Tuesday 5 October 2010

adolescence II

She asked him to get a bottle of milk out of the fridge. So he opened it and staring at the freezer compartment - which happened to be at the height of his eyes - he asked:

"Where is it?"

Monday 26 July 2010

Overheard in Geneva this morning

"It's a beatiful lawn Darling. Very rare. You would be the only person to have one like this in the whole of Switzerland. It's got the kind of green you get in the West of Scotland, or the South of Ireland. You know, that deep deep luscious green. And they can import the whole lot in one day, and it would be laid down within a week. There's also very little mowing to do since the grass has been genetically modified to grow slowly. Barely a centimetre in a month. Which gives plently of time to pop off for a while and not find that a jungle has grown in our backyard when we get back home. Isn't that just wonderful? What is more, as a gift, they're offering a small remote control lawn mower. So there will be no more grass cutting to do at all."

Monday 19 July 2010

in between

He was not drunk.
But he was not sober.
He had reached that foggy frontier where his eyes were looking at something which wasn't there,
where thoughts came rolling in slowly from a very far away land,
and their formulation stumbled out of a moist mouth whose lips were numbed with confusion.

Wednesday 23 June 2010

a true story

He told the little girl about his travels to China. And how he had been offered every part of a duck to eat.
Its skin.
Its tongue.
Its feet.
Its liver.
Its brain.
"The brain?!" said the little girl, "And did it still have ideas in it?"

Tuesday 15 June 2010

a scientist all the way from California

He pulled a chair out, sat on the edge of it with his legs spread out in front of him, the back of the seat bent as far back as possible, his elbow on the table and his hand waving madly as he talked about the research he was doing, elaborated ideas he had thought about, described what he had discovered and how happy he was with what he had done, in a monotonous voice which seemed to have got trapped somewhere just beneath his Adam's apple.

Monday 26 April 2010

the lesson

I was walking past a building when I heard classical music drifting out of an open window and a woman's voice counting: "... one, two, three and .... up ... and turn ..." And eight pairs of little hands appeared at the bottom of the window and danced in slow circles.

Thursday 15 April 2010

but adolescents are the same

A conversation I overheard today, on people sharing views about their new lives with a baby:

"It's so tiring."
"Head-wrecking."
"They cry and you don't know why."
"They scream and you don't know why."
"You try and help them but it just makes them howl some more."

Monday 12 April 2010

about a bit of lawn

As I walk to the office - on office days - I cross a bit of lawn clad with dogs' doings , which lets off the most nauseating whiffs during the summer months. The whole of Geneva walks their dogs on a green spot which is barely the size of a large sitting-room. It is a well-known fact now that you are supposed to wrap your dog's stools in little brown plastic bags and then dispose of them. Many people do. Many don't. And some only half do what they are supposed to. The result is a patch of grass which is covered with intact excrements of all shapes and sizes, little bits of fresh stuff the greatest part of which was put into a bag and thrown away, and bags full of brown turds which did not make it to the bin but were left to their own fates on the lawn.

I usually cross this particular patch of grass at the same time as a woman whose necklaces are as large as her dog is small. She never cleans up what her dog does. It must be the only time of the day, in fact, when she pretends that her dog is not hers. After having dragged it across the street too fast for it to sniff a lamp post, lift a leg or deposit a shite, she lets it off the lead the moment she touches the grass. The poor thing is so desperate that it looks for a spot where it can perform, with its arse already at the level of the ground and the beginnings of its creation on its way out, while its mistress saunters distractedly across the lawn, looking with great intent at the clouds forming above or the intriguing architecture on the buildings opposite.

Thursday 1 April 2010

masculine romance

He ran with the train as far as he could, keeping up with his girl friend who was waving goodbye to him from the inside. Once he had reached the end of the platform, he chucked her a kiss the way you'd fling a stone into water.

Tuesday 30 March 2010

thoughts over breakfast

We wondered what it would be like to fly. Nice. No doubt. Although I would miss walking. And birds can't do that. Or they can. But not very fast.

And then we wondered how it would be like to fly to work. And you would see all these bankers flying towards Geneva, creating human jams in the middle of the sky, as they flap their hands frantically so as not to lose height.

There is one thing they wouldn't be able to do anymore, and that is open their pcs on their laps on their way to work.

And what of accidents? Imagine two bankers colliding above. And freefalling to the ground below. Where would they land? How would they land?

All we have to deal with at the moment are birds' droppings, rain, snow and the odd hail storm. But imagine a banker, or two, falling out of the sky. Unannounced.

Tuesday 23 March 2010

what i like about spiders

is that you can fling them out of the window and they will come to no harm - whatever the height.

You cannot do the same with your cat. For example. Or any other member of the family.

a thought or two

I was waiting for the lights to turn green at a huge crossroads in the centre of Geneva. When it happened. It was as though a huge brush had swooped down to paint the streets the way they had been many many years before. All I could see was countryside. Trees. Fields. A horizon. A path perhaps. With a farmer strolling down it. Two women talking to each other. Children playing close by. And, in the distance, a carriage going in the opposite direction.

There was a time when there were no streets here. No cement. No concrete. No towering grey buildings. There were no cars. No traffic lights. No loud exhaust pipes spewing out their fumes. No important men in black suits, black shoes, black coats and black satchels standing impatiently on the edge of the kerb waiting for the traffic to stop, as they fire messages of power down their black cell phones.

In those days, surely there were more smiles. More heartfelt greetings. And was there not less rush? Less frustration? More colour? More patience? More wonder? More curiosity? More joy? More time?

Thursday 18 March 2010

i saw this written on its side

"The Art of Moving"

It's just a car.

Friday 12 March 2010

what else was there to do?

Not young anymore. Not old either. Tall. Good-looking. White hair. Jeans and a thick woollen sweater. Wandering down the street. Far away in your thoughts. Thoughts which would not loosen their grip on your mind. Questions that clawed at your understanding. To which there seemed to be no answer. So you shrugged your shoulders.

Wednesday 10 March 2010

the gulf

Sitting in a caddie. Pink clad legs hanging over the edge. Tongue sticking out in deep concentration, the little girl was scribbling something on a pad. All of a sudden, she screamed with delight and proudly handed what she had just written to her mother. "Oh, thank you... that's lovely...", said Mum. But she didn't buy anything on the list her daughter had carefully elaborated.

it's the last time

He was standing at the shop entrance, begging. He came up to me, muttering something I couldn't understand. I shook my head. For whatever it was. And entered the shop. But they know how to put the guilt in you. So on my way out, I asked him if he was hungry. He nodded. "Would he like a sandwich?" Yes, he answered. And a coke. I told him that he could ask someone else for a coke. I would get him a sandwich. Which I did. I gave it to him. He took it almost grudgingly. Without a smile. Without a thank you. Not a sign of gratitude. Just a whimper asking me why I hadn't got him a coke.

Monday 8 March 2010

one aim

Three boys yo-ing their way down the street.
Caps on backwards.
Jeans between their knees.
Voices as deep as they can make them.
As I passed them I heard one ask eagerly:
"And did she kiss you?"

Tuesday 16 February 2010

like dirt

They were dragging him across the road. A man with no teeth, worn clothes and too much alcohol on his breath. By the tips of their latex-gloved fingers, two clean-shaven well-dressed young policemen were hauling a human who could have been their father across the street.

Thursday 11 February 2010

the difficult task of being an adolescent

He had pushed the limits of boredom so far that all he could bring himself to do was tap 'Happy Birthday to You' on his mobile with his big toe.

Tuesday 2 February 2010

spring whispering

Today I saw one big bright red strawberry lying on an iced pavement. And a dark butterfly exploring a snow-covered field.

Wednesday 27 January 2010

sad

You were huddled in a corner of Geneva train station. Between two pillars. Facing a wall. To avoid looks, you had turned your back to the outside world. No one could see how old you were. You could have been 20. You could have been 80. Two policemen were standing a few metres away. Thousands of people were milling around the central hall. All with something to do. Or somewhere to go to. Far too busy to see you. All you wanted to show was the back of you hunched on a wheelchair. In an exhausted waxed coat, a wild beard as long as your sadness and piles of bags with your belongings neatly attached to the sides.

Friday 22 January 2010

a life

He dropped out of bed. Trailed to the bathroom. Relieved himself. Rinsed his mouth with cold water and blew what was up his nose out into the basin. He dressed. Drank a cup of coffee. And left for a day's work.

His wife said goodbye to him.

On the way, he nodded his head to all those he knew. He knew a lot of people. He'd been walking down the same path for 37 years now. He opened his shop. Turned the lights on. Collapsed. And died.

Saturday 9 January 2010

mind the lamp post

I could see that he had had a little too much to drink. The way the tips of his shoes hesitantly fumbled with the edge of the kerb. The way his head rolled softly as though some joint had gone loose. The way the expression in his eyes was more a wild gaze than a display of clear-sightedness. Our paths met at a small crossroads. He looked round to see what it was that was heading his way in a long red coat. And he must have liked it because he turned his head a second time to have a better look and promptly walked into the lamp post which - he could have sworn - was not there moments before.

Tuesday 5 January 2010

happy new year

He took his false teeth out and sucked his gums as though he had only just discovered them. Once he had finished cleansing the inside of his mouth, he shoved his teeth back in and dealt with their positioning using the tip of his tongue. He then extracted a bottle of white wine from his bag, lifted it to his lips and drank what was left inside.

That was yesterday on the train, going back home.