I spent a leisurely morning in town today. We stopped for an ice-cream (and chatted to the cafe owner for half an hour about dyslexia) before going to the park.
I was delighted to see two magpies instead of the usual one, in my youth, I used to allow superstition to control the day . Every morning on my paper-round I'd see at least one magpie and felt a pang of inevitable doom if it was just one. When there were two, I'd convince myself today was going to be the day I became someone.
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| The cafe, unchanged since it opened in the 1800's |
A grandfather told me he'd just given his granddaughter her first smack (she looked about 2 years old). It was hard to tell if he wanted congratulating, reassurance or a ticking off from me - I just quipped "she doesn't seem too bothered".
I tend to look skyward when I'm at the park, desperately wanting to see the wood pigeons' underside turn turquoise as they fly over the pool. I don't ever tire of this spectacular sight, yet when I point it out to strangers they look at me as though I've just confessed that I adore the 'Go Compare' adverts.
The morning fades away, time to go home and put some better clothes on (I'm wearing an unflattering ribbed vest top and faded jogging trousers - the type worn for painting or menstruating in).
Lunch, and then the toddler has his nap (it should be time to prepare the vegetables for dinner). A loud, fat, powerful fly enters the kitchen and seems most annoyed about something. I sit on the sofa and switch on the laptop - the fly has reminded me of something, no - someone - 'Boab' (see description below)
The Granton Star Cause is a comedy, where Boab is having a very bad day indeed. His parents throw him out so they can indulge in sado-masochism and he is sacked from his job, dumped by his girlfriend and dropped from his football team. It has elements of Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis. One of the characters is a pitiless and profane God, who transforms him into a fly as punishment for wasting his life.
YouTube fuels a full hour of time-wasting, I happen uopn an urelated video: 'Boab's Teeth'.
I find myself endeared to Boab; with his botched dental work. I agree with his comment about
having to pay £10 for being late for the dentist, but not receiving £10 when the dentist is late. Forward to the end if you want to see the shocking teeth....
More time elapses and again it's far from constructive; I search for a clip from The Blues Brothers with the quote "you're gonna look pretty funny trying to eat corn on the cob with no fucking teeth". I can't find a video, just an audio clip and endless forum references to it.
Thanks to Boab and his teeth, I wasted two hours.
I wonder about the trains of thought which lead to incredible breakthroughs, discoveries, masterpieces..I conclude that they are probably nothing like the ones I've allowed to pass through my brain.
I end the time wasting session by scrolling through some 'tweets'. I'm still not 100% sold on the whole concept of Twitter, but it's great for wasting time.
A single Canadian girl fills us in on her latest date.
"He was hot, suggested a second date...hope he follows through"
Now I am laughing out LOUD. Images of a handsome young man 'evacuating his bowels' at a swanky restaurant provide the best laugh I've had in a while. I'm sure I used to laugh a lot more.
Twitter isn't so bad, I click a link and thoroughly enjoy the poetic descriptions of place names on a piece of BBC Archive footage...
...Blaenau Ffestiniog I always like to hear that. Some of my favourite words are Welsh; Pili Pala (butterfly) being one, it describes their flight to me beautifully.
Please listen to the train clip, I'll feel better about wasting my time today if you do...
Pili Pala is my favourite Welsh word! Oh, and Popty Ping (colloq. for microwave for the uninitiated, literally Oven Ping). Also I totally get the pigeon thing, when I was in Malta I kept getting momentary flashes of excitement at seeing these exotic blue birds, actually sparrows flying over the outdoor pool. Still got me every time though!
ReplyDeleteI am the QUEEN of time wasting, as you would see if you lived with me. It's 8.27am. I leave to take the boys to school/nursery at 8.35. Little one is not washed or brushed, and I have a towel turban on my head and haven't brushed my teeth either. Hence I must not click your youtube til later, when I should be hoovering...
PS. LOVE the cafe.
ReplyDeleteThat cafe looks awesome - since laptop has arrived back home I am now back to time wasting. It was finley's first full day at nursery yesterday and I should have used the day to blitz the house - instead i got my hair done and shopped online, ahh well. Scarlett x
ReplyDeleteI've been wasting far too much time myself recently. On the one hand I miss being busy with almost every minute accounted for; feeling productive and useful. One the other, being out of a job has it's perks - endless time to read, ponder and do nothing in particular. Could use a little mojo back though :-)
ReplyDeleteJem xXx
I love wasting time, I've been busy of late and my afternoons of perusing the net have been replaced by a frantic catch up with Come Dine With Me on in the background. x
ReplyDeleteI'm a BBC archive follower too, they had Tolkien footage recently, and the original Kings Speech' all very cool. I try and not waste time, but on Mondays I tend to spend most mornings spend in front of my laptop, when I should be doing a million other things! But do you no what, I dont care, because I am happy! Lovely post, as I said on Twitter, I love your writing style! Bx
ReplyDeleteI think independent cafe's are one of the few outlets to buck the trend of the homogenous high street. Pretty much everywhere you go there's a quirky little eatery nestled amongst the usual suspects.
ReplyDeleteI don't think you should feel bad about wasting time, we all do it to some degree or another, hell, it helps to keep us sane. Anyhow, I hate that phrase 'wasting time'. If it's something we've enjoyed doing, how can anyone tell us it's wasted.
My dad is Welsh, so for as long as I can recall, there's been a smattering of words unfathomable to my English ears (usually swearing I imagine, as it was inevitably when I'd done something naughty).
My nan was born and died in Pontnewydd and couldn't speak a word of the lingo except for 'du' which I'm told means black and she'd repeat in an exasperated fashion when something bad had happened. She was from a time when you'd get a beating or a dunce cap for trying to speak Welsh, so it was literally beaten out of her.