An Hour In The Life Of Me

You’re probably wondering why I think anyone would care about an uneventful hour of my life two weeks ago. You’re probably right; no-one does. That doesn’t stop me though. The following words are a stream of consciousness: Stuff my brain ordered my fingers to type with any direct input from me, as part of an assignment for the ‘Creative Writing’ side of my University degree. Make sense? No. Oh. Well essentially I sat outside my University accommodation for an hour, and wrote down what I saw, heard, smelt and felt. Anyway, I found it quite interesting to type, and it is relatively humorous, so I thought I would share it with you good people. I hope you do enjoy it.

“I’m sat on a bench, with my shower fresh hair, underneath the forever watching CCTV camera. I decided seeing as I was outside, in public, with people, with my laptop, I would sit somewhere that I would consider safe. Well, not safe, but at least should someone walk past and casually steal my laptop from underneath my finger tips, I would at least have more chance if catching the bastard. Should I drop the laptop and begin crying, the people watching the CCTV images would at least get a laugh too.

I’m sat in intense sunlight, with half my keyboard shadowed by the screen, as a result of having the sun increasing in height behind it. This has now shown to me how dusty and dirty my laptop actually is. It is terrible, and should my Mum see the state of it, she would moan and immediately fetch a cloth and some cleaning liquid to achieve the task of cleanliness. I am hopeful that seeing as there is a rather strong breeze, the dust will be blown away. Maybe this little assignment will help in my cleanliness…

So, as I sit back on the uncomfortable bench, and look over the laptop screen, I can see water, glistening, and full of movement as it flows in the direction of sea. On the other side of this water, I can see a runway, in which a plane is noisily manoeuvring itself on. Now pausing, the engines are increasing in speed and volume as I imagine the pilot asking for permission to fly. He clearly has it, as the sounds are increasing. The plane is taking a run up, forever increasing in speed, and as it moves away, the sound goes with it. And UP it goes, rather confidentially too. The plane is now en route to its destination, and all I can see now as I glance back up to the sky after my running commentary is a faint white shape which I imagine to be the plane.

Now it is quiet again, I can return to admiring the natural beauty of the water as the sun makes my black laptop rather hot and also making my jean laden legs becoming increasingly hotter. I spoke of silence too soon, as behind me I can hear the screeching brakes of a train and the far away sounds of another plane about to manoeuvre itself to the end of the runway so that it too can make a confident leap into the sky to get to a destination far away from the rudeness of London. The said plane is a CityJet, with its propellers spinning. Again he positions himself. Again he speeds up, and again he speeds off into the distance taking the loud sounds with it.

However, here comes a plane falling from the sky in the nervous, wobbly fashion they seem to always do. It shakes upon near contact with the runway. He puts his nose up and bum down. He has landed bum first with a little puff of smoke from the wheels as it lands. Now he chucks his nose down and as he now exists the runway to a designated area, here comes another plane; and he seems just as nervous as he flies in front of the sun and casts a shadow over me, if only for a split second, and he lands.  Now, all I can smell as the wind blows into my direction, is burning rubber and aeroplane fuel. Not exactly the smell of flowers and noise of birds singing that I get back at home in a lovely Kentish village.

Now it is quite again. The water looks filled with crystals. It is almost like God, if he existed, had dropped a pot of glitter onto the water. It hurts to look up, not only into the sun, but also into the pool of intense light that is sitting on the water in front of me. Birds are flying too. A seagull is floating in the sky, pointlessly and effortlessly, thanks to the help of the wind. I think he is lazy. Other seagulls sit on the water, and look at him, either in awe of their floating friend, or bitching about how lazy that other seagull is. It is hard to tell from the wooden bench I am perched on, which one it is.

There are other birds here too, but seeing as I am not Twitcher, I cannot reveal their names. I can only really, safely, tell the names of five types of bird: Seagulls, Pigeons, Ducks, Swans and Robbins. The other birds in front of me in the water are not one of those five. I would make a guess at it being some type of goose. There are few, baby ones sitting on the water and bobbing up and then down again, before bobbing up and down again, repeatedly. An adult, (what I am calling a) goose, is standing proudly on the edge of a bank and is constantly ruffling his feathers; I think he must have an itch which is bugging him.

I can see a reflection of myself in the laptop screen, and I can tell that my hair is almost dry from the sun and the wind. However, this may not be the style that I intended on. I look like a child who has just discovered the power of electricity and the importance of not putting metal objects into turned on plug sockets. It looks positively static…

I keep just looking at the water, and thinking. I am thinking many deep things which I will not divulge into, but I am also thinking about the water that I am starring into. Some waves look like they are part of some rolling mountains, which stretch as far as the eye can see, in miniature. Other waves are bigger, and I think they look slightly reminiscent of circus tents. I doubt anyone would agree with that observation however, and that is why I took it out twice, before becoming adamant that I was going to keep it in, no matter what.

I have just spotted the moon, well, half a moon. It is nearly eleven in the morning, and the moon is out. This phenomenon always intrigues me, and as I think about it, I feel sorry for Australia. It is night there, and they haven’t got a moon. We have it instead. The sounds ‘ha ha’ go through my mind now, actually.

People keep walking past me, with their haircuts and bags and purpose. Look, that boy is wearing a pink top. It so doesn’t go with those jeans! The people that walk past often stare at me, sat on a bench, alone, and typing. They probably think I am sat here writing some essay, but what they don’t realise is that the thousand or so words I have typed, are in fact just drivel.

I am looking out into the distance now, and I can see buildings. Old buildings, but not old enough to warrant paying £10 to walk about and look at the furniture and portraits. They are just old tower blocks that were built after the war. They look rather lovely, with the sun lighting one half, the shade covering another half, another plane flying in front of them and the soundtrack of sirens ringing around. London: It seems to be the only place where sirens try and harmonise with each other.

I am now just looking around, letting my brain wonder off, and there are now clouds in a sky which 10 minutes ago was absent of any. I would love to be able to tell you what types of clouds they are. If only I had brought the book I saw in WHSmiths yesterday! Instead, you’ll have to make do with my amateur, and cliché description of them being white and fluffy. It creates such a lovely and peaceful image in your head. However, in reality, I’m in East London, looking out onto an airport, with workmen drilling and trains clattering and screeching behind me. A million miles away from the peaceful lifestyle I once lived not two months ago. Well, in reality, it’s only 52 miles away.

My bum is beginning to hurt, so I shall end it here, with the clouds relieving me from the sun, if only for a few seconds, after an observation that I have just had whilst looking in the direction of Canary Wharf: Doesn’t the Millennium Dome just look like a dollop of ice cream with several biscuit wafers stuck in around the edge?”