The Ladies

Part way through the evening it became necessary to pay a visit to the ladies. Pushing the heavy door open I stepped into what appeared to be a hairdressers' convention. The room was crowded with girls wearing dead-straight hair, lots of asymmetrical fringes, drinking bubbly white wine and talking at the tops of their voices. It turned out none of them was queueing for the lav. I sat in the cubicle listening to their gossip wondering why they didn't go back to the bar. I nudged my way to the sink, sneaking between the masquara wielding and nose powdering to wash my hands. And was glad to get back to the relative peace of the party (never have been very good at the small talk in the hairdressers).

On the Road Again

Weekend was all about a suprise party in Scotland. Someone let slip that the party was happening and so it wasn't really a suprise anymore. We could only get a flight. Flight cost £0.00 but the tax and booking fee came to £45 a piece (how can you figure the tax on nothing to be anything more than nothing? Don't they remember that if you times nothing by a number the answer is nothing? Anyway...).

We got the tube to Heathrow, hung around the airport, had my glasses cleaner confiscated (a container bigger than 100ml). Flight took hour and fifteen minutes. Then had to catch a bus to Waverley train station, caught a train to Dundee. Arrived at the party. Partied for 4 hours. Stayed over. And did it all in reverse the next day to come home.

Knackered. Feel like I've been in a state of perpectual motion.

Edmonton First Impressions

Outside First Impressions (its a photographic studio) two men in black trousers and white shirts retuck, in the street. One of them unbuckles his belt drops his trousers, adjusts his shirt tails over his black-with-white-edging pants. In the street. Its naught degrees. Classy. Not.

6 Degrees of Seperation

So I work in South London, funding voluntary sector organisations, on a monitoring visit today we started talking about these buildings near the Elephant which apparently were designed by an architect who I know because he lives on the same street as a friend of mine. He's just left his wife for a woman who lived with her partner on the same street. She is the friend of the man I was visiting today. Small world.

Race Row

The thing is that whether or not your intentions are to be racist, if you say something to someone that is racist, in anger or otherwise, then it is racism.

The Snippet of Reception

Waiting for the First Capital Connect train, on the platform next to the Victoria Line at Highbury and Islington, my phone suddenly rings. Suprised (seeing as I'm underground and mobiles don't work underground), I answer. Hello, I whisper, worried that underground big brother staff may see me and send out a message over the tannoy along the lines of can the woman wearing the red and black coat please switch off her mobile phone (they aren't above such things - I've heard them in the past chastising smokers wandering through the tunnels). I'm on the underground, I don't know how I have reception. Its hard trying to explain and whisper. And then suddenly the three little bars are gone and the phone says no service again as usual.

I might try again tomorrow. Standing next to the emergency stretchers on the WAGN platform going south to Moorgate.

Puddle

Walking along the road I get a sudden rush of uncertainty of footing as I look down at the sky reflecting in the puddles. They look so deep, I'm worried about falling in.

A Little Light Bus Reading

Mix pleasure with pain the tight lipped woman sitting next to me reads from a book called The Art of Seduction. Personally I'm not sure you can learn the art of seduction from a book.

Curly Mop Connection

We can confirm from his antics on celebrity big brother that Leo Sayer is ever so slightly deluded and a somewhat demanding diva. We were also privvie to a previously unseen side of his personality - sweary Leo (although it has to be said that while prolific it wasn't always executed correctly, with some mix ups between which cusses go together and how). I saw his fellow once-curly mop headed contemporary Wayne Sleep speaking about his antics on big bro's big mouth. Anyway, enough of such base pulp TV.

Onto the connection. I used to be a really big fan of John Curry (I was 6 when he won gold at the olympics). I was taken, as a big treat, to see him skate in one of those on-ice shows (I haven't a good memory of it but it might have been at a theatre rather than in an ice rink - we sat in banked rows and watched him like at a theatre). But I couldn't recognise him because he had recently had his hair cut. His mop of curly black hair all gone. Presumably, it was the only feature of his I obviously recognised at the time. Wayne Sleep did a parody of John Curry on TV around the time - sliding across a floor bum stuck out in that way male figure skaters tend to do (and other curly haired celebs, like, John McEnroe).

That hair was a fashion statement at the time. I had a cousin who had a rather amazing curly afro perm - we were sent a fabulous picture of him in a dark blue suit with a white shirt under. Shirt collars outside the jacket lapels, both of which almost reached off his shoulders. Ahh, the crazy 70s.

Bloghuh
Its a mystery...

New Blogger

I'm annoyed. I finally decided I should change to the new blogger. What harm could it do? Seemed straightforward. Only when I did I found they had added one of their annoying bars over the top of the blog. I'd been able to choose not to have that there before. Its only a little thing but its a choice that has been taken away. Bah humbug.

So there's my mystery for today - why does stuff have to keep changing? I know that competition requires that developers stay on their toes and in response to this it is thought that change is necessary to stay ahead of the game. However, change for changes sake is just annoying. Especially when it isn't better. Why can't changes be made that don't affect the good stuff from before? Why try to fix something that ain't broke?

I'll get used to it. Its not like they haven't changed it before, after all.


Read more about things that mystify others at participating Bloghuh? blogs this week:
Alley Kat
Aprosexic
Blue Witch
bob's yer uncle
Changing Places
Depthmarker
In the Aquarium
Jen&HerBoat
Kitchen Witch
La Que Sabe
London Daily Photo
Pewari's Prattle
Purple Pen
Quixotic Evil
Santiago Dreaming
Tabula Rasa
Tiger Feet
Who Knows Where Thoughts Come From?
wintermute

Being Ill

I'm at the stage now where my nose is like a dripping tap. It hurts. Amazing how once soft balsam laced tissues have become rough like that tracing-paper-style bog roll from school (remember the sort that had now wash your hands printed on the bottom of each sheet). My sinuses feel solid.

Bloghuh?
Its a mystery...

With this subtitle I keep getting the strains of a song by Shakespear's Sister with all its gothic shrieking (ode to Kate Bush) in one line, "its a mystery...its a mystery". I can't remember anything else of the song but it seems fitting.

This is a community blog event. No rules as such but much linking necessary. Chance to find new blogs etc etc. My contribution may be briefer than most but I'm not in a terribly verbose state of mind right now (as you may tell from the brief posts of late)! (Answers gratefully received).

1. Why is it that grey hairs break off and leave annoying obvious wirey stray specimens exactly where they really show?
2. How come you feel so cold when you're burning up with a fever?
3. Why can you wait for half an hour for a bus and then 3 turn up at once. And continuing the public transport mystery - why when you have loads of time do you get a driver who is a formula one maniac and when you're late he's a snail?

Read more about things that mystify others at participating Bloghuh? blogs this week:
Aprosexic
Blue Witch
bob's yer uncle
Changing Places
Depthmarker
Jen&HerBoat
Kitchen Witch
La Que Sabe
Purple Pen
Quixotic Evil
Santiago Dreaming
Who Knows Where Thoughts Come From?

Different Way of Thinking

A man on the bus sits down and gets out a pamphlet. He's marked his place in it with a yellow post-it note. He opens his page and starts reading the section headed using the camera buttons to set the camera.

I can never be bothered to read the instructions unless I can't do something.

Water in the Dark

In the dark the river looks thick and viscous, solid almost. Light reflecting from the London Eye - huge with blue light the pods are almost invisible against the black sky. Boats sit still on the surface waves undulate around them.

By contrast the fountains in Trafalgar Square dance in the light, spray wafting in the wind, wetting the stone slabs to the south. Light frippery, vapourous.

Midnight bus to Tottenham

Smells. Someone is wearing cheap aftershave. Brut. Like teenage boys on the pull. Smells of cardboard warmed by pizza that is slowly going cold. Smells of the pub. Beery breath all round. Eau de ashtray on everyone's jackets. Smells of chips from Dixy Fried Chicken shop.

Modern Technology

Two old codgers board the bus. After a while one of their mobile phones rings. A sort of high pitched tinkling. Hullo? Tinkle tinkle. Hullo? Tinkle tinkle. Hullo? He sounds like Arthur Daley. His mate says, "it's not working". Finally he manages to answer it. "Hawaya doing mate? Hows the misses? Good new year? I'll give you a bell in a while. Yeah ... going up town. No problem mate." He rings off. The bus lurches to a stop and his suitcase (on wheels) makes a break for it - rolls up the aisle and crashes to a halt by the driver's doors. One of them rushes up to rescue it. Sorry mate, darn suitcases. He's even wearing a sheepskin coat. Proper Sarf London.

New Years Resolutions

Fate worse than death - writing about new years resolutions and I usually don't actually make any. However, this year I intend to:

1. find more inspiration (go to strange theatre, listen to new music, see foreign films and go to obscure exhibitions, well any exhibitions actually)
2. continue to seek creative means of expression (back to ceramics class mid jan - finishing off the lady pot and making a birdbath, more drawing)
3. and plant a tree in the back garden (a small one that flowers)

So there are my new year intensions. Not calling them resolutions - they probably don't qualify because they aren't going to require giving anything up however I want this year to be more exciting, stimulating and satisfying.

Happy New Year

So here I am celebrating new year on my own for the first time ever. Couldn't manage to drag together even a couple of friends willing to see in the new year. I bought an ironing board today so I'm hoping that won't jinx my new year to one of domesticity. I suddenly had a feeling of being totally alone, sitting in my new house all alone with Jools Holland on the TV, which isn't so bad apart from the fact you can't have a meaningful conversation with a tv programme. Dad and I set off to go see the fireworks at Waterloo but someone tried to pick pocket him on the bus on the way there, at the same time a gang was stopping people getting on the bus, the tube was packed and the next 3 trains were all arriving in 3 minutes and none of them did, so we gave up. I watched some neighbourhood fireworks on the corner of the street instead. Another woman walked passed me wearing a red feather boa and smiled at me - first new year greeting. So anyway. Happy New Year to you, and I hope your year is everything you wish for.

Personally I'd like to stop being such a boring fart and manage to get out a bit. I'd like to enter into a reinvention this year.

I really am going away next christmas and I'm not buying any presents!