Entries from October 2006 ↓

Thought that might catch your attention. Not me, alas, but a recent visitor to the site. I was going to post an image to prove it but the internet’s broken. It does worry me that this particular search should lead to Kim Bah Lee in the top two results, though. Miss Goody - I never asked for it.

Today I got up late, had a cup of tea, thought I’d lost my passport, then found it again.

Tomorrow I shall probably do something similar, hopefully not lose my passport, but buy some travel insurance.

Life seems to get crazier the older I get.

I’ve fancied New York for as long as I can remember. Not in a sexual way, more an aspirational one. This time next week I’ll wake up in the Big Smoke. It’s going to be five degrees. This is good, as it means the pavements will be steaming.

I’m going for a roast beef sandwich with pickles.
I’m going for a jog through Central Park, and whilst crossing a bridge I’ll make eye contact with a small blonde jogger. She’ll be wearing a grey tracksuit with pink trim, one of those hair-band things, and headphones. We’ll jog on the spot and chat to each other.
I’m going for a yellow taxi with a sweaty Hispanic driver.
I’m going for a red and white diner at four in the morning with flickering neon lights and weak coffee.
I’m going for a bum to shout abuse at me on the sidewalk.
I’m going for a beer on somebody’s steep front steps and walk-don’t walk.
I’m going for spaghetti with meatballs and taking cover in a cinema showing an old movie and a black cop with a big fat ass directing the traffic.

A million photos, no doubt, to follow.

There I am, standing in the queue for a taxi outside Brussels’ south station. It’s late on Sunday night. Sat on a bench thirty feet away is girl speaking on her mobile phone. A tall, trenchcoated man ambles up slowly behind her, peers into her handbag, which is placed on the seat next to her, puts his hand in and steals her wallet.

Like a slightly arthritic Superman (pre-disability), I leap to her defence. Well, meander really. I walk towards him, then walk slightly towards the door, wary of the fact he might have a knife. Or a Rottweiler. Or a large gun.

He stops. So do I. He takes a few steps sideways. So do I. He takes a few steps towards me. I almost run away. I get on my phone. Not really on it, like a horse, but on it like put it to my ear. He makes eye contact. Then starts to walk back the way he comes. I follow him (with my gaze) and he appears to put something back in the handbag.

A better Samaritan sees this and misconstrues it as the original theft, shouts “stop thief!” and gives chase.

I walk towards the girl on the phone, who’s still oblivious, and ask her if anything’s missing. She shoots me daggers and tells me to fuck off.

Who’d have thought? Me, a superhero.