The first whistle

I awoke to a deathly silence; no busses, no people, no noise. It was the retreat of the sea prior to the tsunami. The lull before the storm.

Then inevitably there it is, rising over my aural horizon; the first whistle of Carnival.

It is followed of course by others, then hooters, then the first drum beats slip into my consciousness. It is as if Ghengis Kahn, Attilla the Hun, Vlad thhe impaler and Stalin have massed their collective hordes and are marching on my place. WHY PICK ON ME?

I have a choice... Get out there and party like its the end of the world or remain holed up above it like a first world war balloon observer at Ypres.

Friends phone me for battle reports.

I tell them that I love the smell of Napalm in the morning.

Carnival

Hurricane Carnival is about to hit us. The barriers are up and houses and shops barricaded. The lull before the storm is spooky and not a lull at all; walking home last night I came accross a massive steel band in All Saints Road. Fantastic!

The atmosphere is already palpable.

The only thing for me to do, once I have decided I am staying for it, is to decide which parties to attend.

Notting Hill this weekend is either the best place in the world or the worst.

Babs would love it.

Cycling without a stabiliser

I no longer have any stability in my cycling.

This was drummed into me yesterday as I multi-tasked my way down Westbourne Park road, the wind was strong, gusty, gutsy and fickle; of course reminding me of the nurse. I realised that the wind is no friend to the cyclist.

I mentioned this to a friend who said that there were cycling courses available. I should go on one she said.

I said that I was an autodidact and autodidacts don't do lessons.

she said I have a lot to learn.

That is the only thing I'm on this planet for. I said.

Which planet I'm on is a mystery to me.

Frieda and Tumbleweed socks

I invited frieda for breakfast in the square and was delighted when she said yes.

we spent hours discussing feet (a subject close to my heart) at some point in order to illustrate another point she removed her boots and socks, leaving them lying on the flagstones.

A sudden breeze caught her socks and sent them skittering away like nothing more than knitted tumbleweed.

A french lawyer let down her hair at a nearby table shook her head and then dazzled the sun.

Frieda then informed me that she was in fact a multi-millionairess with houses around the world and an island in the Seychelles.

'Why say you are a pediatrist'.I ask.

'I just love feet Jannie'. She replies.

The event and coming clean

I had better come clean.

I had rather more to do with the Event at Cafe Ravenous than I let on. I was in fact the producer and promoter of the thing, this I had done in order to give Tristan the opportunity to have his night of Glory (if you can call it that) and to create a little buzz of excitement in a stagnating Portobello.

Murray, Noel and Sam were the real stars along with Ali and Charlie from Ravenous. All of whom (and many others) ensured that Tristan had the night of his life.

It will be interesting to see where he goes with this.

Nurse, passport, coffin.

The nurse had taken my passport when she left. I suppose she wanted some sort of memento and it did contain one of the better photographs taken of late.

Rusty called yesterday to tell me that my passport had mysteriously been found under the nurses bed.

'What the hell were you doing under her bed?' I asked as the penny slowly dropped.

'I was looking for an escape hatch'. He replied.

'The only way you'll escape that woman Rusty is in a coffin'.

Bridges I have lost shoes from. No.1

the Event

More cycling tales.

Cycling and the pub do not make good bedfellows.

Grey and moody sky

Under a grey and moody sky I cycled, full of brio yet unsteadily fast, homeward. While distracted by thoughts of Lula-mae, marooned in Limbo Nebraska (pop 47) a bollard leapt into my path.

The bollard won.

Bruise

Days later I noted that the bruise resembled uncannily that grey and moody sky.

Look for the marzipan babies

http://pollocks.org/blog/

It is hard work being grown up

Curious Bums

The photograph is blurred as a result of my excitement.

I could not make this up.

I don't think I would really like to make it up.

I am thinking of having a tattoo that simplly says 'kill me, I've had enough.'

Frieda, Muse and pediatrist

In the pharmacy yeaterday ( I was looking for corn pads) a vision in starched white sidled up to me and offered to assist in my endeavours. Her uniform led me to believe her to be a nurse and her firm handshake indicated that she would have no problems gripping my wheelchair.

after making my purchase I offered her lunch which she accepted with a cheeky grin.

She said her name was Frieda and she was from Stockholm.

Then she dropped the bombshell... SHE WAS A PEDIATRIST and not a nurse.

My feet however wept with joy on hearing this.