Thursday, 17 March 2011

Overheard Conversations

I had to renew six books today as well as taking out five more, from two separate libraries in Cambridge today, so I decided to take a big "re-usable" Sainsbury's carrier bag, in which to carry my ridiculous pile of books. Having completed this errand, I was faced with a choice; to take my book-heavy bag back to my college on the bus, or to walk to town. I stared up at the departure board at the bus stop outside of the English faculty, and decided that nine minutes was just too long to wait, and that I'd have to walk to town (the opposite direction to my college/home). There was clearly some kind of masochistic subconscious thoughts going on, as I already had a splitting headache, and had sprained both of my ankles earlier in the week.
I set out in the direction of town, knowing as I went, that I had made the wrong choice, but relishing the schizophrenic rebellion that I was enacting. Walking through King's College, I was in too much pain to appreciate the little ducks pattering around in the bluebell covered banks on either side of the pathway, but I just about managed to smile at the daffodils that have all popped up out of nowhere. Every year I think to myself, "I don't notice the daffodils until they are flowering! Next year, I vow to notice them before they open their bright yellow heads!", but of course, I never do.
I got to town, and thought, "Now what?" as I really hadn't thought past getting there. I felt like window shopping to congratulate myself for having been so productive in renewing all of my library books, but I was in no position to do so. My head pulsated. Defiantly, I walked to the Post Office to buy stamps that I don't need, just because I could. I was on FIRE. There wasn't NOBAWDEH who could tell me what to do. I was my own man. Blowin' in the wind, etc. If anyone wanted to tell me to stop, they could SUCK MY BALLZ. You get the picture. I bought the stamps, twelve of them; an arbitrary number that I decided upon from a shortlist of seven, twelve, and fifteen. With that task completed, I felt empty and directionless, so I let my battered feet do the navigating. I limped to Boots to see if my friend Liv was working that day, and to buy some paracetamol to subdue my pounding brain. Liv wasn't working when I went there, but I managed to buy paracetamol, and summon enough saliva to swallow two of them, "dry". I couldn't really see in a straight line by this point, and all of the ground had turned into a series of rolling hills, undulating before me. I staggered to the bus stop, and sat waiting for the bus. As I waited, consuming a nut and grain bar that I had purchased on the way, I overheard the following half-a-telephone-conversation:

"...So now I'm in a load of shit, and they think I did it. Sarah's on my side, and told the others it weren't me, but I think they still think that it was...........yeah............ But now my mum's in on it I refused to vote, I wasn't going to get involved with their bitching....... Just left............... Apparently they killed them, and dragged them all around Cambridge............. the gypsies............... Gypsies................ You know, travellers............ So they killed them, and dragged one of them all around Cambridge......"

You'd think that at this point, my ears would prick up further, but the haze of my headache made me zone out for a bit. When I tuned back in to this girl's conversation, I heard:

"...And threw them all on a fire............ At least one of them, anyway............ The gypsies............ And had a massive party.............. And I really, REALLY wanted to watch........... Like, really............ but I went home because I thought it was disrespectful............."

At this point, the conversation changed completely, to the girl talking about how her dad wanted to charge her £75 for driving lessons. I felt like I had experienced some sort of shift to another plane of existence, where people habitually had gypsy burning parties, and then slipped back into this dimension seamlessly, between bites of my cereal bar. It was odd indeed. I made it home, and tried to explain to my flatmates what I had experienced, but they didn't quite seem to understand. Dear reader, do you think that I am going mad?

I am sorry for the text-heavy posts of late. I will post more photos soon, when I have debugged my laptop. :)

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