An Eclipse, a Supermoon and the Spring Equinox arrived within the same day last week. This resulted in a super tide, with waters engulfing causeways and all manner of life going ape shit.
Maybe this is why my mum stopped speaking to me or why my ex told me to Fuck Off. (Actually, in the absence of predictive text, he told me to ‘fuck of’, which kind of lost its gravitas).
Eclipse tourists lined the Thames for a glimpse of the sun going dark. We’re used to bleak shadows in London but this was indeed a rare event - people talked to each other and glanced up from their feet. Very strange phenomena.
Apparently, in the few minutes when the sun is obscured, animals fall to sleep and birds fall silent. Of course, there are no living things in Zone 1, even the birds have packed up shop and fled to a barely affordable commuter town. So the people looked up in different directions at a bleak, grey sky, wondering where the sun should be.
Directions are not our forte. We know the place, solely by the bus routes.
Even the top of the Shard was obscured. Nothing to see here!
Undeterred by the shitness, local workers snapped selfies in front of the big cloud, sending Instagram into meltdown. They were just happy to head into work late.
So if this non-event was big enough to make owls more alert or change the flight pattern of moths, how did it affect humans?
Was it a coincidence that my ex asked me out for a drink? That we shared food and drinks and looks, as if nothing had changed? That he handed back an old I-phone he’d borrowed, failing to remove complicitous texts? That even with three celestial events occurring - I, a human beast - was unable to change my own flight pattern? Flapping my moth wings, flitting in a circle. Fluttering in misplaced love for a man who only ever succeeds in hurting me?
The next eclipse is in 2090. Maybe by then, I will have learned how to fly.