Croydonia

The weather at times has become mild enough to have my windows open once again. After pretty much three months of not being open (okay on occasion I did because the stuff air was getting to me and those of you who know me, it doesn't take much . . .) it's made a rather nice change. I've taken to opening the window when I get up in the morning and having it open of an evening when I get home for a bit too.

This morning I was sitting having my breakfast of Rice Crispies (Rice Bubbles damn it!) and cup of coffee and listening to the silence that is Croydon on a Saturday morning. By comparison to a weekday, it can sometimes be startlingly quite. Anyways, in the distance I heard the clocktower strike 8am. And it was like suddenly the world woke up. I could hear car horns, trains and police sirens start up. As if 8am marked the wake up call, and then the world was noisy. I came to realise that it's one of the small, yet remarkable things about the routine of daily life.

Like the Scary Scary Man. Each evening as I make my dinner or wash my dishes or whatever I might be doing in the kitchen when the time comes, he arrives home. At first I thought it was a once off and didn't notice it for a bit. But anticipating his return each evening, I've started to make note of it a little more. This evening the scene played out like it has been. Now I know it sounds odd and no I don't sit by the window and stalk people (cue Rear Window here). But I do notice things. He seems to be an older man. At first I noticed his OCD actions. He closes the drivers door twice. Locks and pulls on the handle three times. He then walks around to the passenger door, opens that, takes out his bag, closes the door, locks it and pulls on the handle six times. All the while muttering away to himself. In recent evenings of seeing this behaviour, I've been able to make out his words. And the whole time all he says is 'Its a scary fucking world, scary, scary, scary' and on occasion there are variations to it, but that's pretty much said a number of times.

And so I wonder what his story is. I wonder if he has a mental disability. Then I've also wondered if maybe its a front. He is kinda worried about his safety, and as a precautionary measure he puts on the mad man front in case any one decides to jump him. All things considered and remembering the stories I heard about Croydon just prior to, and shortly after moving here, its not entirely a bad course of action to take.

Then I wondered about the woman I see most nights walking home. She's got to be about 70 odd and has a very hunched back and wears a bright orange reflector vest. And yet, every time I see her, she's jogging. The woman has probably been doing it for years. So I wonder what her story is. Much like the (I can only assume) homeless who sleep outside Alders. They never bother you, don't ask for money in fact barely even notice you walk past. They're just there. Sometimes sleeping, sometimes sitting against the doors and even on nicer evenings sitting out on the metal seats. Like the other two I've mentioned, I wonder about their story.

Croydon really isn't made up of mad people, elderly runners or homeless. I mean come on, I live here! What I was trying to get to was that like most places, it has its characters. These people have always been there, yet it's only recently I've really started to notice them and I'm not entirely sure why that is. I notice the Reggae Man much more walking along the High Street. The man who walked his mini Schnauzer. During the lunchtime there's the woman in the bonnet preaching about God and the Bible. And the apparently Native American Indian who plays traditional music, sells traditional items and dresses rather traditionally. Or so you can only assume. Though I suppose most people in Croydon wouldn't know or care if it was traditional or not.

Its kind of reassuring to see those people. I'm sure you all know what I am talking about. You'll be able to name at least one person you see on a regular basis. You may not know them, their name, nor their story, but somehow they feature in yours, even if only in passing. In my quest of looking for a new job, people have asked if I would move away from Croydon. While practically speaking its an easy commute to London and Brighton, the reality of it is that Croydon has grown on me. As yet I'm to find the scary things which people talked about. True, I know of places that I'd not dare walk around in after dark, but again that can apply to most places. People are friendly, occasionally insane, but even then are still friendly and even sometimes polite. There seems to be all walks of life here. A variety of ways to dress and walk and talk and be. I like Croydon. I'm looking forward to a full summer here. I look forward to all the things which go on and believe me, it's a happening place at times!

Drive

And that pretty much sums it up really. That's what I want to do. Drive. I just have this crazily overwhelming urge to get into my little car, toss in a good CD and head out for a grand old Sunday drive, out across the Westgate, watching the sun dance on the surface of Port Phillip Bay. Seeing the glass bouce sunlight off windows, try not to run over a cyclist heading through Brighton. Or maybe I'd head West, out into no where. Or maybe a little North, out through Whittlesea, the hills and mountains leading out to Flowerdale and beyond. The problem? That's not my life anymore!

Homesick? Not sure. Maybe a little. But not in the way most assume I would be by this point. I honestly cannot tell you the physical ache I have not to be able to just climb into my car and go. We have so many memories together! And so many miles together! I guess it's just the weather today, it reminds me of a good day to drive. Maybe it's because I just don't have that release any more. I often found the best way to sort out my thoughts was to just get out of the house and go. I remember once I went out to get some yoghurt and came back six hours later, no yoghurt. Its strange, I don't really miss my former life. I mean I miss parts of it, don't get me wrong, and I miss people too. But not enough that it holds me back. I just, I guess I have moments that seem like an out of body experience where I can imagine and feel what it was to be in a certain place.

I feel a little bit in limbo at the moment. Like I'm stuck between what was and what is to become. Which is indeed a new feeling. Makes a nice change from everything feeling just hopeless and horrible and just the routine of life. It feels like standing on the egde of the Grand Canyon. That's it, thats the feeling I have. Just like there is big expanse of open air in front of me, this gaping hole so beautiful, yet so scary. Good grief what was in my cereal this morning?!