Grateful: Day 48 - What?

Ha. I like that I can't give a title to my blog until I've written it, because I genuinely don't know what it's going to be about. Evidently, I have an inkling, what with the gratitude theme and all, but I don't have a plan.

Oh, like now. I just looked a photo of Oisin, my old big brown doberman, lying on his back with his face open. It's not really a smile, is it, even when he's happy. It's just a big jaw. He was such a sweet creature, though, and I am very grateful to have had him in my life, and Little Beaver (or *&%n9sldg&£22@€!!, as Claire calls her). Caoimhe? Coaimhe? The first, I think. Weimaraner girl dog pie. She even smelt nice. They were both such delights to me.

One of my favourite memories was of me, housemates Irish Brendan and Albanian Leo, and the dogs all howling together in the kitchen in Uxbridge, singing into the dogs' foreheads - the girl seemed to like that - and playing penny whistle to them. That made them howl too, but wagging howling, not achy howling.

Anyway... back to nowish things. I saw the heron yesterday. He dropped into the back of the mixed pond just as I was leaving. That always makes me very happy. He (or possibly she) is beautiful. A killer of fish. A psychopath? A calm and elegant bringer of death.

There was much cackling and communing in the changing rooms this morning and the water was really, really cold. Compared to the mixed pond - bugger me! Much colder. Nice, though. I'm still smiling all the way round. I dunked my brains again today, and my face. I'm trying to build my mettle.

Acton again, and a bike adventure. The blue-eyed Irish man who runs the bike repair shop was in when I got off the train about 9am. I persuaded him to come and help me free my bike. We had to wait for his wife and waggy spaniel to get there first, to guard the shop. Then off we went in his car to my bike, a few streets away. (In between, I managed to get a little dose of lovely Sarah Lonton. What a bonus!)

First, he tried to unlock the lock with my key. Then he bashed at it a bit with a hammer, in different places, and tried again. This phase lasted a while. Next, he got out an electric drill and a plethora of drill bits and tried to get into the mechanism that way. Nothing.

All of a sudden, a slinky, dodgy man-boy with half-closed eyes and always an eye over his shoulder insinuated himself over to us and said 'what you need is deodorant'. Hmm. That's what he advised, for the bike, not me. Spray the mechanism with a pit-spray aerosol, make it cold, make the metal brittle and bash it with a hammer - done!

So off I went to buy one. I don't normally use them, but this time it's not just for my smell. When I came back, man, van, bike and boy had gone. I ran down to the shop and there man was, with the bike, lock still attached.

While I was away, they'd lifted the post the bike was locked to out of the hole it stood in, slipped off the bike and put it back. 2 months, that bike's been locked there. Longer, if you count the time I lived there before. And that's all it took.

Out came a hand-held circular saw and off came the lock, massive sparks and all. I bought a new one from him. It's not the best, but I was hardly going to say 'I'll get a better one cheaper on the internet!' I owed him one. He didn't charge me anything for the cutting, bike robbing buisness. Not a thing.

I was supposed to take my cello back today, but I couldn't do it. I've hired it. It's expensive. It's due back in late December, possibly early January. I haven't played for months. My teacher, Tatsuya Shirai, is a fabulous, honourable and inspiring Japanese man who restores antique cellos at Ealing Strings, plays virtuoso in Japan and here and teaches me, and others, how to love playing a cello.

He talks about technicality, of course, but always reminds you, make music. Whatever you're playing, think of rivers, water, trees. Think of the wind lifting up the leaves. This is why you're doing this. Get it right, sure. Train yourself. But not above all else. Who wants clinical and dry when music comes from courage?

Well, I haven't got it right. I'm out of practice and I"m not that rich. When this hire's up, I won't have a cello to play, let alone a beautiful, resonant chocolate voiced antique with a beautiful bow that makes sounds that make you melt, just on its own. I have to stop, and I'm not delivering what this inspired teacher deserves from me. I will miss him and his commitment, passion and teaching style very much. That's partly why I couldn't take it back but if I'm honest, I really really really want another play. Even if I only play another twice before it goes back, I want that. It humbled me and felt so good.

I missed a train, so I picked up a coffee at the Station Cafe (home of the Turkish men, but they weren't there). Then the following train was delayed and a man on the station let out a terrible sigh - he'd miss his connection. We had a competition about who was having the worst time, only I didn't mean it. I was going to be late for a meeting with Rob, but not super late and I could still let him know before he set off.

Anyway, within minutes this man told me, among other things, that he used to be a fraud investigator, and knew how to act his way to a confession, or co-erce (no force, no bruises, no actual bullying, so he swore) people to own up. A little bit scary, but it made him very proud.

We talked for while and then our late train came. I was carrying two panniers, and a backpack with 6.5 kilos of clay in, and a bottle of wine for a friend that's moved house a couple of times already. And my coffee. I couldn't easily get all that on, with the bike, and my investigator had toddled off, so I kind of just handed my cup of coffee to a man and said 'would you mind?'. He didn't mind at all. He beamed.

Isn't it odd. We're told 'nobody talks on public transport' and that people will think you're a weirdo if you do, but in my experience, when you ask for help, or even just make some kind of a connection, people are there all ready and willing to be themselves and share stuff with you. The coffee said he'd envied me my coffee earlier, and now he had it. He also grinned a massive goodbye when he got off. So nice.

I was beaming on the tube. I'm not sure why. Just a lovely day so far and I felt happy and excited and full of ideas, and about to go to another lunch/ideas meet with Rob, where they'd be useful. And I did a little bit of yoga yesterday, and played my cello this morning, so all was pretty good, really. And then all this train loveliness. I was smiling all big.

I noticed a number of people looking over and smiling. Perhaps I'm deluded and it was 'at me, not with me' but I don't think so. Three or four people nearby smiled too. And then a couple more. There's an experiment to do. Get lots of people to get on the tube and smile - see how many others join.

Another amazing meeting, even meatier than the last. And we fixed some dates to do stuff, which is great. And then home to Ruth and Ann. This evening, after a regal meal of beef stew and bread & butter pudding, we sat and put little hats on jam jars, the three of us, and talked and laughed,and did a crossword. Blessed times.

My boots arrived - fabulous Rocket Dog calfers off of the internet, so I can dress like a girl and that (the dress and trainers look is not so good) and so I can have warm feet, post-pond. They fit. They're nice. They were cheap. I think we will get on.

And yoga - I did a session*. It was cut short by a call from lovely Sandison, and then by dinner. I can still do the digestion posture, though, before I sleep. I'm exaggeratedly proud of myself for the little I have done. One posture yesterday. Five or six today. We'll see. We'll see.

Esther Lilley, I'm going to make you proud.

* I did not do this. This posture is called 'yoga pose for upper back pain. Create or cure? It's close.