I was up early today, planning to get to the gym and then on to the British Library. I walked down to Hammersmith and noticed a plastic bottle in the gutter. I considered picking it up to recycle it, but decided it was too much hassle. Then I began wondering if we could help save the world by sending teams out on to the streets to look for recycleable stuff, maybe going through bins. I considered this for a while and thought that the only people who would probably be prepared to do this for nothing would be schoolchildren. After all they would have the most to gain from saving the world as they are goiung to have to live in it when it is all messed up. Plus schoolchildren are gullible and can be made to do arduous tasks for no payment, if you tell them it helps the community or the environment. I wish adults retained that publiuc spiritedness, but alas they rarely do.
It reminded me though of an incident from my childhood (well I was probably about 13) that I had completely forgotten about. The school had persuaded some of the more public spirited and gullible pupils to go up the gorge to help clear the rubbish out of the little river that runs through the tourist attraction. I think we were maybe even sponsored to do this too, making it a double killing for the fatcats who were taking advantage of our youthful willingness to help. It was a fun day, extracting weeds and coke cans from the water and I can remember feeling I had really made a difference.
But the thing I suddenly remembered today was that along with the weeds and regular rubbish, there were several used prophylactics in the water. Though at the time I had no idea what they were. I just remember the other kids pulling disgusted faces and making comments as one of the johnnies would float by. Not wanting to look like an idiot I joined in with the condom pantomime, even though I was unsure of what the objects of our derision actually were. The top of the gorge was no doubt a good spot for seclusion for young amorous couples, who once their heady adventures were over chose to deposit the evidence of their elicit shame in the convenient river. Water washes away so many sins.
I remember picking up one of the spent French Letters and waving it around, to the consternation and amusement of my fellow volunteers, who rightly told me I was disgusting. But, of course I didn't really know until later quite how disgusting I was, because aside from knowing the objects were something rude I had no idea what they had been used for, or indeed what they would recently have been filled with (maybe not filled - though Cheddar blokes are very virile). It made me laugh to think of my naivety and it was a strange thing to pop into my head after a quarter of a century.
As I turned the corner though all thoughts of this incident were spirited from my mind as I came across the strangest of sights. Placed squarely on the top of a bin was a rather unusual doll or figurine of a wide-eyed baby. The brown paint of its skin had peeled away in places, implying that it was old and unwanted and yet it was decorated with a fancy necklace and earrings. Where the Hell had that come from? And why has someone placed it on a bin as if it were a plinth. A baby on a bin is an odd juxtapostion in any case, but this figure was a little eerie and the jewelry made it look like it had been dressed up especially. Dolls are frightening enough as it is, but to come round a corner and see one as unique as this was bound to be a little unsettling. The uneducated and racist part of my brain thought that perhaps this doll was part of some strange African ceremonial curse. More likely it was a toy dropped from a pram and placed in view by a concerned passerby. But what an exquisite and decorated plaything it would be. It looks innocent enough, but then the creepiest dolls look innocent, before the come to life and slaughter everyone in the house.
I couldn't let this little strange slice of London life go unrecorded though and luckily had my camera with me, so posterity would know about this artisitic display. Slightly chilling isn't it?
I immediately went to the Post Office to post a parcel and was slightly freaked out to find that the door was locked. What was happening on the Goldhawk Road? Was it the scary baby curse?
Then I looked at my watch and realised that it was five to nine and the shop wasn't open yet. I live in a daytime world where everything is always available to me. Because I was out and about so early I was experiencing how the norms live. How awful to have to wait to post a letter.
Hammersmith Grove was all closed off with police tape, meaning I had to take a diversion, to add to the odd mood of the day. I later found out that a boy had been stabbed to death down there last night. The Evening Standard helpfully gave a list of all the famous people who live in the road, in case you want to stalk them. But it is the last road in the area where you would expect this kind of crime.
The scary doll had cast a shadow over my morning.
Later (quite a bit later as it took me ages to get round to getting there) I got to the British Library and after the disappointment of having no further information on
my bookcrossing book (I hope it didn't just get thrown away), I had my second attempt at spreading the most valuable commodity in the word - knowledge and deposited
this brilliant Kurt Vonnegut book. I figured that a like-minded person would be more likely to be at the British Library (or as it came out in a text I sent today "the brutish library" - I think they should set one of those up too). I actually bought a copy of this book to give away, as I want to hold on to my own. Vonnegut is an amazing and undervalued writer and one of the wittiest and cleverest men alive. So buy this and all his other books. I am delighted to help spread his words to random people.
I put the book on one of the stone plinths outside the library and then went inside and watched to see what would happen to it, so I could rescue it if someone chose to throw it away.
It was interesting.
A few people eyed it suspiciously. Surely this must be a trick. You don't get something for nothing. Maybe they thought it was a religious text or if they picked it up someone would jump out and demand payment. A few people prodded at it, as if that would somehow make it all make sense, but within minutes a teenage boy stopped and looked at it. He picked it up and showed it to his brother and his parents. They looked around, though didn't see me, even though they were being watched as they instinctively suspected and had a brief discussion. Clearly they understood what was expected of them and took the book with them. I was delighted. Hopefully they will log on to the site and I will find out who they were and whether they enjoyed the book. Hopefully they will pass it on. It's a beautiful thing.
But it gets me thinking - maybe the doll on the bin was part of a doll-crossing website. Or even a cursed doll-crossing website. Seeing how much suspicion and fear a book can cause, made me slightly reconsider my own perturbed reaction to this plaything.
Still look at it. Freaky!
