walking from work; working from home
the office was full of angles and flourescent light. they've moved some workstations closer together to make place for a whole new row of sardine-seaters, but not brought them in yet, so the central aisle is carpeted in bright blue and far too wide. i feel like there's a spotlight on me every time i go to the kitchen or printer, hold the tummy in and shoulders straight. (there's a hot newbie in archaeology)
the office was full of angles, light and messes of paper, recyclable and otherwise. cables trailed and phones rang. coffee burnt. i had to leave by half past six, for others wouldn't. the office without people is still bearable. once on victoria street, we turned west, choosing the direct route over the scenic one. my new neighbour-colleague whined about his knee, about his wife, about people at work who didn't invite him to parties. he's actually a dear and funny man, but yesterday he whined. buses whined too, past us, and tourists on buckingham palace road. it got a little quieter as we turned towards sloane square, and philosophised instead of gossipping. he left me at sloane square tube, and i crossed chelsea on my own, until the korean madcap called on my mobile. he was very happy he said, 15 daily dates and they're calling it love. i'll always be his moonshine, apparently, and i'm the best phd thesis advisor ever, too. his happy romantic situation is very good for my ego.
i cheated on the walk for a bit and took a bus from duke of york square to fulham broadway. but after that, it was just the wind. it swept the bleak streets of mid-fulham. i thought i saw a dark slum through a doorway on Dawes road, and an orc on Munster, but something was pulling me westwards, unerringly, inexorably. the wind blew me right across Fulham Palace Road, past home, past the greasy chicken shop with only a very short stop, past the two rows of houses between mine and the river.
i knew it would be lovely today, with the wild wind and blowsy clouds. some people jogged, some ran. i sat on a table by richard rogers' office+ restaurant+studio apartment building, and privatised the public space. oh, it had been too long! sly judgements from underneath my perky hat, hands in a paper bag, talking to the wind and the low low river. there were boating crews abroad, practicing for the boat race perhaps. they yelled over the rushing wind, they heaved and turned, a parallel existence in the river. the abandoned jetty to the south looked even ghostlier than usual with greyish purple clouds in many colours behind it; the heathrow planes droned muffledly, sandwiched between many translucent layers of cumulus. the trees and bushes rustled madly, across the river you could see the occasional moving light at ground level - cyclists fighting the southerly gusts to win through to barnes. it could have been a different place, a mountain hamlet with a mysterious past, a village with an urgent river, a place in a ruskin bond twilight novel scene; but it was london, mine and lovely.
after chicken, i walked... in a few minutes i hopped and skipped. and sang... i made it to the dangle-feet-make-out place, and then couldn't deny it . i may be shit scared about the future, but at times like yesterday evening, i do massively enjoy the present.
the office was full of angles, light and messes of paper, recyclable and otherwise. cables trailed and phones rang. coffee burnt. i had to leave by half past six, for others wouldn't. the office without people is still bearable. once on victoria street, we turned west, choosing the direct route over the scenic one. my new neighbour-colleague whined about his knee, about his wife, about people at work who didn't invite him to parties. he's actually a dear and funny man, but yesterday he whined. buses whined too, past us, and tourists on buckingham palace road. it got a little quieter as we turned towards sloane square, and philosophised instead of gossipping. he left me at sloane square tube, and i crossed chelsea on my own, until the korean madcap called on my mobile. he was very happy he said, 15 daily dates and they're calling it love. i'll always be his moonshine, apparently, and i'm the best phd thesis advisor ever, too. his happy romantic situation is very good for my ego.
i cheated on the walk for a bit and took a bus from duke of york square to fulham broadway. but after that, it was just the wind. it swept the bleak streets of mid-fulham. i thought i saw a dark slum through a doorway on Dawes road, and an orc on Munster, but something was pulling me westwards, unerringly, inexorably. the wind blew me right across Fulham Palace Road, past home, past the greasy chicken shop with only a very short stop, past the two rows of houses between mine and the river.
i knew it would be lovely today, with the wild wind and blowsy clouds. some people jogged, some ran. i sat on a table by richard rogers' office+ restaurant+studio apartment building, and privatised the public space. oh, it had been too long! sly judgements from underneath my perky hat, hands in a paper bag, talking to the wind and the low low river. there were boating crews abroad, practicing for the boat race perhaps. they yelled over the rushing wind, they heaved and turned, a parallel existence in the river. the abandoned jetty to the south looked even ghostlier than usual with greyish purple clouds in many colours behind it; the heathrow planes droned muffledly, sandwiched between many translucent layers of cumulus. the trees and bushes rustled madly, across the river you could see the occasional moving light at ground level - cyclists fighting the southerly gusts to win through to barnes. it could have been a different place, a mountain hamlet with a mysterious past, a village with an urgent river, a place in a ruskin bond twilight novel scene; but it was london, mine and lovely.
after chicken, i walked... in a few minutes i hopped and skipped. and sang... i made it to the dangle-feet-make-out place, and then couldn't deny it . i may be shit scared about the future, but at times like yesterday evening, i do massively enjoy the present.
Comments