pimlico's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- we coulda been anything that we wanted to be Wonderfully, I'm fairly certain that someone drove past my house last night with the Bugsy Malone soundtrack blaring out of their car stereo. Most people favour hip hop or techno as their soundtrack whilst doing the driving around the streets of North London with the windows down and stereo turned up summer thing. But not this person. Perhaps Bugsy Malone is now "street". And maybe this will convince kids to carry toy guns full of goo instead of real firearms. And yesterday I saw a serious-looking couple strolling down the road. They both appeared to be mature students and were dressed in his n'hers slightly scruffy denim. Their conversation was in a language I didn't understand, but I kind of assumed they were talking about Jean Paul Satre, or Baudrillard. Something weighty. They sounded earnest enough*. All a fairly standard sight round these parts, aside from the fact that the man had a huge bunch of balloons attached to his back. I can only assume that he was either making a half arsed attempt to fly or else they were on their way to some kind of children's party, perhaps with a philosophical theme. Sometimes, it looks like there's a parade of slightly eccentric things happening to keep us all entertained and stop us digruntled office gibbons from commiting hari-kari by falling on our biros. *Of course, I really have no idea what they were on about. Last year, whilst strolling down Gerrard Street with a friend we noticed that one of the Chinese medical centres had placed a TV screen outside. The TV was showing a video that appeared to consist entirely of still images of people with truly horrific injuries. At the time, I assume that the Catonese voice over (a calm sounding male voice) was explaining all the ways in which they could help the injuries with Chinese Medicine. But for all I know, he could have been saying, "Urrrrgh! Look at that! That must really hurt! Fucking hell - I don't even know what body part that is, but ooooh - that's gotta hurt." What all of this says about my ignorance of other languages I don't know. But based on my feeble attempts to order a coffee on a recent day trip to France and the hilarity it provoked in the scarily tall waitress I can only assume that anything I attempt to say in any other langugages sounds like comedy gold. 1:02 p.m. - 2007-04-13 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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