Aligned & Awake: Somebody Is Definitely Going to Poo in It
One sentence in, and I'm already casting the film adaptation
Aligned & Awake
My reflections on life through travel, human design, energy, astrology, and emotional clarity. Not as a guru. Just one person figuring it out in real time.
I think I’ve accidentally developed a new hobby.
I don’t eavesdrop on purpose. London simply keeps handing me the middle page of someone else’s novel, and apparently I lack the emotional maturity to ignore it.
There are over nine million people in this city, all living entirely separate lives, crossing paths on pavements, buses, Tube platforms and museum galleries. Every so often, I wander into the exact right place at the exact wrong moment and catch one sentence before the rest of the story disappears around the corner.
The problem is that my brain refuses to let it go.
A few days ago, somewhere around Notting Hill, a couple walked past me.
The man was saying, with the sort of desperation usually reserved for hostage negotiations, “I wasn’t looking at her, okay? I really wasn’t looking at her.”
His partner kept walking. He kept explaining.
I kept walking too, although considerably slower than before because I was now emotionally invested in complete strangers.
Who was she? What had he allegedly seen? By the time I’d reached the end of the street, I’d mentally cast the entire thing and was already rooting for them.
I wandered into a gallery, half-looking at the paintings, when I heard someone say, “And you can see her holding a sausage.”
I turned immediately. I simply needed to know which masterpiece had introduced cured meats into European art history. It turned out they were dead right. There was, in fact, a sausage; art is full of surprises.
Then, somewhere near Paddington, I heard the sentence, “Who gives a child a whistle?”
An excellent question. One that deserves a public inquiry. Somewhere nearby, I imagined a small child blowing into that whistle with the confidence of someone who’d recently discovered absolute power.
Another day, I heard a man declare, “Apparently that’s not how the monarchy works.”
I found myself nodding in complete agreement despite having absolutely no idea what had been proposed.
My personal favourite so far came while I was crossing a street when a woman sighed to her companion, “They’re just going to poo in it.”
I have no idea what it was. A flowerbed? A paddling pool? An expensive handbag? Whatever it was, the resignation in her voice suggested this wasn’t the first time.
One morning in Hyde Park, a little voice asked, “Mum, can ghosts get hungry?”
Children are magnificent because they ask the questions adults have silently agreed never to bring up in public. I never heard the answer.
Part of me hopes Mum answered with the complete truth, “Why, of course they get hungry, and buy their food at the ghost-ery store!” (sorry, I had to).
The only thing funnier than the conversations themselves is what my imagination does with them. Although I’ve realized that’s also an occupational hazard of being a writer. Most people hear half a sentence and keep walking. I hear half a sentence and immediately begin casting the film adaptation.
By the time I’ve reached the next street corner, I’ve invented supporting characters, family histories, unresolved childhood trauma, an entirely unnecessary subplot and an ending that would probably need two rounds of edits.
The sneeze nearly took the platform out.
I was waiting for the Tube when someone unleashed a sneeze so spectacular that half the platform spun around in perfect unison. For one glorious second, every single person wore exactly the same expression, convinced something catastrophic had happened.
The culprit calmly adjusted his headphones, carried on singing along to ABBA and continued waiting for the train as though he’d merely blinked a little enthusiastically.
It was one of the finest performances of emotional composure I’ve witnessed in years.
London has become my favourite place to accidentally collect unfinished stories. Every walk feels like somebody has torn random pages from hundreds of novels and scattered them across the city for curious people to find.
Somewhere tonight, a child is probably asking impossible questions about ghosts.
Someone is defending themselves against accusations involving a mysterious woman.
A museum visitor is pointing out a sausage with complete authority.
Some poor soul is discovering that the monarchy doesn’t work the way they thought it did.
And somewhere out there, someone is about to poo in it. No question.
Tell me…
What’s the best sentence you've ever overheard as a total stranger?