Towie has a BBQ

Two very good friends of mine had a BBQ jointly for one of their birthdays and a friends birthday. They live in Essex. When I arrived I felt like I had walked onto the set of  The Only Way Is Essex. All Essex accents, permanent tan, collagen lips, boys who pump iron at the gym. One of the women was footballer Frank Lampard's ex. Gradually I figured out there were sort of two halfs to the party. The women of independent means with the Essex boys and the london, northern crowd amassed from various works, and classes and old clubbing days of my friends. The women of independent means were extremely helpful - bringing out food, clearing up. The gay contingent were hilarious recounting outrageous stories of the past. And then some time after dark it felt like it was time to leave before the  last train left.

Notting Hill Carnival in the Rain

Standing on the side of the road at Notting hill carnival in the rain. Waiting for the friends who invited me down to get reception and text me back. A man in orange asks me if he could stand with me under my umbrella. I spread it towards him and he takes hold of it. I don't let go. There's a silent tussel. I say I can hold it - it's my umbrella - smiling. He says I'm a man I've never had a woman hold an umbrella for me in my life, it'll feel odd if you do that. I let him have it. You won't run off with my favourite umbrella will you? I'm joking. No I have plenty of nice umbrellas at home.  We stand silently for a bit. Then he introduces himself. And I introduce myself. Some youths ask if they can borrow some shade in the umbrella to make a call. I say I guess that's ok. They are giggling and excitable. They blow a kiss back as they leave. We stand together under the umbrella again. Watching floats go past with their associated dancers. Some are trailed by huge crowds of excited young people, grinding, moshing, singing, hands up, running. The DJs winding the crowd up as they go. People are wet through, rain running down their glistening skin. Ignoring the persistence of the rain. Despite all this jubilation he thinks the atmosphere is subdued in comparison to last year. Eventually I ask the man how is the best way out of here. He being local knows that Holland Park is the best bet. We stroll up the hill from Ladbrook Grove, chatting. He is still firmly in charge of the umbrella. I hook my hand in the crook of his arm. He saves me a couple of times when I slide on something wet. And then I do the same for him. Safely delivering me to the station - I thank him. I wouldn't have found it this easily without your help. He hands back the umbrella. I go home. Gentleman. 

Drunk love

It's 5 in the afternoon. She's got a big boxer dog, she's thin, wearing jeans, smiling. The dog is leading her. She turns her head and shouts back at someone, in a slightly uncouth manner.

Coming up behind is a tall man looking like Saturday but not scruffy carrying a sainsburies orange bag which he has slung over his shoulder. His legs quiver as he is standing staring after her confused. He cautiously turns around on distinctly wobbly legs and staggers off. 

Who's in control?

So a friend was relaying a story about telling a workman that her brother-in-law liked to be in control. The workman said oh yes I know. Since the workman had barely spoken to her brother-in-law she wondered how? The workman said that when he went to shake hands he had reached out his hand palm down and covered his hand when they grasped. As opposed to meeting as equals with thumb up or friendly with palm slightly raised. 

As a woman I don't have as much experience of handshakes as I expect a man has, and frequently I think people temper their shake when they grip a woman's hand, so I'm fascinated by learning this new body-language... It's like secret coding. 

Jahovah bashing

Don't know where the Jahovah stands first appeared from or even when they arrived exactly but they are there at stations handing out pamphlets if a person approaches them for one. This is not hard sell like chuggers or traditional Standard distributors. Just a lot of meek ladies and men in badly fitting suits. 

On London Bridge today a man, quite possibly slightly irritated from a day in the bank bereted one of them standing quite close to her face - get off the street you are taking up space on the pavement with your pathetic pieces of paper. A man who had been waiting for the bus came over to tell the man he shouldn't be so abusive to her. The first man grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously while dragging the man towards himself. A bit of too-ing and fro-ing to the tune of there is no need to speak to her that way, with the first man saying nice to meet you in a passive aggressive manner. Finally the first man released the hand of the second man and stormed off down the street. The second man retuned to his travelling companion declaring his shock at such behaviour.

The Jahovah woman was shaking and tears formed in her eyes. Her colleague hugged her and told her, I'm guessing, about the evil that the devil bestows in people and we have to feel sorry for them for they know not what waits for them. And how she needs to develop thick skin because there's a lot like that around. 

Grey seal

Sunny evening after the heavy rain and wind of the tail end of Hurricane Bertha passing over the UK. Walking on the beach near Waxham in Norfolk. Beautiful clean golden sand. Head of a seal popped out of the sea having a look around. As we walked down the beach saw another one - grey seal with silvery head.  Took a peek. Went back under. Popped up later on down the beach. Standing at the place where the waves reached up to on the beach, watching the seal float along the length of the waves, nostrils breathing. Sometimes it's head turned towards me on the beach to have a look. Followed us up the beach for a couple of kilometres and then back again while the tide came in. Total of five seals seen at one time. 

Other than work

A colleague sitting across the aisle from me in the vast open plannism that is our central office is having a discussion with a men's outfitters about when he can bring the morning suit in that he bought from them to have the jacket taken in, and a couple of waistcoats. He has to wait for a time when Monty can come. I think these sorts of things should be arranged in home time. And not in a loud authoritarian voice in the middle of the working day. I'm reminded of the wedding that took an entire year to plan where I used to work. Lots of deliveries recieved and considered in the office. Cakes, menus, kilts, invitations... It went on and on! And when we eventually went to the wedding it was ever so slightly blended polyester, as opposed to 100% silk. 

Over hung

Long afternoon drinking on Saturday - watching the world go past in Brick Lane, chatting, lubricating with sambucca. Jolly fun time. 

Woke up this morning. Head unwilling to get off the pillow. Body craving eggs. Preferably with hollandaise sauce. Struggle ensued between the head and the body. Bathed. Full submersion helps the head. Prepares the body. Still not working very fast or coherently. Get dressed. Put on sunglasses while still indoors. This helps. Until I step out the house. Bright outside. Feels early and it's midday. Self inflicted - what gave pleasure yesterday gives pain today! 

Kensington

Working day - generally walking purposefully, fast even, everyone in the tube corridors know where they are going. Bankers and office workers at London Bridge and Moorgate. Pace set by the urgent need to be making money. This pace helps to shave important minutes off a journey to enable better timekeeping. 

Meeting in Kensington. All the people in the tube, on the platforms and all over the pavement appear to be tourists. Crazy holiday outfits. Massive suitcases. No idea where they are going. Travelling from London Bridge to here I'm caught in that weird thing where you start off at one pace and on coming out the other end you are persistently tripping over people - like catching the tube on the weekend and forgetting it will be full of shoppers strolling rather than the work commuters that are usually down there. Don't know that I could cope with always working in a tourist area. 

Fitting

At the bus stop at Finsbury Square there is a man waiting. He is wearing black jeans - very slim fitting (not skinny jeans stretched over stick thin legs like gothic punks) so you are aware of the muscles in his legs and an asexual bulge a la Ken (as in barbie and ken). And a faded denim shirt - this is worn slim fitting also. Tucked into his jeans there is no blousing from excess fabric - the buttons lie flat over his stomach which doesn't have obvious abs and flat over his chest which doesn't have obvious pecs. I'm looking at him because I can't figure out why this slim fitted look is so odd. It's old fashioned somehow. None descript in its nothingness. Perhaps this is normcore. Just ordinary in a totally non-styled none-descript manner. 

Trains

I'm waiting at Peckham Rye Station for a train to Victoria on my way to a meeting in Kensington. I'm at a different platform than my usual one and at an odd time of day for me. Two long long trains pass each other - trundling along carrying train track replacement materials, load after load after load. No paint on the containers just rust. An engine with a number plate that the trainspotters will probably be drooling over. A workman all dressed in high vis orange opens a room on the platform. Goes in. Comes out and locks up again. Goes away. Comes back five minutes later with a toilet roll. Staff loo. 

Passing

An old lover passes in the street. A year has passed since I saw him last. He looks happier than the last chance meeting we had. He is strolling with a woman. Talking. It takes me a moment to recognise him such are the changes in his appearance. But OMG it is him. I wave slowly and persistently with my hand at chest height until he notices me. Oh my god he says in absolute shock. And then we've passed. 

Scream if you want to go faster

OMG Thorpe Park. Family day out with my sister, her husband and my niece and nephew. Mostly there was queuing. Between 50 and 85 minutes per ride. All the queues were cleverly hidden from view so you couldn't see how far you would be queuing until you got past the first corner. Lots of chatting and shuffling along. Lots of teenagers and young people. Most popular fashion choice for girls was cut-off-jeans hot pants and bare midriff. 

So then there were rides - big rollercoasters. Feet dangling, upside down, loops, corkscrews, really high drops, g-force 4.2 like a rocket. Those of us aged over 25 were probably not the demographic they were aiming at (as pointed out to me earlier today). Dizzy. Slightly nauseous. Bit shaky. Actually glad to be back on firm ground. 

Go Cats

I got cats a couple of years ago because I first had a rat problem and then when I'd gotten rid of them I got mice. Fairly persistently. All food stuffs had to be in tin  or glass containers. And then there was the incident of the mouse falling out of my shopping bag at the checkout in the supermarket. Anyway. The cats were cute. And then they grew up. They love me because I feed them. And we haven't had mice since they arrived. Yesterday evening they caught and killed a mouse. And lay around in the kitchen with the remains until someone came to congratulate them. Well pleased with themselves they were. So GO Cats! Keep at it. 

Bus stop compliments

Waiting in Dalston for a bus. Stop crowded with after work shoppers. A thin old man with the blackest skin and false teeth too big for his gums that clattered as he spoke, passed by pointing at me - you, yeah you girl, you have one built body, nice. And because I didn't respond he pointed harder and repeated himself.  Everyone at the bus stop started tittering to themselves. Before I got embarrassed,  I thanked him. He nodded his approval and slinked off round the corner. Compliments are good. From any source. The bus came. We all got on. 

Girl in the city - old draft post from 2009

Girl in the City

There's a building site next to my office that I pass everyday. Yesterday the foreman ran over wanting to exchange numbers with me. Which is flatterning but has to be met with the negative. In the evening as I walked back to the station an elderly gentleman called out asking after me, "hey, how are you?"
"I'm fine," I replied, "how are you?" (gotta be polite after all).
"Not as fine as you," he retorted.

Arriving at London Bridge this morning a man with large feet and 60s style slim legged suit trousers engaged me in conversation on the escalator - he was very taken with my matching hair and glasses and coat (I'm very coordinated sometimes).

I'm feeling a little bashful with all the attention.

Two glasses of wine

He arrived at the same time as me, ordered 2 glasses of wine and a portion of chips and told the barstaff he'd be over in the corner. He settled in. I imagined he would be joined by a chic woman. When the woman arrived she was wearing a very short skirt, rather more suited to a teenager. They greeted and proceeded to snog passionately until the wine and chips were gone (I didn't quite notice how they were eaten) and then they left.

World Cup 2014

Germany supporters in Shorditch celebrating their World Cup Win - road blockage, impromptu motorbike wheelspins display in the road. Disgruntled teacher on the bus wanted to pour orange juice on them to make them get out of the way. I didn't think it would work - the juice bottle being tiny and there being a lot of supporters. 

Ordering the whole menu

It started off with a trip to a secret gig at No Show Space in which the artist, Giorgio Sadotti, sang songs he had written to accompany his exhibition in a closing event with his band (including his daughter on vocals). His texts and lyrics make use of repetition and plays on words. It was a fun gig, slightly hippy rock with a girl on guitar and another one on drums. 

Afterwards, six of us went to a little Indian restaurant on Redchurch street and decided since there were six starters and six mains that we should just order the entire menu (including the five chutneys and accompaniments). Which is what we did. And great delight was had making the order. And plans were made to make this 'ordering the whole menu' into a regular thing - could review restaurants like that (albeit that for most menus a good number more dining companions may be needed to sample the whole menu in one sitting - but that could be big fun if slightly nightmarey logistics), or make it into a programme of some sort...

Lunchtime tennis

More London big screen in the scoop showing tennis. Workers flocking to watch in their stolen lunchtimes. Not even sure it's because it is great - maybe just to be in the crowd, outside, in a heat trap. 

And then the Murray match is starting. So perhaps they are actually fans.