Sinister: Bandwagon space hopper

[idleberry]

Happy Birthday.

******pencil polaroid (its only a sketch)******
Its June 2001. I'm on my own. Its slightly overcast,
and theres a chance of rain.

Some bloke called Ally Cook sent me to the wrong
underground train station. It took me ages to get the
nerve to text message him in the first place. I got
off a stop too late, and was surrounded by pavements
in disrepair, and strangers were wandering past
staring at me (well, i guess I was the stranger), I
was almost ready to go home and forget the whole
situation, that only I could be embarrassed by, but
felt the whole world knew it anyway.
Eventually I phoned him, and Ally sent me to the right
train station.

and now here I am, with 60 odd people.
I'm sitting on a slope of grass, in a park somewhere
in Glasgow. I'm feeling pretty nervous, and not
entirely sure how to make face-to-face conversation
with people who might only know me for my online ego,
and they all seem quiet. I feel like I've walked in on
a massive conversation and now nobody knows what to
say. 

60 odd people? yes they are a bit I guess.

A young Inverness boy in a blue BSPD tshirt and red
corduroy flares, and has his little paws wrapped
around me, telling me something to boost my ego, and
is putting a pink featherboa around my neck. Theres a
bloke from West Calder and a journalist from Perth
sitting slightly down slop to my left.

Up slope to the left, I can see someone with blonde
plaited bunches, and a pink feather stolen from the
featherboa sticking out the bottom and specs, smiling.

 further along, theres an architect in a dapper
looking suit. 

Close by is a man so well known, he has a cult to call
his own. I like his specs.

Behind me, at the top of the slope, theres Keith. The
only one I actually know. 

Theres a young woman with an excitable spaniel pup
thats overcoming any inhibitions of picnic shyness and
getting straight to business with anyone in sight. 

Nearby, is Honey and Linda, watching over the
proceedings. 

Its 4pm on a Saturday afternoon. Some boys get
together to play football.
I'm waiting for my man. 
Theres a gig on tonight. 
I don't know it yet, but by the end of the night, I'm
going to have a bruise that feels like the size of
Kelvingrove Park on my forehead that will hurt when i
frown for a week. It will be the result of some boy
singer throwing sticks of rock into the audience. 
And I don't even catch the bloody thing. 
Ouch.
**********************
love,
Kristin

(joined December 1999)

=====
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/corduroysmoke/ starting playground gossip and passing notes

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