...of the noise of the generator, drill, hammering and bench-saw outside my house which has combined to exactly recreate the sound of the air-raid siren from Motörhead's No Sleep 'til Hammersmith, waking me up.
...of that moment when you final listen to some advice and realise that sometimes the right way is counter-intuitive and the wrong way will always fail.
...of the tone of voice of someone lying whilst fully believing they are being believed.
...of girl's expression as she argues on her mobile phone as she walks past, stops dead in the street, walks back past me, stops to turn once more to traverse those 100 yards for a third time.
...of a man seen through his living room window dancing romantically with a long, narrow piece of wood. Suggestively and romantically.
...of that moment when I realise it might work out.
...of that floundering moment when I completely forget which hand I usually use to screw the lid back on the toothpaste, and which holds the toothbrush.
...of how a single glance and a shared expression can unite two complete strangers for a second or two before their lonelinesses close around them again.
...of the "Gaaaaah" moment caused by reflexively checking Facebook or Twitter on my phone while watching TV, thereby missing important plot points & developments.
...of a bus that smells like that time you opened your swimming bag after you'd dumped it in your wardrobe for three months, still wet.
...of feeling a little bit like Father Lancaster Merrin as he takes his glycerin pills out of his pill-box, because these banana-flavoured Monkey Mints are the same shape & size and come in a little tin.
...of the simultaneous slide featuring me and the man ten paces ahead of me, completely synchronised, leading with the same foot, flailing with the same arm.
...of the sound of a heavy snowfall in an empty city street at noon.
...of the girl repeatedly trying to cross the road in heavy traffic whilst never once breaking her stride, back and forth and sideways, always in the exact tempo of Baroness's Rays On Pinion.
...of bathing a baby in a gigantic basin of warm jam, thereby providing the average little mite with everything he or she could possibly need, such as heat, mess, sweet stuff to eat, and a huge pot of hug, plus an entertaining environment in which to splash.
In fact, after a while reflecting on the sheer joy of this I begin to believe that the laughing baby at the very end of the Cow & Gate advert was not, in fact, recorded while eating Cow & Gate, but actually while up to his ocksters in 45 degree Celsius seedless strawberry, whilst the family dog takes a sneaky lick at his jammy head.
...of the sheet of music, roughly the shape and size of a paperback novel, that I had stooped down to pick up from the wet street thinking: "oooh, I wonder what tune this is..." before realising it was a piece of cardboard box and the staves were stripes of glue.
...of the car, two doors up from my home, wheelclamped for failure to pay road tax, full of someone's belongings: boxes & bags as if they're in mid-house-move. But it's been the same pile of boxes & bags in the car for several weeks now, and the same temporary spare wheel on the back too.
It's like something very, very bad has happened and that this is merely the ugly icing on the very ugly cake.
...of the resignation to frustration at promises broken, reproach for lateness at work, growing worry about an unsafe boiler, caused by a tradesman simply failing to arrive when agreed.
...of the relief I have to hide as we discover we're locked out of our rehearsal facility and I realise I get to shop for food, finally get a good dinner and an early night.
...of the reinforced stereotypes suddenly radiating from the bus driver's demeanour as he realises that he not only must accept the foreign currency but also run a counterfeit note test and then give the correct change in our local currency, all to someone conversing with a friend in a language the driver doesn't recognise.
...of the sound of resignation in the voice on my voicemail of a man locked in empty building, unable to reach anyone with keys to release him.
...of the perfectly round dry patches, spaced one metre apart along a 600 metre-long stretch of the Lisburn Road, late at night while it rains lightly. There are no people ahead or behind and few cars passing.
...of the existential frustration on the bus-driver's face from the "I can't see you" looks of folks ignoring his bus, even though it goes exactly the way they're all going, stopping at all their stops and costing the same amount. They just can't stand the colour.
...of the eerie, threatening sound the steadily rising wind starts to make against my earphone cables the very moment the intro to AC/DC's Walk All Over You starts to play.
...of a baby peering wide-eyed and wondering into the world through the window of a barber's shop as he sits on his mother's knee while the barber cuts the tiny clump of hair on the top of his head.
...of a woman carrying a broom handle while pushing a baby in a bright buggy that seemed as if she were pushing a giant red pupae she'd found attached to a large stick.
...of a man who walks as if he's afloat on cushions of air, looking for all the world as if he is enraptured, in communion with a very real higher power which lifts, supports and speaks to him.