It has taken me just three months to learn this, but now I have learnt it good. If you make a date, any kind of date, a lunch date for okonomiyaki on Museum Street, say, or a tooling-around date in Kentish Town—
may I just say, I met this girl Nora the other day who lives in Kentish Town, and I said: “Oh! I LOVE Kentish Town. Not ever having been there. Just because of the name.” “Yes,” she said, “it is Kent-ish,” and that is when I knew I liked her. “Exactly,” I said, “it’s not quite Kent, it’s, oh, Kent-like.”—
and now I feel I must add that the two other places I need to go to, just because you see these names on the tube map and immediately you realise there must be circuses at these stops, great starry circuses with golden horns and dogs jumping through hoops, these two places I must go to are: Tooting and Barking—
if you make a date for any sort of Fun Times at all, all of a sudden your temp agency will call and offer you work. I see your tricks, fiendish temp goblins!
I’m not complaining about work, really I’m not, because I need it, but mostly because, all in all, I like poking around in various offices in various neighbourhoods all about town. How else would I know about the kitschy-trashy Sun Orbit Amusements on Camden High Street but for having temped ’round the corner last month? And how else would I have found out about the Old Curiosity Shop with its elfish leather boots in the window, or about the secret spot of quiet park at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, had I not strolled into those parts for a temp gig some weeks ago?
This morning the 38 took me up Rosebery to Farringdon, where the storekeeps up and down Exmouth Market were still setting up for the day. The guy at Moro was laying out forks and knives on crisp white napkins, while the fellow at Sofra rolled out big steel tabletops. The greenthumb at Pod was coaxing the blooms in a flowerbox.
I am temping at Amnesty this week and part of next, which is great because I SWEAR I had just been thinking I needed to go volunteer at Amnesty, what with all this free time on my hands. And where the utter repetitiveness of my other temp jobs have SUCKED THE LIFE out of EVERYTHING THAT IS GOOD IN THE WORLD, Amnesty is redeeming temp work. Where the other jobs involved filing and copying and stapling and unstapling, my work at Amnesty involves READING and EDITING.
“I’m sorry,” my supervisor said when we began today, my supervisor with the kind name and the kind eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I should tell you, there will be a lot about torture.” Today I know a lot about Uzbekistan, and a bit about Kyrgyzstan. Tomorrow I will know about Kazakhstan and Armenia.
may I just say, I met this girl Nora the other day who lives in Kentish Town, and I said: “Oh! I LOVE Kentish Town. Not ever having been there. Just because of the name.” “Yes,” she said, “it is Kent-ish,” and that is when I knew I liked her. “Exactly,” I said, “it’s not quite Kent, it’s, oh, Kent-like.”—
and now I feel I must add that the two other places I need to go to, just because you see these names on the tube map and immediately you realise there must be circuses at these stops, great starry circuses with golden horns and dogs jumping through hoops, these two places I must go to are: Tooting and Barking—
if you make a date for any sort of Fun Times at all, all of a sudden your temp agency will call and offer you work. I see your tricks, fiendish temp goblins!
I’m not complaining about work, really I’m not, because I need it, but mostly because, all in all, I like poking around in various offices in various neighbourhoods all about town. How else would I know about the kitschy-trashy Sun Orbit Amusements on Camden High Street but for having temped ’round the corner last month? And how else would I have found out about the Old Curiosity Shop with its elfish leather boots in the window, or about the secret spot of quiet park at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, had I not strolled into those parts for a temp gig some weeks ago?
This morning the 38 took me up Rosebery to Farringdon, where the storekeeps up and down Exmouth Market were still setting up for the day. The guy at Moro was laying out forks and knives on crisp white napkins, while the fellow at Sofra rolled out big steel tabletops. The greenthumb at Pod was coaxing the blooms in a flowerbox.
I am temping at Amnesty this week and part of next, which is great because I SWEAR I had just been thinking I needed to go volunteer at Amnesty, what with all this free time on my hands. And where the utter repetitiveness of my other temp jobs have SUCKED THE LIFE out of EVERYTHING THAT IS GOOD IN THE WORLD, Amnesty is redeeming temp work. Where the other jobs involved filing and copying and stapling and unstapling, my work at Amnesty involves READING and EDITING.
“I’m sorry,” my supervisor said when we began today, my supervisor with the kind name and the kind eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I should tell you, there will be a lot about torture.” Today I know a lot about Uzbekistan, and a bit about Kyrgyzstan. Tomorrow I will know about Kazakhstan and Armenia.
posted by stellou at 11:50 PM
5 Comments:
I'm glad and I'm sorry, all at the same time. I had an ex-student who interned at the London Amnesty office last year. The stories she told...
I hope you find another old curiosity shoppe around the corner to buoy you on your way.
How about SingSing too:
“Relating Singapore's experience in dealing with the Jemaah Islamiyah episode, Mr Zainul told the conference that Singapore has taken the initiative to start a Religious Rehabilitation Group.
The purpose was to correct misrepresentations of the faith that the JI members had been exposed to before their detention.”
Religious Rehab eh. sounds nasty.
I know what you mean about strange places you discover just at random, like that. It's as if it was your own little treasures, a bit like the odd things you pick up and keep religiously as a child. Shit, I 'm afraid I'm not very clear, here. :p
ok, NOW you're really gonna need frequent updates upon the "I love utterly stupid music" file we've recently opened, since you got this sad-but-handy job
tym: Yah, I asked my supervisor how she keeps going given everything she knows about a deteriorating state of affairs, and she didn't really have an answer. You just do it, I guess.
There are not so many curiosity shoppes around the corner here--at least not so far as I have seen--but there are many other brilliant visual things. And not! one! but! two! fancy food shops.
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nai: eh come on man, singapore has initiative. uh...or something lah. also--religious rehab sounds like there might be doughnuts. or beatings. shit.
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stellou!! as a child? as a child?? i will have you know i pick up little bits of odd treasures TO THIS DAY! :-D fruit wrappers, cheese boxes, matchboxes...damn, i sound like i'm a bloody bird building a bloody nest. YAH, we like things. things are good. oh, except for the stupid plastic pig that fell out of my christmas cracker last night at the mango tree restaurant. that one stayed on the table. it was so stupid a gift it was insulting.
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olive: yah! you see, i'm sure you knew they would come in handy one day. but you know...it would also be okay if you sent good music. hahaha
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