A room with a view

When I begin to write a blog post, I take my quill in one hand and then dip it into the pot of black ink and then I begin scribbling away, creating a masterpiece of writing which undoubtedly will win a noble peace prize for literature.

Then I wake up from my dream and laugh a hollow laugh. And then I wipe the sleep from my eyes and go and make my porridge and cup of hot steaming tea.

Where I sit in my room and construct my witty, informative, carefully worded, constructed, prose I can see and hear things that are occuring in other’s people’s back gardens.

Only yesterday I was privvy to a neighbours conversation that they were conducting on their mobile phone, this person thought that they were being quiet, but in reality I could hear every single word that they were saying.


It also happens when I am out and about (very rare) that I can easily listen into other people’s conversations and absorb what they are saying.

Only recently I was on a train. Entering a train it’s like paying to watch a live theatre performance, the players are amateurs, but the performances are strong, funny, emotional, surprising, and above all entertaining.

The first set of characters to take centre stage are a mother and daughter. What there story is about is unclear at the moment. Is it a daughter who resents her mother? Is the mother one of those overprotective mothers who is pushing her daughter into becoming famous? It’s not until they all sit down that the play begins and I can sit back and enjoy today’s performance.

It turns out that once the mother’s phone comes out that it all becomes clear, crying she is recalling her dilema to her sister, she asks her sister Dawn, to go around and collect all of their clothes and then once they are safe and sound, they’ll message Dawn with the address, where she’ll be staying. It transpires that she hasn’t paid the rent on their rental property for the past four months, she’d tried to hold them off the rental people, but they have since began legal action. It turns out that when Sam (Dawn’s brother finds out) he won’t be happy.


Once they reach there stop, they disembark and we are now going to be entertained by a middle aged man and a mobile phone. Middle aged, sits down, adjusts his glasses on his face and checks that he does indeed have an unfortunate haircut and squeeky shoes.

It doesn’t take long for this play to begin. Middle aged phone rings. He answers it he then says abliet to loudly “Oh my god” Oh now I am intruiged.

He then says “It read “Hello sweetheart, it’s me. I love you so much and I miss you.”

Apparently this particular text message was sent by middle aged earlier on in the day to the woman on the other end’s second mobile phone (she bought this for this affair), but she didn’t get it to it in time and when her husband came out of the shower, he hears a constant pinging noise and when he followed it he found the mobile and now he’s at home demanding to know who “he” is whilst he’s watching the kids.

She’s in a payphone wanting answers. Middle aged tells her to tell him (her hubby) that it was a wrong number, and that she should stick to that story.

She and him then wonder if text messages can be traced? None of them know and as I get off at my stop I don’t find out the answer.

So there you have it, that’s how I observe people and their behaviours when I am out and about.



After a Google search you can trace a text message but you need an app apparently