My Secret Pleasure

My favourite time of day is dusk because of the limitless opportunities for looking into peoples homes and seeing what they are lives are like. You don’t get to see into other peoples houses too often, except maybe when watching Location, Location, Location.

Everyone loves to people watch, and those that say they don’t must be lying, because by nature, humans are inquisitive. I neglect to say nosy, because the truth is, I’m not that nosy. I don’t care what people are actually doing, I just like to imagine what they might be doing. I could happily watch people for hours and hours (as long I had a steady supply of water and fags to keep me going), spinning stories in my head, feeling myself walk in their shoes. How does the world look if you’re that tall; does everything look really far away? Ooh I wonder what’s in that bag; a half eaten sandwich or the remains of a dead cat? Where is that person going; off to meet a secret lover?

Dusk, when people have their lights on but curtains open is the ultimate time for people watching, extreme people watching if you will. You can actually see what their house is like (that wallpaper was clearly a mistake) and how they are living (sausages and mash for tea), if only just for a split second as you walk past. Note, I say as I walk past, I am not hanging around outside peoples houses like a peeping tom, I reserve that strategy for young hot men only.

The other day I decided to head away from the usual banal shopping experience of my local town to the bright lights and big shops of the big town about half an hour away. I knew the train would save me on fuel and parking costs, but it was also a perfect people watching opportunity. Trains at dusk are the best house watching lookout, giving you countless imaginary lives to live in the space of seconds. Houses whizz by, giving the merest glimpse of people, some of them doing their washing up, some of them watching TV; but all with their own hopes, dreams, disappointments and worries. I wonder how it would feel to be sitting in that sofa, drinking that cup of tea (is it tea?), are they happy, are they sad, are they lonely, or overwhelmed by life? The possibilities are endless and that feeling of wonderment is one of my favourite feelings ever. Ever.

But this was a daytime shopping trip so everything was up close and personal, giving even more fuel for the senses. A gang of lads, clearly on their way to a stag party, reeking of booze and testosterone in equal measure, loud and foul mouthed, filled the air with that slight feeling of nervous anticipation that can only be felt when lots of men get together and drink with such a resolute purpose.

I then witnessed an argument between a bald old man with a hearing aid trying to get some sleep (I don’t really understand why he didn’t just turn the hearing aid off, surely that’s a bonus feature of a hearing aid? Maybe someone can enlighten me on this one), and a noisy American tourist hell bent on talking very loudly on his phone. The old fella jumped out of his seat, jabbing at the “quiet zone” sign angrily with his finger, while noisy guy raised his eyebrows and continued with his call. When he finally hung up he said “Happy now?” with a smug smirk. The other man, now puce with rage, started squaring up to him, “Don’t you smirk at me,” he shouted, “I’m trying to sleep”. There was an exchange of “Come on then’s” “Yeah, what you gonna do about it?’s” at which I didn’t want to seem like I was looking, so I tried to arrange my body to look like it wasn’t interested even though my eyes were glued to the action. The row quickly fizzled out but it was exciting as a witness with nothing else to do but sit back and enjoy the show (I was on the side of the old guy, but thought he could have been a bit more diplomatic in his approach).

On leaving the station I came across a man on his phone, covered in tattoos, Special Brew in hand (why are all these people drinking in the middle of the day? It just makes me feel like I’m missing out on the fun), I heard him say “No… I’m not saying that, just listen, no I’m not saying that… oh, just F*CK OFF!!!” I wound an elaborate fantasy in my head that he was arguing with his ex over money. I could imagine her at home, fag in hand, Jeremy Kyle on the telly, run out of nappies for the bare bummed baby she was holding, just trying to get a tenner out of this guy who obviously had nothing better to do than drink Special Brew at 2 o’clock in the afternoon and shout profanities over the phone.

But the world is not just my giant TV screen, so there must be times when I am the subject of other people’s people watching. What do they think of me? Some days I expect I look relatively sane, not particularly interesting to look at. But occasionally when I’m stressed, can’t think of anything to wear and have that “covered myself in glue, rolled around in my wardrobe and emerged wearing what stuck” look, wild eyed and exhausted, I could probably be pretty interesting. But it doesn’t happen often enough. So I plan to start carrying around a suspicious looking case and concocting some interesting sounding fake phone calls, just to give something back to all those people who give me so much pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Summertime #2

Well it’s another Manic Monday after another manic weekend, and yet again I haven’t found the time to write a shiny new blog post for you guys. But the weather has been gorgeous, so here’s a rewrite of a post I did last Summer, just to remind you of all the fun we are about to have…

Summertime and the living is… dead flies, hairy armpits and unreliable weather

Happiness abound, the Summer appears to have come early here in the UK. So we can start to enjoy all those wonderful things that we wistfully dream of in the cold winter months, the smell of freshly mown lawns, barbeques etc.

Summer gets romanticised in this country (because we get so little of it), however everyone is so busy extolling its virtues that we come back to earth with a bump when reminded of the crap stuff. Despite my positive outlook on life, there are some things about summer which are just rubbish whichever way you look at them. These are my top 5 summer snags.

1. Flies, wasps and other winged things

My house isn’t that messy or dirty, nor is it filled with rotting rubbish, animal corpses or other unsavoury things that flies are meant to be drawn to. So why then, does it become overrun with huge flies the size of small dogs, constantly buzzing and bashing themselves against the windows the second the temperature gets into double figures? Spray them with fly spray and hoover up the bodies before son number two has them as a crunchy snack, or swat them against the window leaving a bizarrely large smear on the window and a big red blood stain on the cover of last months Glamour magazine? Tough call.

Trying to enjoy a picnic in the sun? The second you open a packet of crisps a swarm of wasps will start flying threateningly around your ham sandwich, guaranteed. And I don’t care how many people tell me to stay still and they won’t sting, it’s a basic fight or flight response to run around wildly flapping my arms and screaming. You can’t argue with science…

Note to mosquitoes and “other biting insects” – I need my blood, I’m not that tasty, and could you please find someone else to munch on that doesn’t want to wear a mini skirt at the weekend?

Anything with wings spells trouble, and in the summer they seem to triple in volume sooner than you can say “cold glass of pinot blush on the patio”.

2. Unpredicitable weather/what not to wear

Winter dressing is easy: layers, layers and more layers. Summer clothes are far trickier, flipflops and boob tube (to avoid strap marks) are great when the sun is out, but not so when you get outside you find the wind chill is minus one and the kids are getting hypothermia in their vests and shorts. Then, just when you think you are beating the system “Ha, it might look warm but you got me with that one yesterday, I’m wearing my winter coat and dressing the kids in their thermals” you get outside and find it’s sweltering and everyone is melting.

The early summer excitement of getting your summer wardrobe out quickly turns to disappointment when you discover that all those maxi dresses and floaty tops you thought had magically materialised in your loft during the winter consists of one pair of capri pants (circa 2001) and some flip flops with a perfectly formed foot shape embedded in grime on the insole.

And if you wake up to blue skies and sunshine you can’t even trust it, because no sooner have you got dressed there will likely be sudden torrential rain of epic proportions. Squelching and flapping about in wet gladiator sandals does not a happy me make. Not to mention spending numerous hours every day putting washing on the line then retrieving it when there’s a downpour. I do have better things to do with my time.

3. Dirty Windows

As soon as the sun comes out everyone walking past my house can see that I haven’t had my windows cleaned since Christmas.

4. Holidays (Or Not)

Summer holidays with kids are stressful, packing enough stuff to survive without CBeebies on tap takes weeks of preparation and military precision. Not to mention the complaints (“this doesn’t taste like a normal sausage”) and crying for some random toy left languishing in the toybox at home that hasn’t seen the light of day for months but suddenly is the most important thing in the world. Hardly a relaxing getaway. This lack of motivation to spend a thousand pounds on a week where everything is just as stressful as it is at home, but without the usual things I use to keep everyone calm (kids telly, the naughty step, work, a childminder…) is why I often think I’m the only person not busily planning my summer break at this time of year. So I know, in a few months time while everyone is swanning off to some far flung corner of the globe to get all tanned and wrinkly in the sun, I will still be at home getting washing on and off the line.

5. Constant pressure to have toenails painted, legs waxed and fake tan on (and/or avoid unsightly strap marks)

In winter no one could ever know that your legs resemble an unmown lawn, or that your toenails have six month old grown out nail varnish on them and are so long they snag every pair of tights you try to put on. There is no constant fear of dodgy strap marks (if you accidentally wear a vest top in March on a hot day, you will be ‘wearing’ it until next summer). But less clothing in summer means more upkeep. Maintaining a respectable level of personal grooming is so much less time consuming when you don’t have to shave your armpits every day.

Hey, I love summer as much as the next person. But let’s be realistic here, it’s not all barbeques and mojitos. Enjoy the sunshine everyone!