Day 146 - Rat Season

I helped a lady at the pond put on her sock today. Bloody hell. She's still swimming there through the winter even though it's almost impossible for her to get dressed. I am in awe. Once again, I am humbled. I'm grateful to her for asking. I wanted to ask if she wanted help, but she had a self-sufficient kind of face and I hesitated. I felt there was a line. I should have crossed it. I'm glad she did. 


It's rat season. Never until this week have I ever seen a rat on the Heath. On Wednesday I saw one, a scrawny little thing, on the path down towards the pond. This morning afternoon, I saw a fat one (or the same one, after it had eaten another rat, or perhaps a whole kebab) in pretty much the same place. Well, after that it was like floodgates. They were everywhere, scuttling in and out of bushes, darting through railings, standing stock still in undergrowth so as not to be seen. I watched them. As it got darker, more of them came out. I have no animosity towards rats in this context. They're at home and they're not bothering me. 

Fake Hampstead Heath Rat

They're brave, too. The Heath is seething with terriers, and there's nothing a terrier likes better than to tear a rat limb from limb. Hats off to them (the rats. Well, both, I suppose - they're just doing what they do). I remember sitting very still in a public park in Reading one morning, so still that the rats came out of the undergrowth and went about their business right at my feet. They didn't move until someone else came into the park. I felt honoured to be able to get such a close look at them. They didn't bite me or give me fleas. They just did rat-like social things. Hanging out like teenagers. I wouldn't have been surprised to see some of them going twos up on a fag. None of that for the Heath rats. I suspect they're partial to Pimms and croissant remnants, but not Benson & Hedges. Too posh for that.


My MASSIVE FAIL of the day, not getting up until nearly 12, was softened by how nice it was at the pond. And it was only a half fail, in some ways. A MASSIVE half FAIL. I decided that if we're going to do this 'not getting out of bed' thing, me and my stubborn, sad alter ego, we were going to do it for proper. No dithering. If we're not getting up, we're not getting up. If we're moping and bothering, let's go the whole hog. I find it physically painful to be in bed that long, and I was becoming dehydrated, so when the doorbell rang with a delivery, I was quite grateful, really. I drank orange juice and a whole pot of tea. I needed it. I also drank a whole pot of tea this evening, in the bath. That's quite an achievement too, I think. Never done that before. No need for milk and sugar (or a cake stand). Maté. A pot. A cup. Nice.

Have you seen this phone?

In between, I managed to lose my phone. Shit, bugger, fuck. Ah well. It's annoying. A little bit more than that. It's an expensive thing to do. The Dutch call centre guy on the end of the phone said 'I'm sorry for your loss'. I said 'It's alright. It wasn't a death. It's just a phone.' and (despite outward appearances) I wasn't being facetious. It's annoying, it's a pain in the arse and it's a shame, but it's not the end of the world, is it? They'll give me a new sim card. Nobody has made any calls from it. If the phone is found by someone (me?), perhaps it will be returned and if it's not, my life will not be damaged in any way. I won't be able to get emails on my phone. I'll have some level of irritation (as I did last time) at calls being missed and my current back-up handset switching itself off all the time. Maybe this is the time to change to Orange again. 


And among the small, but pleasing things that happened today are this: I was looking for The Road, by Cormac McCarthy, recommended by Dominique Gerrard. I didn't find it in Oxfam Books in Hampstead, or in the labyrinthine second-hand bookshop nearby, but I did find Room, by Emma Donaghue. It's very compelling. It was shortlisted for the Man Booker prize in 2010. I recently read The Sense of an Ending, by Julian Barnes, which won last year. Goodness! I enjoyed Room considerably more. It made me weep a little bit as I read it. Not the ugly bits, so much, but the kind bits. Maybe that's when I dropped my phone. I'd highly recommend it. Next, I cycled across the Heath (more rats, loads more) and dropped off some second hand clothes at the hospice shop in Archway. And bought The Road by Cormac McCarthy. It was sitting there all ready, and it was dirt cheap. Thank you. 


I still have options on the phone. I suspect I left it in the cafe where I sat and wept into my book and was entertained by a small child with new toy animals. I took a wrong number call in there. I remember that. I went back there and checked. I left my bike with some slightly raucous teenagers outside the cafe, who were terribly helpful and guarded it nicely while I was inside. However, I could have cast it aside in the hospice shop in my enthralment at having found the book. Or in Iceland, where I stocked up on vegetables. Or in the pound shop where I bought cheap brown paper for mask-making. It's all worth a try. 


Yesterday, I did an audition. I had felt hideous all day. Sad and distant and lame. The audition was for a very sad part, and I mustered the necessary politenesses to do the formalities and I let the bits I'd been trying to quash all day come out at certain moments. I enjoyed the audition. I have no idea whether I'll get the part but whether I do or not, it was well worth doing. 

Actual Hampstead Heath Rat

And today, I had some good news about an exciting, ambitious job that I will do in August. August 31st. It's going to be a good challenge and a very exciting project. It involves cocking around in woods with phones and other tech. It's good news. It also makes a decision or two for me - decisions I've been wrestling with for a long time. Done. Thank you. 

Thank you Ruth, Kirstie, Anna, Rob, lots of other people. Jo, who draws beautiful bears. J, who I will get to see tomorrow. Good stuff. Good. Good.