Last night someone was murdered about 50 yards from my door. It wasn't murder when we first knew about it - the guy (as it turned out) was on a drip. You could see the policewoman holding the plastic bag up high - catching the light in the gloom.
We stood repectful-like behind the gates to our walk, watching the paramedics at work but the police still grimaced when they turned to look at us. When they covered his face we knew he had died. A policeman stuck blue and white tape up in front of us and tersley said 'There's nothing more for you to see.' As if we thought we were at a film show. 'We live here!' I wanted to shout.
I'm sure that they have their own experiences of doing this horrible job that cause them to look at us like this - the whole estate seemed to be hanging over railings and walkways and gathering on corners. Very likely some of the people who did it were amongst us watching.
There had been a huge commotion earlier passing through the estate it seemed. Indecipherable words from throats stressed with shouting. Then they must all have left him - he was found alone. All the protagonists and defenders just vanished into the estate leaving him bleeding to death on the patch of paving I cross nearly every day when I walk to the tube station. 21 years old and his blood has already seeped between the stones and part of him will remain forever under our feet.
Another young man stands in shock with tears starting in his eyes that will not fall and a young girl sobs in a comforter's arms. After the death there is no rush anymore - just waiting around for the forensic's tent, the people in attendance start to chat about ordinary stuff, paramedics pack up their kit and leave.
Monday, 27 June 2011
Monday, 24 January 2011
Sorry to go on about my bod one more time but now that I might be working until I am 67 I have started looking seriously at my fitness for this extension to my working life. I have always held a really good body image in my head, so when I look in the mirror what I see is sexy curvaceousness. I think I have a similar issue to the anorexic who might look into the mirror and see fatness when in fact they are thin - only the other way around if you see what I mean.
In fact to me I always look lovely, even glancing at myself in shop windows. I have to admit that in photographs I sometimes don't recognise myself and that if I catch sight of myself unexpectedly I do briefly see a small hippopotamus wearing my clothes slip into view. But not for long. Normality is quickly resumed.
Ho hum - what to do? Size 16 isn't what it used to be either and the bathroom scales are on the blink I'm sure. I feel and see no desperate need to diet - if only that dumpy little hippo would get it's own wardrobe I could be perfectly content.
In fact to me I always look lovely, even glancing at myself in shop windows. I have to admit that in photographs I sometimes don't recognise myself and that if I catch sight of myself unexpectedly I do briefly see a small hippopotamus wearing my clothes slip into view. But not for long. Normality is quickly resumed.
Ho hum - what to do? Size 16 isn't what it used to be either and the bathroom scales are on the blink I'm sure. I feel and see no desperate need to diet - if only that dumpy little hippo would get it's own wardrobe I could be perfectly content.
Thursday, 13 January 2011
I have just spent 2 hours on Oxford Street in London in a store well-known for it's wide range of lingerie searching for at least one attractive bra in size 40D or DD. I realise at last why I have been squishing my breasts into size 38DD for the past 3 years. All the attractive bras are designed for the smaller breast and I and my fellow women of more ample proportions are relegated to bras that look like they have escaped from an upholstery department.
I kept finding myself retracing my steps to prettier styles but no matter how hard I stared the labels continued to state that the attractive ones came in sizes 32C-38DD. Whereas their industrial sisters proudly catered for those of us with boobs so monstrous that designers have presumably decided we are beyond considering them as deserving of attractive attire.
The difficulty with squidging boobs into a size too small is you can only really get away with it whilst you are upright. Your nipples aren't properly cupped but are heading upwards and inwards towards the cleavage. When you bend down they plummet forwards and downwards and get caught up in the cleavage area and stay there when you stand up again. All very awkward, especially under a lightweight fabric.
Whilst I have coped very well with unexpected nipple appearances the time had come to finally accept my fate and stop all the time wasting of dashing into loos or diving under desks to realign myself. I returned home with some highly comfortable bras but confused as to why nobody bothers to make them look sexy.
I kept finding myself retracing my steps to prettier styles but no matter how hard I stared the labels continued to state that the attractive ones came in sizes 32C-38DD. Whereas their industrial sisters proudly catered for those of us with boobs so monstrous that designers have presumably decided we are beyond considering them as deserving of attractive attire.
The difficulty with squidging boobs into a size too small is you can only really get away with it whilst you are upright. Your nipples aren't properly cupped but are heading upwards and inwards towards the cleavage. When you bend down they plummet forwards and downwards and get caught up in the cleavage area and stay there when you stand up again. All very awkward, especially under a lightweight fabric.
Whilst I have coped very well with unexpected nipple appearances the time had come to finally accept my fate and stop all the time wasting of dashing into loos or diving under desks to realign myself. I returned home with some highly comfortable bras but confused as to why nobody bothers to make them look sexy.
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