The Diary of a BindiBabe.

Entry 1: Mr Fee - The Flash.

April 2nd, 2017:

I didn’t think I would leave ‘The Plant’ carrying so many images in my mind but as soon as I had walked through the door 44 minutes prior, taking my first steps on to the spiky welcome mat, I knew whilst dusting off my boots against the fibres something or someone is coming to meet me and it would leave its lasting impression. I would be leaving a little heavier than necessary. I’ve been working out on my defence for such encounters particularly as I’d been cut by others that left a wound so deep, my ‘still waters’ found it hard to run. I’ve been mending the dam I’d previously placed in my mind and so when visiting my 'local' to drain away my tiresomeness in return for a dose of warmth and awakening, before my next meeting with a client, I’d regrettably received the opposite on this day.

I feel like I should say it would be the last time I’d be visiting, but I would be lying...

The Plant is my local coffee shop. Literally, down the street and I walk in a straight line to get there as soon as I leave my door, which, to my current mindset and lack of exercise serves me well. Selling all sorts of herbal, fruit and flavoured teas. Coffees, juices, lattes, espressos… fizzy drinks too. It was an up and coming healthy lifestyle type space with a ‘bring your own good vibes energy and bring it here so we can all see what yours is like whilst we swap and share, amicably’ but there’s a sense that really, even though its an open-door type cafe, you should really knock on before you enter. I get that reminder anytime I walk in, especially from the people that sit closest to the door. I mean, anyone would think I’ve entered dressed in fancy dress costume looking like a Desi Elsa from Frozen. I reply to the stares these days with an rolls-eyes.

From afar, this place appeared to have the purest of intentions for its visitors. An exotic looking logo accompanied by neon lighting for when the nights drew darker during the winter. But the business was poorly run by Dee, the manager. And up-close he was a lean, mean health machine, who looked like Johnny Bravo but spoke with a thick foggy accent, something that sounded quite like the New York Italian mob mixed with a little ‘North London’. You’d think he was a well-travelled, knowledgeable dude from his ‘global’ sounding accent which you could hardly catch on to, enough to at least prepare an enthusiastic reply - which is what I wanted to give him any time we spoke - but it was just so awkward. I suppose he wasn’t as interested in the cafe, more the image, but if he didn’t go to the gym I could imagine he would have build up his physique from all the running around he did!

I don’t mind visiting, quickly, for a hot drink - away from home. I work as a sales consultant for a large beauty/well being business selling herbal remedies, mostly oils that treat scar and tissue healing from small scratches to mild burns and its a trade I’ve found so far to be working well for me. I haven’t quit and I’m actually making more money ATM. I aim to always make at least 5-6 sales a day too, so I make my quota and then some.

As a self-employed entrepreneur on the go, very (currently) focused, I take my black coffee and pay less attention to the people that enter, especially the broken coffee machine that seemed to break as soon as they got a new one. But this time I ended up spending a little more time in than usual.

I go sit toward a very hunched new armchair they’d recently bought. It looked new anyway with this gold button detail bordering the back of the it and as I walked over into the corner of the cafe toward the back... I feel a sense of darkness. A figure so grey is walking over... most definitely someone I didn’t know and to be an honest babe, I should have made a quick move to… well, move.

I feel this behind me but as I turn to sit down in the chair and place my coffee on the table in front, this man, who I didn’t look up to as he was looming over ever like he was leg-less, floating, almost gliding over. The best way I could describe it was like the dementors in the Harry Potter films - how they’d swoop all around the place dark and grey. But this figure was getting closer with what felt like an hour in timing but in actual fact 5 seconds. It was the slowest, blindly approaching, anticipation and when he’d eventually arrived I’d felt the need to lookup. Only then. And without a whisper or a sound he introduces his entrance...

“Did you know that it’s easy for me to guess your name without me actually knowing your name firstly”

This man was called Mr Fee. A larger version of ‘Dobby’ from Lord of the Rings. He had the most peculiar shape too and even though he was covered in a grey coat which wrapped all the way around the front, over his shoulder like a scarf, coat, hood all in one, you knew from the offset he was odd. Put it this way, if he was sat down first I wouldn’t be choosing to sit next to him, but I didn’t get up to move away. Instead, I stayed seated, quite firmly to my eventual disliking. As he caught my awkward smile which suggested ‘fuck off please’ I caught his beady eyes, that looked like a badly kept globe filled with bark brown, gan green and this hint of white that left a very displeasing taste in all senses. I wanted to immediately look away, at least that’s what I thought but I was so star-struck by this creature of the day anyone would think I was about to get out my autograph book for this Gruffalo man.

And Suddenly things were starting to speed up. As a young Asian woman who has been known to attract the older Caucasian male, based on my exotic nature, today was not the day that I needed eyes that pierced harder than any knife on this Thursday. I wanted to keep my self intact and proceeded to tie my hair up as if to say, ‘not today Mr Tramp’ but it was too late. As this ball of dirty fluff literally plonks himself down onto the chair in front, a very smelly odor wafts past by my nostrils. It was foul. This air momentarily became forcibly pungent and the smell was so strong, I could almost distinguish each element of the odour. Salt, vinegar, onion, and drainage was most definitely involved. And I remember, I couldn’t bring it to my mouth to close it entirely and decided to reply, hoping to leave quite soon actually...

“Ah OK” I said, dumbly.

He cleared his throat and this Greater London of an accent prevails...

“I know what I mean. I know exactly what I mean, in fact...” His eyes are moving around at this point and I’m wondering what he’s wondering and whether he could wonder about it elsewhere.

As I’m about to finally put the energy I’m manifesting, wanting to come across as the firm and woke babe I’m becoming, in order to enjoy this coffee at the very least, I build up the courage to utter what will help this situation.

“I’m sorry Mr but I reall-”

I’m rudely cut off.

“S!” he shouts boldly, eyes wider than the London eye. “Your name begins with S...”

It does. My name is Shani. BUT that’s a very good guess he’s made, even my keyring on my handbag has an ‘S’ so he could have noticed that straight away. My poker face is on so it’s all good and I’m ready for this loser to move out my way but then, the stars written seem to take a sudden change and move into a course I no longer knew and felt comfortable to control. I was about the loose all grips in my reality - mentally and physically because Mr Fee proceeds to lean forward and grabs my wrist quite tightly over my Micheal Kors watch. I’m stunned. This is all very wrong but I can’t move away because of his grip. It was tightening as I was pulling away and loosened when I didn't, but from the off set anyone would think I’d been flashed by a very bright light - a paparazzi camera-man could have easily come and stood by us and it would make perfect sense for a new fashion campaign for Micheal Kors in fact - theme? Lady and the Tramp. And even though there was no other people around from a photo shoot or even in the cafe to notice the way I looked, I was flashed.

To explain this feeling would mean to sound slightly nuts. But it happened. His eyes flashed at me. At my eyes, causing me to feel a bright light literally FLASH in front of my eyes! Like he was taking a mental picture of me. Or he'd shone a light to see what was really, truly and deeply behind my big brown Indian eyes. I wasn’t sure what was happening but he made me feel like I couldn’t see for a second and it was a vulnerable place to be… I could see into his eyes but not enough to pick up exactly what he was thinking. This got way too uncomfortable and was far too quick for my liking and as he gets closer with hand on watch, he whispers across,

“You know what time it is too Shani, just like me. Name, time, death birth its all memories like tears and clouds the sky and the rain - I won’t tell, but I do know. I knew it before I got here that I’d come and sit with you”

Great. Now the freak is becoming a FREAK. I let go, sharply. We lock eyes again like lovers tossing around over spilt milk.

Instantaneously I sit down. HOW did he know my name?! Sitting down is the complete opposite to what I should be doing but I want to hear what this cat has to say despite the mumble of clouds, rain, and grass. Is he some kind of medium; does he know a friend of a friend; what is he doing? I feel like I'm going numb from head to toe. I feel no energy to call out to Dee or look around for help. Is he desperate for something because I seem to have sensed he's not going to hurt me... Now this is London and it can get quite distant or I can really make a fuss and hope for a camera phone or two to pop out and see the havoc that I’m going to cause over this lunatic who has almost blinded me!

Instead, he proceeds to tell me a very short story about a young girl he saw through a window on one occasion. And whilst I was feeling very dainty, Mr Fee looks like he's getting quite acquainted with his actions, surroundings and his own brownie he magically made appear in his palm, nibbling away, on the way to painting a very pretty scene about how he met this young girl and he wanted to reach out and touch her through this window, but I couldn't understand what this had to do with me, Shani, and why he I needed to know. I suppose he'd caught my attention but I wasn’t listening to his story - only watching. Watching him whilst he was telling it. Closely watching this movement he had. The way his arms lifted and the shadow it cast between the ventilated cafe lightning and the light wooden floor. His hands lifted to describe the reach and as his fingertips curled, I got a closer look at the rusty metal rings on his fingers, some with intricate carving and others with missing gem stones. I also captured a glance over at his eyes again, that were now the deepest of blue in colour, still piercing but glazed over with faint little figures that appear like stars. Enchanting. He appeared extremely illustrated when talking about the girl’s features too. Whether to help him tell his story in the most interesting engaging way for me I don't know but it was almost like he wanted them for himself. I suppose his seedy vibes didn’t help present the best version of his story because I was picturing his features being replaced by the girls. That’s the vibe I got anyway. Bitter vibes. From the flash to the images formed, the descriptive words and right through to the movement of him, these pictures I couldn’t seem to erase.

How and why these images formed is beyond me, I have no clue. A young girl at a window, with a man reaching out to her. Maybe it was because she was described so beautifully insane, in such a subtle but spirited style and by a very unattractive stranger. The longest 25 minutes that still sticks with me almost like I'll meet this girl one day... And if you ever saw us as a pair you’d feel distinctly out of place because we were both so very still throughout our conversation that to come in between and fragment, even dissect the vibe, would cause a faint fuss despite the level of the energy. A rippling disturbance through time. I think he took advantage of not being seen too. With his back to the world and his story 4D, live on the floor cafe, the moment was his Oyster. His Oyster card to depict a virtual reality and let me travel to explore too.

“I’m Mr Fee. Don’t forget my name”.

The story closes. And as he wraps a loose part of his black hair over his left ear. This smirk of his that he did, complimented the rusty gold hoops placed along his ear. They worked together, almost like the glint of light that reflected was a replacement of his smile and his smile curved, hooped round as much as his earring did. Earrings so similar to ones of older Punjabi Grandma's if you ever knew or had one, you'd know the type of gold it...

He proceeds to potter around through his battered satchel and I couldn’t help but feel drained. I needed some kind of strap to lift me up in fact. The shock has kept me more awake all through this than all of the coffee. Mind you I hardly drank any! A true waste.

This 44-minute experience was unlike any other. (I entered at 1 pm and left at 1.44 and know this because as soon as I’d closed the door behind me and checked my phone the clock struck 1.45 pm. My eyes were a little dazed. Sore. And shoulders, a touch burdensome. I proceed to walk through the cafe with what felt like a soft jazz type beat playing in the background and my legs feeling like I’m a Christian Dior model on their latest runway show. Feeling light, I’d managed to sachet over and reach the cold of the metal door handle pulling that little harder. Dee signals me a very busy goodbye that needs no reply. And off I passed, through the draft of the door into the 'past lunchtime' street. I left. But if I ever saw Mr Fee again, it would be with the intention that I’d make my second passing much quicker than 44 minutes… way less than 1 minute with the way I was feeling.

And this was my meeting with Mr fee. And although my words in this entry can only describe so much, let me tell you this experience was unlike any other encounter with a stranger. I'd always envisioned such a brush of fate with a Leonardio Di Caprio kind of looking guy an although I waste no more thinking time because of how it physically made me feel and with it being a very unexpected and absurd expedition, this was merely a case of an individual living at a pace that transcended another person’s version of time but hoped to be met at theirs. Deep, I know. But I'm a Scorpio and that has to mean something because still waters do run deep with us. He was telling a story to a stranger he doesn’t even know and in a way, that, as selfish as it seemed, was a very tempestuous vitality to partake in - with caution might I add. Almost like when one takes a drug - you know you’ll get high but you don’t know what you’ll find out. Through these minutes within minutes of time that Mr. Fee took with me and this exploration of a mental space that sat between him and me, in reality, it needed no coverage! We need not have met this way - we need not have met at all actually and I’d realised after writing this entry that I must move quicker! Ironically.

So to avoid these lapses of concentration I set a precedent in my mind: There are people in life that really wasted no time behaving outside of the civilised clock.

Whilst the times are becoming more digital its no excuse, I securely believe, to astound in the agitating manner of Mr. Fee. Its an excuse for some, but I would have much preferred the respect of course. I knew small talk was best had when you’re able to talk small, effortlessly and I’ve made a firm reminder to not counter any further incoming's like him. Moving in deeper and further between the subtle of society which is what Mr Fee was doing in my eyes at an alarmingly fast pace wasn’t in MY life description. And it’s really a ‘skill’ at best, used during the bustle of being on a busy tube, perhaps.

I’d much prefer sipping my coffee, harmoniously. Maybe he won’t return anyway but he was quite the character, regardless. If we saw each other again, which I highly doubt, it’ll be much briefer.

And why his name was Mr Fee, I have no clue. But I named him ‘The Flash’.