10 April 2012 12:26:00
How often do you follow impulse? I don’t mean a "If that guy sniffs that way one more time I’m going to deck him", desperate ‘I just can’t take it anymore!’ impulse. Or even a bargain-hunting "What?! 100 kilos of dolphin-friendly flaked tuna for £9.99!" impulse. These are the kind that may possibly wind you up in front of a jury, in jail, or drowning in a lifetime’s supply of tuna-mayo-sweetcorn sandwiches. Rather, I mean the "I wonder where that walkway goes?" or "What do I really feel like doing now?" impulse. The sort of unplanned moment where serendipity can sneak in by the side-door and surprise you with a bouquet of flowers, a foot massage, and an offer to take your grandparents out for tea and scones.
This isn’t for the faint of heart. Are you a meticulous planner, who knows the times of the local trains down to the minute? Do you know what you’re doing to the day weeks, no months, in advance? Does an inexplicable twitchiness take hold if an unexpected event throws up the potential of deviating from your beautifully drawn out itinerary? If so, you may want to look away now.
The above character sketch is alien to me. I have tried to be that person. Jokes about being a commitmentphobe aside, there’s something about always knowing what I’m going to be doing at any given time – and not being able to be flexible around that timetable – that makes me a little nervous. I’m not incapable of doing it; I’ll take on the role of planner and organiser if I must, and I’m happy to get out the diary to pencil in a dinner with friends. But I’ll need a little room to manoeuvre, the ability to tinker with the plans last minute, the flexibility for us to choose where we’re going on the day, rather than in advance.
This isn’t to say I’m an untrustworthy person, who’ll bail on you last minute on a whim. Let me elaborate: I think there’s an intimate connection between not being wedded to intricate plans, having an innate curiosity about the world around you, embracing impulse, and serendipity.
An illustrative story for you:
A good university friend of mine came to stay with me in London over Easter weekend. She’s from Warrington, is currently living and working in Berlin, has been to London a few times but hasn’t ever really ‘done’ the city as a camera-carrying tourist. I’d come up with a rough plan of which sights we could see, as we have similar interests. But we agreed we’d simply see which way the wind (and the rain) blew us on the day.
Bar a lie on the Sunday morning (bed… so… very… comfortable...) we got off to a good start with the Tube down to Westminster to gawp at the Houses of Parliament. On the cards next was a wander down South Bank, back over to St Paul’s Cathedral and then a Thames Clipper down to North Greenwich to see The O2 (formerly known as The Millennium Dome), before jumping on the Tube back home.
We may not have completely stuck to my finger-in-the-air plan. In turns out much of the day was influenced by my complete inability to locate places I’ve been to before, as well as my friend's craving for Nando’s. By way of justification for the latter, apparently there’s only one in the whole of Berlin; she was suffering withdrawal symptoms. There was also the crushing realisation that our mid-20’s joints can apparently no longer walk for more than three hours at a time. All was not lost however. It meant she also got to see the buildings around Whitehall, for a start. I rediscovered a beautiful, enchanted part of St James’ Park I stumbled upon over a year ago but hadn’t been able to relocate. Buckingham Palace also made an appearance (driven by the Nando’s urge, not my broken compass), as did Trafalgar Square. Even more unexpectedly, we found ourselves listening to the choir boys in Westminster Abbey during an Easter Sunday service. As well as lots of other lovely discoveries in between.
I hadn’t planned to do anything of these things. But they added to what turned out to be a lovely, relaxing day of sightseeing, minus the calls we’ll be making to our doctors requesting hip-replacements. All stemmed from a militaristic about-turn halfway down Westminster Bridge in order to hunt down the nearest Nando’s, and both of us then listening to our ‘I wonder what’s through there?’ impulse.
One of the things I'm seeking to capture in my rambling monologues is this very attitude – following the twists and turns of a city, as well as embracing feelings of impulse and curiosity. Cities are made for exploration, to be walked, made for discovery. One of the many things I love about London is the way its history is pinned proudly to its sleeve, forcing its way into your consciousness every step of the way. Another facet of my love affair with the city is that it’s grown organically throughout that history. Paradoxically, the result is a beautiful patchwork of architecture, culture and experiences lying in wait to be uncovered by the curious flaneur.
So many times over the last year I’ve almost ignored that twinge of "Ooooh I wonder what’s down there?" or "That sounds like it could be good" whilst out and about. Almost ignored. I’ve not yet been disappointed when I’ve listened to that childlike questioning in my head that wants to explore anything and everything. Like Alice heading down the rabbit hole, saying to herself "curiouser and curiouser", if a hidden walkway between shops looks promising, I’ll duck into it (note I said "promising" and not "dark, mysterious and foreboding". Safety first folks.) If I see a sign to an exhibition that sounds interesting I’ll do my best to check it out there and then or, if I’m unable to, I’ll go back to it when I can. If a busker is playing music I like the sound of, I’ll try and sit a little to listen. Back to my ‘Headphones out, boys' post, I once managed to get the contact details of a book publisher for a friend after switching my music off on a whim. Nothing may come of following the impulse, but then what have you got to lose?
There’s so much that can come out of seeing the world in this way, outside of wandering a city. Some of the best photographs, for example, have been taken on impulse rather than planned. The Internet works on this philosophy, that you discover content you didn’t know you were looking for until you stumble upon it, after following a desire line of hyperlinks. Much like the other thread that runs through this blog – finding happiness in small things – I’m hoping to share more of my discoveries through the little stories I post here. For now, I'll just say that if you embrace distraction and impulse – if you listen to the Alice in your head that wants to head down the rabbit hole – then who knows what you may find, what you may learn, what you may discover. You may well be pleasantly surprised by the serendipity that greets you when you reach the bottom.
A few photos from our lost but found Sunday
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| Looking out from the little cottage in St James' Park, rediscovered |
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| Next to the rediscovered part of St James' Park |
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| Curvature in buildings, something you see all around London |
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| Cutting through Whitehall Gardens |
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| A patchwork of building styles in the Dean's Yard of Westminster Abbey |
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| Choirboys running after finishing their choiring in Westminster Abbey |
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| A grave laid in Westminster Abbey in 1082 |
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| A different view of the Houses of Parliament after cutting through another garden |
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| The view after a detour over Lambeth Bridge, whilst hunting down a Thames Clipper |
14 January 2012 05:18:00
It would appear that at some point over my lifetime I have unknowingly acquired a sign that says, "I shall humour you if you decide to talk at me." People seem to think I'm excluded from that cardinal rule of London: Never talk to people you don't know. On the Tube, in the street, in museums — I catch someone's eye and that's it; I find myself being engaged in a conversation without having the heart to disentangle myself.
Which is why I'm also a steadfast proponent of that other blissful cardinal rule: Headphones in, boys. (As one of my brothers pointed out, and as grammar geeks will appreciate, the use of the comma for this rule is crucial). Going about your daily business to your own soundtrack aside, it sends a message to all those would-be rule breakers lurking out there: "Do not engage me in conversation. I am far too busy pretending I'm in a montage from Hustle to smile and nod as you tell me about how you've given up drinking for yoga."
True story.
... The yoga bit.
... Not the Hustle part.
Actually let me backtrack. This is why I was a steadfast proponent of 'Headphones in, boys'.
I've had two experiences over the last month or so that have made me decide to embrace the random conversations and experiences you can have by not stubbornly listening to Chris Cornell with hands shoved deep in your coat pockets, walking with a purpose and keeping eyes locked on an indeterminate point ahead of you. Or being engrossed in a book if you're sat somewhere. Or 'sleeping' on the Tube. All of which are sound strategies by the way.
Experience number one: Bernie Spain Gardens, South Bank London
Think of London and what do you think of? No doubt a city, full of people, noise, cars, etc etc etc. Typical urban savannah: a world of vice and culture at your coffee-stained fingertips.
Boys and girls, I lay at your feet for consideration: Bernie Spain Gardens.
I've walked past this little spot on South Bank, right next to the OXO Tower, many a time. Invariably I'm with someone or if on my own have my headphones in.
Wandering from Tower Bridge, west along the South side of the river one evening after work, I decided to pull the headphones out and turn off the music.
I was suddenly struck by something I don't think I'd ever experienced in London before. I could hear the Thames washing up against the bank of the river below. I couldn't hear any traffic. The people around me were all strolling. It doesn't last for long as you keep walking west, which makes it that much more striking. Sat on a bench looking down the River feeling peaceful and content, I realised that if I'd had my headphones in I'd have walked straight through and missed it.
So experience number one: London isn't just a city of blaring noise. Take the headphones out and have a listen whilst you're walking around. You may just be pleasantly surprised.
Experience number two: The Cafe at Foyles Bookstore, Charing Cross Road
Anyone who hasn't been here, put down whatever you're doing now, pick your preferred mode of transport and go. Now. Unless you're doing something incredibly important. Like surgery. In which case you shouldn't be reading this in the first place. You awful, awful person.
A few weeks back I'd camped out in The Cafe at Foyles to read through a friend's novel for them. It's the perfect place for this sort of thing: you can stay there for a whole day without being disturbed having bought nothing but a mug of tea, there's free wifi and a nice little buzz. Plus you're just ten long strides away from book paradise. Of course, the headphones were in to save being distracted.
Novel finished (very, very good by the way) and two hours to waste before meeting another friend for dinner. At some point during the afternoon the two men sat opposite me, who don't know each other, have struck up a lively conversation. Curious, the headphones come out.
One is endorsing the legalisation of all drugs. The other is gamely probing the holes in his argument. The conversation keeps going off on tangents about anything and everything: society, politics, the booze culture in Britain. It's too good to not join in.
The two hours fly by in a blur of lively debate, each of us respecting the others' opinion and not being afraid to put forward what we actually think, protected by the anonymity of being nameless strangers. As we become aware of the buzz having died down around us, I realise it's fast approaching 9 in the evening and I'm due to meet my friend in St Paul's soon. I say my goodbyes and pack up.
So experience number two: Embrace conversations with strangers in coffee shops, or in fact anywhere else. Despite the fear that you're going to end up talking to someone who's two wheels short of a bicycle, you may actually end up enjoying it. And looking back, the majority of random conversations I've had on the Tube, in museums, in coffee shops, trains, coaches and a multitude of other places have all been interesting. No-one's tried to kidnap me, sell me anything, or save my soul.
So a new lesson for l'art de vivre: Headphones out, boys.
06 January 2012 15:11:00
The Engima code, the da Vinci code and the female G-spot all have nothing - and I mean nothing - on the seatbelt mechanism on a McLaren pram.
My carefully crafted list of “I resolve to…” for 2012 has temporarily been thrown out the window as I’ve been drafted in to look after a two and a half-year old whilst her mother, father and newly born sister are all in hospital. My intention of spending my second week of holiday becoming an expert in l’art de vivre, la dolce vita and becoming a fully-fledged flaneur has been cruelly replaced by succumbing to the whims of a surprisingly articulate toddler.
End of Day One: Two sessions of yoga for toddlers, one tantrum, one vomit-inducing nappy change, and the recruitment of lots of family members to help.
End of Day Two: Why don’t toddlers come with an off switch? <too tired for witticisms>
End of Day Three: Playing a 2.5 year old Beastie Boys and Run DMC videos on YouTube isn’t ethically immoral if it distracts them; a McClaren seatbelt mechanism has nothing on a child's car seat; and yoga for toddlers is frickin’ hard work. No amount of cutesy jungle storytelling can disguise the fact you’re being twisted into positions that should be reserved exclusively for those who choose to practice karma sutra.
Having carried out the night shift for three nights and had the toddler all to myself for two mornings, I’ve come to the conclusion that the idea of unconditional love for your own flesh and blood is a myth. After caving in to her incessant demands for Hot Chip’s I Feel Better, I find myself bouncing around the kitchen with my arms in the air in a bid to keep the toddler amused - any dignity having been thrown out with a worrying number of nappies.
I suddenly have a newfound sympathy for my parents. How long exactly is the gap between a kid becoming self-aware and the moment they wish to disown their parents? And is there any way of speeding up the process, or perhaps missing it all together? Is this what boarding school is for? And is it considered bad parenting to ship your kids off because you refuse to listen to Glen Campbell’s Rhinestone Cowboy for the fifth time in a row? I mean really, Glen Campbell! Later, as she plays on her toy phone by saying authoritatively that she’s “leaving a message for Glen Campbell, asking for a number”, I wonder on which ill-fated night did her father decide it would be a good idea to expose his daughter to this song? How desperate do you need to be? How much yoga must you have endured?!
Now that I’m safely home, as are my cousins and their new baby, I can revisit my “I resolve to…” list and make a start on embracing the small things in life, distraction, and random city wanderings and musings. And also hope that no more distractions such as childcare come my way. And also pray that the new baby has the sense to put her father straight the second he looks like he’s desperate enough to play her Glen Campbell…
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