deeply perplexing anthropological and behavioural niceties , yeah?
Yeah?
The Insiders VS . The Outsiders
Right. Because of the way the fencing works, the actual crane (and the box–7 feet by 7 feet by 3 feet, flying at a steady altitude of 30 feet–and the scaffolding ‘tower’ adjacent to the box–where they keep the magician’s water–so that’s the entire site , effectively) is cordoned off (it’s a rough 50 yards in diameter, I’d say, although my spatial awareness is not all it might be), for security, partly, but also because they’re filming the whole event–Blaine’s ‘great friend’, the universally acknowledged nut-job/ enfant terrible of the US film world, Harmony Korine (he of Kids fame, i.e. small group of spoilt, underage brats hang around taking drugs, being twats, having sex and basically setting the refined moral senses of the chattering classes on both sides of the Atlantic madly twittering ), has landed the gig (Nepotism, you say? Nepotism ?! But the guy’s a genius , man. Didn’t you see Julien Donkey-Boy ?).
This means (inevitably) that to step inside the cordon is to voluntarily submit to the eye of the camera, which has–but of course–necessarily facilitated the gradual evolution of two main, basic ‘types’ in the DB watching arena; two very distinct ‘divisions’, you might almost say: the Insiders and the Outsiders.
(i) The Outsiders
Since they raised the fences (and increased the security–an average of eight men, now, most days, more, even, some especially rowdy Fridays and Saturdays) the distinction between the inner and the outer has become all the more apparent.
The Outsiders are extremely keen to maintain their veneer of indifference (are–by and large–what you might call exquisitely ‘British’ in their demeanour). They always stay firmly– decidedly –on the outer perimeter (wouldn’t consider, for a moment, actually going inside the fence, proper– What?! –that’d be like… uh …tantamount to taking a carnation off a Moonie- maybe accepting their cordial invite round to ‘afternoon tea’.)
The Outsiders often sit on the river wall, swinging their legs, having a quick fag, reading their papers. They might even–and this, I find, is ultra -duplicitious–turn their backs on Blaine and look the other way , towards the river–the Pool of London ( Yeah . Maybe they’ll raise the bridge soon…Is that an original nineteenth-century schoone…? Did you actually see the harbour master before, on his little blue and white boat down there…?).
They may possibly decide to take a dispassionate (nay, smirking) interest in the nutty-seeming banners bedecking the fences (the fan letters, posters and other detritus) while casually peeking up at Blaine, every few seconds (perhaps muttering angrily, or- you never know- supportively , under their breath), like suspicious badgers blinking up into the daylight from the dark and reassuringly musky confines of their underground lair.
Sometimes the Outsiders don’t even stop at all. They walk by, but very slowly, as if out for a casual afternoon stroll (like the thought of actually stopping would be absolutely inconceivable to them.
Stop? Me ?! And here ? But why ?).
There’s a couple of wide, concrete steps up from the embankment, on to what’s actually the ‘park’ proper (Potters Fields–a small, paltry assemblage of dusty grass and tired trees), where the perimeter fence duly kicks in. Climbing up the steps definitely denotes something. It’s a little concession. And the concession is made out of either aggression (easier to yell–and throw–from this position) or a desire to announce that you’re unintimidated by the event (I’m bloody here aren’t I?!) even if you don’t quite consider yourself a real Blaine-groupie.
Some Outsiders like to sit on these steps (mainly tramps and teenagers–once again with their backs to Blaine), like angry silverbacks in the jungle, asserting a strange
Yeah?
The Insiders VS . The Outsiders
Right. Because of the way the fencing works, the actual crane (and the box–7 feet by 7 feet by 3 feet, flying at a steady altitude of 30 feet–and the scaffolding ‘tower’ adjacent to the box–where they keep the magician’s water–so that’s the entire site , effectively) is cordoned off (it’s a rough 50 yards in diameter, I’d say, although my spatial awareness is not all it might be), for security, partly, but also because they’re filming the whole event–Blaine’s ‘great friend’, the universally acknowledged nut-job/ enfant terrible of the US film world, Harmony Korine (he of Kids fame, i.e. small group of spoilt, underage brats hang around taking drugs, being twats, having sex and basically setting the refined moral senses of the chattering classes on both sides of the Atlantic madly twittering ), has landed the gig (Nepotism, you say? Nepotism ?! But the guy’s a genius , man. Didn’t you see Julien Donkey-Boy ?).
This means (inevitably) that to step inside the cordon is to voluntarily submit to the eye of the camera, which has–but of course–necessarily facilitated the gradual evolution of two main, basic ‘types’ in the DB watching arena; two very distinct ‘divisions’, you might almost say: the Insiders and the Outsiders.
(i) The Outsiders
Since they raised the fences (and increased the security–an average of eight men, now, most days, more, even, some especially rowdy Fridays and Saturdays) the distinction between the inner and the outer has become all the more apparent.
The Outsiders are extremely keen to maintain their veneer of indifference (are–by and large–what you might call exquisitely ‘British’ in their demeanour). They always stay firmly– decidedly –on the outer perimeter (wouldn’t consider, for a moment, actually going inside the fence, proper– What?! –that’d be like… uh …tantamount to taking a carnation off a Moonie- maybe accepting their cordial invite round to ‘afternoon tea’.)
The Outsiders often sit on the river wall, swinging their legs, having a quick fag, reading their papers. They might even–and this, I find, is ultra -duplicitious–turn their backs on Blaine and look the other way , towards the river–the Pool of London ( Yeah . Maybe they’ll raise the bridge soon…Is that an original nineteenth-century schoone…? Did you actually see the harbour master before, on his little blue and white boat down there…?).
They may possibly decide to take a dispassionate (nay, smirking) interest in the nutty-seeming banners bedecking the fences (the fan letters, posters and other detritus) while casually peeking up at Blaine, every few seconds (perhaps muttering angrily, or- you never know- supportively , under their breath), like suspicious badgers blinking up into the daylight from the dark and reassuringly musky confines of their underground lair.
Sometimes the Outsiders don’t even stop at all. They walk by, but very slowly, as if out for a casual afternoon stroll (like the thought of actually stopping would be absolutely inconceivable to them.
Stop? Me ?! And here ? But why ?).
There’s a couple of wide, concrete steps up from the embankment, on to what’s actually the ‘park’ proper (Potters Fields–a small, paltry assemblage of dusty grass and tired trees), where the perimeter fence duly kicks in. Climbing up the steps definitely denotes something. It’s a little concession. And the concession is made out of either aggression (easier to yell–and throw–from this position) or a desire to announce that you’re unintimidated by the event (I’m bloody here aren’t I?!) even if you don’t quite consider yourself a real Blaine-groupie.
Some Outsiders like to sit on these steps (mainly tramps and teenagers–once again with their backs to Blaine), like angry silverbacks in the jungle, asserting a strange
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