Tuesday feels and some brackets

There’s an old movie called Notting Hill out there. It stars a young Hugh Grant and a thin Julia Roberts and I’ve watched it about six times. There was a sad point in my life where I liked romantic comedies, and Notting Hill ranked right up there, next to Jenny Aniston’s The Break Up.

Julia plays Anna Scott. A big time American actress who stumbles into a bookstore one day and meets Grant, who plays William Thacker, the very British and often quirky –if not emotionally overbearing- store owner. Thacker leads a reserved life, a divorced man who shares a flat with a peculiar dimwit who masturbates a lot. Anna is your soft spoken girl with an outgoing personality. It’s easy to like her because she generally doesn’t say much, but when she does it’s usually witty, delivered with a punch and half a smile. The trouble with her is that she wears her celebrity status like a burden. She genuinely looks labored from all the movie-making, doesn’t quite seem to be at ease with the fact that her face is now plastered on buses and billboards.

(God I hate it when I have to say ‘the fact that’)

After a juice spilling incident, the two slowly fall in love, and what follows is a predictable up and down that sees them break up about 50 times. On one of those times we get a montage of Thacker walking through the street market and doing all he can to ignore a pile of tasty looking oranges on the side of the road. All the while, Aint No Sunshine plays in the background and it’s all very heartbreaking.

(Again, friends, this is no review).

Anyway, towards the end of the movie there’s a scene in which, after they had broken up yet again, Anna goes back to Thacker with the damning realization that she had made a mistake. At the end of her small speech she says, and get this, “I’m just a girl standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.” Those words should have won him over, but because Thacker is a man and we’re generally known to act before giving a thought, he turns her down. Only to realize later that he had been stupid. And that he needs to rush to the airport before Anna jets out of the country.

Thankfully, he makes it to her and says a lot of things before he finally says, “I’m just a boy standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him.”

My heart bled.

I would then go on to use that line on a girl. And it worked just fine.


I had no paper today. I stayed indoors with a baggy T shirt and some loose pants. You’d expect that with all that free time I would have at least studied a bit. I had even scheduled some reading time yesterday, but I generally don’t like Tuesdays. So what I did was, I jumped into track pants, laced up, and set out for a brief run. The sun was already out and I had half the mind to turn back and settle for push-ups instead.

The air was warm and it filled my nostrils with delight. My back was a little stiff but soon I forgot all about it as I started up a gentle slope. The path was deserted, save for a couple of kids playing on the other side of the road. They stared at me when I trudged past, and I couldn’t tell if they were poking fun at my awkward running because I was blasting Kaleo’s Way Down We Go into my eardrums. If there was ever a song for every mood, that would be it. I can’t wait to play it throughout my honeymoon.

By the time the next song was playing, however, my chest was burning and I could taste blood at the back of my throat. But, surprisingly, my legs hadn’t caved yet and I went on. Not for long though because a few minutes later I had to stop and catch my breath. I noticed that my breathing was off and a pool of viscous saliva had collected in my mouth.

I spit it out and returned back to the homestead, with my face drenched in sweat and a disturbing itch seating in my throat. What this means is that I spent the rest of the morning coughing myself back to normalcy. BM suspects that I might have gone back to smoking.

Between that time and now, I’ve helped out with some chores, cleaned my room, took a nap, read a book, took a dump, and overfed on a plate of rice while I watched The Wicked Edition. And then I stuck a toothpick in my mouth and started to write this piece.

See, at some point I sat down to listen to Talia Oyando on the radio. (Bett says I should stop this ‘see’ and ‘you see’ thing at the start of my paragraphs) Tuesday is dubbed Fit Tuesday, on the show, and the conversations lean towards work outs and diets and all. Talia’s voice is nothing short of soothing and her legs are even more stunning. Plus the girl really knows her reggae. I like Talia. Talia is nice.

(I have to hurry and finish this by the way. It’s already 11pm and I need to sleep)

So she’s been having this thing on the show where 5 songs are mashed up and played very quickly so you can’t really know the individual songs. The point of the game is to get all song titles correctly. People call in. A lot of money is dangled. Nobody ever gets all 5.

Today there was a lady who called and tried her luck. She got 4 out of the possible 5, and she became so sad about it I was sure she was about to cry. “Aki woiye,” she said, over and over again. Talia, being the sweetheart, let her down easy. Then she played a song called Feels by Calvin Harris which made me get off my ass and dance like a madman.

Needless to say, the tune has completely refused to leave my head. If only I could retain my school work like this…

Si tuonane kesho?



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