My Secret Lover

dangerous. I suppose if the next train is delayed because of
signal failure and you end up missing the thing that was the reason you were on
the train in the first place you’d have a problem, but it wouldn’t matter that
much, unless it was a funeral.’
    ‘Or a wedding?’ Michaela interrupts.
    ‘I suppose it would have to be quite
a good conversation to make it worth missing that for,’ I say. ‘And, in those
circumstances, a pity to get off the train in the first place.’
    ‘But what if he got off too?’ asks
Michaela.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The bloke you were talking to?’
    ‘You can’t do that on the Internet,
can you? Well, you can, but would it matter in the same Way?’
    ‘You’ve lost me,’ says Michaela.
    ‘The trouble with the railways is
that you couldn’t r ely on there being another train,’ I muse.
    ‘If you’re having difficulty booking
tickets, you can always give me a bell Michaela works in a travel agent on Station Road. ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘Exactly.’ I smile at her.
    ‘Just remember what your mother told
you,’ adds Michaela.
    ‘Which thing in particular?’
    ‘Don’t talk to strangers,’ says
Michaela.
    ‘Sometimes you can be more honest
with a stranger, though, can’t you, because it doesn’t matter?’
    ‘What are you like!’ says Michaela,
toying with her tisane in a way that makes me feel a bit immature sitting with
a great wide cup of frothy milk in front of me.
    How can I be both too old and too
young at the same time?
     
    There are no new messages in my
Inbox.
     
    Re: What are you like!
    Just to let you know that I thought
you were asking What are you like? rather than using this popular exclamation
of disbelief, which does not require an answer. As a matter of fact, I'm not
keen on 'what are you like!' . Although I don't dislike it as much as 'You
don't want to go there'. Funnily enough, as soon as I say I don't like using an
expression, I find myself using it the whole time. 'As you do' is another one.
And 'not' at the end of a sentence. And I'm so not a fan of 'so not'...
    Hope all well. L
     
    What I don't like is people who say,
'Try putting these words together: Go To There Don't Want We!' A
     
    Glad I am it's so not just me! L
     
    Up to any pole dancing recently been
have you? A
     
    Business your none of. L
     
    On go words reversing we can't like
this, we can? A
     
    Not why? Easier makes it to the say
things want you. L
     
    Know about to you more I want. A
     
    Enough you know me about. Wrong
impressions think you got. About you what anyway? L
     
    Think about this can I and back to
you come. A
     
    KO. L
     
    Good night. AX
     
    There is a programme about Tracey
Emin on late-night television. She is everything I am not. She is so not
ordinary. Even when she does ordinary things, they become extraordinary.
Because she is an artist. Apparently she recently put a poster up on a
lamp-post because she’d lost her cat and within minutes somebody had taken it
down and offered it to The Saatchi Gallery.
    I wonder if I ever met Tracey, would
the encounter automatically be Art, or only if she videoed it? Would it depend
on how long and where? If we brushed past each other on the tube, probably not.
If we had an informal conversation in a bus shelter, perhaps.
    There are a couple of questions I’d
like to ask her.
    1. At what point did your bed become
art, and did you have a futon rolled up ready to use for when it happened?
    2. Did you ever find your cat?
    Would I then be an artist as well? Or
just part of the installation?

21
     
    March
     
    There are two messages in my Inbox.
     
    Send Mother's Day flowers and get
free chocs
     
    I do not really believe my mother is
directing the spam. And
     
    Re: What are you like?
     
    More Rusedski than Henman, I'm
afraid, although I don't have his teeth. I can't play tennis either, but I do
like to watch Wimbledon. A
     
    So, in what way exactly do you resemble
Rusedski? L
     
    Hair thinning. And someone once told
me I looked like the boy next door. A
     
    Canadian? L
     
    No. A
     
    Thank goodness. Can't stand
Canadians. L
     
    Why? A
     
    Ex-boyfriend. You don't want to go
there. L
     
    Bastard! Surely nationality not to
blame? A
     
    Well, in a way, yes, because they're
so nice and polite and politically correct, that you don't expect them to be
bastards. L
     
    If I was in one of those photo
booths, I would probably press happy after the first take. A
     
    Are you happy? L
     
    No, just boring.