Curiousity

Bath’s streets are made of golden stone and bring a warm homely glow to the city hidden by trees in the Avon valley. It is a historic city, teeming with tall buildings, crafted with skill and detail.

The detail is easy to miss though, especially as a grown up. On my day of city-living, being a tourist, I spotted three little children throwing themselves into the discovery in ways that made me laugh on the inside and out loud.

The first was a little girl with shiny black hair and white clothes, trimmed with pink, lying face down at the edge of a heavy grid covering which was wedged in between the cobbled grey stones. People were walking past, her dad was on his mobile phone, but the little girl’s curiousity wasn’t a fleeting moment. She was intent on finding out what was beneath the griddle, peering deep into the murky tunnel below, with her feet pressing hard into the pavement behind her. Abandoned to her discovery, she was oblivious to the social coventions of standing or walking in public places, delighting instead in getting a close-up from a different position. She even creeped her fingers over the corners of the grid, clenching closer to the dusty, dirty stones. What did she find?

The second was a little boy, older than the first girl, and patiently distracting himself whilst his parents learnt about the historic figures on the walking tour of Bath. He crouched down, perching on the edge of an old stone step, digging with his finger sometimes, and then a twig, into the crevices of the pavements. This went on for some time, scratching about, and leaning in, discovering what would happen when he lifted the gravelly pieces from the gaps. At another stop, he got on all fours, totally focussed on the gaps, absent-mindedly free from the restraints of hurrying along.

In between these two, the lure of live music drew me into a square just behind the abbey where a musician was playing beautiful jazz/blues love songs to the relaxed crowds sitting on the benches on all four sides. It was the sort of music that makes you want to dance with someone, wrapped up in mutual affection, warmth and delight of each other. I could imagine in other countries, couples taking the opportunity, dancing in the sqaure, but it wasn’t to be in England. The sun was out and I was enjoying an icecream. To the side of me, the music wasn’t only making me want to dance. The pretty purple dress and the blonde curls of a three-year old were twirling along the top side of the square, unconcerned with her audience’s delighted faces, she wiggled and waved, and stretched and twirled, free to feel the jazzy tunes wafting through the summers’ air.

Entering into each moment is a precious gift and sometimes it is good to forget the conventions of adulthood.

That afternoon in the fashion musuem I followed suit and tried on the old-fashioned corset and hoop skirt which I’d always wanted to know what it felt like. Without any friends to join in, I did it anyway, asking another visitor to take a picture of me, and it wasn’t so odd. I enjoyed it. Upstairs I loved the patterns of the parke flooring and crouched down to get a different view on my camera. Feeling brave I reached out, without an audience, or encouragement of friends, to just be me, and I found that curiousity got the better of me.