The physiological effects of newness can manifest in the most extraordinary, mainly criminal, ways. I can think of two:
- Running off with a replacement Mini key from a car service centre in Park Royal on Saturday morning without having produced the correct paperwork. (My old key had stopped working the week before without warning and the world fell apart). And then hurtling off into the grey miasma of the North Circular all the while considering the severity of my misdemeanour. Well I had taken more than enough nonsense from the bureaucratic deviant who sat behind the service desk of BMW like a large, moist amphibian and who was refusing to give me my new key (for which I had waited a whole week) because I couldn’t produce an original V5C (who on this Earth ever can?), and who then threatened to keep my car for as long as it would take to get a new V5C, which is about 100 years. So I just took the key. I took they key and I found my car in the forecourt and I ran. I ran and I ran. (Well, I drove but don’t you think that ‘ran’ just scans better?).
- I’m not sure there’s even a term for what I did on Canfield Road later that very afternoon. I was waiting at the lights. There were two cars ahead of me. The car in front of the car in front did not move for at least three seconds once the lights had turned green so I overtook them both and then I cut them both up.
After that I needed to have a word with myself because I was enjoying myself much too much.
New things to have done and to have experienced, both sewing themselves into the schizophrenic tapestry of my life.
This newness has everything to do with starting an MA in Illustration at Camberwell College of Arts. Part of my course requires me to write a reflective journal each week which I think I will do on here.