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[07 Nov 2006|12:12am] |
Well, after the furore and general hell of lunchtime, the rest of the day proved to be not so bad at all. Along I went, to college through a cool and chilly evening twilight. I feel quite alone and totally with myself as I scamper to the school on a Monday night. My little rucksack (With whom i've been all over the world and into many storybooks) and I made the trip to Canterbury without fuss. I had a smooth trip and sat in the classroom talking to the very nice and charming elderly lady whom I always share an early arriving chat with when I get there. She's a wit, a gentle and assured one.
People arrived, inclusive of which was ol' Johnno, who gave us all the coursework. We listened to a short story and were set work that was to write a piece about a job gone wrong. I may be able to stitch together enough material given my history of kitchen portering. We shall see. I also have to master Iambic Pentameters, and am still not entirely sure of that.
During coffee, I talked to the tutor about poetry publishing. He gave good anectodes on some choice encounters he'd had with other authors and laureates. I went into my little mode of imagining silly things and tried to curb my giggles so I didn't look like I was laughing at anybody with me.
There is a single lift that is situated centrally in the canteen. When someone departs from it, they are visible purely on position, it is brightly lit and so you can see them and are alerted. I imagined that whenever anybody does disembark from it, whoever they are, a klaxon sounds, trumpets are blown, and their presence is announced thusly:
"And HERE, LADIEEEES AND GENTLEMEN...IS MR PETER BENSON! HE'S STUDYING TAI-CHI and is a STAUNCH LIBERAL DEMOCRAT!"
followed by dancing dogs wearing tutus, and the entree is given a bunch of flowers. Everybody then goes back to staring into their decaff.
I didn't mention this, obviously. I just went back to chewing the fat about poetry. I also thought how funny it would be if we all had jetpacks under our chairs and spent the break flying around the canteen. When we went back up, I started to see tiny people (A la The Borrowers) crawling around the floor and climbing onto the tables. I sniggered, and hopefully wasn't heard. I covered with a cough.
I made my exit early to catch the train and caught it on time. I kept a paper from the train for Dave. It has a colour feature about West Ham beating Arsenal. Featuring Marlon Harewood screeching like a boy who's got a six pack of White lightning before he's eleven years old. He will like that.
The Bell had in it's space two ladies who I have not yet met. They were fine and good characters, and one had an accent that made my ears prick up a little, purely because it was a heavy and sharp New York accent. They were fun people, and I even got involved in their boisterous conversation. American voices are something i'm more attuned to these days, obviously.
I didn't mention my time there. Maybe it would have been interesting...but..no. I sat back and sifted through my poetry and then schythed through misty streets and the thin cold.
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[07 Nov 2006|04:04pm] |
Looks like I may be about to start learning to drive. Would you believe it? I went around to Derek and Sue's this afternoon and chatted to them for a while and checked out the car. It's a lovely little white Nissan Micra, and simply needs a bit of cleaning inside and out, but I sat in it and tried the pedals, and practised moving the gearstick. Rather than being awkward and difficult to undertake, it became second nature after a few tries. It'll be different when the car's moving, but I think I really can do this.
So many big thanks guys, once again. I'm looking forward to this.
All that's required to do is to get the car classed as SORN so I can keep it on private land, then I can practise with it up the reserve.
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[07 Nov 2006|07:42pm] |
When I was cooking in the kitchen earlier, I started to imagine walking along a moonlit path in the grounds of a park and hearing distant music. Coasting through the trees ever so swiftly and silently, I spied a lit up bandstand..with a glittering spinning roof. Dipping down behind a hedge, I gazed through the gap in the branches, and saw..
A load of cats in dinner jackets and suits playing the song "True" by Spandau Ballet. If only I had a girlfriend, I could have had quite the romantic thought...
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[07 Nov 2006|08:08pm] |
I never saw your eyes well enough,
never saw your skin,
I never saw your feet clad in beige shoes,
never saw your grin..
I never came to approach you,
never made me beg,
I never heard you walk down the dark lane,
never changed shape,
and I never prayed,
I never set the stones in your statue,
never wanted to kneel,
I never felt like painting your walls,
and I never made you feel
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[07 Nov 2006|11:49pm] |
None of the flock made the trip to the Bell tonight, so I was on my lonesome. With Graham's surprising and worriesome absence, I sat and read some papers, twirling my little cigarettes and drinking limitedly.
Alone. I am not the only one that feels so, but it is an odd feeling. Sometimes it is good, gives one the chance to think and to feel without outside incumberence, but it also takes away the human contact and the simple joy of talking to another with which you feel comfortable.
I'm not sad about it. Just a little sophorific. Tomorrow night I shall read a book and try to make inroads into this homework.
I wear no ring, I well no tears, but I still think good thoughts for the well being of the estranged.
Goodnight.
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