Tuesday 26 June 2007

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.

Wednesday 13 June 2007

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.

Sunday 10 June 2007

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.

Saturday 9 June 2007

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.