goodwoodenship

Friday was my first day without crutches, it’s a wonderful feeling. The momentous occasion was celebrated by getting drunk on only one cocktail (a common occurrence thanks to Japanese genes). Raji led the procession to Adam’s Morgan, we were, I am now ashamed to say (though at the time I found it funny) trying to harmonise mr big’s to be with you and the banana song for the entire walk there. We ended upstairs at Café Ghana, I was trying to refrain from dancing because of my knee, however I kept migrating to the edge of the dance floor due to a guy who fascinated me. He’d stand vibrating almost imperceptibly at the beginning of the song and the vibration would slowly turn into a head muscle spasm. Then after the head spasm had reached apocalyptic proportions, his arms would begin to jerk around and he’d suddenly explode into these frantic dance moves that must have taken ages in front of the mirror to perfect.

There are moments where you think because you are observing someone intently you are somehow immune to being observed, these are the moments where you are the most vulnerable. In my moment, the friend of the dancing guy thought I was making eye contact, he came bounding over, grabbed my hand and said “don’t be shy, come on we’re going to dance”. Saying no or coming up with an explanation of why I wasn’t dancing somehow seemed ungracious/impolite, he was one of those people whose enthusiasm overwhelms objections. So I started dancing with him, a couple of seconds in he turned a rather complicated dance move into a spin that ended with him slapping my arse with a resounding clap. My reaction, after a moment of shock, was hilarity, it didn’t occur to me to object or act offended, though I should have, in some way, indicated that this wasn’t my ideal scenario because ten seconds later he did it again. Before I could react he then leant forward, still dancing, and said, “let’s see how low you can go”, and started sashaying down towards the floor. Realising that something had to be done, I, in my turn, leant forward (a bit low because he had already begun his descent) and as politely as possible said, “I’m terribly sorry but, I’m wearing a knee brace.”

On Saturday I went to the wedding of Liam, my first ever flatmate in Edinburgh. The wedding was touching and wonderfully informal. It was in a small town located slightly to the left of the middle of nowhere. The events were reversed slightly in that Sunday was the wedding and Saturday night was the wedding party. The bride (Siobhan) and groom did their first dance to a band made up of family friends playing ‘Surfing USA’. Liam’s brother James and I were doing the bartending, we had a tough job in that the only alcohol behind the bar (a dresser) was whisky, rum and gin, and the only mixers were green tea, lemon concentrate and tonic. Having infinite belief in the powers of invention, we proceeded to mix together the drinks in a style first pioneered by six year olds in possession of some water, mud, and rose petals. These concoctions had to be road tested, and since none of them passed muster but all of them needed to be drunk (“to leave them would be a waste”) James and I got to the point where it seemed like the most appropriate wedding present for Liam and Siobhan would be to sing for them. We decided on a song but the band seemed reluctant, their excuse being that they didn’t know how to play it. This reasoning seemed insufficient, James was undaunted and I was determined. So we ended up performing what will probably be the Cambridge Hotel’s last ever experience of an a-capella rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody.

I’d like to say we nailed it but that would be a lie.

Sam, an old friend visiting from London, and I went to stay with Jurek an hour out of DC in what can technically be called the country. They have eagles there, heron, red-tailed hawks, and osprey, (though apparently they are visiting Argentina at the moment, it being lovely this time of the year). These are four of the big five, the huge majestic birds that grace this fair district.

The fifth have a bum deal. There is nothing like spotting the shadow of a large bird and tracing it’s path into the skies, becoming excited at it’s size and proximity, it’s magnificent wing span and graceful flight, shouting "there there!" to Jurek like two five year olds "what’s that?!" and hearing "that’s a turkey buzzard". It’s possibly one of the most anticlimactic moments in bird spotting history. (A narrative that I accept is probably not in the top ten most exhilarating things to do with your life but still, it has its appeal).

Aside from bird spotting, the weekend in the countryside was spent swinging in hammocks resting my leg and simultaneously feeling guilty and smug about the fact that I was unable to do anything for myself and needed waiting on hand and foot. To mix up the heady lifestyle a little, I occasionally would apply myself to studying the ten different species of spider roaming around the deck or poke at a cicada shell, or learn from Jurek the accepted manner in which one decants the flesh from a blue shelled maryland crab. An exercise which also carried its fair share of guilt. I’m not used to looking at something square in the eye, exactly as it was when alive and then picking it to pieces until it is (bad pun) literally a shell of its former self.

This weekend has been an experience in two changes of pace, one due to the environment and one due to my leg. Having crutches heightens (or in my case only highlights the need for) ones sense of forward planning. There is nothing more frustrating than making it halfway up a flight of stairs, one step at a time, left foot first, lean on crutch, bring up right foot, only to realise that you’ve left your lifeline, (my mobile phone), on the sofa. Those moments are the ones in which you develop a strong belief in the power of your will, moments when ten minutes later your flatmate will catch you standing still halfway up the stairs, concentrating hard, hand stretched out towards the phone muttering "size matters not".

Three things. One, a taxi ride, two, knee dislocation, three, staff meeting. The first was disturbing, the second painful, and the third surreal.

I took a taxi this morning because I am not a bright person and in my not so bright state I decided last night that leaving my bike behind at someone else’s house would be a good idea. After a bad nights sleep (probably due to the absence of the bike) I overslept my alarm, woke up quarter of an hour behind schedule, stumbled through brushing my teeth, hair, the dust off my shoulders and then found myself in my living room feeling bereft whilst part of my brain wondered how someone managed to steal my bicycle from in the house without leaving a trace. It took a while but my synapses finally fired enough to trigger my memory and logic banks and I found myself in a taxi having a conversation with the driver about sleeping that sort of went like this

Him “I find it hard to sleep. Sometimes it’s hard to sleep when you have something on your mind”

I mumble something inane about sleep being hard

Him “Yes. When I can’t sleep I have to do something, like go to a bar, or if that doesn’t work” (his voice drops and he starts mumbling) “a girl to… to… talk to. if the… talking doesn’t work I go for a drive”

I snap out of my sleep daze, sit up and try to work out what exactly talking is supposed to be a metaphor for

Him “Sometimes some girls are good at… talking and I can get to sleep. Sometimes all the bars are closed and there are no girls… around… in the bars… to have a conversation with… and then I… then I talk to…”

At this point we drove past my destination which gave me the opportunity to start talking about how a u-turn would be good.

The second, my knee dislocating, happened outside work and is partly the reason why I am now the proud owner of two crutches circa world war II. They smell that old too. My flatmates, bless them, have failed to fully grasp that my knee dislocating was a traumatic painful affair and not a humorous story. I slipped on a wet patch outside work in the middle of a scrum of about 10 to 12 people, my leg defied my body’s flexibility and slipped almost completely horizontally to my body before then shooting off on an angle, I put all my weight on the other leg, at which point my knee dislocated. Agile as I am I was mentally weakened by my taxi drive and was unable to think of a way to remain upright without relying on my legs before gravity caught up and I went plummeting to the floor. At which point, in order to indicate the pain I was in, I said “ow”. It didn’t seem sufficient, so I tried crying. That seemed stupid so instead got my office-mate (is that a word?) to buy me chocolate.

The third was my first office staff meeting. We’re a large organisation and have just acquired a new president as well as a new mandate about cutting down costs.  The office manager had just met the president to discuss his intentions in regards to our office and had opened the room to asking questions. This cued a moment where it no longer seemed like I was sitting in a room with a bunch of suits but instead was in a village green, around me my fellow artisans, behind us the crops swaying gently in the wind. We gathered around the village chief who had just returned from a visit to the outside, the big city, to see the king. “What was he like” (asked one wistfully) “Did he seem pleased with us?”, “Did you ask him what he thought of our work” cried another, “Did he mention our work?”. “Friends” said the chieftain “He was friendly, nay even talkative in our meeting. Others have said that he has not been so friendly with the other villages. Ours is special to him. Friends he was tall and strong and knew his own mind. We will please him, we will work hard for him”

I’m not sure I want to be a villager but winter’s on it’s way and there are crops to gather, clothes to buy and loans to pay off. Plus, in a bizarre twist I seem to have found a job I really enjoy and people I really like to work with. So I’ll stay and try to pretend I was/am outside of this, that I transcend the hierarchical mentality, whilst knowing full well that observation is not an act of separation.

Oct 6th

I realised what the bugs on the path reminded me of, world bank staff in the morning.

Today is the middle of the week and there is an equal amount of early rushed mornings ahead of me as behind me. It is as good a day as any to cease pretending I am always diligent at work and start on this blog. Which I’ve attempted several times and then keep thinking better of. I now realise what motivation was missing before, sitting in an office all day makes a blog seem like a welcome release.

There are very few variations on a working day theme, I tend to eat drink and vegetate in the same three places for my conceptually flexible half hour lunch break, yesterday was much the same as usual except for my coffee break with Tiernan. My knee, as it is apt to do, dislocated outside work. What made this time slightly more memorable was 1) the fact that I was in work clothes and looked uber professional and so slightly odd for suddenly deciding to throw myself on the ground in front of a car and 2) this time I tried to save myself by grabbing Tiernan. I managed instead to inflict some pretty impressive damage on his arm and go down anyway. What is always frustrating is the strange looks I get from people when it happens. Next time I am going to go with it start rolling on the floor and wave my hands round my face gasping "the bugs the bugs".

Speaking of bugs, which I am, in our garden in mount pleasant a good couple of hundred red weavil like bugs keep congregating on our garden path in a massive orgy of… well I’m not sure, they don’t do much really except for move in a huge slow disparate mass of shapes and sizes. My flatmate has taken to throwing tennis balls at them and then muttering in disappointment as they squish and die, "I thought bugs were more resilient"

Last night, and this isn’t related, I came home at around 1am, I always get a bit freaked out assuming, not unwisely, that I could be mugged, or kidnapped or worse made over by some lurking stranger or reality tv crew. As a result I always cycle like the buggery to the door of my house and then jog up the stairs with my bike, or to be more accurate, stumble up out of breath sweaty and slightly in pain. (16th street is a bastard). Anyway, to start this paragraph again, last night one of the local cats was waiting for me. I haven’t been around animals for a while, I had loads of pets as a kid, and I still hold onto the delusion that if you hold eye contact with, and babble at, an animal for long enough that there will be some sort of connection that will probably improve your karma. So last night at 1am I sat on my porch throwing bits of salami to this cat following the above course of action. The only result was the cat sniffed the salami, licked it, decided delicatessan salami au poivre was beneath it, started washing and ignored both me and the rat that came out from behind the dustbins to grab the salami. What was disturbing was I made eye contact with the rat and I swear for a moment we had some sort of connection.