Following best laid plans last night that I never dreamed would come to fruition based upon my eldest daughter’s seemingly deliberate failure to either understand time, or lever herself out of bed on a morning, we rather miraculously found ourselves standing at the bus-stop this morning at 9am.
Even leaving the house, my middle daughter remained colossaly pessimistic that we would reach the bus-stop in time - given the glacial pace her older sister walks at.
I’ve never known anybody so disconnected from the normal workings of the world.
One of the benefits of Christmas shopping mid-week and early is the avoidance of crowds. I say that, but by early afternoon (yes, we spent several hours trudging around the shops - either on our own, or together) the shops and footpaths were rammed with people.
We took a pit-stop at Starbucks - my idea. I couldn’t help people watching - wondering what people’s lives were like away from the shops - or what their reasons were for being there during the week? Had they already stopped work for Christmas? Did they not work? Did they have wealthy families? Were they trophy spouses in some way? Were they in-between jobs? Were they nipping to the shops during a break from work? Were they retired?
Following a very loud and obviously very important young woman walking past having a conversation on her phone, we started dreaming up half-heard conversations that would cause coffee shops to fall silent. In my head I recounted Marc Maron’s “I shit my pants!” coffee advert, and almost spat my own drink out.
Anyway.
We got home mid-afternoon.
Within minutes I had the clothes dryer on, the dishwasher running, and then set about clearing wreckage from the garden that I had promised to clear several days ago. It’s still like the somme out there.
While writing this, you find me holed up in the corner of the lounge - listening to the record player and sipping (yet another) coffee. My other half will arrive home from work in a few minutes. Taylor just finished singing on the record player, and has been replaced by a compilation album before I get complained at for polluting the house with her. I don’t really care. In a funny sort of way, I hope the kids have taken something from my reluctance to “follow the crowd” in what I like, and invest myself in. I’m rarely swayed by the those around me.
Take the night before last, for example. While my other half went to watch “Wicked” at the cinema, I ended the evening watching a fly-on-the-wall documentary about Idina Menzel - I think it was called “Which way to the stage?” (it’s a Rent reference). I remember years ago - while having dinner with friends I mentioned that I had accidentally discovered the girl behind “Elsa” while watching a performance of Chess, and had become a huge fan. A good friend grinned, held her wine glass up, clinked it with mine, and said “you’re very brave - admitting that”.
Not brave. Just honest.