I woke up this morning with my left , lower, back muscle in spasm. There are thems that say its the stress coming out. There are thems that say its the detoxing. There are thems that say its because I fell on my left hip with such a force I have buggered me lumbar. There are thems that says its because I am going on holiday on Saturday and I’m letting it all hang out – they must have seen my little red bikini -. whatever thems that know say it don’t ‘alf hurt mum.
So I wandered around the flat this morning putting in washing, emptying bags, paying bills, and then my lovely roomie came in. We sat and talked as she spread a banana on two crispy rice cakes.
She left for Brighton and I decided to go onto the Kings Road to the bank and to buy a replacement bikini, back pain gel for my painful back and hair gel for my growing barnet.
The lunchtime weather was perfect for a gentle stroll.
Dusty mounds of crisp, red sycamore leaves had collected on the river walk. Gulls were pecking in the mudflats and pigeons were skittering around the boats. A smell of linseed filled the air which mingled with the ozone from the river. The sky was cerulean blue and the two o’clock sun cast long shadows of the ramparts on Battersea Bridge on the gently moving Thames.
I took a right onto Beaufort Street and thought all I needed was something to taste as all my senses had been satisfied. Walking past various eateries dulled my need to eat as the smell of fresh coffee and buns was enough to satisfy my taste buds. And then she appeared.
79 years of age if she was a day. Tattooed head, black rosebud lip-sticked mouth. Piercings from ear to ear, swathed in black, white leggings, socks and small shoes. She placed her legs in large strides before her. She owned the place,at least she thought she did, and us bystanders were happy to give her the room. She had earned the right to walk the Road just like a generation of punks before her.
First stop the chemist for my drugs.
Second stop a hairdressers for my ‘clay’ which I later found out is the new vernacular for gel. An advertising exec somewhere is rubbing his cynical hands in glee..
Third stop ‘Boots’ for gel not clay.
Fourth stop The Bank. I wanted to put some money in. I had to fill out a paying-in slip then wait to learn how to feed my bank notes into a machine.
‘Why don’t you use the cashier?’ said a young teller after I had been hovering around for ages.
‘There isn’t a queue.’ he said ‘So you could use it now.’
I wouldn’t have minded queuing but there’s the younger generation for you; Instant gratification.
I paid my dues and left.
Fifth stop the sports shop that has a silver, plastic athlete doing a handstand outside the door. Down the stairs into the swimwear department.
Beautiful bikinis, all of them with the potential to make me look like Cher. The prices had the potential to make me bankrupt. I left.
Sixth stop John Lewis. They were bagging up the last of this years swimming garments I was advised to go to M&S or Primark. They could see I was rough trade.
Seventh stop M&S. There were no bikinis or costumes so I bought a big lump of ginger, a big onion, a big head of garlic and a bag of basmati & wild rice instead. I used the self- service-tap-in-and-pay-for-yourself-machine. Surprisingly easy although I can see why check out bods get bored after a while.
The 319 to the Southside then a slow walk back to the flat.
Hung the washing, watered the olive tree on the balcony, sorted the bedding, and before you could say ‘Blimey is it that time already’ my guest arrived.
She wanted to know my news and then I made supper. The wild basmati was wild and tasty. The vegetables spicy and satisfying.
She left at 10.00, I made up the bed, called the old git, sykped Greenwhich in the mean time, then New York, New York so good they named it twice, La La Land, and finally East Sussex where the ‘oosbind had just finished watching the football.
So whilst I am left with only my red, baggy bikini, I do have enough pain gel to last me till I’m 80, and a box of wild rice begging to be stir-fried tomorrow. I now have the prospect of a clean, crisp bed to slide into.
Thank you for your wonderful e-mails. they are making me cry at least once a day. And you dear L, know who you are, you all make me feel less alone in this strangest of times.
Off to Seka Nikolic tomorrow to get this pain removed. And then either a coffee with the daughter in Soho or a spot of filming up West.
It was the best Tuesday this side of Costa Rica….
This morning it was the 12th of October it isn’t anymore.