On nosiness and the mundane

I recently discovered the Twitter feed of Miranda Keeling.

In 2011, Keeling, a writer and actor from London, began tweeting the everyday occurrences that she saw as the traversed the capital. On the face of it, this sounds a mundane task, no different from seeing posts from that one Insta friend who constantly shares their running progress or posts photos of their (frankly forgettable) breakfast.

But in practice, it is delightful — and surprisingly addictive reading.

Keeling’s observations span the gamut of the human condition— amusing, witty, sombre, thought-provoking — vignettes into the disparate lives we all lead.

Many of Keeling’s tweets showcase the perspective of children, from out-of-the-mouths-of-babes wisdom to the innocent earnestness with which they see the world.

Others provoke the imagination, the tip of a narrative iceberg that makes you eager to know more about a person and their story.

I think Keeling’s tweets resonate with me because I often notice these kinds of things when I’m out. Not out of any poetic sensibility, of course — I’m just nosy and a rubber-necker.

But some interactions you observe are memorable, and will stay with you for years, often for no good reason.

During the second lockdown, I was out walking with a friend in Leigh Woods, and we approached a family up ahead. At the back of the pack and closest to us were a mother and (I assume) her teenaged daughter, walking side by side and deep in conversation. They were speaking in low voices, but their cadences and expressions (and my own preconceptions) told me they were discussing a matter of some importance, engaging in the kind of sororal conversation that two close women might do — sharing updates about a cousin, perhaps, or talking through the daughter’s university plans.

This was thrown into sharp relief by their male counterparts up ahead — a father and son who were laughing, chasing and hitting each other with big sticks, the older man occasionally exclaiming in pain before swinging again at his younger, nimbler opponent. The entire ensemble had the same energy as a pair of dogwalkers having let their Labradors off the lead.

I think of this memory at least once a month, for no good reason other than it made me smile, a perfect insight into one family’s dynamic, one that was at once unique and ubiquitous.

Because, as Miranda Keeling knows, there is joy in the mundane (and, I’ve found, in being nosy too).