Grateful: Day 30 - Requiem

A picture of a noble dog. I remember him. He was a delight.

I took a notebook with me today. Ah ha ha! I ran out of steam, because there were so many things I was enjoying and I didn't write them all down. But it helped at the start.

Here's a thing I forgot from yesterday. In Superdrug, browsing while someone decided whether or not they could unlock the handset I bought from Tara (no, he couldn't), I was approached by a kid who looked about 14, dreds, a cap, quite cool. He had a packet of condoms in his hand and he asked, very politely indeed 'Excuse me, what does lubricate mean?' I smiled at him. I expected sniggers from another aisle. There weren't any to be heard. I said 'to make moist', which, although he nodded and said thank you, I'm not sure helped, partly because it's a of a grammar book way to put it, and partly because 'moist' has other meanings in London talk.

Once, on a train to the Rickmansworth massive, I heard two London-talk white boys (calling each other blud and sucking their teeth) cackling about how someone was 'bare moist'. I couldn't help but laugh, which seemed to tickle them, but I didn't ask them what it meant. After a little research, I found out that it means decidedly gay. Like actually homosexual gay. Because gay means lame, unfortunately, and god only knows what lame means. Well gay. That's what bare moist means. I hope I didn't confuse the boy. And if he was playing a prank, I hope he really enjoyed it. I did.

Buying teabags this morning, the man with the gentle eyes in CostCutter seemed genuinely pleased to see me and gave me a lovely smile. He seemed amused by how much the Yorkshire Tea for Hard Water pleased me.

From the tiny kiosk on Hammersmith station, some headphony singing-along rang out. I turned around and the man inside laughed and looked embarrassed, then determinedly sang on, still laughing a bit. And he waved as I got on the train.

I stepped back to let an older man with a bowler hat and a chestful of medals off the train first. He seemed pleased, or touched, or proud. We had a little mutual nod and smile. I felt very respectful of him. On the train there were lots of smartly-dressed older people. The man across for me looked full of thoughts. I wondered if he was remembering friends. He looked very sad and quiet.

This is the first year I've 'got' Remembrance Sunday. When today's 2-minute silence was observed, I was in a shopping centre in Bromley. Everyone stopped. Some people sat. Others rested against things. Some just stood where they were. It was eerie, especially in that place, which was already fairly full of greedy-eyed shoppers. I felt moved.

Until now, I think I've been stuck in a teenage indignance: 'I don't believe in war, so I won't be grateful. I won't remember them'. But today I think I understand a bit more. Or I think differently. It's quite likely I haven't got this right either. But I felt grateful, moved, respectful and blessed.

In the shopping centre, collecting coats for Wrap Up London, which, if I understand rightly, is a Hands On London project. Hands On London let you sign up for flexible volunteering, which is ideal for someone like me who loves doing such things but has to drop non-vital things in favour of paid work when it comes in. This project collects coats in shopping centres and from corporates and distributes them to places like Crisis at Christmas, women's refuges, refugee support groups etc., who give them to people who might need them.

I met some lovely new people. I was touched by the generosity of the couple who saw the publicity last week, did a full on collection from their neighbours and turned up with a shopping trolley full of coats. And a father with two little boys, handing over some grown-up stuff and some of their old coats. And the two older boys came to talk to us because they saw the London Underground logo on our t-shirts and wanted to let us know they both really liked trains.

I especially enjoyed laughing with Carrie, and then Freya. Brilliant, funny women. Carrie was one of the brains behind the project. Freya was delightful and had the best green and orange-framed glasses ever. Both pleased me very much and both gave me contact details.

Then a whizz over to Shepherd's Bush for coffee and an inspiring chat with beloved Pudding. I am so proud of her. She made me cry a number of times, just today. Then a lucky train connection, just after, up to Hampstead Heath to see Kate perform in a requiem at Rosslyn Unitarian Chapel. Very moving, it was. Very well done.

Some beautiful voices. A jazz beat. A saxophone. A school choir. I cried a little when the children started to sing. I often do. They were open-mouthed and authentic. No schmalzy performing, just voices coming out.

The whole thing, this huge choral piece with singers, instruments, soloists and three choirs, was an act of love; a gift by the composer to remember his brother, who died aged 19. Just that thought brought the tears.

The place was packed and there were many children. One little boy, on his father's lap a few rows in front of me, was doing unbridled dancing, bouncing about and punching the air to the beat. He made me very happy. When I saw that family later, I told him/them how much I'd enjoyed his dancing. They seemed pleased. He seemed a little shy. I hope he felt pleased after I'd gone. That was the idea.

A small dog that wagged so hard when it found its owner, it nearly fell over. A terrier. Wiry little thing. Very, very happy. I was aching for a go, but it would have been wrong to distrac it from such unbridled gleefulness. I hope enjoyed the concert.

Swapped emails with Rob Grundel about street performances last night.

What I especially liked was the idea behind it: to create positive experiences for people. I liked the high five on the stairs and the dancers in the shopping centre windows. I love this concept. It's ace. It's something to play with. I love large-scale events. There are good times to be created.

I'm so impressed with how many people are willing to smile when they see another person smiling. People say London is unfriendly, but it's not my experience of the place at all. I get a new life story on almost every journey. At the very least, I make a temporary new friend or carry a bag or something. And the more I smile, the more the people I pass seem to relax. I love it.

And here I am, back in bed. One day, maybe I'll get over being grateful for it. Right now, I'm loving every second. Bring it on.

http://www.ted.com/speakers/improv_everywhere.html