It’s not really the sort of thing I do. And had it not been for a passing comment in the Kirsty MacColl entry back in October, it would probably never have crossed my mind to do it. But yesterday morning, I found myself walking through Chinatown, humming ‘Free World’ and trying to remember the melody to Soho Square. It took a moment to find it, but it was a pleasurable moment, wandering through the square, wondering at the lack of pigeons. Finally, after a traverse of the southeastern corner, I realised I might have misremembered the map, and headed for the most obvious bench – the one which looked the newest. Feeling slightly self-conscious, I sat – an odd feeling, that; almost as if the purpose of the bench was altered by the addition of a plaque.
Now, I’m as big a sentimental fool as anyone, but there are things I don’t believe; so the pigeon which wandered over to inspect me was just that, a hopeful pigeon waiting to see if that bag on my lap contained food, and not some kind of sign of anything else. Besides there are always pigeons in Soho Square. They weren’t shivering in the naked trees, but the trees were naked.
And I sat and thought. Not about anything in particular, just about how things can carry a meaning far removed from their function, and how our lives can be touched by people we never meet, thanks to music and words.
A rare oasis of calm in what seems to be an increasingly frantic life. Thanks, Kirsty.
”I hope I see those pigeons fly before my birthday”