Chance

There was a sentence in the wall text at the Tillmans, which described his process as a sort of engineering of chance and consideration. We spent quite a lot of time chatting in there, reasoning it, pitting aesthetic against obsession, looking for longer. Well she reasoned and I alluded, slightly surprised at my thought processes, almost feeling these dormant areas light up in my brain. They want to be lit, but are extremely rusty, leaving me listening, silently computing at times I should be talking.

There was a bit in the film, where Larry David is addressing the camera at the end, about how the presence of chance in our lives has so much more weight than we would ever like to believe. Several bits of the film drop how the universe is drifting away from itself, and there's a bit where the Melody character is having a natter about entropy, which is really annoying. But after sitting through it, enduring this film, that bit sat well about the chance.

There is a bit coming up shortly on the radio, about The Flavour Thesaurus. It's on my Wish List, I've browsed it in Foyles, I was thinking about it cooking last night, the pairings and food rules, searching for a clue about cauliflower. I haven't listened to Woman's Hour in at least a month, but today, I slept in ten hours, sat back in bed, and checked the schedule online. Exactly what I want. It was chance delivered.

I got the train to Edinburgh last Saturday. I'd talked about the paper on the bench with the strangers, trying not to comment on his Rapha pinking as I felt her burning slightly at me. How is it today, is it worth it, I don't usually buy it as post work it's expired and almost Sunday. Anyway, I decided to buy it, always feels like a slight gamble queuing in WH Smiths, trying to ignore the Dairy Milk. I'm giving up book time and tea money to a pack of potential that sometimes falls flat.

But today, I was lucky. Smack bang on the front of the Review is a well-informed, well written feature about literary crossover events, replete with a photo from the Zadie Smith Bookslam that I missed because of my concussion, and write up from the Homework I'd been to that same week. I'd only seen the poetry at Latitude because I was meandering by myself after not managing to meet the School girls, only asked him about shows because I bought his book and only bought his book because I sat in the tent at the right time.

Perhaps it's just I live in London, bound forever to be an ultimate trend filter, a future cultural icon, he joshed with a sting. But still, I hadn't bought the paper since before I last heard Woman's Hour. The chances? It makes me want to buy the paper next Saturday, today, just to spite the chance and prove I will always find the right thing, no matter how delicate I am with universal return. Anyway, the point might be, just keep calm, and wait for these things that spark. Tick for the Taste Tours. Abandon myself to the ether.

I thought I had abandoned the blog for a more refined outcome. I felt like writing today. I will be here less often as my words go off to different schools.