One nation under CCTV

Walked from the Charing Cross, down Oxford St the other day. One of those days when one has nothing better to do but observe. Wonder. Enjoy. Absorb.

Looked right to Newman St; an inconspicuous back street. There's a post office yard with Banksy's writing on the wall. The funniest part is the CCTV camera just next to the graffiti watching the yard. Clever.

Paused

Woke up late. Certainly, 10 am ain't a great time to start a productive day. Had muesli with yoghurt for breakfast. And did nothing more. Hanged out in the pad, listened to Queen, browsed the net, just drinking lemonade, eating chocolate and basically bludging.

Thought about writing an article or two on different issues and looked into some work, too. And snoozed off. And then cleared some files of a hard drive and added album or two to iTunes. Had a shower and ate a schnitzel — to simulate the lunch, I guess.

And snoozed off. And listened to more music. Looked out of window and wondered if to go out or stay in. Stayed in. Read the papers, wrote few emails.

I need days like this from time to time. To clear the head, to recharge, to breathe out. Monday will be hectic again, I know, so thanks for a day off. I'm only readying the adrenaline for the ride.

Plans

We were driving to the train station and I asked what about plans for the next weekend, forgetting to mention the airline ticket I booked to London. And I was leisurely told that Saturday would be fine. Maybe. Now, I have to employ my best educated guess to figure it out. Of course, I'll be smarter by Friday, however let me bet Saturday will be fine.

Meaning, I will happily come over to keep company to a great guy who enjoys music, cartoons, cycling and trains. And hanging out. And who's funny and tireless.

London will be rainy by then anyway and fresh air of a rural town is far healthier than the big smoke. Plus the priorities are clear.

So much for the plans.

Different associations

One can associate movies with certain feelings or they have a tune that can help them turn back time. Or there's a scent that is unique and brings back memories. It can be a place, it can an object, it can be more or less anything.

And I've just realised there's one thing that makes me think of my Sydney. It's called Jim Beam.

Please refrain from calling me pathetic, I know. No more needs to be said.

Nineteen again

Taking her for a dinner and it goes on a bit longer than expected. Having a laugh, a small laugh really, perhaps to hide a feeble uneasiness; a mix of anxiety and excitement, something one can feel when they see their ex after a long time and they get along. To a degree, 'course.

I'm seeing her off, remembering the way and remembering the details. I'm some ten years older, meaning so is she, nevertheless those years are non-existent tonight. The warmth of the moment?

Maybe I'm only re-living the experience that never happened.

Here we are. She's almost gone. And then she lingers, turning in the door, coming back and kissing me good night. Yet it takes a split second longer than proper. Does she know? I certainly do.

And then — one can feel a gentle trace of hesitance — or rather a fight between her senses and consciousness — running through her face in a flash, taking a mere heartbeat.

And I am in, the door bangs behind us, unnecessary clothing is flying through the hall. And I'm nineteen again.

Wake up, wake up, wake up! Beware! Such things are reserved for dreaming.