It's a beautiful day. Good Friday in Holloway. Thinking about Sunday lunch. Reflections on the resurrection.Bollocks to that, I'm taking 'Tel for a walk.
"'Tel - get yer string on we're orf up the 'olloway."
Putting your dog on a string is quirky, maybe even cute in a David Essex gypo kind of way. Putting your kid on a string is just weird. At some point there has been an event, a decision, a comment which has made her think "I know, this'll stop the bugger running off - a line of string to his wrist". If he did do a runner and tied a sibling bin bag for her to drag along I doubt she'd notice.
Why the string? Is it to keep a hand free to smoke your fag? Scream at Grandma on the mobile? Scratch your ample arse which is all I can see being dragged behind you? Or is it that you just don't like touching me? What's wrong with a little human contact? Just remember mummy, it's still long enough for me to get dragged under a bus and take you screaming with me.
Holloway's looking like a slum in the sun today. For some reason it reminds me of Las Americas - an ugly man made landscape which is tolerated but also blighted by its transient inhabitants who pollute, litter then move on. Just a fragment of their lives which someday they'll tell stories about.
All these cars and still the garage has closed. The rehearsal rooms are now boarded up to make way for more 'luxury' apartments with just enough insulation to keep reality out.
Holloway needs a resurrection this Easter.
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