The french word for paperclip is "un trombone".
She goes "Aye, there you go" and gave me one.
I said no, do you have a trombone, the instrument, like.
She laughed and laughed and mimed playing a trombone, then I laughed (it was quite funny, I didn't expect her to do that). I said something about starting a band.
She laughed again, and turned away. She's nice, and comes from Haiti. Her ma and da do, she was born here.
I did need a paperclip, though.
I turned too, chuckling quietly in a touchingly pathetic moment of indulgent reverie. If I'm not careful I'll turn out like that Colin Hunt fucker from The Fast Show. I fear, alas, it may already be so.
But would that be so bad?
On the way home, I saw someone had put all snow on top of a bus shelter to look like a bobble hat. It was fucking brilliant, really impressive. It looked exactly like a giant bobble hat. In the same view, a policeman was directing traffic with a gracefulness I'd rarely seen, almost as if to music. I was impressed again.
I am easily amused, like wee Sarah. She likes to touch different fabrics, and pull necklaces and other things that dangle and hang. We have all necklaces hanging from hooks, and I take her over to pull the fuck out of them. She always throws them on the ground and drops them all over the place. Tina picks them up, then.
Her face goes all concentrated as she does this. Her innocent curiosity is a joy to behold and is a wonder to me unlike any other I've ever experienced.
And all the while I'm chuckling quietly, in a touchingly pathetic moment of indulgent reverie.
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