I am sometimes considered a little weird and occasionally a bit off-the-wall. That suits me fine because, in all probability, I am. Being ordinary is common, and I take pride in being uncommon.

This Saturday afternoon, at exactly 2pm, all on my own, I took part in a group event. Eh? Well, yea, actually. You heard of flash-mobbing? No? You will.

In principle, a flash-mob is a large group of people who assemble quickly in a public place, perform an unusual activity for a brief period of time and then quickly disperse. The odder the better.

There is no real purpose to such activity. It’s random and it’s meant to be. It should stop as suddenly as it starts, and its participants should behave as naturally as possible while carrying it off, before melting discretely into the crowd. In many countries, there have been mass silent raves at busy railway stations, huge pillow fights, cycling demonstrations, and other completely random stuff.

Organised on the quiet, this weekend, synchronised to the second, hundreds of people converged on a busy Market Street in Manchester. Each produced a toothbrush and scrubbed furiously for one minute when they converged on the entrance to the Arndale. Then just slipped away.

Actually, it wasn’t this slick. It bore some of the hallmarks of a hastily-organised student protest march at first, which is why I slipped the main groups as they made their way down to the meeting place. Rather than independently making their way to the spot to create the maximum impact, one group formed early and marched their way down the street brushing and drawing too much attention.

It was still good, though. 

Some laugh off flash-mobbing as a joke gone wrong, something designed to poke gentle fun at those who like to be part of the next big thing. In part that argument holds – there are people at these events who are there because their mates asked them to be, and were more concerned about the “look at me” factor. My motivation was a little different: I felt it fitted my sense of humour very well. It can be fun to play with peoples’ minds in this harmless manner.

I knew with some certainty that I’d never meet the people who saw me that day again – or at least they’d never recognise me – so I had carte blanche to be completely silly, hiding in full view of the public. I cycled down on my bike and paused at the pedestrian crossing while it was on red.

brush, brush, brush.
Confused little girl: “How come you’re brushin’ ya teeth?”
brush, brush, brush.
Me: “It’s good oral hygiene. Don’t you?”

Market Street stopped in confusion for a few moments so it was a success in a way. I’m sure the next ones’ll be better organised and maybe better attended.