I am just posting this picture to make the blog look a little more interesting. (This was at the Borough Market on Saturday).
The post below is what you should be reading.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Solubility
Every day when I walk down the street, catch the tube, watch TV, go to the supermarket, i see loads of things that I would love to write on here - little gems of mini-humour that amuse me no-end. Sadly for all of you, I can never remember them, no matter how much I try and deliberately commit them to memory!
People who have lived in London bear with me, the little insights that I do manage to recall and that I present as my own probably have no whiff of originality for you, and I recognise that they are a bit over-exuberant and self indulgent. But while it's all new I am unapologetic, because my eyes have already started adjusting to the lights of this old town.
I haven't written nearly enough about the tube, and every day I have to stifle laughter for one reason or another when I catch it. The moment I stop being amused by tube body language and my own crazy tube thoughts, I will know that my sense of humour has dissolved and/or I have become the most cynical type of London public transport patron.
It struck me today as I eeked out my path along the District and Circle lines to Barbican station, that every tube ride sees me having numerous conversations in my head. I also tend to imagine what other people are thinking about those around them.
Last Friday night as I caught one of the last tubes back to Earl's Court from Putney, I was alone, observant and a little inebriated having spent the afternoon at the Coat & Badge with some newly arrived pals. There was a bloke of about 26 with a carton of beer in one arm, and a big packet of hot chips under another. He was handing out the beers to whoever would take them, mainly young attractive girls who looked about 17. The dialogue going on in my head at that point was something along the lines of "oh god, please don't roll one of those things at me" given that I was by myself, and probably not particularly able to string a good deflection sentence together.
Ok, so that wasn't one of the most amusing or witty conversations that I have had with myself, but I was tired, full of beer, Pimms (heaven in a jug with cucumber for good measure) tarragon chicken burger, and confused about certain happenings on a certain Putney Bridge.
Today on the way home from work, I moved seats to try and get a bit of space ("Hmmm - a vacant double seat - I can read my copy of London Lite without having to give myself elbow cramps") and at the very next stop a bloke got on and sat right next to me, therefore defeating the point of moving in the first place ("Oh great one Del, draw unnecessary attention to yourself by moving, and then pick the seat where someone sits down straight away.") And then a brief pause..... ("What the hell is that smell? *Subtle sniff* Ok, don't vomit, it's just unwashed clothes, mixed with stale tobacco and alcho-breath. Nothing too offensive.") A casual sideways glance.... "is it a hobo? no it's a man in a suit. *internal grunt & snicker* Oh you fool, you've just inhaled air from his pongy aura".
Even slightly more amusing is the conversation my two selves enjoy when a good-looking man boards the carriage. "Go on give him a wink" says the 5% of me that would ever dream of doing such a thing. "Keep your head down and admire tactfully from afar", says the dominant, sensible, astoundingly Virgo 95%. That fraction always wins. Sigh, if only I were a Gemini.
Now the only reason I can think that I have all these strange little conversations is because of the acute silence on the bloody things. In fact, the only people who speak on the tube are those who speak a language other than English, and (unsurprisingly?) Americans, usually in family groupings. Today when I asked a slightly infirm woman if she would like my seat, she initially looked at me like I had poked her in the rear with a pin, until she realised that I was actually offering to give up my little luxury and stand the rest of the way home rocking on my uncomfortable stiletto heels, for HER BENEFIT.
Anyway, this is just one short instalment in my tube adventures. There will, I can assure you, be more.
BTW those of you who previously read my blog when I was living in Jakarta will know of my penchant for Project Runway, the fashion designer reality show, and I have one eye on it right now as I am typing this. Which is timely, as the commercials have reminded me of something else - the fact that I suppose in an effort to not be London-posh-centric, commercials in and of themselves are oh-so-politically correct in that one will come on with a Welsh voice-over or a Jordy voice over or a Cockney voice over or what I like to call "miscellaneous-northern-sounding-but-not-quite-discernible-accent". I actually don't call it that at all, but you get what I mean.
And in my phrase of the week which I don't know whether makes me laugh or cry, an Irish lady in my current workplace came over to the desk next to mine earlier today and said "This fu**ing thing is about as tidy as a tinker's trolley". I need to practice my poker face, as when she saw my reaction she looked at me and winked. Naturally I was aghast.
Anyway, I am not talking about work this week. I am doing a short stint in a painfully boring role until the other thing is sorted (Government, pah!) and it is killing me. My brain is numb.
My final little self-indulgence for this post is to say a shout-out to the exquisite Ruby-Mae, my new little cousin who could not be cuter if she tried. Don't let her grow up until I come home.
People who have lived in London bear with me, the little insights that I do manage to recall and that I present as my own probably have no whiff of originality for you, and I recognise that they are a bit over-exuberant and self indulgent. But while it's all new I am unapologetic, because my eyes have already started adjusting to the lights of this old town.
I haven't written nearly enough about the tube, and every day I have to stifle laughter for one reason or another when I catch it. The moment I stop being amused by tube body language and my own crazy tube thoughts, I will know that my sense of humour has dissolved and/or I have become the most cynical type of London public transport patron.
It struck me today as I eeked out my path along the District and Circle lines to Barbican station, that every tube ride sees me having numerous conversations in my head. I also tend to imagine what other people are thinking about those around them.
Last Friday night as I caught one of the last tubes back to Earl's Court from Putney, I was alone, observant and a little inebriated having spent the afternoon at the Coat & Badge with some newly arrived pals. There was a bloke of about 26 with a carton of beer in one arm, and a big packet of hot chips under another. He was handing out the beers to whoever would take them, mainly young attractive girls who looked about 17. The dialogue going on in my head at that point was something along the lines of "oh god, please don't roll one of those things at me" given that I was by myself, and probably not particularly able to string a good deflection sentence together.
Ok, so that wasn't one of the most amusing or witty conversations that I have had with myself, but I was tired, full of beer, Pimms (heaven in a jug with cucumber for good measure) tarragon chicken burger, and confused about certain happenings on a certain Putney Bridge.
Today on the way home from work, I moved seats to try and get a bit of space ("Hmmm - a vacant double seat - I can read my copy of London Lite without having to give myself elbow cramps") and at the very next stop a bloke got on and sat right next to me, therefore defeating the point of moving in the first place ("Oh great one Del, draw unnecessary attention to yourself by moving, and then pick the seat where someone sits down straight away.") And then a brief pause..... ("What the hell is that smell? *Subtle sniff* Ok, don't vomit, it's just unwashed clothes, mixed with stale tobacco and alcho-breath. Nothing too offensive.") A casual sideways glance.... "is it a hobo? no it's a man in a suit. *internal grunt & snicker* Oh you fool, you've just inhaled air from his pongy aura".
Even slightly more amusing is the conversation my two selves enjoy when a good-looking man boards the carriage. "Go on give him a wink" says the 5% of me that would ever dream of doing such a thing. "Keep your head down and admire tactfully from afar", says the dominant, sensible, astoundingly Virgo 95%. That fraction always wins. Sigh, if only I were a Gemini.
Now the only reason I can think that I have all these strange little conversations is because of the acute silence on the bloody things. In fact, the only people who speak on the tube are those who speak a language other than English, and (unsurprisingly?) Americans, usually in family groupings. Today when I asked a slightly infirm woman if she would like my seat, she initially looked at me like I had poked her in the rear with a pin, until she realised that I was actually offering to give up my little luxury and stand the rest of the way home rocking on my uncomfortable stiletto heels, for HER BENEFIT.
Anyway, this is just one short instalment in my tube adventures. There will, I can assure you, be more.
BTW those of you who previously read my blog when I was living in Jakarta will know of my penchant for Project Runway, the fashion designer reality show, and I have one eye on it right now as I am typing this. Which is timely, as the commercials have reminded me of something else - the fact that I suppose in an effort to not be London-posh-centric, commercials in and of themselves are oh-so-politically correct in that one will come on with a Welsh voice-over or a Jordy voice over or a Cockney voice over or what I like to call "miscellaneous-northern-sounding-but-not-quite-discernible-accent". I actually don't call it that at all, but you get what I mean.
And in my phrase of the week which I don't know whether makes me laugh or cry, an Irish lady in my current workplace came over to the desk next to mine earlier today and said "This fu**ing thing is about as tidy as a tinker's trolley". I need to practice my poker face, as when she saw my reaction she looked at me and winked. Naturally I was aghast.
Anyway, I am not talking about work this week. I am doing a short stint in a painfully boring role until the other thing is sorted (Government, pah!) and it is killing me. My brain is numb.
My final little self-indulgence for this post is to say a shout-out to the exquisite Ruby-Mae, my new little cousin who could not be cuter if she tried. Don't let her grow up until I come home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
