Loud

The cafe is full of shrieking babies. A man across from me raises his eyes to the sky. The mums are getting ready to leave - it takes them 10 minutes of talking baby to each other excitedly about swings to leave while the babies continue at the tops of their lungs. 

When quiet descends the conversation of three people making film proposals fills the space. The pitch is about the moon and reaching up to show longing and desire. Beautiful they think. Cliche I think. Then there is something about a person holding up a cheese and a dolls house and a family that just sounds naff. Advert perhaps. One of them is going to start doing the sound scapy stuff. Doing diaries, around half term, loudly. Pretentious students.  Or perhaps pretentious film people who deliver courses. 

Birthday

It's my birthday today (actual birthday not blog birthday). Not been posting much because my computer has broken and I need a new hard drive. There are posts I need to do - like about my fabulous trips to Ghana and most recently Greece and stories of life and love and tribulations, ceramics and work, London, Athens and Accra. I'm going to be better. Because I'm 43. And I don't want my life to pass me by uncommented upon! 

I wore yellow to work today. They've not seen me in anything other than black before. It was somewhat controversial and deemed worthy of much comment. 

Lunchtime Cafe Musicals

On the way to the cafe the brief display of sunshine was replaced by threateningly black clouds.

Two mums sat chatting with their babies and buggies. A man and his mum having coffee. Several lone eaters with the dregs of hot drinks. A woman opposite with splendidly black shiny hair and a thick fringe had ordered the same as me.

Egg Mayonaise and salad sandwich on brown. Deliciously reminiscent of the 70s for me. Picnics and homemade sandwiches. Very evocative. Walking across Regent's Park's Inner Circle when mum's flip flop stuck to the heat-moistened tarmac and broke.

Black clouds led to a hail storm. Mum and son chatted about the radio weather on the way down predicting this for London. The mothers gassed on about the inanities of life - messing up the recording of their favourite programme which they were bereft about because it had just finished. Waiting for a lull in the weather to leave. When it arrived they walked to the door. One of the mums sang, oh it's still hailing and I'm not wearing appropriate clothes (in the way people do when they are alone). The last words swallowed by the wind as the door closes behind her. The remaining cafe occupants burst into a round of spontaneous laughter which she must have heard as she put up her sweatshirt hood - she blushed and laughed. The other mum had an umbrella which promptly turned inside out in the wind.

Wet Saturdays

It's been raining. Outside the Tarmac is black and shiny reflecting back the headlights, tail-lights, street lights. People huddle under umbrellas and plod along the wet York paving stones. Not so many people out for a Saturday as you might expect in Upper Street. Sky is pitch black. No visible moon.

Value of cigarette butts

A homeless man outside the Southbank Centre takes the inside compartment out of a outside ashtray and empties the stubbed butts into his pocket, presumably to smoke as they are later or to extract the tobacco for roll ups. The value of other people's discarded rubbish.

Summer time

I forgot the advantage of longer light in the evenings from the clocks going forwards. The joy of getting out of work while it is still daylight and it lasting until after 7pm. Summer is coming even though it continues cold and grey.

Rich Mix

Walking out if the cinema two women are sitting in a window sill talking about one of their relationships. SH said When you hear people talking they are almost always talking about relationships. We pass a man on the phone, that's not what I said, that's not what I said, he is saying. See? It's familiar, that's not what I said, ok I did say it but that's not what I meant. 21st century angst.

Meat-eating Vegetarian

I became a vegetarian aged 17 (I'm 42 now) because we learned about intensive farming in Geography and as a moralistic teenager I decided enough was enough - I had to make a stand on behalf of animal husbandry. Didn't touch it, or even really crave it, again until Christmas 2012. I had been debating it internally for a bit - felt like I needed it. Then I had some. Bacon. A mouthful. It was full flavoured and a fantastic texture in the mouth. Then after that a burger. Beef. Succulent. And this weird head clarity. At Christmas dinner my dining companions nearly fell off their chairs in shock (many of them I hadn't told) - which came on top of me wearing purple and extremely high heeled shoes - it was all a bit much for some of them to take in at once.

I still basically think of myself as a vegetarian though. Just one that eats meat with great delight. I am especially fond of beef. It's the best in the visual clarity stakes. And steaks are probably my favourite. I have even had veal escallop for old times sake. As a kid we used to go to an Italian trattoria near my father's office where that was what I always had. With lemon squeezed over. I used to love it. Cruel but delicious.

I have recently discovered I am slightly anaemic and have low ferric acid levels - which might account for the cravings. Not feeling guilty yet despite there being some ardent veggies in my ceramics class at the moment.

Liberty

There is something satisfying about clacking around the beautiful wooden floors of Liberties on a Friday evening looking at clothing too expensive to buy made of impractical diaphanous fabrics that are tied onto rails with security tags that chirrup like birds when they are stretched too far (overly sensitive I'm told by a shop assistant).

In shoes a man sits and reads a paper. I try to decide which woman browsing around the shelves at the edge of the room he is with. Quite uncertain. From the balcony upstairs I spy a shop assistant having a brief intimate chat with him whilst looking furtively over her shoulder and toying with her hair. Waiting for home time then rather than bored on a monster shopping spree.

Help

A man offers to help a woman carry her buggy down the steps from the platform. He is gone long enough that he probably helped her all the way to street level (Peckham Rye has no lift or escalator access and is a high rail track). He returns to the platform slightly breathlessly from bounding up the stairs. The first thing he encounters are two cute young women dragging three huge suitcases between them. They are looking for a lift. He catches my eye, because we both were watching them. We laugh. He sees his train approaching and then chivalrously offers to carry one of the cases down one flight because his train is coming. You're a star one of the girls says at the bottom. He bounds back up in time to board the train. Breathless again. I'm still smiling. Gentlemen exist - always ready to help damsels in distress, or at least discomfort.

The Brits

So Georgia's bloke helps building the TV set at the Brits where they do the interviews. Sounds like a shaggy dog story. Anyway - he had free passes to the after show party (the one at the O2 rather than the ones where the A listers were papped drunk) and he gave them to Georgia and she gave one to me. To get into the awards ceremony itself he said I needed to just walk with him and pretend I worked there. In an unusual choice for me I was wearing a yellow dress and pink high heels (the girl who always wears black this is) so decided I would just large through the doors and security like a celebrity and nobody said boo to the goose. Opened doors for me and waved me through. We stood by the entrance - could see all the celebs squeezing through to get out for a fag, get interviewed or go back stage to present awards or perform. Lots of them were extremely short. I felt like a giant, particularly with my diminutive companions. So Sharon Osbourne looked like a witch, Ben Drew was hanging with a man in a beautiful blue silk embroidered suit and kept popping out for a fag - I was disappointed he didn't win anything, I think Johnny Depp although I wasn't sure if it was a look alike, Robbie Williams also surprisingly short, Damon Albarn who was accosted by a worker fan and behaved impeccably like an old mate on being accosted, Jessie J in a practically frontless dress. Amongst others including a woman in a silver frock that made it into most of the papers - wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen - so easily could have been a boob falling out of it. Fireworks, light shows and plenty of stage direction. Time for a break, please be back in your seats in 2 and a half minutes ladies and gentlemen the next song starts gently and we need to have quiet. At which swathes of people from the tables ran for the toilet/smoking area/VIP bar and didn't make it back in the allotted time.

After the close - dead on 10pm we went to the after show party - free rides on a carousel, dodgems, a medical tent where they plied you with pill packs of jelly bellies, cake with syrup out if a blood bag and I took a Damien Hirst chocolate skull out of the medicine cabinet. They made me wear blue bags over my shoes and tried to take my blood pressure. Then we went to the oxygen bar and breathed deeply through flavoured water (slightly light headed). Watched the reportedly worlds strongest woman lift two men on her shoulders with two swings on a yoke. Later danced on a Damian Hirst spotted dance floor with lots if producer and tv exec types in suits and crazy moves from the early 80s. Bad dad dancing rules ok. At 11.30pm the sensible of our party departed but I never want to go once I get there and missed my last connection and had to catch the night bus. On a school night. Stoopid! But fun.

Averted disasters

Spent the night at Mr's, took my rucksack with kit for swimming later today - on the crowded train stuck it in the overhead shelf. Telling self several times not to forget it. At top of the escalator at Moorgate I realised I had left it there (highly susceptible to forgetting stuff at the moment). Ran back down to the train begging nobody in particular for the train not to have left. Running up the platform towards 3 train workers calling out don't let the train go - I've left my bag on it!
Why did you leave your bag?
Don't know!
What was it like?
Black rucksack
Did it have anything on it?
No. Oh yes - timberland.
Oh sorry madam, he said grinning, it's too late the train is locked, as his colleague brought the bag out of the office.
Relief!

Good Morning Goodlooking

A man strolls along past Tescos, catches sight of his reflection, checks his impression. Headphones, stripped wool hat fitting neatly, leather jacket - length to belt, jeans clean and neat. Checks again in the next set of windows. Overall impression - all present and correct, tied down. Stroll becomes swagger.

Wind

It's sunny outside. I watch the blue sky longingly. Oh to be outside with the sun and wind whipping my cheeks red.

The wind blows notes out of the scaffolding up against the office windows, long drawn out metal tube-y whistles like an untrained user of a woodwind instrument trying to get a sound. Or big wind chimes without the annoying persistent tinkling.

Night snow

Walking home in the evening. It's been snowing all day but has finally stopped. The snow makes the night light and quiet. I hear distant shrieks from inside the park. Eventually I see shadowy figures sledding - it's nearly midnight and the park gates are still open.

Snow

The snow has arrived in London. It appears to be settling. For less than a cm of snow the transport is already disrupted. We are rubbish!

Diner

Dining alone in Byron's Camden town. Craving a burger (weird in a vegetarian but I crossed back to the omnivorous side just before Christmas and it was good that I did because my subsequent trip to Ghana would have been impossible if I wasn't eating meat). Ordered burger with cheese, fries on the side, chocolate milkshake. Couldn't eat the majority of the fries and am struggling with the chocolate shake. Burger was good though. Meat gives me this very clear vision after I eat it - oddly clarifying. I am trying not to eat so much of it that I loose that head rush.

Hello Darlin

Cute woman with long ringlets and a knitted beret waits. Suddenly a loud booming voice approaches, "hello darling, I just literally pulled my phone out round the corner to find out where you were". She is drawn to her feet by the tall owner of the voice and enwrapped in an embrace. Kisses. And some more. And one last clinching squeeze. And then they move on.

Loser

So far I've lost about 6 stone (don't know exactly because I didn't get on the scales until I'd lost quite a bit). Feel much better, look better, apart from the baggy skin which I am told ought to find its way back over the next year. Eat less and move more has been the methodology. Remarkable to me now that I didn't pay attention to the gain. Just stopped looking in mirrors and refused to admit the problem to self. I've had to buy new clothes because the old ones couldn't be taken in any further. I'm not worried about squashing people when I sit down next to them on public transport anymore.

Brown's for Tea

Work Christmas jolly - we went to Browns for tea. We had a room. Endless sandwiches, scones with clotted cream and homemade strawberry jam and "cakes". Sandwiches and scones were delish. Cakes left a little bit to be desired. There were pastries and violently green (food colouring) macaroons, some mousse thing and a dark chocolate thing. None were particularly good. Finally they brought out a Victoria sponge (which was too dense and had been in the fridge - sure fire way to spoil a cake). I was a little unimpressed. They definitely need a good cake maker.

Friday Night

Bails and I danced like we were raving in a field with a crowd of mostly men at the Brixton Academy. The air smelt like a men's locker room - sweat and old damp trainers. The crowd tried to recapture their youth with drugs and abandon to an Orbital set and light show. Was fun, although we smelt disgusting afterwards.

On the tube going home four dolly birds who were on their way to a night club tried to catch the attention of the cute guitarist opposite us - quite a bit of swaying over on their heels when the train lurched. He wasn't interested in the blond ringlets, tight shiny leggings or pancake makeup - they looked ridiculous in the light of the tube train but perhaps in a darkened club it would be more subtle.

Tales

Two tales:

Sara at ceramics sometimes takes her elderly neighbour out for the afternoon. One particular afternoon they went to the Welcome Institute to look at whichever exhibition it happened to be. Turned out to be of Victorian wax models of venereal diseases. Pulling back the curtains on one Pete said, "that's fucking disgusting". Not
that keen on the exhibition then!

Kate was camping with her young children in the country. One of them was desperate for a wee but couldn't find his wellies anywhere. Exasperated Kate said just go in your socks. She turned round to find her son trying to figure out how to get his willy into his sock.

Being Crap

I've been so wrapped up in the self for a whole variety of reasons (lots going on at work and lots going on out if work) that I only just today got to the post office to send a parcel to my lovely sister whose birthday was on the 22nd and deserves to be remembered better. Lunchtime post office queues are massive but afterwards I popped over the road to borough market and bought delicious cherry tomatoes and pears. Then passed a chocolatier selling a classic hot chocolate in the style of those Parisian ones Bails and I ran from cafe to cafe guzzling to keep warm against a blisteringly cold Christmas one year. Warm, thick, rich (and small enough not to over do). On this cold, grey, nondescript day it made me happy. A crocodile string of children ran, skipped, hopped and lept past the window. I laughed. Abandon walking in favour of all manner of alternative ways to get along the road. Joy.

Friday lunch

I'm eating very hearty lentil soup out of heavy 70s style crockery at a cafe in Peckham. There's an architect and a builder (who is also a painter) chatting opposite about exhibitions and the weekend. A man who works for a different department than me who I know by sight but never talk to is having a toasty at the table to my left. And on the right a very intense woman in a turquoise jumper is ready a book called "how to be a Christian, and lead a good life". Must shake a leg and get back to work.

Delores

My aunt Delores died today. She had been ill for some time. It's a bummer.

I remember staying with her and Uncle Tom at New Year 1994. We would pick her up from work at 3am and go to the supermarket (a revelation at the time - there were no 24hr supermarkets here then) and buy brownie mix which she cooked up when we got in. Late at night, hot brownies. Lovely. Dad, Uncle Tom, Delores and I were in Las Vegas together (slinging coins into the Elvis slot machines by the bucket-load), driving up and down The Strip and playing Bingo at 10 in the morning. Two ladies were drinking strawberry daquiries. It was all I could manage to keep up with marking off two sheets, Delores had about 6. It was everyday stuff but always a laugh.

Miss you Delores. And thinking of you, Tom.

Dark in the afternoon

Gloomy. All day. And then it got dark at 4.30. Can't stand the closing in of winter straight after the clocks change. It seems to catapult us into the depths of winter in one swift falling-back hour. And soon it will be dark at both the start and end of the day. Won't even see daylight unless you venture forth at lunchtime. I think that's why I have liked snow recently - quick way to lighten up the landscape.

In search of a plain black polo neck

It might seem a staple needed in every man's wardrobe especially at this time of year. But it seems polo necks have been replaced by roll necked sweaters in the fashion stakes. Been everywhere to no avail. In John Lewis found a navy version. He tried it on for size. Ask if they have them in black. The assistant said, no the closest would be the orange. ??!!

Wig

A man walked past the cafe at lunchtime wearing a terrible wig - long reddish brown ponytail , pulled down too far on the forehead.
 Reminds me of my first pony said Kate. I was embarrassed that he had a docked tail so I bought him a hairpiece from Woolworths and tied it on.
Did it work?
Well the hairpiece was blond and curly (being very little choice in Woolies) and the horse was chestnut.
And you found that less embarrassing than having a horse with a docked tail?

Apparently so!!

Inching Towards End of Summertime

It's been dark all day. Misty and moist. Not even a glimmer of sunshine. Lights have been on all day. I find it increasingly difficult to stay awake as we get towards 5 o'clock. Sure signs of the approaching winter. My body hates the change of time. Takes ages to adjust.  I feel like I'm going into hibernation already.  Roll on the spring. Or perhaps I need to find bars to go to with roaring fires and warm drinks.

Night bus

Painfully good looking blond boys channelling James Dean in denim. Sitting on the top deck on the way to dalston as the windows steam up. Steamed up windows are not so good for checking the reflection - slightly pained eyes looking out from hooded lids seems to be the expression that requires the most practice. Decanting at Dalston they are replaced by more edgy pissed Hackney-ites.