Day 6: Monday
I imagine you live in the only real place in this city, the home other homes aspire to. It’s a modest penthouse in an old, charming building, with fireplaces, dimmer switches and taxidermy birds in each room. Cool, swigging from a crushed water bottle, you stand apart. Tall, your torso fills a t-shirt blasted with a bold slogan. Vague, your feet are angled towards the road and you raise both your thumbs. “Are you an interior decorator?” you ask. “Nope,” I reply, wondering why I might be and thinking of my vital organs adorned with silky ribbons or paper chains.
Day 7: Tuesday
Together, we long for leafy parks, green thoughts and the serene pockets of the city. You and I talk of al fresco lunches, sipping fine gin and lazy tending of gardens. But we feel significant against towering buildings, against the hammering construction work. We know why we rush from place to place. We need to be seen and heard. I was here, we want to say. Look. We are all trying to put footprints in the wet concrete of London. That image comes afterwards, belatedly, and floats before me, a shape in a paving stone, a solidity in the light.
Day 8: Wednesday
The sky is inexplicably angry today. To strangers, I repeat stories heard yesterday, and to office workers, walking in small, jittery motions, I offer the Sicilian lemonade. Pausing nearby, you are already laughing, asking how many stories I’ve collected. Your eyes crease happily, not like scrunched paper rather the whirling surface of a swift-moving river. With your Robert Redford tan and linen shirt, I assume you are not be the type of person to be crying at midnight, undone by sadness. Life is lived in sunshine for you, and I just want to keep having this conversation over and over.
Day 9: Thursday
It’s your voice that charms. Softly, it speaks of the space surrounding, a philosophy of angles and openings, tree planting and land shaping. Your words draw me in with their measured certainty and calm reason. The sunshine roars into Southwark, illuminating concrete, charred wood and slices of glass. Where are the birch trees and the wild places in a city? On your farm, you grow vegetables for your neighbours. You live beyond these urban walls, away from the brick, steel, slate layers of insulation from the world outside. I nod and sip fresh elderflower cordial, agreeing with everything you say.
Day 10: Friday
A boy in new boots plods back and forth, calling for his friends. Two girls describe the sea, how they waded to their waists but wouldn’t swim. Sat at a table, in the midday light, a woman’s diamond ring winks. During the final spell of sunshine, a helicopter snarls in the clouds and you say you fell in love this summer, with a boy who travels. With your shirt buttoned nicely, and hair combed to the left, you are delightfully, naturally neat. You’re a finely honed pencil and an upright bamboo cane. You’re a perfect peg on the washing line.
Talking of sipping fine gin…more events in the park include a pop up gin bar Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays 4 July – 28 September 2013, 17.00 - 21.00. Join us as we celebrate the bar’s launch with a lively performance from The Karminsky Experience Inc. as part of Merge. Merge is an annual festival curated by Illuminate Productions to encourage performances, events and happenings which draw on the rich heritage and contemporary culture of Bankside