Words of the Day: "I'm ok, tho', I have a seat in the sun and a tree to talk to about the people going by..."
I was leafing through some old papers (looking for some new paper) when I came across this. I was lost, in Leeds, when I was meant to be in a practical. Ok, perhaps not entirely lost, because I knew exactly where I was. I just didn't happen to know where I was meant to be, so I ended up sitting under a tree in a courtyard waiting to bump into someone I knew. I also drew, and wrote a few other things, and invented a pH cycler to test part of the work I hadn't (and still haven't really) started on my PhD. Then it was stuck at the back of my pad of paper and pretty much forgotten about until now.
I do this a lot. I'm a great one for doodling, and writing random crap down. I have books full of the stuff. Seriously. I'm not a good doodler, though. Some people create great works of art whilst their mind is on a lecture or something equally distracting. I don't. My best work is created when I sit down over a number of days and plug away at something. That's not to suggest it ever reaches a particularly high standard, but I'm much better when I get the chance to go back and look at what I did wrong. That, of course, only applies to drawing and painting. When it comes to writing, I have to rattle off as much as I can before my fingers go numb, and then hope I can remember where I was in the story when i come back ot it three weeks later.
Lots of people walked past me that day. Some took absolutely no notice at all, whilst others stared intently, as if it were strange to be sitting under a tree, turning a six million year old fosilised shark tooth over in my hands (honestly). Some stole furtive glances, others stared brazenly, openly, as if challenging me to stare back. I did, most of the time, when I wasn't writing strange things down. There's a lyric which always comes to me when I'm sitting in the sun on my own. It's from the Chili Peppers track Scar Tissue, and it goes, "with the birds I'll share this lonely view". I don't know why, but it pops into my head uninvited, and there it usually resides until I write it down somewhere. Puts me in mind of a Californian hill-top, bathed in golden afternoon sunshine, with a few gnarled bushes, their shape wrought by the wind. And around me, hopping about and poking their beaks into the dusty ground, little finch-like birds chatter away to each other, unalarmed by my presence. Sometimes I wonder if that place exists, then I kick myself. Of course it exists, I've been there. And it's bloody lovely, I can tell you, especially with the sun setting over the ocean.
Going to get the opportunity for a bit of an adventure this weekend - I'm going out on my bike on my own, which gives me the opportunity to ramble around a bit. I'd usually go out with jen, but I don't think she shares my enthusiasm for particularly steep, rutted paths, so we tend to stick to speedy singletrack. Don't get me wrong, I love singletrack, but after having spent years on stupidly steep hills at home (on top of the North Downs) I miss the hard slog of a first gear, standing-on-the-pedals kind of climb, so I'm very tempted to try to find some out in the Peak District. Weather permitting, of course - after a week of sunshine, we're promised rain. D'oh.
If I seem obsessed with weather, it's because I am. It's that North Downs thing again. I grew up in a community where a light flurry of snow reported in London would mean five feet where we were, and on a few memorable occasions complete isolation from the outside world. But it wasn't all bad - a warm sunny day in London (the nearest big city, in case you were wondering about the comparisons) would mean a sweltering heat-wave on our little chalk outcrop. It was splendid isolation, that place. Although I've come away complaining about never having people my own age to grow up with, not all is negative, by some distance. For a boy fascinated by nature, it was a wonderland, full of thick, dark forests and every kind of creature you'd expect. I entertained fantasies in my young mind that the hills might even harbour big cats, lost or escaped from some zoo, roaming the land and occasinally snatching a sheep or a calf. I don't think there are any big cats out there, but you never know. What there was a lot of was time, to sit and reflect, to come to terms with nature. To be fair, nature doesn't take a ot of coming to terms with, but it is a wonderful thing to be connected to. I hate cities - I'm in one right now, but it happens to be the greenest per square metre in England, or something like that. Up on the chalk, I always felt connected to something a bit wider. Terry Pratchett has written a couple of books for children recently, centring on a character who lives on chalk, and I feel sure he must have had the same experience, because somehow he knows what it's like. If you want that feeling, read the books about Tiffany Aching, 'The Wee Free Men' and 'A Hat Full of Sky'. If you know the feeling, read them anyway. And if you've already read them, well you'll just have to think up something to do instead...
By the way, while I'm here, bit of a recommendation - if you've ever heard any Ben Folds stuff and liked it, make sure to get your hands on a copy of his live album, preferably with the bonus DVD. It's great, especially where he directs the crowd as they valiantly attempt to fill in for the saxophones and trumpets on 'Army'. Amazon do it for about £12, which is a bargain. I made jen listen to, and watch it, last night. I don't think she was quite as enthusiastic about it as I was...