Lockdown has been interesting. For someone who ordinarily finds it hard to get out of bed, this has been a challenge. Here’s some stuff that’s happened thus far…
Has been abandoned since my Mom left.
The grey cement slates unrecognisable with algae and weeds that clung to it for dear life and the potted plants shrivelled as if to say “Thanx for nothing”. With all this spare time on my hands I thought, ‘enough is enough’, and found a new hobby in gardening, (aka taking my anger out on a shovel whilst listening to Meghan Thee Stallion.)
I crawled up off the ground, panting, holding my shovel and as I looked at the shit I’d swept in a big pile, I felt as proud as a soldier coming home from duty.
Al Fresco dining.
Nothing quite like it is there? I’ve been sitting outside eating simple food, enjoying looking at the simple things- like birds and flowers and that.
The other day, my neighbours decided to step out into their garden.
They have three kids.
Fine, I thought, as long as they don’t cause a ruckus. All started off fine- a little bit of laughter and “Mu-mmm, Da-aad” here and there.
God, it almost felt nice to hear them play, like a grandmother watching her grandchildren at the park. Maybe this was what life was all about- the symphony of the great outdoors, the spring in the air and the-
“RATTTT!!” There’s a RATTTT!!” one of the kids screamed and I instinctively shot up, the mouthful of grapes in my mouth suspended in time.
They all fled inside and I spent the next hour RATtled, mistaking the shake of tree branches and leaves for the claws of a rat digging for cheese in the soil.
Kids can be so selfish.
Can I get an AMEN??!
I can’t stand FaceTime because it’s like talking to a friend whilst looking in a mirror. However, I couldn’t ignore the hype of House Partyand decided to dive in head first.
The first two weeks it was the hottest place to be- even people who didn’t drink had poured themselves a glass of red wine!! “Trivia” was fun- I’ve learnt tonnes. Like what K Pop band POPped off (lol) and where the largest waterfall is.
“Quick Draw”, the drawing game is cool, but has confirmed to me that my 3 years at art school has got me nowhere. I’ve now just started spelling out words that rhyme with the object- e.g “plum” would be “glum” with the g underlined. Newcomers have remarked “Are you allowed to do that?” but I wish they knew I was born a rule breaker.
Now I feel the hype has worn away, like going to your favourite club too many weekends in a row. The games have grown stale (everyone knows the answers) and my shit signal has made it more stress than anything. Its absence has left an app shaped hole in my heart, and I instead cry on my balcony and then order pizza whilst drunk.
I wonder what the hell Timotheé Chalamet is doing right now…
2 weeks ago
When Corona was more of a Chinese whisper (budumtisss), I met up with Ophelia.
We were at the cafe where she works (she behind the bar and I, pretending to read) when a man wearing a baseball cap and tattered jeans walked in.
He ordered a sparkling water and mistook the peanuts on the counter as free and then chose a seat that was right behind me. It was Rhys Ifans. I guess it’s true the rich can be thieves too. I was a bit starstruck but was minding my own business with this shit ass book, but couldn’t ignore the dramatic grunts and flicks of pages coming from Rhys’s way.
When I got up to use the loo, I surveilled his table. The pages he seemed pissed off at were a script and the stolen peanuts had been scattered around the table as if he wanted to make a show of ‘cheating the system’. With three or four emphatic squeezes of hand sanitiser he grabbed his script and left the building.
O threw off her apron which signified the end of her shift and that’s when it hit me.
Timotheé was probably rehearsing at The Old Vic for his play “4,000 Miles”! And we happened to be a stones thrown away! So we walked over. Duh.
First stop- Penny’s-
the theatre’s bar.
Deadsville I tell ya! No plug even in sight for me to charge my laptop! The cheek!
Upstairs to the other bar,
where tables were reserved and an important staff meeting was taking place. I put on my sunglasses to assert some sort of authority and we pretended as if we were meant to be there for a bit which wasn’t fooling anyone.
It was raining heavily.
Luckily there was a pub and we took shelter under its awning.
“Where the fuck IS he?” O wailed and got out her phone, scrolling through some tween’s Twitter fan account. “ilovetimmy_123”.
And she held up her phone. It was a picture of the cheeky bugger standing on a street that looked suspiciously like Notting Hill or South Ken. Before I could reply-
cackles sounded and a flock of four or five school girls were down the street, with the same kind of desperation in their eyes as we had.
“Anna. What are they doing there?”
“Isn’t it a bit weird they’re standing near the stage door, in a group like that?”
She did a make a good point… but not good enough to tear us away from iloveTimmy_123’s account. (25 years old, ladies and gentlemen.)
Two Mercedes Benz pulled up, one behind the other.
Blacked out windows.
Right outside the stage door.
It couldn’t be.
Or could it?
Well we weren’t taking any chances, so hightailed it, passing the school girls (suckers!!!) to position ourselves opposite. O, now also in sunglasses, lit a cigarette and through gritted teeth, hissed
And like Scabbers to Voldermort I hopped to it, as if to say “yes my Lord” reading aloud the number plates, stuttering a bit. Things stood still for a while, until an old woman exited the stage doors and got into one of the cars. It was his co star in the play.
Cooking.With.GAS lads! Who’s with me?
O lit another cigarette.
I asked for a puff.
She said yes and then-
someone… someone else now was emerging from the door.
A bodyguard, with a puffed up chest, looking around the area as
if to check the coast was clear.
We looked at each other and then, it happened.
A purple hoodie.
A tuft of brown bouncy hair.
Timmy was there in the flesh.
“WHAADDUPPP?” He blared to the driver and hopped in, and they drove off, passing us, into the London evening. It was 4:30.
I felt a new found sense of purpose- tracking down Chalamet’s whereabouts.
Blame it on all the Homeland I’d been watching or my spy blood.
My Gran conveniently lives in Notting Hill,
so I spent the next week stomping up and down the streets there, referring to iloveTimmy123’s picture of him, like a lost Italian tourist trying to locate Abbey Road.
After a couple hours I had struck gold.
I found the street.
How? A magician never reveals his tricks.
I rang the buzzer to Gran’s, unable to contain my excitement.
“Gran!! I’ve found him!!”
“Anna, for Godsakes. DO respect the man’s privacy!”
I stormed off to the toilet to collect my thoughts and when I came back
she was sitting with her A to Z map book.
She looked at me and asked:
“What was the street name?”