Fantastic Futures.

Fortune teller's crystal ball in Retiro Park, Madrid. 


Sundays in Madrid tend to play out similarly for me week in, week out. Getting out of bed is hard at the best of times. Getting out of bed when you have nothing much to do and nobody to do it with is like pulling yourself out of a tray of treacle.
 
I am told that inertia is not an attractive quality in a person, which is a shame, so I decided to go to the park to read my book. There’s something about parks that make anything you can do just fine whilst lying in bed all day a bit more socially acceptable. So, in the name of meeting the expectations of my fellow humans, I had swapped my comfortable mattress for some patchy grass. Thankfully I had brought my course denim jacket to use as a cushion. 
 
I couldn’t get comfortable. I was breakdancing all over the turf trying, and failing, to hit that sweet spot where I could finally concentrate on my book instead of my awkward, gangly limbs. There was a couple going at it just down the knoll from me, feeding each other slices of processed cheese. You see- anything you can do just fine whilst lying in bed.
 
This whole park thing wasn’t really doing it for me so I gave up after about fifteen pages. I always get more enjoyment from active people watching anyway, I thought, so I hit the main strip that runs down by the lake.
 
It was busy. I saw a group of guys trying to row a boat as fast as they could, which seemed to make them actually go slower than everyone else on the water. There was a man painted purple, standing still for money. And a poorly dressed magician who was performing to nobody, pushing a pink handkerchief into his hand before making it disappear.
 
Two brothers were heading towards me on roller-blades. The older one, who was in front, looked particularly wobbly. I kept my eye on him as he neared me. If he was to fall over and I was able to catch him I would probably become some sort of local hero. That was never going to happen, I knew that, but my mind does wander as I stroll. Sometimes I imagine completely alternate realities. Worryingly often these comprise of what I’d do in a hostage situation. Well according to my imagination I’d kick everyone’s ass, steal the jeep outside and bolt it to the nearest town. Other times I save a stranded babies from oncoming traffic.
 
Still, though, this guy looked very unsure of his choice of transport for that day. His mother, who actually looked too young to be his mother, was texting someone, so I would have to assume responsibility for this situation in case anything untoward should happen. Not that it would, I knew that. I carried on walking straight down through the crowd and towards the young lad. He veered to his left sharply and then back round to the right. His momentum carried his head backwards and he was a split-second from falling back onto his helmet when I grabbed his arm.
 
I pulled him up and with a quick “gracias” he was on his way. Not as grateful as I’d like, I thought. I looked up at his mother who was smiling that kind of astonished smile you do after laughing at something in disbelief.
 
I was going to attempt to say something in Spanish to her, but I had no idea where to start. Alas, I am a badly disguised Spaniard and my hair color let her know I was English speaking. So was she, in fact. American. Au pair. It made sense now.
 
She had to catch up with the kids but we swapped numbers and agreed to coffee somewhere. Perhaps one day we will be feeding each other slices of processed cheese in the park, too. Maybe we’ll get married, have kids, who knows? Those scenarios played out in my head as I daydreamed on my way back to my apartment. After I had killed the terrorists, of course, and saved the boy on the roller blades.
 
The little bastard had glided seamlessly past me.

He blew it. 

For those interested in the reason I haven't been keeping up with Blipfoto recently as much, here are two pieces of writing I did for the Huffington post about Iran. 

Spaces of Freedom in the Islamic Republic of Iran

&

An Endearing Arrogance in the Islamic Republic of Iran