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| Another ten minutes - London Markets |
| Posted on 28/01/05 at 06:44 by NGONGE |
Last Friday, I was sitting at home, in the evening, watching TV and taking things real easy. I kept on flicking the channels and thinking about becoming a movie star. I cant remember how my exact thought process went but its conclusion was that I would have been a better movie start than Marlon Brando!
I saw a clip about markets! Not financial markets, market stalls. Though I suppose, they too can be considered financial. This is not important of course, whats important is the idea that dawned on me. As I sat and watched that clip I realised that I have not been to any London markets in my life. I shouted it over to my wife. She ignored me! I repeated it again. She ignored me again. As I was contemplating repeating it a third time, I heard her say, what do you need to buy from these markets anyway? she must have changed her mind after all!
I told her that I didnt need to buy anything; I just needed to visit one of these markets, just in case. She said, Just in case what? I was starting to get annoyed. She was forcing me to think. I dislike thinking; it always gets me in trouble. I thought about her question for a few seconds and said; In case I ever leave London , she looked shocked. I had to continue. I told her that if I ever moved away to Argentina and people there asked me where I came from, Id have to tell them that I was a Londoner (of sorts). She looked more shocked. I still had to continue. I told her about my worry that the Argentineans might not believe me! What if they start asking me questions about London? I said. What if after answering all their questions correctly, they ask me about London markets? I said. I told her that I would look like a fraud and the people of Argentina might decide to shun me. Why make the start of our new life in Argentina that difficult when all it would take is knowing about simple London markets? I said. Like a typical woman who asks questions and when you give her the answers, she half listens then asks you a question totally unrelated to the topic at hand, she said, Are we moving to Argentina?
I didnt answer her question by the way. Instead, I cleverly moved the subject back to London markets and asked her how many were there and if she knew the directions to any. She had a mischievous look on her face as she answered me, a look I didnt trust at all. She saw my suspicion and swore honesty and sincerity. I had no choice but to believe her.
The next morning, I woke up early and was ready to visit a London market for the first time in my life, take that you doubting Argentineans! I left the house and went to the bus stop. I was going to Camden. The bus arrived, I got in and sat dreaming about all the amazing things Ill see at the market and all the interesting anecdotes Id tell the Argentineans. Im not sure how and why this happened, but I was LOST! My daydreams must have lasted longer than usual. They were nice though; it was satisfying to run rings round fat old Maradonna with old Frail Castro watching from the sidelines.
I saw a bus inspector asking people for tickets. I panicked! I checked my pockets for my travel card. I found it. The bus inspector was at the front and I was sitting at the back. It was going to be a while yet before he reached me. Besides, I had a ticket anyway!
I went back thinking about being lost and how would I find my way to the market or home at least. I rebuked myself for being lost. How could a grown up, wise and inventive man like me allow himself to get lost? I thought of Odysseus on his way back from the Trojan wars. He was wise and inventive too, he was lost too. There is no shame in being lost. I heard a siren! I panicked! It was getting louder. I looked out the window and saw an ambulance speeding past. I grinned. Odysseus was an ambulance chaser? I heard a voice. I looked around, still chuckling at the thought of the ambulance chaser of history. It was the ticket inspector. He didnt look like a happy man. I realised that I was still giggling to myself and wondered if he thought I was laughing at him! I wanted to explain but didnt know where to start. He asked for my ticket again. I showed it to him with an apologetic look on my face. He spent a long time scrutinising my travel card. My apologetic look backfired it seems! I wanted to explain the misunderstanding and tell him that my travel card was genuine. He passed me my ticket back and walked off without thanking me. I offended the bus inspector! Damn the Argentineans, damn London markets and damn Odysseus. I offended the poor bus inspector, man!
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