Brilliantest little boy on his bike. I've seen him once before and I forgot to mention it. He must be about nine, maybe ten. Hampstead Heath is very austere about bikes. There are painted NO CYCLING signs everywhere. If you dare to disobey, at the very least, you're likely to get a disappointed look, at worst a proper earful. If I ever do ride through on anything but the single designated path, I'm terribly considerate, and get off as soon as I see a person on foot.
Not this boy. He pedals down the very steep bit of hill just before I get to the pond, past fledgling geese and ducks and dog-walkers, then lets rip, legs stuck out, with 'Yeeeeeeehaaaaaahhh!' as he whizzes past. He really makes me laugh. I'm delighted when I see him.
Today, I heard him coming, so I stepped aside to make room. As he passed, he took a break from his exclamations to say 'thank you, thank you very much, thank you' with a little-boy grin, really overly polite. And then he blasted through a gathering of pigeons with another massive YEEEEEHAAAHHH. That child is mint.
A very sweet gaggle of ladies this morning. A very cold plunge. I'm still dipping in my head between laps one and two, and I'm also dunking my face at least once on my rounds. It's always super cold. My body survived again today. My feet complained. When I get back after my weekend away, I might even bring out the socks. Dangerous game, though. I don't want to peak too soon.
Speaking of weekends away - I'm not sure if I have internet access. If I don't, I'll continue to blog daily, but into Word, and I'll post them upon Sunday when I'm back. It's important to me to do this as a practice, so even if they're not becoming visible on time, each post will be done before midnight every day. Probably just before. You see the pattern.
I've also decided that next time I'm dozing off as I type, I shall type and post whatever comes out, whether it makes sense or not. Just to see. A tasty - and possibly very embarrassing - experiment. When I'm half asleep, the pictures come. I see scenes and have conversations in my head. I know I'm dreaming, but for brief flashes, the reality is real. It's also true that I often find things (the pictures I can see, the conversations, or anything that's really happening in the waking world) very funny indeed when I'm in that state.
On a camping trip many years ago, I once woke my sister and her partner in the next tent by laughing out loud. Or disturbed, rather than woke - they were trying to fall asleep, but I was noisy. So the story goes.
After the pond, a snatched moment of a sci-fi sunrise. The sun, perfect, orange, round, sitting in a greyish sky, hovering huge just above the horizon. It was only perfectly untainted for about ten seconds. I stopped and watched. I had a bit of awe.
Lovely Nigel from the other night used to film a lot of sunsets for his work. His retinas are cooked. Almost literally. When people tell you 'don't look at the sun through a lens', they're right. Don't. Take it from Nigel. He's a very lovely man.
Good coffee and delicious conversation with Catherine this morning, early early, 8.30, as soon as I was back from the pond. And then a day of mask-making. What. A. Joy. Not only the company of a good friend, but the tactile pleasure of making things with our hands; shaping clay; slathering vaseline onto plaster; mixing, cutting, tearing, painting. We were quite productive. Catherine is almost finished with the papier mache base. I've made two forms, one in clay, to be covered, and one in Fimo Air, which, if it doesn't crack, could be quite nice.
And then off into town for what I thought was a 'let's meet and check each other out' kind of meeting, but was in fact a planning meeting for a half-day session that I'm designing, running, playing with. It's absolute candy, for me. I'm so excited, and very grateful to my lovely friend who introduced me for this job, to her boss for trusting her instincts and giving me a chance and the universe for delivering an opportunity to do just exactly what I'd really, really, really like to do, for money, and for lovely people. Fuck, I'm grateful. So very much. Oh yes.
As I am to the lady on the check out in Tesco, who sold me bargain ham and cheap cheese even though her checkout had closed. She allowed me to be her last customer, even though she was aching to go home and could have easily just said no. She saved me about ten minutes and really made my day by saying yes. Thank you, lady. That was really nice.
A lovely call, exciting facts (19th November, 1965 - Pudding, Adeel, is this good news, as far as your shared passion and speciality is concerned?) and a very exciting day to play with tomorrow.
And I've forgotten so many things that were wonderful, special, touching or enthralling moments. Lovely Kate (home, mash, chat). J (a text that made me cry). Eagle/squirrel exchanges. An ORANGE neoprene laptop case, the cheapest on Amazon, and probably the one I'd have chosen anyway. More work. A lovely chat with Paul in Sweden, Ulrich in Berlin, Ruth in Muswell Hill (more laughing). Laptop insurance. First time ever. Grateful for that. More than you could think. I reallly am.
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