Wednesday, August 13, 2003
At last.
Soft, golden-hues softened the severity of the many Architectural splendours lining the South Bank, falling kindly on the faces of the reclining homeless in their public benches, and the beercans they invariably keep company with. Busy businessmen took timeouts en route to work to glance downriver at the sunrise in the distance. I walked.
Forty-five minutes is how long it takes to walk from tower bridge to Big Ben, at a leisurely pace, Costa coffee in hand, Terry Pratchett in the other.
At last, I've had the chance to savour my morn-lit walk, to iron my clothes at leisure, to calmly do battle with the encroaching horde lining my living room floor. (And I'm winning!)
At last, I've had time to read Terry Pratchett and giggle aloud to myself, minute after minute.
At last, I am at peace. For a while, anyhow.
I glanced up at the London Eye, and considered catching a rare glimpse of a early-morning, sunlit London. And realised that you don't do things like that alone. The pleasure isn't at all in the event, but in the company you keep and the words and thoughts you share. Much like that open-top Summer busride which I never got round to taking. I'll reserve those experiences to share with someone I love, or, at the very least, with a friend. Going up the Eye and looking down at a London, sprawled naked and exposed, would be crass and disappointing to my mind's eye. I'd rather see her from ground level, fully clothed in all her mystery and wonder, and explore every nook, every cranny intimately. And alone.
I discussed love, and distance, to the disconcerting background of a hiphop beat, at an underground club last night with a married-couple friend of mine. Yes, friend - ever since their union, they've turned into a single entity, inseparable at the hand. It irks me sometimes, watching my female (but once independent) friend, being crossly told-off half the time by her superiorly dominant, and occasionally slightly frightening male half (who squeaks loudly, and tunelessly at random intervals); but then I step back and think, whatever works for them. And I tell myself they are sweet together, and it is a shame but I have lost a confidant. And gained two not-especially-close friends. But they are sweet together - that is what counts.
So I voiced my innermost cynical and unsubtle thoughts. LDRs. Forget it. Distance, the great Killer. Love doesn't conquer all, in this day and age. Ironically, the global village has eroded, rather than reinforced, the oaths of exclusivity we take. Single people, pretending to be couples (courtesy of the alphamale whose company I kept last night). Toying with temptation.
And he was right, and so was I.
I kept my personal, too-naive views to myself though. If I was in love, if I was truly in love with someone - I'd fly to Her side, whoever and wherever she be. Forever.
Fortunately for the ranks of bachelorhood, that doesn't seem to be likely in the immediate, or even long-term future.
I know why I love Terry Pratchett so much. He keeps me laughing, constantly. His mind unwinds in devious little spirals that meander off into other devious little tributaries. Lightly, irreverantly, and humourously. Caught off guard, time and time again, the cynic in me melts away as I laugh, again and again, unconsciously in delight. And receive glances of alarm from the tube passengers around me / drunks on the next bench / austere businesspeople walking beside me.
That's what You were, to me once. A devious mind brimming with mirth and laughter.
I wish things could have worked out differently for us.
But they didn't. And so, in a very short while, I rather susect I'll be needing another book.
Soft, golden-hues softened the severity of the many Architectural splendours lining the South Bank, falling kindly on the faces of the reclining homeless in their public benches, and the beercans they invariably keep company with. Busy businessmen took timeouts en route to work to glance downriver at the sunrise in the distance. I walked.
Forty-five minutes is how long it takes to walk from tower bridge to Big Ben, at a leisurely pace, Costa coffee in hand, Terry Pratchett in the other.
At last, I've had the chance to savour my morn-lit walk, to iron my clothes at leisure, to calmly do battle with the encroaching horde lining my living room floor. (And I'm winning!)
At last, I've had time to read Terry Pratchett and giggle aloud to myself, minute after minute.
At last, I am at peace. For a while, anyhow.
I glanced up at the London Eye, and considered catching a rare glimpse of a early-morning, sunlit London. And realised that you don't do things like that alone. The pleasure isn't at all in the event, but in the company you keep and the words and thoughts you share. Much like that open-top Summer busride which I never got round to taking. I'll reserve those experiences to share with someone I love, or, at the very least, with a friend. Going up the Eye and looking down at a London, sprawled naked and exposed, would be crass and disappointing to my mind's eye. I'd rather see her from ground level, fully clothed in all her mystery and wonder, and explore every nook, every cranny intimately. And alone.
I discussed love, and distance, to the disconcerting background of a hiphop beat, at an underground club last night with a married-couple friend of mine. Yes, friend - ever since their union, they've turned into a single entity, inseparable at the hand. It irks me sometimes, watching my female (but once independent) friend, being crossly told-off half the time by her superiorly dominant, and occasionally slightly frightening male half (who squeaks loudly, and tunelessly at random intervals); but then I step back and think, whatever works for them. And I tell myself they are sweet together, and it is a shame but I have lost a confidant. And gained two not-especially-close friends. But they are sweet together - that is what counts.
So I voiced my innermost cynical and unsubtle thoughts. LDRs. Forget it. Distance, the great Killer. Love doesn't conquer all, in this day and age. Ironically, the global village has eroded, rather than reinforced, the oaths of exclusivity we take. Single people, pretending to be couples (courtesy of the alphamale whose company I kept last night). Toying with temptation.
And he was right, and so was I.
I kept my personal, too-naive views to myself though. If I was in love, if I was truly in love with someone - I'd fly to Her side, whoever and wherever she be. Forever.
Fortunately for the ranks of bachelorhood, that doesn't seem to be likely in the immediate, or even long-term future.
I know why I love Terry Pratchett so much. He keeps me laughing, constantly. His mind unwinds in devious little spirals that meander off into other devious little tributaries. Lightly, irreverantly, and humourously. Caught off guard, time and time again, the cynic in me melts away as I laugh, again and again, unconsciously in delight. And receive glances of alarm from the tube passengers around me / drunks on the next bench / austere businesspeople walking beside me.
That's what You were, to me once. A devious mind brimming with mirth and laughter.
I wish things could have worked out differently for us.
But they didn't. And so, in a very short while, I rather susect I'll be needing another book.
