Hand signals

January 18, 2008 at 4:01 pm (soulbeantransport)

Yesterday I caught sight of a driver, travelling in the opposite direction, giving the finger to another motorist. Such was his emphasis that his knuckle was challenged to keep the finger from shooting off. ‘How pathetic,’ I thought — until this morning when I extended my own finger into the imaginary bottom of a trucker who’d honked me out of his way. I slowed to make sure he saw my wrist swoop to take a hefty dig up in the air.

Oh, to have him pinned down by Hell’s Angels while I poked his rectum and let him know that I was right. In the event, though, we mirrored each other – he too was frantically gesturing. In a better world, instead of this frustrated mime, we could spread the love and volunteer to sit on our own index fingers on behalf of the other person, and then say goodbye with a thumbs-up.

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Another update :0)

January 17, 2008 at 8:06 pm (1, soulbeantransport)

Today I had my second car accident — the front-right indicator smashed by a width sentry outside a supermarket car park. In the first one, around six months ago, I took the passenger mirror out, with a little help from the width stump at Battersea bridge. This morning, I opened a cupboard and my favourite mug fell out and broke. My friend Aby gave it to me a few years ago. (A stick-man on it shouts ‘I’m not normal’.) I’ve asked her for a new one. That’s the best way to replace a broken or lost present. I have this favourite bag from Burma, it’s handwoven, but one day I was on the Tube and left it there. (There was nothing inside it but a book which I was holding so it fell off my shoulder.) Then my Burmese friend Baw bought me a new one from India’s border with Burma. You’ll meet Baw in a few weeks when I update from Goa, in India.

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Dang!

January 9, 2008 at 5:37 pm (cartoons, soulbeantransport)

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This is my 1997 Nissan Primera. The picture is courtesy of Brent council in London, which issued the £50 ($100) fine on the windscreen (top). Having passed my test only last year, with this my second ever ticket, I was charmed that the attendant had left this souvenir for me online. It’s like those pictures of you upside down, screaming at the end of a roller coaster ride.

It was taken on the morning of New Year’s Eve, outside my friend Amir’s flat in Kilburn, north London. I had stayed the night there and not realised that in the morning I would be stomped on. Anyway, this post is a way of procrastinating about paying the bill. No food for my buck, only a picture. And now, a entry. I’m never parking again.

 

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Aersol issues

March 15, 2007 at 11:39 am (Espresso, soulbeantransport)

This morning I applied an oil spray to my bicycle chain. Then I noticed that the can in fact contained rain-repellent for leather shoes. Fortunately my deodorant is a different colour – and in the bathroom.

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Rescue II

February 21, 2007 at 12:30 am (soulbeantransport)

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20 Feb 2007. 23:26.

Picked up my bike from Piccadilly and cycled to Camberwell in South London. It had been there for 24 hours. The trick of parking your bike is to choose a location where it is difficult to lock, let alone steal. As a friend of mine put it: “You risk getting taken out by a truck to ensure your bike is safe.” The puppy pictured I’ve had for about three years. It’s a big BMX.

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