tales from an ordinary world

2002-04-27

...so I stood at Armadale station in the failing light, waiting for a train to the south-eastern lands, where I'd eventually walk up a street that, at its end, seemed to be guarded by the huge glowing moon hanging there like a 10 cent piece.

On the platform behind me, a slim girl in denim skirt and red tracksuit-like jacket hauled a Canon bubblejet printer box back and forth, repeating my own earlier confusion about which platform we were meant to be waiting on. Afer a while, she disappeared beyond the brickwork, beyond my field of view, and not long after I could see the occasional puff of smoke.

For the first time in quite a while I was carrying my discman, listening to the Willard Grant Conspiracy sing of a man who was "born to dangle / beneath that hanging tree". Lately I've regretted that fettered feeling of having too many wires, cables and attachments - you always look awkward sitting up, getting down, or otherwise changing positions, if you have to remove headphones, unshoulder your bag and re-seat the headphones every so often. But today, I needed the inner peace that comes from watching the world with one's own, semi-delicately chosen soundtrack. People looked at me all evening as I walked by with these large earmuff-like headphones, knowing I was only half in their world.

In the backyard later on, we stood there for a moment, gazing in wonderment at this tall white chimney-like device next-door, that served (according to the homeowner) no discernible purpose. But it was better than having neighbours, he said.