.
"Smile," he shouted. "It's carnival...."
You know, sometimes, you just need to let go. I grabbed his beer, took a swig, then I smiled and danced a jig.
I just hope I don't catch some spit transmitted disease like elephantitis or leprosy.

Camus on the Central Line

On the tube this morning, standing opposite me, was a guy reading Camus.
He was in a suit, no tie, and he was reading Camus.
I looked at him and thought: you tosser. You complete and utter numpty. Ooooo, I'm impressed, so you're a thinker. You tool.
Oh, look at me, I'm reading Camus. I soar above you, you Metro mesmerised morons. I don't just accept, I question, I challenge...
Yes, and you toss, because you are a tosser.
He was reading The Fall. At least it wasn't The Outsider, that would have been a statement. He should just wear a sandwich board next time.
I stared at him and he stared back. I moved and he moved. My reflection moved. Then when I stepped off the tube we merged back into one.
Tomorrow, I shall be reading The 15 Minutes Abs Workout Book.

Alex, This Isn't The Time

"Alex, this isn't the time..." she said.
I looked at her as she approached. Round face, short dark hair, elegant. She looked a picture.
"Alex, I don't want to talk about it right now," she said.
She walked quickly, urgently. I could imagine being at the end of that walk, the one waiting for her.
"Alex..." she said into her mobile, her voice failing.
Our eyes met briefly, hers were red and wet. She walked past, her perfume trailing her. She was gone, back to the one waiting for her.
I walked on, into my evening. Alex is a lucky guy and if I was him I would be very careful.

In Vino Veritas

It was a choice between the Cabernet Sauvignon and the Merlot.
The Cabernet said it was full-flavoured and reliable, good with roast or grilled meats as well as dishes with sauces.
The Merlot said it was soft and fruity, good with spicier dishes or more savoury foods.
I had been deciding between the bottles for a while and the shop assistant was beginning to look at me suspiciously. My basket was empty so it wasn't really a question of food. It was more a question of which would be the best companion for a Saturday night.
I picked the Merlot -forget Sideways- and took it home. Then I pulled up a chair next to the window and together we looked at the passing life. It was full of sound and fury, on its way to Mamma Mia! and curry houses and clubs. I couldn't figure it out, maybe I should've picked the Cabernet.

Full Metal Jacket Potato

Today I got into a fight in the sandwich shop.
He wandered in off the road, looked rough round the edges and his breath smelt of alcohol. He walked up to people and yelled at them.
I had had a bad morning, usual work stuff. Bad emails, bad phone calls, bad decisions. He walked up to me and yelled in my face. I yelled back. I looked into his eyes and yelled in his face. I let out out all my frustrations in his face.
People, who had been ignoring him, the elephant in the room, stopped and stared. The tills went silent.
He looked at me, confused, blinked a couple of times and staggered out.
I picked up a sandwich and went to pay. My hands trembled. The girl gave me a free chocolate bar.
Next time, I'll hit him and see if I get a free jacket potato.

Cogito ergo blog

So I wandered out at lunch and there was this lady singing opera on some church steps.
A small crowd gathered, people in suits, busy people, people like me. We stopped and listened to her. Her voice soared. It went high and then higher still. For a short while, she took us with her.
Afterwards, I went back to my office, plugged back in, logged back on. For the rest of the afternoon, I pushed the rock up the mountain.
On the way home, I thought about the soaring voice, I thought that I’d like to create beauty too. Create something. Every day pushing that rock up the mountain, every night distracting myself, and then just starting over.
I thought about it on the tube, thought about it as I walked around the Tesco, thought about it as I walked in the front door. Then I sat on the sofa and thought about it as I looked at my reflection amidst the laughing heads of some shitty TV show. I thought about creating something of worth on paper, on canvas, in clay, in melody… But I couldn’t think of anything except creating a blog about my lack of creativity.
QED