Jesus lives in Notting Hill
It's easy to walk into the office each morning, turn on the computer and look up again at 5.30pm. I'm conscious that my landmarks are 12.30pm lunch break and ever present dilemma of what to eat.
I decided to break all the rules today and take a moment to absorb the goings on of this inner city London office. I'm in the marketing game. Worse still, I'm in the new media branch of marketing. People in my office don't wear suits or conform to any rituals, other than to turn up late and dress in the images they can best express themselves in.
There is a girl that sits two rows over from me and she's wearing a button in her hair today. If I squint at her like you do a 3D picture I can imagine that the lower region of her skull is being held in place with that bright purple button. She's cute in a younger, more angelic Avril Lavigne kind of way, but the button, together with a pen that is holding a half pony tail in place, make her look a bit like a magpie is nesting on her head.
When I first arrived in this city almost 5 years ago, I fell in love with it instantly. The sheer freedom of living in a city with 7 million people that don't give a sh*t.
On my first trip here, I bounded out of bed in the morning preparing to make my way to the BBC building in White City. I'd been hired for a 5 day freelance writing job (advertorials - the kind we all hate once we realise we've been duped into reading an article and halfway through it becomes clear it is selling sanitary pads or something else just as arbitrary). I stood at the bus stop on Chepstow Road, grinning like every other tourist that visits a new city and feeling rather important to be working at the BBC. A bright red Double Decker bus rounded the corner and I prepared along with everyone else to jump on back and push politely for a seat. We rode past the Bonaparte pub and I soaked up the street, people and morning business with wide eyes, totally spellbound. As we headed down Westbourne Park Road towards Portabello - there he was, larger than life... Jesus.
Jesus, was a big black man with his shirt off, tucked into the back pocket of his old and faded blue jeans. His shoulders and back were covered with a light sheen of sweat and his muscles rippled under the weight of a large wooden cross that he bore in all seriousness and with intense concentration and importance.
We rumbled past in the bright red DD and I rubber necked desperately trying to absorb as much of him as possible. I gaped like an amazed school girl and looked around me with that expression that requires recognition from someone... anyone, just so I could confirm I'd seen what I saw. No one blinked, no one stared, no one minded in the least that Jesus lives in Notting Hill.
I love this city, but I'm desperately holding on to my ability to be impressed. I can feel it dulling - the strange, the weird, the funny the wild have all become the norm and I don't want them to. I want to be that same wide eyed, mesmerized girl I was back then - now and always!
Just so you know - whoever you are that might be interested. Jesus is a big black man that lives in Notting Hill and when he's done bearing his cross for all of us, he folds back the four ends which are on hinges and goes shopping in Tesco for his TV dinner.
I decided to break all the rules today and take a moment to absorb the goings on of this inner city London office. I'm in the marketing game. Worse still, I'm in the new media branch of marketing. People in my office don't wear suits or conform to any rituals, other than to turn up late and dress in the images they can best express themselves in.
There is a girl that sits two rows over from me and she's wearing a button in her hair today. If I squint at her like you do a 3D picture I can imagine that the lower region of her skull is being held in place with that bright purple button. She's cute in a younger, more angelic Avril Lavigne kind of way, but the button, together with a pen that is holding a half pony tail in place, make her look a bit like a magpie is nesting on her head.
When I first arrived in this city almost 5 years ago, I fell in love with it instantly. The sheer freedom of living in a city with 7 million people that don't give a sh*t.
On my first trip here, I bounded out of bed in the morning preparing to make my way to the BBC building in White City. I'd been hired for a 5 day freelance writing job (advertorials - the kind we all hate once we realise we've been duped into reading an article and halfway through it becomes clear it is selling sanitary pads or something else just as arbitrary). I stood at the bus stop on Chepstow Road, grinning like every other tourist that visits a new city and feeling rather important to be working at the BBC. A bright red Double Decker bus rounded the corner and I prepared along with everyone else to jump on back and push politely for a seat. We rode past the Bonaparte pub and I soaked up the street, people and morning business with wide eyes, totally spellbound. As we headed down Westbourne Park Road towards Portabello - there he was, larger than life... Jesus.
Jesus, was a big black man with his shirt off, tucked into the back pocket of his old and faded blue jeans. His shoulders and back were covered with a light sheen of sweat and his muscles rippled under the weight of a large wooden cross that he bore in all seriousness and with intense concentration and importance.
We rumbled past in the bright red DD and I rubber necked desperately trying to absorb as much of him as possible. I gaped like an amazed school girl and looked around me with that expression that requires recognition from someone... anyone, just so I could confirm I'd seen what I saw. No one blinked, no one stared, no one minded in the least that Jesus lives in Notting Hill.
I love this city, but I'm desperately holding on to my ability to be impressed. I can feel it dulling - the strange, the weird, the funny the wild have all become the norm and I don't want them to. I want to be that same wide eyed, mesmerized girl I was back then - now and always!
Just so you know - whoever you are that might be interested. Jesus is a big black man that lives in Notting Hill and when he's done bearing his cross for all of us, he folds back the four ends which are on hinges and goes shopping in Tesco for his TV dinner.
posted by Teaine at 6:30 AM
1 Comments:
ahaha...Thank GOD. I was wondering where I could find him.
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