I read a book the other day -it's a great book- and within said book there was a chapter on keys. The book, which was good, suddenly got great. I was lying on my bed reading about plugs and staples (yes, really) and then suddenly the 'Key Chapter'. -Just to help make things slightly clearer, this book is non fiction (no, it's not the B&Q catalogue), but it somehow manages to contain all the brilliance and excitement of novel -about keys no less.
So, the Key Chapter (the pun, I realise now, is actually a very good one). Keys: Curious, magical and always to be born in pairs. I don't mean you always have two keys, more elegant than that... without the lock there is no key. Without the key a lock becomes redundant. A lone key, minus lock, somehow still looks full of promise... a solitary lock, however, looks heavy and still, like it will sleep for a hundred years until it hears the distinctive 'chilink' of the key that once used to fit. This chapter, so beautifully written, got me to thinking: What things do I like and why? Do I particularly like freshly cleaned glass jars along a window sill because of the glass, or the jar? -Or even, I hear you shout, the window sill -don't be ridiculous. If I like the bristles all splayed outwards on a used toothbrush, does that mean the next person does? I'm not sure, but I've tried to come up with a list of some of the things I like, and the reasonings why. Maybe, as you read this, you will realise we have the exact same likes, everyone who reads this, and we'll discover and worldwide phenomenon love for cold floor tiles. Maybe not.
- Glass jars, freshly cleaned, along a window sill (bet you didn't see that one coming).
- The backs of old picture frames. They've nearly always got something written on the back of them, which is usually interesting or at least in funny handwriting. Start checking.
- Small clumps of moss that have ended up, somehow, on grey concrete. Bright green on dull grey-very pretty. And they generally look like giant caterpillars.
- Running my hands along privet hedges. I don't suppose the owners of the hedges are keen for passers by to do this but it feels nice, crunchy leaves and spikey branches.
- Oily puddles. Obvious. Magical.
- The miniature version of anything. I believe in fairies.
- The noise that happens when you have a full jar of water and you turn it upside down over the sink. Puh.
- An old envelope with the scribbles of people I know on it. This feels somehow wrong to read, so I like it.
- Finding tiny bugs on plants. I imagine the leaves are like a fairground ride for them, all big and drooping.
- Mixed sweets in a huge jar. Hmmm... maybe I just like jars.
- Having butterflies land on my nose. This has never happened.
Maybe it's the magic?
The oil rainbow that dances within a once murky puddle suggests more wonderment in the world. As you look down, the puddle inches from your converse trainers, the colours waltz. If you push your head slightly forward you can see your face, warped by ripples, covered in pinks and blues, the sky above you a merge of green and yellow. The street around you is normal. Do you have the urge to jump in? Dip one trainer into the puddle only to realise its depth is unlimited. Ankle follows foot, the other toe still on concrete... rainbow colours sweeping up your leg. Plunging further in, now both hips submerged, greens and vibrant pinks shooting up your torso and streaking onto your face. As your head is finally pulled under, your hands, the last thing to go, now purple and orange in glorious swathes across your fingers, wave goodbye to the dull street and delicately, just perfectly, disappear from view. The puddle, coming to a stand still once more, is calm. Another passer by walks along the street from which you have vanished, and ignores it completely. Rainbows gone, it is just another dank area of water, no magic, no possibility.
Curious...
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