So today was another tube strike and after the stress of the last one; hundreds of people queuing at the bus stop and charging towards the suspiciously late buses, packed out, people's faces squashed against the doors, I decided not to bother rushing. I was either going to get out early or late. So, late it was. I was up and dressed by eight, so I just pottered around for an hour. Gazed out of the window, there was a remarkable lack of people on the street; maybe they were leaving late too? I spent ages looking at a Christmas Card I bought yesterday of a girl and her cat staring out the window, waiting, wondering who I should send the card to. The postman came so I opened my post.
When I left the house it was still quiet, a few people around; scarves, hats -specifically big Russian hats and thick overcoats. The bus was quiet enough to get a seat, and lose myself in the crazy world of Bill Drummond. The Justified ancients of Mu Mu indeed. The winter quiet reminds me of last Saturday when I left the house to collect my food. The match was on and I walked past the stadium, the buzz of the crowd getting louder as I approached. There were a few bored policemen on street corners but nobody else. TVs were on in the bay windows of the houses. I walked past the allotments that slope down to the railway line near Drayton Park. They must have scored, there was a huge cheer from the stadium, and seconds later from somebody in his house. He should have stuck his head out the window, he'd have got the score in real time.
After I'd collected my fruit and veg, you could feel the match was about to be over. The police were standing up straight, radio-ing other officers, the stadium announcing the way to leave. The cafes and bars were gearing up for the post-match crowd. I walked home and closed the door, put the heating up and searched for an afternoon film to watch. The adverts are all Christmas adverts. Is Christmas coming early this year?
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