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.