Monday, February 28, 2005

Confession 3 Overheard


'He went to sleep with a pizza on his face.'
London bus last week

Daughter and friend were playing blind man's buff pick up sticks earlier. The 'on' player is blindfolded, takes two pick up sticks and uses them like chopsticks, picking up sticks by remote instructions from friend. They both wear walkie talkie headphones which makes it more technical, a bit like home-made version of The Golden Shot.

After a while they came into my office, complaining of voices on the headset. I listened and heard every word of conversation from the house next door via their baby monitor.

No.

No!

To use this, to even consider using this would be an evil snooping thing to do of the highest order. Overheard conversations are the choicest found objects of a writer. They come into your life of their own accord through the fug of everyday wandering around doing things other. You can't go and look for them or have them handed to you like this.

When the girls got bored and went off downstairs to watch telly I tip toed into daughter's room and grabbed the headset. A conversation was in full flow about about buying two for one. I ripped the headphones off and held them away from me between two fingers. No, no, no. Snippets have to be overheard at random points in daily life. All snooping throws up is dross and feelings of being the saddest spider in the box. The best can't be made up and come when you're least expecting them. Long may it be so.

Bye bye, thanks for visiting, speak again soon.

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