I had often wondered what she looked like. Thought about the lay of her hair, its texture, its colour, its cut. Spent hours ruminating on her voice, her look. But most of all, I wondered about her. What was she like? Where did she go when she wasn't with me? What did she do? She's always been there; she's had my back for as long as I can recall, always there to warn me, show me the hidden dangers, point out that which I've missed. And on countless occasions, she's saved me from myself. She was there with me in Baghdad in 2004, when I stood rooted to the spot as Iraqi insurgents launched a salvo of Katyusha rockets at my precise location (I didn't take it personally, they could hardly have known I was there!). One landed close enough that the concussion wave when it came lifted me from my feet. But that first rocket was as nothing compared to the next one, which I watched arcing over toward me, its parabola placing it within my line of sight. I watched its trajectory and as it fell inexorably towards me, it hit the ground...and failed to detonate. She was there the day that I left my helmet on my motorcycle in a busy central London street and went into WH Smith's, only to find it had been stolen when I returned from the best free library in Britain after ten minutes (yeah, I know, how stupid can you get?) I could hardly ride home helmetless and I'd come out minus my wallet, but she'd placed a long-forgotten £200 casino chip in my pocket, which I was able to cash in. I got to the accessories shop in the West End ten minutes before closing, and walked out with a better helmet than the one I'd had stolen, too.
She had my back too, when I was involved in a motorcycle accident in 1999 that could have prevented me from seeing the dawn of the new Millenium. A car took me out from behind at 60mph and I was knocked unconscious when I hit the deck. I don't remember any of this, but witnesses and the police later said that I went body surfing along the main road and into the path of oncoming rush-hour traffic, coming to alongside the pavement about 100 yards from where the impact occurred. The paramedics might have been concerned that I'd broken my neck, carting me off to hospital on a spinal board, but I was discharged later that night, walking away with no more than soft tissue damage and a broken toe.
If I recall correctly, she had a hand in having my favourite, and too expensive Hugo Boss cashmere overcoat and several irreplaceable items returned to me a week after I'd lost them. My fault I guess for including such an expensive item in my wardrobe of beer clothes and wearing it on a night out with the lads. It was stupid of me to leave it on the coat mountain in a pub made tropical by the heat of a thousand bodies, whilst I got slowly drunk. So I shouldn't have been surprised when I went to leave several hours later and found my coat had beaten me to it. The loss of the coat was a bitter pill, but all the more so when I remembered what was in its pockets - my keys, my mobile phone, and my little black book; the book in which I had countless celebrity phone numbers, contacts, irreplaceable jottings and bullet points from God knows how many meetings and assignments. Hair, and a 'look' Like This... She must have been looking out for me then, because imagine my surprise when I got a phone call a week later, (having given up all hope and reported the items lost to the police), from a man who ten months earlier, I'd run down whilst riding my motorcycle (bear with me, it'll all become clear)! At the time, I'd written his contact details down on the first page of my notebook. And somebody had found that notebook in my coat pocket, turned to the first page, and called the number saying something like "You don't know me, but I am trying to contact the person who has your details in their notebook". The person trying to reach me was a man who, one week earlier, had found my coat on the windscreen of his car, which he'd parked outside the McDonalds opposite the pub I'd been drinking in. He'd stopped to buy a burger before driving to Yorkshire or somewhere, where his father had had a heart attack. Picked my coat up, meaning to do something about it, and drove off, remembering it when he came home and found it in the boot. Long and short of it is, he returned it to me, exactly as it was when I'd taken it off - everything I'd had in it was still there in the pockets. What do you say to a person like that? Actually, those years when I was riding a motorcycle on a daily basis must have really kept her busy! Remember the guy I mentioned who I ran over whilst riding my not-very-old but very expensive and shiny Yamaha R6? I wrote about the story here a couple of years ago. I was riding home through rush-hour London one balmy summer's evening. The traffic lights were green in my favour, and I was carrying a fair bit of speed, when Nigel, a lemming-like pedestrian, tried to run across my path. He failed, stood rooted to the spot like a rabbit caught in headlights, and I went straight into him. We were both unscathed, but my bike had incurred £1,500 of damage. Step up two traffic cops who'd watched the whole thing unfold, and then shamed Nigel into paying up every penny to have my bike put right. You seeing a pattern here? I could go on with the anecdotes - and I haven't even started on all the positives she's seen me through, the luck she's brought my way - but you're probably already hating me, so what's the point? Is it any wonder I've felt blessed by the presence of someone to watch over me? I used to joke about my 'Guardian Angel', but she never had a face, or even a form; it was a label for something that I didn't, couldn't and still don't understand. I'm not a terribly spiritual person, so it was my ironic name for the series of bizarre coincidences and ironic occurrences that have accompanied me throughout my life. 'It' had to be a 'she' though. I mean, come on. This is me ;-)
So yeah, we've shared a lot, her and I, although it's never been a relationship of equals. And as I've grown older, I've assumed, in that 'don't really believe she exists but just in case she does' kind of way, that she's remained forever young. Er..and sexy. But until recently, I'd never seen her face. She was a stranger to me.
She's not now. A few weeks ago, I had a night out with my mate Ian. Remember him? I've written about him here several times. He's the fella I used to work with in the City, the one I lost contact with for a few years, but who I hooked back up with. We met up one night in February for a few too many beers and a curry down Brick Lane, and having bid one another farewell, I'd somehow made it to Kings Cross unaccompanied. Let me paint you a picture: It's a quarter past midnight. I'm walking on somebody else's legs, and joined-up thought is some long-forgotten concept that left me somewhere between the last pub and the restaurant. My phone beeps with a text message from another mate. I read it: "What is the group of bad people called in 'Angels and Demons' by Dan Brown?" I think that's what you call a curve ball. Something from out of left field. I did a double take. "You've got to be fucking kidding!", I thought. (hey, I'm less than sober, okay? It made perfect sense to me). "Why on earth does he need to know the answer to that now? More to the point, how am I going to answer him? It's two years since I read that particular book, and I average two books a week at the best of times; the answer's there in the back of my mind, but it's like trying to grasp clouds in your hand. No chance!" But dressed like this! I wouldn't mind, but it's not like I'm being asked something about the Da Vinci code. I mean, everyone's read that one. And for those late to catch on, there are a fair number to be found still reading it. So the chances are there'll be somebody on the train I've just boarded (the 00:36 if you're interested, also known as the 'Drunk Train' on account of the people who catch it) reading it that I could ask. But no; he wants to know an arcane question about one of Dan Brown’s lesser-known books written in over six years ago. I sit back, frustrated. (I don’t like failing at anything, no matter how obtuse the challenge - I’m male, so the competitive element comes with the Y-chromosome). Just then, I look up as my peripheral vision detects a devastatingly sexy thirty-something girl, shapely and with long, dark, lightly-curled hair tumbling down to her shoulders, boarding the train. I'm not the only one; each and every fella on my train seems to have found an excuse to look up and as one, their eyes follow her as she gracefully walks the length of the carriage...and sits down next to me. I try to avert my gaze, but it's difficult because (a), I'm more drunk than sober, so my co-ordination and sense of timing aren't exactly in synchronicity and (b), rather predictably (as my regular readers will know) she's wearing 'The Uniform' - a white blouse, black mini skirt and black tights allied with a terrific pair of black leather (obviously!) fuck-me boots. She looks at me. Smoothes her skirt And smiles. I'm looking at her face, but I'm aware of her reaching into her bag for something as she settles down for the journey ahead. The doors close and the train moves off. I look, and even as she reaches into her bag for it, I know. A shiver runs down my spine, like somebody's just walked over my grave, and I watch the scene unfold like I'm the director of a film that I've both scripted and cast. I know what's coming. She takes out a paperback copy of Dan Brown's 'Angels and Demons', opens it to page 53, and starts reading. My heart begins to thump. My mouth's dry, and I hear the words as if spoken by someone else... "Look, this is going to sound like a really lame chat-up line", I offer - and she looks up and smiles at me - "but my friend's just texted me to ask me a question. It might sound a little bizzarre, but could you tell me the name of the brotherhood who..." - her smile cedes into a coquettish laugh, but she stops herself to interrupt me, and I hear her speak for the first time; she even sounds angelic! "Oh, you mean The Illuminati?" she asks, flipping back two pages to show me the symbol that is printed there on page 51 in a biazarre gothic font, which means it reads the same whether viewed left-to-right or in reverse. I smile back at her. "That's it", I say, and we chat briefly about the book and Dan Brown. I want to say more, flirt a bit, but there are two reasons why I can't; firstly, I'm married. Besides, she's my Guardian Angel, it'd be like...like..nah, don't go there! And anyway, she's sober, I'm not. Three reasons then. I look away to text my friend the answer to his question, feeling smug, despite still being perplexed as to the pressing reason he'd want to know such a bizarre thing - and so late on a school night, too. I leave the girl to her book, troubling her no more, but smile to myself at the unlikely series of events that have brought me together with this...what? Who is she exactly? Just a commuter? Or have I just seen the face of, talked with, flirted with, my Guardian Angel? Half an hour later, I get up as the train rolls into my home station. I walk unsteadily towards the doors (look on the bright side, at least I wasn't at the dribbling stage of drunk!) and as I look back, I see her holding my gaze, looking at me, smiling. I smile back, and step out into the night.
SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME
23.3.06 14:03
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(23.3.06 14:20) Your "guardian angel"'s way cool...  I remembered the story of your guardian angel helping you to get back your "little black book" (the one in your last job with all the important numbers of A-list clients). Maybe I have one too, just that I didn't know how hard she worked to bail my ass out of trouble... :p
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(23.3.06 14:38) Arete: Cheers, 'she's none to shabby to have around, I have to say, although I'm beginning to think that perhaps I ought to ease off a little and give her a break - I'm sure your Guardian Angel thinks much more highly of you than mine does of me ;-) You seen the VW Polo 'Guardian Angel' Ad on TV? I like to think that life's a little like that for all of us in some of my less logically-minded moments. It's not, of course...but we can dream! |
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GrrlScientist / Website (23.3.06 14:55) i really enjoyed this essay, although i do wish that your angel (female commuter?) looked more like me! i do hope you back up (or photocopy) your little black book somewhere so you don't lose it if oyur angel is asleep at the switch. |
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(23.3.06 15:12) GrrlScientist: Thank you! Nice to see you here again. And I've swtiched from my little black book now to an electronic PDA, which synchronises with, and backs up to my PC each night. I still have the little black book though, as a souvenir of how I did things before! |
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pixeldiva / Website (23.3.06 16:08) I was with you right up to the point where she pulled the book out of her bag. Surely your guardian angel would have far better taste in novels than Dan Brown??? 
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Bobble / Website (23.3.06 16:21) I've forgotten how much I enjoy reading your blog BR. Points to note: 1. I have never read a single Dan Brown book but knew the answer to your question. Odd, much. 2. Some of us have had to dress in that uniform every sodding day for work for 10 years. It's a pleasure to wear jeans at weekends. 3.When are we going to go drinking again (JoJo's do?) 4. Are you anywhere near Soho/Covent Garden tonight? |
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(23.3.06 16:32) PixelDiva: LOL! Trouble is, if she'd pulled out a Franz Kafka novel, or Boris Pasternak's Dr Zhivago, the story wouldn't have worked! I bet she was cursing me when she got back to the place that our Angels hang out when we don't need them. I can just picture it... "Oh, the shame of it! All the books in the world, and his mate has to ask him a question about Brown's sodding Angels and Demons! Why couldn't he have asked the name of the girl in Dr Zhivago who worked at Madame Guishar's, whose uncle was a clerk at the workshop near the corner of Tverskaya Street?" But then, she was an Angel, and I thought Angels and Demons was a rather aposite, if ironic choice for my Angel to be reaidng. Okay, it's a shame that it was written by Brown. Still, on the 00:36 from Kings Cross, would anybody who'd have seen her really been sober enough to remember what she was reading? ;-) |
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(23.3.06 16:39) Bobble: And it's comments like that that make me realise how much I've missed you and the old 20six crowd! Thank you! As regards not having read any of Dan Brown's books...don't let PixelDiva hear me saying this, but I wondered what all the fuss was about until I read the Da Vinci code, and then I couldn't put it down. It's not rocket science, and it's a bit...ITV instead of BBC, but he's actually a brilliant storyteller in the mould of Stephen King (forget the content, it's about readability, how the author weaves the story. And he's good. As for having to wear that uniform...what, you think a suit and tie is more comfortable?! At least women get a degree of flexibility in how they dress for the office - skirts, trousers, dresses and every variation thereof. We get - suit, suit, suit or suit? And that tie or that tie or no tie at all today? But hey, I take your point...jeans rule (but you'd be a bit disappointed if your Guardian Angel turned up to meet you wearing them, right?) ;-) Sadly, I'm nowhere near Soho tonight, but JoJo's is doable...should be a good night! x |
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(23.3.06 16:45) I miss you too mate. Point about suit taken. We could always wear skirt suits if it was warm or cashmere jumpers if it was cold. I had to read your reply twice as I thought you were making improper suggestions about ties/tying. I have worked in a male environment for too long. JoJo's will be good (your back being fine God willing), I even have a new dress as I know that Daisy/Luda always dresses up (if she/they are coming.) Be good to see the old crowd. |
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pixeldiva / Website (23.3.06 17:08) True, it would have killed the story somewhat. Then again, if she was reading Kafka or Dr Zhivago wouldn't that make her more Fantasy Woman than Guardian Angel? As for El Browno, he's a hack, but at least he can hack together a reasonably fast paced good read of a thriller (even if it did take him to the third book to get the formula down...), curse him. What's worse is that not only did I read all the books (yes, and I'm both ashamed and pissed off at the hours of my life I'll never get back), but after realising that I started with the best of them and they got progressively worse, I still read the first one, even though I knew it'd be pants. |
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(23.3.06 17:13) PixelDiva: Fair point, but who says your fantasy woman and Guardian Angel can't be one and the same? In fact, but for the book... Right with you on Brown...although I only wasted away book reading time on holiday last year, plus the occasional hour in the bath, none of which I can regret too heavily. Oh, and it's just a thought, but what if one's Guardian Angel reads The Guardian and Angels and Demons...does that mean she's having an identity crisis? |
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pixeldiva / Website (23.3.06 17:18) No reason they can't be the same, but wouldn't it be a bit of a shame if the only time you saw the Guardian Angel was when you're in deep trouble/bits on the road? That's going to put a bit of a dent in the enacting of any fantasies, I'd have thought (David Cronenburg-esque ones notwithstanding...) Maybe not an identity crisis as such, but the woolly liberal inbred guilt trip might explain the choice of Dan Brown over anything more overtly intellectual
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Matt / Website (23.3.06 17:18) Well I think if there's a school for Guardian Angels Blackrat, yours is the star graduate. Far be it for me to say anything bad about mine, but she's not necessarily the most attentive of entities and has a strange, rather disturbing habit of cutting things rather too fine. On the other hand, someone's been making connections for me lately, and for that I'm very grateful. Maybe it's her, and that's why she's been a bit lacking on the Guardian Angel job. I'd drink a toast to yours if I were you. Wouldn't want to upset her... |
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(23.3.06 17:37) PixelDiva: I think that's what I enjoyed about meeting her on this occasion; it wasn't another 'near death' experience, a la Baghdad. It wasn't another panic, like losing my favourite coat, or crashing my motorbike...it was just a sexy woman, on a train, after a night on the piss. So, pretty average night, then ;-) And let's be honest, if our Guardian Angels chose to read high-brow Lit on every ouevre, they'd look a bit unapproachable, wouldn't they? Given my vocal abilities after the night I'd had with Ian, I think Dan Brown was about my level, anyway...a sort of Ladybird book 3a for Drunk Adults, if you like. Or Peter and Jane, with Pat the Dog...depends on your preference! |
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(23.3.06 17:40) Matt: You're right there, I shall be raising a glass to her this evening. And tomorrow. And the day after... And I wouldn't worry too much about the low profile yours is keeping...sounds like she's being active where it counts, which is what matters really. Nice to know they're there though, isn't it? ;-) |
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(23.3.06 17:48) Bobble: Sorry, hon, missed your comment there. Me, imrpoper suggestions regarding ties??! The very thought! Actually, fair point, easy mistake! And yeah, I'm hoping I'll be out of complete invalid mode by next week - it's getting to be a bit of a drag now. Back's okay, but it's my left leg that's being difficult...it's weak, so my mates are calling me 'Hopalong' and my knee keeps giving way, which is making life interesting. The pain's manageable with the Tramadol, so I'll drag myself out if there's drink and friends involved unless I'm in complete Spaz mode. Nothing wrong with dressing up for a night out - lifts it above the average, doesn't it? Should be a good evening. |
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pixeldiva / Website (23.3.06 22:01) Given that it was late at night and you were admittedly drunk, you sure that there weren't beer goggles/imagination in play?
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(23.3.06 22:36) PixelDiva: Nice try! But given my drunken state, do you really think I could have come up with a word...no, and answer such as 'The Illuminati all by myself? No, she was there alright. And by special exemption, in that Guardian Angels possess exceptional ability to bring clarity to any event, my insobriety was rendered temporarily null and void. Thus, my beer goggles remained unused all evening, and my Angel's beauty is placed beyond question. Does that satisfy your curiosity? ;-) |
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pixeldiva / Website (24.3.06 00:11) Well since I don't believe your imagination is quite *that* dulled by the demon drink, it's quite plausible that you could have come up with the entire scenario to help you while away the journey home. But I will take you at your word that your Angel both existed and was as beautiful as you believe her to be, and my curiosity (in that respect at least) can roll over, sigh and go to sleep. |
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(24.3.06 06:56) My guardian angel is a fucking lazy slob and I want him out. Now! There's a job going - does yours have a brother? The jobs piss easy, shopping, sleeping, tanning, manicure - please no broken nails. Bit of travelling, nothing hectic, all 5 star. |
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(24.3.06 09:48) PixelDiva: That'll be both you and your curiosity, I assume? It's way past bedtime for a school night! |
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(24.3.06 09:52) Quagga: Sod my Angel's brother, I'm at a loose end for the next couple of months, and if that's the job description and it's based in SA, I'm your man! When can I start? ;-) |
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(24.3.06 10:50) That's very bizarre, I've got my Window's Media Player on shuffle and the song that just came on as I was reading your blog is Angel by Gavin Friday (on the Romeo and Juliet soundtrack). I said, 'No way!' out loud. How funny! Well, I loved reading that. Either you're just a very lucky man or you do indeed have a guardian angel (mine is of course a devastatingly handsome man in his early 30s who looks remarkably like James Purefoy). It reminded me of the car advert with the angels in. Can't remember which?! |
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pixeldiva / Website (24.3.06 11:49) Bedtime is a social construct brought on by the need to make everyone fit into the same schedule of night and day and my body clock laughs in its face while making snarky remarks about it's dress sense. So while my curiosity had long gone to the land of nod, I was very much still tossing and turning. Welshchick: I think it's the latest Volkswagen Polo ad, which always makes me think that if we've got guardian angels wandering round after us, mine certainly isn't a cuddly scruffy bloke with bad taste in trousers.
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(24.3.06 12:19) WelshChick: See, my Angel's at work even as you read what I've written about her; after some of the things she's done for me, it doesn't surprise me that she was able to select the correct track from your WMP playlist and ensure it was playing as you read ;-) And thank you for the kind comments. I do feel I've been lucky, and I've succeeded in some endeavours where I thought I was destined to fail. When I started thinking about how many times I'd come out on top when I shouldn't have, how many times I've been in harm's way and come out the other side...that's when I came up with the construct of a 'Guardian Angel' who was watching over me. I don't even want to think about the coincidence that made that girl on the train sit next to me, pull out that book, at that time, and be sufficiently far into it, that she knew the answer to the question I asked her without thinking about it. Oh, and I think the ad you're thinking of is this one:  Right Click to download, or just click on it to play. |
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(24.3.06 12:38) PixelDiva: Good answer, nicely put. I have to say, I can empathise entirely at the moment. I'm not sure what the creatives were thinking of when they came up with the pitch for that ad. I mean, surely we'd prefer our Angels to be rather like mine, or in Welshchick's case, James Purefoy. They obviously thought it would be more endearing if all the Angels were slightly overweight men with a slight hint of beer belly. And I guess I should have read your comment before replying to Welshchick - then I wouldn't have ended up duplicating your answer to her question. Although I suppose some people might say I've gone one better and answered her question with, er...ah, sod it...'Wings on' ;-) Yeah, I know. "Coat, please!" |
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(27.3.06 17:22) Hi Blackrat! Loved this post. It made me think also on all the times I've been probably saved by my own Angel (obviously a she too ;-) Surprisingly, now I see they are more than I thought. Thanks for making me think about that. I also have had, and still have once in a while, some of these un-explicable coincidences, like the one you mention in the train. They are very bizarre indeed, and I liked to think they happen because of some higher level of awareness I get to for a few minutes and for some reason. But then again, this couldn't possibly be your case as you were a bit to the drunk side, so I might have to change my theory here ;-) Nice to read you, as always. |
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Megan / Website (27.3.06 17:38) Think your guardian angel knows my muse? Not that he'd be interested in her; he's gay (only I would have a gay muse, no?). You must consider the possiblity that she came to you in a form that you could fully appreciate. Would you even have noticed her if she showed up as, say, a motherly type? Probably not. And here I thought all this time that she'd look like me... |
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(27.3.06 23:52) That was such a good read that I didn't get up once during reading it (internet equivalent of not being able to put a book down).. lovely story Blackrat. I wish I could meet my Guardian Angel but he's probably round the back smoking an eternal spliff or something.. lol |
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(28.3.06 10:01) Atrus: Thanks for the kind comment - nice to see you around, fella! Bizarre, aren't they - those coincidences, I mean. Small world theory might explain them at one level, but I think there's a part of all of us that likes to think there might be some other, less scientific explanation for them. In my case, a sexy woman who appears when I want her fits the bill perfectly! |
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(28.3.06 10:09) Megan: You're selling yourself short! Gay muse? Yeah, right! ;-) And of course she came to me in that form - she wouldn't be much of a Guardain Angel if she appeared in a manner that would cause me to overlook her now, would she?! I was drunk - therefore, she needed a look that would slice through my alcohol-soaked brain and straight to my conscious mind. I'm afraid that when I'm in that condition, 'motherly' just doesn't cut it. When I'm ill, perhaps, but not when I've got lascivious thoughts in mind and I'm wobbling home at stupid o clcok after a night on the lash! |
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(28.3.06 10:10) Rawr: Why, thank you! And I love the description of your Guardian Angel...maybe we all get the one that our subconscious conjures up as most suitable ;-) |
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Roach / Website (12.6.06 14:17) Love that post :-) |
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Black Rat / Website (12.6.06 14:29) Roach: Thanks :-) And nice to see you round here, too. x |
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