It’s finally Saturday again. During non-work time over the last couple of weeks - my mind has been occupied by a scattering of thoughts with little by the way of purpose or common thread. It started with the sudden and abrupt stop of music piping into my ears as the battery inside my MP3 player faded out. From that point onwards the world outside seemed very real, and very painful. The rechargeables never made it into the charger that night - and they still haven’t - perpetuating the reality that is the world outside the bus window.
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It’s during phases like this - that the minorly irritating become majorly so. Being zapped by static every time I touch something metallic is killing me slowly. Regularly looking out for and purposely making contact with any nearby metallic objects wth the flat palm of my hand in a preemptive fashion - the car door always jolts me, surprisingly and painfully every time I insert the key into it. Leading me to vent my anger on the car manufacturer - who, although delivers two keys with the car, only delivers one remote control door-opening key-fob - meaning that only one person can be privileged with the ability to open the door without inserting keys into fiddly holes. And that is not me.
Three facts: The lawn needs mowing. The lawmower is bust. The lawnmower is an utterly disinteresting object. I know that it will only get worse - and the job will be harder when I finally get around to it - but my mind is finding the irrefutable fact that motivation and disinteresting are orthogonal in their emotional trajectories. The lawnmower must wait until next weekend. Just like I said it must do last weekend.
The guy at the haircut shop on the High Street - the one who normally does my hair - he wasn’t there as I walked passed the window. I wandered around - a little lost and feeling helpless - and wondering what I was going to do. Resigning myself to a week’s worth of flaky-scalp-inducing extra-strong hair gel - and then I spotted him. He had popped out for his lunch break - and was back. He’s a big guy - and he flirts outwardly with most of the blokes he cuts hair for. He’s a great guy - he’s been cutting my hair for years - and yet he doesn’t know my name. But he knows me - like he’s my best friend. The whole haircutting session is one intellectual conversation after another - which always strikes me as being kind of bizzare: the setting isn’t quite right. Suburban London High Street, men’s “short-back-and-sides” haircut shop, queue of people waiting. Kiss 100 FM playing on the radio in the background and previous issues of GQ and Maxim magazines littering the cheap IKEA coffee tables near the row of seats. We should be talking about football - or about holidaying in Spain - or about going out the the pub tonight. But instead we float from smalltalk about how the The Sari Shop didn’t make it to the shortlist of the Orange Prize for fiction - to an in-depth sharing of theories on the impact of genetically modified crops on the environment. This monthly escape from reality ends as the hairdryer finishes blowing, I pay my money - and I step back into the drizzle of the High Street.
A bag full of onions, green peppers, kiwi-fruit at a bargain 9 for £1.50, and some annoyingly ripe tomatoes later I confront the third domestic problem of the day: Ms.79 wants to go to a Tesco. We never go to Tesco. The nearest Tesco is not very far - but it’s also not exactly near on a Saturday afternoon given that we have to drive through Neasden and cross the North Circular - and probably get stuck in the IKEA traffic jams both on our way there - and on our way back. Which is exactly what happened. What irritated me most is that Tesco is generally more expensive all round. Than Asda that is. But what was majorly irritating was that the rows upon rows of plastic boxes of exactly 9 kiwi fruit were on sale for £1.30 each. NO - I don’t have a clubcard. And NO - I don’t want one - and NO I don’t want to give you any reasons why OK? We reminded ourselves that we should never go to that Tesco ever again.
At home later - whilst I was washing my hands in the bathroom - I spotted little spider crawling down the wall - just above the towel-rail. I let it be - and reminded myself that I should put 4 rechargeable Triple-A’s into the charger.
Posted by jag at May 08, 2004 10:43 PM