the things you think are precious*

I don't like cars.
Really I don't- and I'm a guy. What does that make me? yes, a guy who doesn't like cars, I know but what else? It makes me part of a very small club. I just don't see the point really. Sure when I get a decent job, I'll try and get a nice car but talk car models and all that just goes way over my head. For me the difference between two nice cars is like the difference between Ant and Dec. I might be the only person on earth who watches 'top Gear' not to look at the cars, but because I think Jeremy Carkson is witty and also on the off-chance that Charlotte Church will be invited. All this talk of latest models and all the car lingo does absolutely nothing for me. I was thinking about this the other day because I was reading the 'motors' section of a newspaper and realized how disconnected I was from that world. Mind you I was left cold by the fashion section as well so maybe that is not saying much.
Things you never thought you would see: A 40 foot mechanical elephant walking through central London. Where do you start? Apparently it's some kind of interractive work of art and entertainment. It's slightly creepy, but I like it. That's thinking outside the box. Can you imagine pitching that idea to the relevant London council? They must have thought there was an asylum somewhere with an inconclusive rollcall. They probably unleased the men in white coats on him before he was allowed to do his thing.
And another story that really grabbed my attention this week was the tribe in the Amazon called the Piraha that had a unique language- no numbers, no words for colour or past tense and absolutely no oral or written history. Imagine how hard it must be to get a scrabble game going- not to mention a pub quiz- but seriously, that makes you wonder. Think of how much you attach to language and what a core part of you it is and now phase out all those things missing from the piraha language.
I had a random memory come into my head the other day- I'm about 11 or 12 and I'm lying in bed half-asleep. Then the light comes on and my mum tip-toes into the room. She's whispering because she doesn't want my dad to know she's woken me up but she has a suprise for me. It's a book and I can still remember what it looked like as clear as day- thick and purple with 'Captain Bunker's ghost and other stories' written on the cover and a guy with a large white beard and a pipe- one of those books with a lot of different stories, poems and odds and ends. I can barely go back to sleep now- could I stay up and read just a little bit? My mum says no, it's too late but it will be waiting for you in the morning. She kisses me goodnight and switches off the light. I lie in bed and think happily of 'Captain Bunker's ghost' and also that what my mum has done is really sweet. Tomorrow promises to be an adventure and I'm looking forward to it.