People.

People on the computer scare me. They are all sunny and bouncy and larger than life and !!!!lol :)hee hee xxx!!! I go on Facebook and think 'I don't know these people, do I have the right to talk to them?' Plus they're obviously busy having conversations with twenty different people and throwing snowballs at Sam and going sleighriding with Lisa, and being magic mushrooms and fiercely competing at pacman, and having the time of their lives dressed as snowmnen in magenta-painted nightclubs.

But no, Anjali, it's just Bob. You know Bob. You know Frodo. You know Lorna.

So this is how I meet people - I go out onto the street, I cross the road, I say to the man with his cap on the ground 'Do you know a guy called Scott? He used to sell the Big Issue here'. We are humans, are we not? With or without favourite quotes and travel map, pictures of Germander posted by others, and hatching christmas trees.

To the Rajasthani musician at the party in Jaipur - what are your favourite TV shows? Would you rather go barefoot, or do you wear sunglasses because the sun never sets over the British Empire? Do you think Christian guys are hotter? Do you appreciate Kerala Toast?

This goes out to all the human beings that I love - the ones of flesh and blood in their pre-make-up faces, who feel blank sometimes, who smile and who sometimes don't smile, and who sometimes are just there. And to the people who I don't know that well and am happy not to, but am content to just exchange smiles with when I see them, because you are a person and I am a person and isn't that cool?

And to the whole category of people who are special to me who I do not keep in regular contact with: people I've bumped into randomly - all my 'Festival friends' I met flyering on the Royal Mile - Danny and Nimesh, my adopted brother and cousin - Ricky and the guys I hung out with in Granada - Vladimir, who kept me entertained for an evening in Paris - and Scott, who seems to have disappeared.

At the end of Big Fish, the main guy gets carried down to the river, and all the people from his life are standing together, lining the way.
There is a work of art by Douglas Gordon in the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art which is just a list of the names of everyone he's ever met, stencilled in black on the wall nest to the stairs. I find this mindblowing and beautiful and moving. I often think that I should write a similar list, and I start to,in my head, and am overwhelmed by the sheer volume, and if you do it systematically you could get very bored. You'd be stuck thinking of the names of your year two classmates and wishing you were at the Delhi Trip. I think that what Douglas Gordon did was put them down as he remembered them.
You should do it. Maybe when you are feeling significant, or insignificant, or existential. Get back to me. It might change your life.

But totally, everybody - and this is a different issue - you should write on your walls in black felt tip. Anything that comes into your head.
I think that would be cool.
What you should do is have a 'graffiti room' - maybe two, one for visitors. You should have ( -she's getting excited now -) buckets of paint by the door. 'Thankyou so much for coming, there's paint by the door'. Perfect family activity! Bring all your friends!

I can just imagine the owner of the house wandering in when she's in need of cheering up and thinking....this is so stupid.

Anyway, back to the everyone-you've-ever-met thing. Imagine if, at the end of your life - or why then? Just randomly - everyone you'd ever met was gathered together. I love imagining this. But say this happened once every somebody's life, you'd probably keep getting called to go to these gatherings. You might not even recognise the person, but that would be cool. It would be an interesting experience. You might know other gathered people. You might meet some again and again at these gatherings. Would they all then come to yours, or would this not count as 'life'? Hmm, interesting question. But what you'd do would be to smile at the Main Person, as they walk past you looking amazed. It would be fun. And it would be accepted that no-one could take precedence or claim superiority as to how significant they were to the MP.

Conversely, it could be like a curtain call, with more significant people coming later, in which case there could be possible scraps between, say, wife and first love. No, I don't like that. The Gathered People would only ever look at the Main Person, so he could be utterly happy looking at both first love and wife, separately.

And before I go off to feel hungry: The Coma, by Alex Garland. Very good.

PS All these ideas are copyright! Copyright!

Some enchanted evening (in which Anjali looks at shops)

No I feel sleepy I'm not inspired, arghgrrrrrrarghle zzzzzzzzzzzz.

Narcolepsy is when you fall asleep randomly, if the Rat Race is to be believed (and why not?) zzzzzzzz.

I've been watching the Sound of Music over and over again, sometimes with the director's commentary, and thinking things such as: this actually is a very good film, wow this guy's performance here is amazing, ahhhhhh. Also: when you see it as a child, the Baroness is evil personified, but now she is quite admirable even. See her especially in the 'calling it off' scene. And she looks so young! I'm sure that lots of guys I know would prefer her to Maria. But then, some of the guys I know are quite twisted. And I DON'T mean that as a compliment! Twisted in a way that is petty and self-absorbed. zzzzzzzzzzzz.

So I walk through the streets of Edinburgh as a love song to this city. Lights and glitter and sweet sweet smells, and everyone is out, everyone is happy. Everyone is wearing boots. I notice this because I am thinking about shoes, which I need to buy. I have spent more than a year in shoes I have never really liked; now finally they are falling apart. I go into shoe shops. I already have my eye on a few things. I'm never really sure how shoe shops work. Are you allowed to take things off the racks and try them on? Do you have to wait to be served? Do they have to bring them from a back room in boxes? Shoeboxes. Ha ha. I can't properly explain why I find that funny. I try some on but feel illegitimate in shoe shops, like they might shoo me away. Shoo. Pff. To be honest I feel like that in most shops. 'Who is this girl and what is she doing? She's doing it all wrong! How old is she anyway? Why is she by herself? Is she mocking us? Is she? ' This is what they are all thinking. Plus I am perpetually hungry, which makes me feel even more like a street urchin.

I put the shoes on, surreptitiously. People hover. I make funny faces to emphasise that I am thinking and know perfectly well what I'm doing. I shuffle my feet about a bit. Yes. Just buy them, otherwise you won't buy them, ergo you won't get them. Stand in line, smile, hand them over, yes yes I have a card, see, here in my hand, that's how much I know what I'm doing. In pin out. Oh thankyou. I never get round to saying 'no I don't need a bag', in time. So I walk out with this ridiculously large and posh-looking paper bag. It has stripes on it. What an idiot I feel. So here's the after-Office routine: take out shoes, put them in my bag, crush up lovely posh Office bag and put in bin. I have done this before. In August my chappals (flip flops) broke and I had to buy some more. In that case I think they went straight on my feet. Might I have been barefoot? It's definitely a possibility.

I need to buy clothes in general and jumpers in particular, I go into shops but there's nothing there that seems right, what am I looking for anyway? I don't know.

The Christmas market has lots of lovely jewellery, and bags, and scarves, and woolen hats. All of which I would love to have but none of which is strictly necessary.

Fopp, and I look at books, because it's the good books in Fopp, and I need to read. What am I doing, surely there's somewhere I need to be? I need to buy a jumper, and presents, and things, and CDs, and DVDs, but 'books' wasn't on the list. I need to buy a life, that's what I need. I need all the paraphernalia of a personality. Labels to stick on the outside. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Fight Club, the book! I pick it up and get drawn into it at many points. It is basically the film, on paper. All the stuff that whatsisname (yes, see how well I know this thing) says over the top. I love this book. I love this - thing. But surely I should just buy the DVD. I looked at DVDs yesterday, while I was really looking at CDs, or shoes, or something. I want to own some DVDs. I looked at Garden State - yes, I can handle it now - it has nothing to do with anyone else. I even looked at Donnie Darko. And Down with Love...to be honest, they didn't have very many there, it was the little HMV. The Notebook? Pff. I was actually looking for Havana Nights, but it wasn't there. zzzzzzzzzzz

And goodness, there are a lot of rahs in Edinburgh. I'm not sure whether I'd noticed this before, but now I'm sort of tuned in to rahs. And I was walking down a street and looked up randomly and saw Jack Wills and thought hah. Hah. Hah. And in my quest for clothes I went into Miss Selfridge (?) and realised that most of the people I know in Durham would not be out of place there. The music was very Durham. How interesting, that Durham is a side to Edinburgh where I would not normally go. If that makes sense. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I bought two books. One was only three pounds - 'A young man is brutally assaulted late at night in an Underground train ...on discharge from the hospital, Carl picks up the threads of his daily life...until he starts to notice strange leaps in his perception of time, distortions in his experience. Is he truly reacting with the outside world, or might he be terribly mistaken?' And it's illustrated by woodcuts. So why not?

'This stereo record can be played on mono reproducers...'

I’m listening to the blues... hey, I remember this feeling! A world of happiness and pleasant taste. What does it remind me of….my home in April, maybe, and boxes of records, and a future of possibility. My summer stretches before me like a snake before its tail. What a dissociated blog this is.

I am doing nothing all afternoon. The next woman I marry, she gotta go working to bring me some dough. I been mistreated, you know what I’m talkin’ about. Where have I heard so much of the blues? Why does it feel so much like home? (Correction: not like home, like a tropical island I spent holidays on as a child. No: like a bar I worked in one summer - cleaning the floors. Enough. It’s not important and you’re confusing me.) And why is there suffering in the world? – to produce good music.

And it’s pitch black outside at five o’clock. I’m okay with this, as long as there is company and things to do involving light and warmth and preferably the Great Hall, such as meals, and panto rehearsal, which often also involves dancing, and messing about with brooms (we – the pirates – are doing Stomp! A not-too-exciting version, but still.) That makes me happy. Although I have done nothing all afternoon, which frustrates me but to cope I will be blaa-zay about it; it doesn’t matter, I did have classes all morning.

I’ve worked it out: I have been bluesy on the piano, before. That is impressive. I think I was quite good. I don’t actually play the piano.

Hebron people: helloooooo! Meg, I will write to you. Glori, you too, sorry I haven’t replied yet to your facebook message; Essie, sorry I haven’t contacted you in any way for ages, thanks for your newsletters, you’re at such an exciting stage in your life. ALL of you are! So am I! David S, I’ve been planning to write on your wall for ages. The same goes for lots of other people as well. I can’t mention everybody by name. Niru. Everybody: I’ve decided to get my hair cut quite short. It hasn’t happened yet but will, hold me accountable. Lots of love to EVryone, xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

two days before leaving

I'm not sure about the fabric I bought today. I'm not sure that I want a whole dress in it. It's not the sort of thing I would wear. But then after I've made it, maybe, (yes, everybody, I'm making a dress!) I could paint on it. Write on it. Paint it black.

I can imagine the fabric draped over the buildings in Dublin Street; that would be fantastic. I thought this as I walked back from the last flamenco class, where I told no-one it was my last. 'See you.' I changed a ten pound note for eight pound coins from a homeless guy. I said to hypothetical future friends, 'I only like giving money to beggars when they go 'oh tha's lovely yer a lovely girrul, have a nice night darrlin' ', which I can't really write properly, and which isn't completely true. And then I rolled the Scottish accent around in my mouth for a bit, and thought of how for me homeless guys have this accent, because Edinburgh is my first real experience of Britain. And then I thought how sad it is that I am leaving, Edinburgh, my first British town, with its buildings I can't quite come to terms with, and then I imagined my orange fabric draped over the building in front of me. And yet I am quite sick of Edinburgh. And this too is sad, when you think about it.

Something else I found in 'drafts'

If I was American, I would be a journalist. That is the role I would play in society - or perhaps it would be opting out of society by commenting on it. Exposing hypocrisy and celebrating life; the USA's best people are its journalists; they are the most sensible and they actually think about things, it's their job; also American magazines have a font that I love.

Jean-Pierre

13/05

I am shaken up by an encounter on the way home. I would have liked to speak to him more. Even now - something in me is fluttering around trying to find a way. He's not on Facebook. (Something the butterfly keeps knocking its wings against]. I don't know anything about him. I don't even know if I'd recognise him if I saw him again.

I notice a man with blood on his hands and face. With mild interest. Is that blood? He's just standing. I think 'wait, maybe there's been an accident, he probably needs someone to help him'.
- Are you alright?
I can't even remember what he said, I hardly registered it...he's alright now, he was a little disorientated, how bizarre, what happened? I'm thinking. He sounds like he's just fallen from the sky, and he's talking easily to me like he knows me, walking next to me, he's my height, he has an accent like mine....how about you how are you?
It takes a second for me to realise he's turned the conversation to me, suddenly but also strangely predictably, I'm used to this by now.
- I -I'm alright, you just looked a bit...I say, to sort of push him away and discourage this sort of thing.
- What's your name?
- Anjali. It's an Indian name (a subject I'm familiar with.)
- (He mutters it to himself.) How do you spell it? I love the way he asks this, so easily, so naturally. I love that he asks it.
- ay en jay, ay el ai.
(He works this out, looking puzzled.)
- Can anyone spare any change? Asks the homeless guy. My companion is going to just walk on, but I pull back from the flow and say
- I probably can. Swing round my bag, get out my wallet, take out some coins, kneel and drop them on his blanket. I chat to the homeless guy - it's cold, isn't it? He agrees, and I laugh, and say have a nice night.
I turn back and he is watching me.
- Thankyou, he says, as if on behalf of the homeless guy.
- You're welcome, I mutter uncomfortably.
It is as if I have done something profound for him, and I have done nothing. And it's as if he thinks giving money to the beggar was to get rid of him, and he took the hint. But it wasn't. Except every relationship has to end some time.

Perhaps he'll put an I Saw You in the List, I think as I walk away. Is he the type of person who would do that? I've no idea. I've no idea if he's from Edinburgh. I've no idea whether he's Scottish or English. I love people like that. Who just seem to fall from the sky.

I think comparisons to the Little Mermaid. I'm the girl who's rescued him!

As I reach our door I think 'I'm only an angel' and then laugh inwardly at how this sounds. What I meant was something like 'I'm only a messenger'.



What's your name? Where are you from? What do you do? How old are you? What happened?

Guys my height who randomly appear and walk beside me. Total so far: III

I don't want a boyfriend, I want to be able to give everyone my complete attention.

In the surreal strange light of Edinburgh at 9pm.
'Come and eat with us' is, of course, my future catchphrase. Look, my housemates, more for supper. But who's cooking?

Cut to interview with housemates (2, female, English)
- Anjali was always bringing in waifs and strays, says one, as the other nods.

Another image of heaven.

By which I mean Paradise. By which I mean don't let's get caught up in theology.

Surounded in every side in all directions by people, in heat and humidity, all damp with sweat, and all possessed by the music.