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A new view.
At the moment I look out on to a field, and past that the local cemetery. Every day I’m profoundly humbled while I watch people visit the site of their buried beloved. They change the flowers, pick out weeds, stand with their hand on the tombstone. Just stand for a while. A quick chat. The last row gets the most visitors, the first rows are long forgotten now. The walk back to the car is so much slower, it punches you in the gut. This daily bit of perspective; advertising is not everything.
#lockdown#isolation#apartment#city#neighbour#neighbourhood#writing#observation#journal#cemetery#perspecticve
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This one is hard.
Lovely new traditions must have been summer-based only. Steak Saturdays are dead. Post-dinner dice rolling no more. I’ve no energy for the long walks. We’ve completed the Rolling Stones Top 500 albums and now I can barely stand to have music on. I know trying to paint will amuse and lift me, but my mind is blocked to even the idea. What is it about the grey that bleeds in to the mind and body, clouds your energy and blocks possibility? This one is hard.
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10 months into Lockdown and Trumpet Tooter is still just on scales.
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I spot Dan and Charlie. It’s a rare appearance now. The balcony is less inviting. Life in general is less inviting, really. They’re not even bothering with the daily desk set-up at the window now. Video games flash and blur the living room most of the time. Getting through.
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Winter weekend papers.
I love you and I cant live without you but PLEASE enough of the soup recipes.
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My lovely fish and chips server has appeared in the frame with Shirtless Man. I know this is horrendously judgemental, but I am disappointed, with absolutely no right to be.
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So the guy who’s been sitting in the dark, in the same place, headphones on, with not a single visitor for 8 months.
Turns out he’s a Dad. He’s sitting at the table doing a puzzle with his daughter. He bought a tree and put the lights up for her. The flat is suddenly cosy and warm. Can it be that she hasn’t visited all this time? I’m so glad she’s here.
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Harry and Isabelle’s baby is a proper human already. I hope he gets to meet the family before he gets much bigger. Isabelle props him against the window to watch the world go by. So my amusement age is 4 months. Sure.
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It’s proper winter now. The blinds are drawn together as the evening draws in. By evening I mean 4pm. Not much to see.
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Leonard is new.
He’s brave! He’s out on his balcony, in the cold, adorned in a thick beanie and gloves. He’s set himself up nicely with a red tablecloth spread out underneath his tablet screen. And a cigar no less. The cold is no bother. He can watch the footy anywhere he damn well pleases. I want to be him and the look on his face tells me he knows it.
He just spat on the table in front of him. And again.
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British Summer Time ends.
Why not British Winter Time starts? I mean, which is sadder? This year, British Lockdown Time 2 starts...
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As we crawl reluctantly towards winter, we thank goodness for the colours of autumn, softening the blow.
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Hearing the clink of the kettle going on. Knowing a cup of tea is going to be on its way to you. You who are staying warm under the heavy covers today. The sun has tried and failed to come up. The tea is certain. Routine is exciting.
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Double couple are down to couple.
Perhaps now the restrictions are lifting, it’s time for a break. I knew they wouldn’t make it.
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Phil.
He’s alone more now these days. The kids are back at school. His whole face changes when that desk goes away and they come back. Like he lives two doors down from joy.
Sometimes I wonder if the kids are in his mind. Guess that would mean the same for me.
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OK things have really changed and I’m feeling weird.
Lonely guitar guy - who gave me such relief when I realised he was not alone but in fact had another man with him - is now a man and a woman. Literally nothing else there has changed except for the humans.
The barely-there woman in the flat directly diagonal. Well! Barely there has turned into a 90s music video; a sultry red light now illuminates the living room. Is it possible for one to do anything vaguely ordinary in a blood-red room? J suggests photos are being developed. A man in only Speedos (probably not Speedos) struts from the living room to the bedroom, in which pin-cushioned wall coverings have been installed. For safety, I assume.
And not to mention the new kids. Moving in with their jaunty caps, oversized coats and sloping faces.
I feel like the one who doesn’t belong, now.
It’s all just too much for a Wednesday.
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Yep, Claudia has been replaced.
By someone wearing silk pyjamas at 3:20pm.
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