There was a moment (Part I)


There was a moment about nine days ago when I was ready to post an entry.  I had written some notes out on a page in my notebook and just needed to type it up, sprinkle it generously with some commas and press publish.  The moment passed or didn’t happen, or perhaps more aptly it turned out to be the moment for something else.  Like…

For some reason some of my neighbours believe I’m a nurse.  

I always point out that I have a far less noble profession and my specialist knowledge of Dutch 17th Century paintings is not much help if they come knocking on my door in the middle of the night but there was a moment just before I said this, when I saw my neighbour’s expression of goodwill and admiration, that I never get when I say I’m an artist. 

There was a moment one night when all the leaves decided to drop off the trees.  I woke up and suddenly there was light in my flat and the road outside was filled with what I can only describe as a sea of gold and amber.

One evening a weary and tired me came home, turned on the light switch, and nothing happened.  It was at this moment, when I realised that the plans I had made for that evening, make a large pot of chicken curry, watch re-runs of Angel and Buffy on Sci-Fi, weren’t going to happen.

It was not a good moment this week, when at about two o’clock in the morning I decided to ignore the desparate urge to go to bed making a half-phoney promise to wake up early, and stayed up to finish some work. 

I went to see the Fireworks display at Victoria Park last night with Danny.  We ended up watching it in different places as he preferred the foreground silhouette provided by a kid on some-one’s shoulder and I preferred moving forward five yards to ‘see better,’ admittedly ignoring that the fireworks would be exploding several metres up above my head.  

I think Danny was thinking of the moment that would happen a few hours later, when he looked at the photographs and I ended up feeling watching fireworks on your own, is a moment slightly wasted.  

I have worked consecutively for the last 17 days with the aforementioned late night so this weekend was my first proper time off.  On these occasions I like to behave as if I’ve just had a bad cold and I’m milking it.  I made two boiled egg and tomato mayonnaise sandwiches, opened a large box of After Eight chocolates and a bottle of ale.  I then lay out on the sofa with a sheet covering my legs and read a fat, trashy book.

Moments don’t get much sweeter than that.