A Sign Post

The other day, on the walk to work, I decided to veer off the main route. In the back of my head I knew that the diversion was in the general direction of where I was going, and so I feel defeated in my attempt at randomness. If I were really to be random, I'd change direction at undefined varying time internals and would probably converge to walking in a perfect circle.

In any case, I committed to going as far as I could off my usual route. It led me down a side street where I was amused by a sign that read 'Zone Ends'. I never knew I was in the zone. At the risk of exiting the zone, I continued and found myself at the foot of a steep bank on a dead-end street. Climbing the bank there was a small clearing and a rabbit hopped across the open green. I carried on walking through the green and into the bushes on the other side. Suddenly I was beside a major carriage-way. Cars and buses rushed past and I only had the thin edging of the bushes to walk along the road. There was no path or signs. As a pedestrian, I was not meant to walk there.

Eventually, I ended on the upper side of a bridge. Crossing this bridge from above, on a precarious feeling beam of steel, I was able to drop down the bank on the opposite side. I was now under the bridge again...

Sock Puppet

This is the day I no longer recognised the duality of socks. For as long as I've done my own washing, I would separate and neatly arrange the socks on my bed and then pair up the socks in a ball. I remember the frustration of the majority black socks being especially difficult to match. It became a matter of the thickness, the thread, and also that bit around the toes. That's how you could tell if they were inside out.

In the process of pairing my socks, I took time to notice the differences in shades of black, the very dark navy socks and brands – Wilson, Nike, Pringles. There were also the novelty socks with hilarious suggestions like – Beer Time! There were socks for days, socks for seasons, and this helped the pairing process. You would start with the easy novelty socks, then move to the thick dark socks, and so you would complete the elimination process. If you were lucky, there would be no remainder.

One day there was a remainder, and ever since it propagated with no-one ever noticing my infernal irritation at this, one of life's 'little things'. I suspect this is where things began to go wrong and I abandoned pairing my socks. “Fuck it” I said. Now I couldn't give a damn and just dump the pile in a drawer. So I get all the days mixed up, and eventually my whole life is a mess. I said “Fuck it” to lots of other things like shaving, working, getting-up – all of this simply because I no longer pair my socks.
And you know what, I couldn't give a fuck.

Around a Pound

When I was 8 the tooth-fairy left a Pound under my pillow. She moved so softly I did not stir, and at an unknown time in the night I woke.

"Wow. A Pound. A whole Pound - and it's all mine."

My eight year old lucid brain was once again fulfilled with belief.
And in my hand was money.

The concept must have elapsed me, for the next thing I did was inexplicable. I had been lovingly and tightly tucked in by my mother, and this new Pound I balanced on the tip of my tongue.
Quickly it agitated into a wobble and lost itself over the side. It had fallen straight down my throat.

Then I had learned my first lesson in money. You can't eat it. You may have five thousand Pound coins but no food, and then you would die.

Feeling I had lost something that I wanted, I went to my parents bed-side and told them.
"I swallowed the Pound the tooth-fairy left for me."

I cried, but not for my own well-being, but for the Pound. My parents were more concerned for me and brought me to a hospital where an X-ray showed a Pound at a crossroads between my lung and my stomach.

Luckily that Pound went into my digestion system. Later, I shat that Pound into a bucket and my devoted Granny fished it out with some rubber gloves. There were ideas to have this Pound put on a chain for me to keep - after all it had been inside me. I had other plans though, as those irresistible sweets I'd taken as an early vice would tell. The exchange was made, the sweets were mine, and the Pound was in the system.

It still is. It is part of the monetary system that enslaves mankind.