| Monday Monday... |
[Dec. 9th, 2002|11:45 am] |
| [ | Feeling |
| | tired | ] |
| [ | Reading |
| | Cat by Freya North. I love chick lit - sad, I know... | ] |
And... nothing's happening.
At all.
Isn't that nice? |
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| Well, that was original... |
[Dec. 9th, 2002|12:25 pm] |
Just went to yet another leaving presentation... I've never before been to one where the person leaving used their farewell speech to say they were glad they were going because they were lonely. That usually comes under the heading of 'things to be thought, but left unsaid'. But I suppose there's no reason why she shouldn't have said it, if it was true. It just sounded a bit... odd.
And there's no blasted heating in this room again. |
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[Dec. 9th, 2002|02:53 pm] |
It's so cold in here that I think my feet are actually turning to ice. |
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| Frigidity assessed |
[Dec. 9th, 2002|04:21 pm] |
Poll #804 The cold poll
Open to: All, results viewable to: AllJust how cold is it? And hown damn silly is your cold-weather hat today? |
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| Sawdust and chalk |
[Dec. 9th, 2002|11:59 pm] |
Today, late, a rumour hit the office that a woman had died outside, dragged off her bicycle and under a truck.
When I went outside to go home part of the street had been taped off by the police and a big builders' lorry was abandoned inside the cordon. On the road surface were areas of sand or sawdust, scattered to soak up something dark and liquid that had spilled or been shed.
And I was reminded of Halina Janoska.
It's not a name you'll recognise, but I'll not forget it. It was December 1994 and I'd just come to London to be a reporter on the Paddington Times. The contrast between the dirty, crowded city and quiet rural Norfolk was huge. Our office was on a main road, Cricklewood Broadway. Busy, noisy. One day in my first week the noise we heard from the Broadway was not traffic but a helicopter.
I was sent to check it out. It was the air ambulance, just 100 yards up the road. Nearby was an abandoned car, and a circle of paramedics working frantically. Poking out from among them was a pair of feet in neat white trainers with pink trim. They weren't moving. A grey line on the road led up to the group. I had no idea what it was. I found out later - I wish I hadn't.
The incident was a domestic. The trainers belonged to a young Polish woman called Halina Janoska. She was unconscious. As far as I know, she still is - if she's still alive.
She and her partner had been driving to a lawyer's office for an appointment. Her ex-boyfriend drove ahead of them - I think they all had to sign some paperwork about a flat. The ex pulled up by the side of the road. In the following car, Halina and her boyfriend stopped too. She got out to find out what the problem was, walked up to her ex's car. But he drove off and she was dragged under the car, pulled along for perhaps 50 yards out of a side street and onto the main road. The grey line that I saw was her skull, pressed against the road surface and scraped away so that it drew a line on the Tarmac like a piece of chalk.
It stayed there for a week afterwards, maybe two, growing fainter as rain and traffic dulled it until eventually you couldn't see it, even when you knew where to look.
I managed to stay in touch with what happened to Halina for about 18 months, until the ex was sentenced for attempted murder. I think he got 20, maybe 25 years. She hadn't regained consciousness by that point, and she wasn't seriously expected ever to again. Eventually I lost track of her, but I've never forgotten.
It just seems to me that I must remember her and what was done to her. That if I don't then - regardless of what has actually happened to her - she will have died that day in some sense. There's no logic to it, but it's the way I feel.
So I thought of her today when I saw the aftermath of the accident in Finsbury Square. Whoever this poor woman was, I hope someone remembers her too. |
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