I’m not really one for celebrating birthdays, and I struggled in the run up to the day to answer the question that came from a few as to what I was going to do. My general response was that I wasn’t that bothered about doing anything in particular, happy to go with the flow and just see what offers came along.  I did, though,  sense that it should be marked in someway, and that it definitely wasn’t going to be marked by me hoovering on my birthday

When the day came, I enjoyed spending quality time with my immediate family. My brother, sis-in-law (and bump) came round and made brunch/lunch. We started with fresh coffee and pastries, then had a full on West Indian version of a big breakfast, with an additional twist.

This was followed by relaxing on the sofa till almost 5pm, at which point  I left them chillaxing and went up to the National Theatre  to enjoy some  music, and some chilled out chat over wine and crisps with a good friend. – She had called around 10am to find out what was occurring, and “made me an offer I couldn’t refuse”.

Occasions should be marked, and what makes an occasion can be different for all of us, but in some way they should be marked  in order to help capture and retain the moment.

Writing is a great way to mark an occasion, sometimes just a few words – and at times even one – can sum up and encapsulate the moment, marking it forever in the minds of those involved, and those you invite to be involved. It’s like the punchline of a good joke, the ending of a good story, that spontaneous one-liner…

As a writer, I am trying to return to the habit of  having a notebook with me at all times in order to capture those occasions as they happen; the old man on the bus who talks loudly on the phone, the couple on the tube so obviously in love, the tension of the city when certain news breaks…

I have so often lost the opportunity to mark an occasion. as I haven’t written down what I’m seeing or thinking as and when it is happening. Leaving it till later, I find that when later comes, the moment has often passed, and I can no longer remember or capture what was happening or going through my mind at the time.

This is tragic for a writer or any creative person, as I would imagine the same applies for an artist or photographer etc. 

I am aiming these thoughts first at myself, then humbly suggesting they may have value to you. Feel free to comment, and also enjoy a look at a few more pics, taken to mark the occasion.

This is such a great walk at whatever time.

I knew about the London Eye, the London Acquarium, County Hall etc, but probably would have seen them as independant entities which occupy the same space.

It has been great to discover the ‘nooks and cranies’ it has has to offer: The skate board/bike space just after the National Theatre, the art displays sometimes outside the National Theatre, the street artists, from dancers to human statues, the little cul-de-sac of shops just before the Oxo Tower, the free art in the gallery along that walkway, the different stalls and festivals that happen – always a pleasant surprise as I hardly ever know beforehand that they are happening! All this is just the tip of the ‘iceberg’.

Just the diversity of people you will see milling about, enjoying a meal, or trying to weave through each other if you are a runner or cyclist are enough of a draw, especially if you are a people watcher.

I also find that the South Bank is a great place for inspiration. So if you’re creative in anyway: a writer, photographer, musician, artist etc you are guaranteed to find something that will get the ‘creative juices’ flowing and cater to the right side of your brain.

So why not take a stroll along there. I am certain you won’t be disappointed.

http://www.southbanklondon.com/

We joined an eclectic group of friends, tourists, locals and theatre goers in the National Theatre Foyer. They have free concerts every evening Monday-Saturday in the ‘Djanology Concert Pitch’. That Saturday the fabulous musicians were Errol Linton and Jean Pierre Lampe.

Under their names it simply said ‘Blues and Reggae’, which in the words of one review of them I have since read, are ‘unlikely bedfellows’, yet done successfully.

Errol and Jean Pierre were a delicious blend of harmonica and double bass.

In addition to this Errol was foot stamping, singing and did a stint on the piano. Jean-Pierre held nothing back, evidenced by the sweat that washed his face.

Errol mentions at one point that they are usually a 5-piece band. I am glad it was just the two of them. They had a harmonic distinctiveness that was so engaging.

The eye contact between them was effortlessly artless, showing them to be a proper partnering of talent. Vibing off each other and giving us the listeners, musical synergy which was sweet to the ear. Enjoy your city!

People of every hue were joined together in the enjoyment. Feet tapping, heads bobbing, bodies swaying, almost in complete unison. People were sat wherever they could find space, changing position, shuffling along to make more room, dipping in for a bit, staying the course. It could be described as poetry in motion.

I berated myself once again for not making more use of this kind of an opportunity. Stuff like this handed to me on a plate, and in the present financial climate. Come on!

My favourite sights:

The little girl sitting on the stage steps.

Stamping her feet in time to the rhythm and enacting the songs. She brought a smile to my face. So uninhibited, what pure enjoyment. Something to cherish and desire in oneself.

The old black woman jamming on the balcony as if she were in church. – I love her! She enjoys her city. I’ve seen her here before, I reckon she is here a lot. I could learn from her. My friend later noticed she had a Tesco’s bag, such an insignificant detail, but it still struck me as something to note down. Maybe it was the normalcy of it, here was a lady, enjoying something the city has to offer. Maybe that bag held her daily shop, or maybe just carries whatever she needs while she is out and about.

Other listeners:

The boy with long blond curly hair, in his red converse, tapping his feet.

The Mum on the floor, her toddler holding onto a chair, bending away, his baby sister or brother asleep in the buggy.

The threesome passing juicy fruit.

Lovers, friends, onlookers, passers by…

The lady in the orange shawl, waiting for a play, tapping on the balcony rail.

The diners in the Mezzanine Restaurant and Terrace Bar, conversing to the backdrop of sound.

The guy in a bow tie and evening suit playing air guitar. He is studying the positioning of his fingers, which makes me believe he knows how to play. Maybe he is trying to work out the chords.

The girl beside me clicking her fingers. Her hands crossed and her professional camera on her lap.

The music ends and I wanted to tell them how good it was. Bar a short break, of 15mins at most, we had an hour and a half of London’s finest. My friend wanted to offer them a tissue, but sees they are prepared with a black flannel. I still encourage her to go.

I wished I could buy a CD, and was tempted to spend what I had not gone prepared to spend. The young woman across for me – who read her book in the short interval – gets out her patent yellow purse, checking to see if she can afford to buy a CD. She could, and she did.

If you’re not already doing so, do more with your city. You may be surprised at what it has to offer.

Errol Linton is also an artist. If you want to check out more of his work click either of the links below: myspace.com/errollinton