[Photographs I Did Not Take Today...]
...of the window cleaner talking outside Pizza Express who had Al Bundy's face and Terry Nutkins' hair.
...of the little girl excitedly and determinedly putting one small, identically sized handful of Wotsits into each compartment of a paper/plastics/glass/general street bin.
...of the man who boarded the bus, went straight to the front seat of the upper deck then turned around to carefully and slowly scan the face of each and every other passenger he could see onboard, before burying his attention in a map.
...of the woman so drunk she was standing against the street-corner building at a busy arterial crossroads with her face resting against the marble facade, seemingly fast asleep.
...of the woman who has somehow managed to become offended at me because she cut into the queue ahead of me in a chip-shop.
...of the two men who'd given up their jobs to commence a venture from which they'd no idea how to derive an income.
...of the man the spitting image of Harry Secombe, driving a transit van. This is twice I've seen aul' Harry returned from the grave...
...of the woman on the bus reading the Qur’an, in complete stillness as if she were alone in a quiet room.
...of the young girl pushing a toy buggy containing two doll babies, each with a single bruised eye. O_o
...of the man in the passenger seat of a body-kitted coupé, windows open, happy-hardcore blasting, wearing mirrored aviators and black furry Mickey Mouse ears.
...of the girl wearing party clothes for drinking in the street, climbing into the used-car forecourt to vomit behind a Mini, her friends ignoring her.
...of the woman with the matching pink trousers, jacket and crutch, stopping halfway up the bus to compliment two parents on their child's smile.
...of the man on the bus who clutches his ears and shakes his head every time the baby up at the front tests how loudly he can make his noises.
...of the man sitting on a windowsill, dry under the eaves of the health centre, watching the world hiss past as the rain chucked it down.
...of the buzz of the honeybees teeming overhead in a huge tree on an otherwise silent, empty street.
...of the man lovingly polishing his cabriolet on a warm and sticky Sunday afternoon, his weekday car sitting dirty and ignored at the far end of his driveway.
...of the man sitting in the dentist's waiting room, his head on his chest, fast asleep.
...of the couple by the side of the road showing a phone to some policemen, sharing a photo of a hit and run on their car; observed as they sat no more than 30 feet from it eating lunch in the sun.
...of the man silently contemplating his hedgerow, motionless, expressionless.
...of the rabbit bounding across the main road and away through the electric fence in the silent Sunday sun.
...of the emaciated older woman leaning on a baby buggy filled with half-empty shopping bags, complaining to a stranger passing by that she had a bad leg and a bad heart. While smoking a king-size cigarette and drinking Red Bull.
...of the man who looks no older than 15 years, sitting in the driver's seat of an XJ Executive, wearing a smart suit, complaining loudly in an English accent of how completely lost he is, in a lay-by on the Lisburn Road.
...of the man standing conspicuously by his bag in a corridor leading to the bus station, speaking on his mobile phone which was connected to its charger, plugged into a wall socket, taking advantage of unintentionally free electricity.
...of the child on the train asking her father: "why are we going backwards?", having completely lost her bearings while twirling in the aisle half a dozen times before taking her seat.
...of the tiny, scared & confused dog flanked by two small, concerned girls asking the middle-sized traffic warden what they ought do about the little lost dog and where its owner might be.
...of the man cycling at full pelt past me who looked for all the world the spitting image of Ralph Malph.
...of the girl in floaty floral flapper shorts with the huge pictures of 1940s pinup girls tattooed on the back of each thigh.
...of the car driving slowly around the one-way system, American hillbilly music playing loudly through its windows, all occupants therein grinning and clapping in time until they were well out of my earshot.
...of the Rolls Royce cruising slowly past me up the main road, its driver a suited and capped chauffeur, its passengers three young ladies each sipping from champagne flutes. The face of the woman in the front was alight with the feeling of getting away with something devilish...
...of the older man weaving his way from the bar after closing time, his flies unbuttoned and his crotch soaked.
...of the elderly lady who lifted a toddler off the bottom step of the bus and seemed to shed twenty years.
...of the truck-bed-mounted crane stretched out horizontally into a hollow frontage of a shop, gradually winching out an enormous fryer unit at least 18 feet long.
...of the two older men discussing the finer points of mowing the church lawn, holding mugs of tea, in the middle of the half-mown lawn on a mild early summer evening.
...of the shutters over the pub's side door being pushed open from the inside, of four men stumbling out, one still drinking, hugging like long-lost brothers and meandering, arm-in-arm, singing up the street as a police car cruises by turning a blind eye, at 9am on a Saturday morning.
...of the woman outside Tesco climbing into her Lexus clutching a pint of milk, then driving the fifty feet to the next parking bay just to use the ATM beside it.
...of the woman in full 1940s costume running for, and catching, the bus.
...of the woman in sunglasses soaking up the sun on her seventh floor balcony, calmly working away on her cross-trainer and watching the city speed by.
...of the man enjoying the weather while playing his Xbox at high volume on a huge flat-screen TV...in his tiny front yard on the main road.
...of the bus with a busted front spring, as it seemed to lurch sideways up the road like a Saturday afternoon drunk in a crowd of shoppers.
...of the very tall man dressed all in black, including a black beanie hat, suddenly leaping up into the air and clicking his heels to the complete delight of his friends and the utter fright of two women passing them.
...of the two drivers, one black taxi the other fonacab, locked in battle through the lights at Bradbury Place and down Great Victoria Street. A metaphor, I believe, or a microcosm.
...of the worried-looking woman who asked me if I knew of anyone named Carl living on the street next to mine, while her husband waited in the car with the engine running.
...of the middle-class boy with the terrible mullet chatting to the middle-class girl with the terrible mullet, both dressed in oddly matching terrible 80s throw-back clothes, white skinny jeans and sequined orange teeshirts. I shuddered.
...of the wasp inside my front door lock this morning that wouldn't accept any of my coaxing towards the light, buzzing more and more angrily until I finally gave up and crushed it by turning my key to unlock the door.
...of the man halted in the middle of the wide, wide pavement, facing across it at a 45 degree angle at the still-closed bank building. He is the spitting image of Boris Johnson but with an extra 10 years and much shorter hair. His face looks baffled, like he's trying hard to think his way through where on earth he might be, and his eyes don't quite focus on anything within his line of sight.
...of the man in pyjamas and dressing gown out in the street, gazing into the cancer centre window, smoking a cigarette and wrestling his hospital admission tag up from his elbow back up to his wrist.
...of the skinny-jeans hipster pair who passed me in the street, guitars on their backs, one singing backing vocal harmony ideas to the other.
...of the row of six cars parked outside Zen II, each with a woman sitting behind the wheel, each staring straight ahead with an anxious expression on her face.
...of the man outside Tesco strapping his shopping onto the back of his motorcycle: one case of Carling, one kettle. I want to believe he was a scientist and these items formed the basis of a serious experiment.
...of the little boy pulling an impromptu and unheralded Michael Jackson crotch grab as he walked up the street with his parents.
...of the huge bee that overtook me on the way up my street, intent on the bushes up ahead. It even did a wiggle as it passed me, like a Spitfire pilot waggling his wings to say hello to those on the ground.
...of the guy who Fonz'd me on the walk home right after he'd looked up into the sky at the rain, shrugged expressively and spread his arms, palms up in a "why me why now?" gesture...
...of the blankness of the bus driver's expression as he looks at the queue waiting to board his almost empty bus, of his failure to stop, of his failure to even react to their presence. That blank expression and mute turning away.
...of using a pedalo to get to work each morning - from Kircubbin, down past Strangford, then up around the coast into Belfast Lough.
...of the elderly couple having a long, involved and amazed discussion speculating about what on earth the Smartlink ticket machine might possibly be. They never quite decided.
...of the men in Tesco with goatees. There were at least fifteen of them, scattered along the check-outs. They had many different haircuts and styles, but every single man had a goatee. Not a single fully-bearded or clean-shaven man was visible apart from the cashiers.
...of the man with the plastic sheriff's badge displayed proudly, calmly crossing the road with authority and gravitas.
...of the heavy-set girl wearing entirely skin-tight clothes, but with a tutu-style frill around her at belly-button level, instantly giving her the appearance of about 6 stone extra weight around her belly. A poor fashion decision.
...of the facial expressions of the man promising money in order to coerce the people around him into action, but who then consistently avoids paying in order to obtain more work by reusing the promise of money...
...of the three young couples in full formal evening dress, standing in the rain, hair disheveled, shivering, catching the 10:30am bus home, reeking of drink, eyes full of sleepless mischief, conversation loud and stilted and oblivious to the world around them.
...of the art gallery proprietor with the huge cloud of white hair, parted at the side; a style I thought was only sported by 18th century composers of piano concertos.
...of the muffled thumping bass & drum pulse as I pass the window of Katy's, of the crystal clear "Flash...aa-aaaah" at the exact moment I walk past the open door to the bar. The elation.
...of the display box of honeydew melons tipping slowly forward then spilling one by one onto the street, until they all tumble out and roll into the road.
...of the guy in the pork-pie hat shambling and staggering drunkenly with a pizza slice in his hand who turns out to be dancing, doing the full Michael Jackson shuffle, spins, moonwalk, etc., sober as a judge and a very, very good dancer.
...of the girl yelling at two men who'd just punched her friend, defying them to come back and punch her too, her boyfriend yelling "Nolene, Nolene, stop" after her, the two men sauntering up the street ignoring her apart from the occasional backwards glance. She keeps yelling, following, furious and justified, her boyfriend keeping well back, scared of repercussions. The two men properly sprinting away down Sandy Row just as soon as they turned the corner and were out of sight.
...of the wobbly-headed, crooked man standing at the front of the bus like a black rook in a treetop.
...of the cat sprinting down the sloping church gardens, over the wall and into the middle of the (empty) Lisburn Road, where it promptly stops, sits down and commences to wash its hind quarters.
...of the hipster kid with purple skinny jeans, fastened tightly beneath his buttocks by the de rigueur studded belt, but with his unusual choice of bikini-briefs exposing his naked upper thighs and bumcheeks to the world. Much to the entertainment of the heckling builders, one of whom spat tea out his nose at the sight.
...of the phalanx of window-cleaners that breaks over and around me like a wave, every third man carrying ladders, the rest toting buckets and poles and wipers. I want to take a photo but I am too stunned by the impression that I've just walked onto the set of a 1950s musical, in the midst of a dance routine.
...of the crowd of twenty or thirty late-teens that erupted, laughing and shouting, from the hostel at 9:15am into the street ahead of me, each one of them wearing sparkly green shamrock deeley-boppers. They turned out to be North Americans. Now that was unexpected lalt...
...of the man in Tesco just before 10am, walking slowly along each aisle before arriving finally at the off-sales. He stops at the vodka selection, reaches up and touches a bottle of Smirnoff. He gently rotates the bottle on the shelf with his fingertips, just gazing at it. Gradually lowering his hand, he edges away sidewards then steps around the corner towards the fridges. A few seconds later he's back, with a pack of beer, standing still and rapt in front of the Smirnoff once more. By the time I'm done paying for my coffee, he's joined the queue for the tills, his decision made. Vodka with a beer chaser for breakast.
...of the red-haired twins with matching glasses and haircuts, stopping mid-sentence and making eye-contact with me at that very instant when the three of us realise that I'm thinking: "oh look those two red-haired guys, they're twins with matching glasses and haircuts"...and the rapid and uncomfortable glancing away as we pass.
...of the woman cycling in Ug boots. A nice thick line of oil almost completely encircling her right boot.
...of the two swarthy teens with chin-strap beards and short hair, looking every inch the stereotyped disaffected Muslim youth, one turning to the other and saying: "'mon ta fuck Mohammed" in a thick Belfast brogue.
...of the absent-minded smile, the gaze off into nowhere, the almost otherworldiness of the flame-headed pregnant woman in black who seems to float past the coffee shop as I absently people-watch during a meeting.
...of the realisation, inspired by the niggling feeling that I've left my front door open, that everything I possess of any value (either intrinsic or sentimental) is in the bags I'm carrying right now.
...of the man at the counter in Tesco who no longer speaks to me or meets my gaze since he gave me the wrong change three weeks ago, catching himself about to do exactly the same thing again.
...of the sequins stewn for a hundred yards up the street outside a French restaurant after a wedding.
...of the young black dog, possibly three or four months old, maybe a labrador, tied up, sitting patiently outside the off-licence at the major road junction. Not a sidewards glance, not a tremble, not a sound.
...of the older woman with the granny-trolley who walks up to the empty bus shelter and instead of standing inside it, parks herself and her trolley in the middle of the remaining strip of pavement, thereby blocking it completely and forcing those passing onto the road. In front of the bus. Daft old bat.
...of the woman in the back seat of the bus passing me, facing out the window with a slight but enigmatic grin, her right hand on her chin as if stroking an invisible beard, her eyes looking up and to the left. An evil genius conjuring a wicked plan...
...of the man coming towards me in the street, moving just like he were made entirely of foam, rubber and springs.
...of the car stopped in traffic sounding for all the world like a child making tractor noises; blowing raspberries!
...of the girl, beautifully dressed and tastefully made-up, who cannot walk in those heels, her legs bowing and buckling repeatedly like the Scout Walker in Return of the Jedi that was attacked by the Ewoks. And she was sober.
...of the small old man who refused to let me walk past him, walking with his arms swinging, throwing himself forward at speed then slowing gradually until I caught up, before surging forward once more each time I appeared in his peripheral vision. I never did get past him, the whole way into town.
...of the voices and laughter bursting out from the crowded art gallery, windows steamed, like fireworks or a welcome. As I pass unseen.
...of the regular customer being greeted warmly by staff in the bagel shop before asking for two slices of toast and a wee piece of bacon.
...of the way two double-decker buses passing each other on the curve of the road looks for all the world like a giant worm stretching out to take another "step" forward. Do worms step? What is that movement called?
...of the old caretaker standing in the service entrance behind the hotel, coffee in one hand, cigarette in the others, eyes closed, basking in the sunshine.
...of staring hard at the oncoming police landrover while my eyes refuse to see anything but the A-Team van...
...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.
