A warm-ish day. A few clouds in the sky, pleasant enough to be out in, though not as high-summer hot as recently.
Walking up and down the main path through the churchyard is a tall, raggedy man. He looks down at the sort-of-cobbled path. He walks slowly, -then in a sudden burst of manic energy, takes three or four very quick steps forward whilst bringing his knees as high up as possible. He then resumes his treacle slow walk again, before repeating this odd manoeuvre, reminiscent of some of the movements frequent in people with certain types of schizophrenia. He continues this strange and jagged method of locomotion to the bin at the entrance to the churchyard, where he fiddles about with something inside the bin, before walking back up again.
I am aware of some shouting in the mid-churchyard distance. I look up and see a group -two or three anyway- of 'skag-head types'. The churchyard is well known for them. Or was anyway. Five years ago I was mistaken for one of them. This was when I was living in my studio flat on Buckingham Street. It was a Sunday and I had awoken with a dreadful hangover and an all consuming need to avoid my landlord, the sinister Dr Ra, whom I knew would be visiting at some point. I had elected to rest in the churchyard which was only a short few minutes walk away. The fresh air did not help my hangover. I lay down in the long grass between the tombs and entered a light and nauseous sleep. I remember being aware of voices. People. I squinted at them. Three 'emo' type teenagers pointing at me. 'Look' one of them said in a slight awed hush 'he's definetly a skag-head!'.
I fell back into my hungover sleep again, and by the time I had woken and returned home, the sinister Dr Ra had long gone.
Anyhow.
There were two or three skag-head types in the churchyard today. One of them, whenever somebody walked by, would shout at them the strangely sinister and aggressive line 'have you got the time on you?'. Nothing else was said, but the words were delivered in such a way as to promote an air of menace and possible violence. People responded with wary 'o-clocks' as they hurried down the churchyard path, and past the man who was still doing his strange possibly schizophrenic and repetitive walk.
As I finished the last of my meal deal, I ruminated on the possible reasons he could have for asking for the time in such an aggressive and confrontational manner, but could come up with none, save that it may have been some kind of test -or perhaps some code- to ascertain whether or not the passers by may, or may not, have been able to supply him any heroin.
Of course, he might just have been annoyed he had forgotten his watch.
Then there was a strange growling to the other side of me. The sound was like a cross between an old fashioned aeroplane, a small dog and an excited child. The growl continued, the pitch dropping towards the end as the growler, presumably, ran out of breath. With some trepidation I looked up to see this growler.
It was a businessman, walking along under the pleasant churchyard trees. Middle-aged, suit and tie, and a small bag that looked as if it might have contained lunch, perhaps sandwiches.
The growl faded away, and he continued walking, and the skag-head shouted at him if he had the time, which he ignored, as he also ignored the jagged-walking man, who, it must be said, also ignored him.
I then walked quickly back to work, and as I left the churchyard, all three of them happily ignored my hasty exit.
