Sitting in the murky late-afternoon hustle of Marble Arch square, the blistering English sun shines down upon all and sundry. To call Marble Arch dirty would be an understatement; it is filthy. Much as I love London, I find this small portion of the city to be something of a shit-pit. But as I sit here contemplating everything and nothing, while hundreds of passers-by go to wherever hundreds of passers-by go to. Two interesting thoughts arise from a few simple observations. As usual, instead of focusing on boobies, babies, and business people, all I see are my favourite kind of Homo-Sapien; weirdos! In this case, a couple of strangers; both as strange as the other.
The first is a middle-aged male, with a greying beard so long he could qualify for a ZZ Top tribute act. He is a trampish looking fella, who relishes in feeding armies of rampant, hungry pigeons; much to the annoyance of those around the bench he sits on. The other is a curious bag lady, who claps her hands as she dances with said pigeons; I say dancing, the pigeons don’t give a shit about the clapping. Make no mistake; these two are hardly the full ticket. As soon as beardy runs out of bread, his bird friends soon bugger off to munch on the bread of a disabled boy, across from him; pigeons are not prejudiced, the just want to eat.
My assumption is the majority of passers by are too wrapped up in their own business, to give these two any more than a passing momentary notice; the same attention afforded to a morbidly obsess person, or a midget. They are just loons, oddballs. A few local weirdos in a city loaded with the obscene and the obscure. Maybe in the centre of a new town, either would cause a scene. But in London? This is the big leagues. In this city, if you are gonna be a prime weirdo, you have some serious competition; and they pail in comparison to the Oxford Circus bible basher.
Other sights fly across my range of vision. A Megabus. Teenagers. Germans. Camp looking posh boys dressed exactly the same as the last. Cyclists using bicycles. Runners using their legs. A black guy chewing on a Big Mac, and a whole host of random shit, I will have forgotten about come sunset.
When I arrive home, out of the couple of thousand or so people who pass this Marble Arch square as I write, only pigeon man and bag lady shall linger in the memory. In a world where human beings carry a never ending search to be both noticed and accepted, these two have figured out how to achieve the former; while inadvertently sacrificing number two in the process - which is really internal anyway. So perhaps they are subtle heroes, who have beaten the game of life - and act like crazy just to get some odd form of internal validation from doing so. Or maybe they are just mental cases.
Sometimes you can be interesting without trying. Other times - like with this blog, you can create a load of stuff, and not actually create anything interesting at all. I guess, much like with pigeon man and bag lady, it is all relative...