I am having body clock issues at the moment…it’s definitely stress related and I am coping to some extent by writing…but the writing is also the problem…it’s 2am now…I should be sleeping but I am not…I have been scribbling…no work tomorrow…again…this is at the heart of the matter…the economy is hammering my business…things don’t look good…in some way I am avoiding all of that…..delving into a new world….and writing…I came home this evening from watching a football game and was awake and alert…seeds of an idea in my head…the last 90 minutes I have sat here and written…..it’s not complete…it may never be…but it is writing…mine….it’s a beginning….no more…but I am too excited to hold the page…so here it is…raw and naive…simple but with promise maybe….let me know what you think.
Jenna rolled a lazy arm across the bed and with a practiced finger swipe, turned of the alarm on her mobile phone. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and stretching her arms up above her head sent a signal to her body that it was wake up time. By her third step towards the shower she was alert. The combination of Yoga, jogging and a balanced diet meant she was in the best shape of her life. Hot water caressed her as she lathered with a bar of eucalyptus soap and she watched as rivulets of white foam found their way south across the curvacious landscape of her form and into the showers base. Washed, she switched of the artificial rain and padded across the bedroom, lithe and almost feline like in her movements, dabbing herself dry before throwing on a pair of Lycrashorts, a crop top and running shoes. I pod attached, she made for the front door, finishing off a banana at the same time.Her daily jog took her from the flat in Knightsbridge towards Hyde Park, where she would negotiate heavy traffic before entering the park in it’s South East corner. Turning Northwards she set off on her regular four circuits of the park. London was sunny and warm today and Jenna felt at one with the world. She was in love. The I pod pumped out the strains of Crazy in Love and she fell into her stride to the sound of Beyonce and Jay Z. It was good to be alive.
Dave’s mouth was full of the last of his breakfast. Half chewed eggs and toast washed down his throat as he gulped the last of what had been hot tea. He was late again. He threw on a leather jacket and brushed his fingers through greasy shoulder length hair as he made his way out of the house. His wife had left half an hour earlier to get to her cleaning job. Dave’s van was parked across the road as always and he opened the door and pulled himself up to the drivers seat with a movement born of years of practice. His load for the day was aboard and he had a central London delivery to make first thing. Thirty minutes away without traffic but that was never the case. He fired up the engine and a cigarette, turned on the radio, shifted into first and was away. He fumbled with his mobile to try and get the Sat Nav working, one eye on the road, one on the phone. He knew it was stupid, but he allowed himself the thought that he was not really on a main road yet so it didn’t count. The phone spoke to him confirming his destination and he dropped it into it’s cradle. From Brent Cross he would head South past Hyde Park and over the Thames to his drop at Vauxhall Park. Nine and a half miles that could take him forty five minutes. He cursed himself for not getting up with his wife. That extra five minutes had ended up being twenty five. He was in for another bollocking from Terry, the courier firms owner. ‘What a shit way to start the day’ he thought to himself as he turned South onto the Edgeware Road. The radio was playing ‘Rockin All Over The World. ‘ Dave cranked up the volume and put his foot down.
Jerome carried his box the last few yards along Oxford Street and walked through the park gates. No one else was there. Good. He found his favourite spot and placed the box carefully on the ground before climbing up on top of it. It was part of his ritual prior to speaking. Being up there wearing his vintage tweed car coat, light brown corduroys and well polished brogues he felt powerful. He had the look of a professor with his disheveled greying hair blowing in the breeze and glasses perched on the end of his angular nose. Here on this very spot many had spoken their truth. Karl Marx, William Morris, Vladimir Lenin, George Orwell, and Marcus Garvey to name but a few. Men of resolve. Men of fortitude and unshakeable belief. Luminaries of Speakers Corner. Jerome was in good company. He had something important to say today. He liked to get there early so that he could warm up his vocal chords and get his thoughts in order. Mostly his audience would be the same two men, men of the park, men of the bottle and men who both thought he was mad. They thought HE was mad. He’d show them. Today.
There was always the girl too but she did not count really, as she just ran past him four times everyday without so much as a glance. One day, maybe today, she would notice him. He coughed into his hand, a pointless gesture in the centre of a park, but mother had always said it was rude to cough openly. Mother was always right. Always. He then began to sing a major musical scale to open up his vocal chords. Doh Re Mi Fa Sol La Ti Doooooh. The pretty girl ran past him on her first lap, lost in her thoughts and music and the rhythm of the runner and paid him no attention. Doh Ti La Sol Fa Mi Re Doooohh. By the time she passed him on her second circuit he would be in full flow. Today they would find out that he wasn’t mad at all.