The Gordon Ramsay woman

It's sunny, around 3pm. I'm on my way to the pub (presumably) via the altogether futile (or rather single-purposed) Canons Park station. It'll get me to a more exciting place, that's the general ethos.

This time, however, it entertains me in and of itself. It houses an exciting character, who for now, I'll moniker 'Gladys'. Gladys hesitates upon approaching the ticket barrier, but in a way I've never seen a person hesitate; she has a deep antagonism about her while at the same time, desperately trying to contain her oozing fervour.

I bypass her in my desperate quest for the train, the route out, and she escapes my headspace temporarily. Until, that is, she comes clambering up the stairs. I can hear a faint humming, unsure if there are words or merely emotions, which become increasingly lucid/fuzzy as she gets closer to me. She is dressed like a board-game detective, all conspicuously inconspicuous. A mac is wearing her.

She takes chick steps until she reaches the bench, to guide her two-minute wait for the next train. A Man is also sat on the bench, which potentially houses a total six humans. Gladys sits in Man's miniature radius, and he feigns 'unflinched'; it's not that he 'doesn't care' that she's on him, more that he 'doesn't know'.

I become a nameless spectator, watching the A Man and Gladys premiere. Gladys, the protagonist, begins a song from the movie's original score. The song is simply astounding. It's a new paradigm for songwriting - the lone melody somehow creates the feeling of counterpoint, tierce de picardie upon tierce de picardie. Of course this is all an illusion.

The lyrics are what matters. They're a tale, like a liveblog. They whoosh and whizz past me in a frenzy, so much so that I can't quite recall their exact composition. The geographical setting is the clearest feature - Gladys is watching the London Marathon; she's at the end line, cheering. She's impassioned.

Gordon Ramsay is coming up: "Gordon, come on Gordon!/I'll say a little prayer for you" she sings.

And then the train comes... I'll never know who won.

A while ago...

Yes, it was some time ago. When I used to write blogs on MySpace, in fact, and it wasn't cool. So I wrote this thing about how looking into your own reflection whilst on a train was something like life in a freeze-frame, and I wish I hadn't deleted it.

I don't write about such ultra-observations anymore, only within another context. I instead find my days fuelled with fleeting ideas - should I write a piece about the strange concept of people raising money for charity by partaking in some sort of outlandish, sub-human enterprise versus the concept of, y'know, giving money to charity because, say, er something like "hi, I think it's a worthwhile cause"? I could write about that, couldn't I.

I think I will, actually. Because I can. And I shall. Just not quite yet...