It’s been an odd Bank Holiday weekend.
After a week or two of feeling very alone and single and depressed I suddenly felt good about being alone and single. Lot’s of catching up with people, going to parties drinking, gigging. But I also have a vague sense that this is perhaps just a blip on an otherwise downward trajectory. Oh christ I sound like a person that writes weblogs… This is bad.
But today was nice. Met with old comedy Edinburgh cohort Gemma for lunch at mine and then a walk down the canal to Camden.
The sun is out, it tried to put its hat on, but no material made even by the mighty sun god Ra could withstand the intense heat and so by the time the hat made of the most high tech material in the world (cauliflowers) got even 50 million miles near (and blowing NASA’s space budget for the century) it dissolved, leaving egg on the suns face. But of course, the egg it self had gone through hard boiling to evaporation long before the hat. So the egg was in fact hypothetical.
Down in Islington all this had completely passed us by and we just noticed it was a sunny day.
The canal beckoned (not actually, and this notblog has already had enough flights of fancy with the sun hat for one day for me to go around describing how a canal made any kind of obvious contact with us when it it has is water, locks and both Rosie & Jim)
I’d been joking that the canal itself was actually pretty clean, I had nothing to back this up with, I just go around with a vague notion that all water is clean until I catch something.
But to me limited, virtually non existent knowledge they don’t pump sewage into canals (again, no idea why I believe this to be true) so it’s clean.
The cans and bottles in the water did not prove it was unclean I remarked, only that it was perhaps slightly sugary.
Later in the jaunt (canal trips are not journeys but jaunts) I made some joke about something other and Gemma screamed “Oh my God”, using my short term memory I went back over my little joke to see if anythign should have caused this outburst. No it shouldn’t. I look down in the direction at which she’s pointing, there’s a dead thing in the canal.
It looks like a dog, bloated and belly up, peering over I see it is in fact a fox, and a relatively young one at that, and also quite quite, apart from the bloated drowniness. We both feel sad, but we do nothing about it.
Then Gemma says, at least it’s not someone’s pet, which was true, but I felt like a bit of a cunt for allowing this to make me feel better. But it did. Then I thought of the little fellow having one of those annoying voices that they overdub babies in nappy adverts and like an Andrex puppy he’d go bounding into the canal on a dark night. Only this fox, like Andrex, isn’t very good in the water.
I wondered if the downward trajectory was regaining it’s momentum.