Galloping down the escalator, I try to work out the quickest way home. The central Line followed by the DLR, that's it. A train is waiting to leave as I make it to the platform. I rush forward and just manage to make it through the doors, less than a second before they close, almost catching my left foot in the process.
The tube train is quite full of people. They're a mixture of last minute Christmas shoppers and workers, who have finished work at midday and spent the entire afternoon in the pub - although looking at some, the may have been there all day. I check my watch again, impatient at the speed of the tube. We seem to be delayed at every station "to reduce the gap in the service" according to the announcement. I quietly grumble and seethe.
We reach Bank tube station. The doors open and I leg it up the escalator as at full pelt - well as full pelt as you can get when armed with bags of Christmas presents. Where's the DLR? I mumble to myself - the signage seems to be about as useful as a snooze button on a smoke alarm. I find a member of staff and ask the way to the DLR. "Oh it's stopped running from here until 5th January" she says,(incidentally, it's still not running, even today). Turning, I leg it back down the escalator, checking the time as I go - it's 5:45
Following another tube ride and a bus ride, I arrive back home. It's 6:30. The gift wrapping will have to wait until later, as I rush around the flat, throwing clothes into a holdall. I grab more things, toothbrush, deodorant, wrapping paper, phone, sellotape... What have I forgotten, I think as I scratch my head, watching the minutes count down. My car keys! Where are my fucking car keys!? Oh yes, in my pocket.
10 minutes later and I am squealing the tyres as I race out of the car park. The traffic should hopefully be ok, i'm thinking as I gun it along the roads leading to the motorway, slowing down for the cameras and flooring it again afterwards. Eventually I hit the motorway. It's not too bad and i'm thinking that I should be able to make it in an ok time.
I haven't accounted for the main roads after leaving the motorway though. Why is it that I always end up getting stuck behind a Rover 400, driven by someone old, or with big ears, or both!? "Come on!!" I shout as we pootle along at 28mph. He seems to stop for no reason at all "MOVE IT!!" I shout just as I look around to see a couple in the car next to me staring in my direction. Embarrassed, I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and mime to some make believe song playing on the radio - which doesn't work incidentally. I'm dangerously low on petrol and so pull into a petrol station. My phone beeps. It's a family member, "Where are you, we are all starving", I sigh. I am about 30 minutes away but i'm wondering if I can speed it up. "I'm 20 minutes away", I text back. The tyres squeal as I leave the petrol station - it's now 7:15.
I reach the country lanes and i'm driving a bit too fast and treading a fine line between getting there in one piece and not getting there at all. Thankfully the lanes are quiet as I turn the last couple of corners before finally turning into the driveway. It's nearly 8pm. Everyones car is there except mine and any hope that someone else might be later than me has all but evaporated. Leaving the Christmas presents and luggage in the car for the moment, I grab my jacket and thunder around to the side entrance. Everyone seems to be wearing a scowl as I walk past the kitchen window. Walking through the door I fear the worst. They all turn and look at me...
"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you,......."
Sunday, 24 January 2010
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
Shine
I was sitting opposite her as she talked about Christmas and the hardship of getting back into work after the holiday season. She, is a friend of my mate T. He and I used to work together and had arranged for a post new year catch up. He'd said he might bring someone with him and I had a sneaking suspicion that it might be a new flame. He had hinted as such but not confirmed anything under questioning.
She was older than his usual girlfriends I thought to myself, maybe 40 or 42. She was no less fun though and on the contrary, was quite engaging, if opinionated. There was something about her though that I couldn't quite put my finger on. Was she pretty - Check! Was she fun - Check! Was she bright - Check!
Then I realised - she was shiny. Now I don't mean greasy, as in she had the oily skin of an acne ridden teenager or anything like that. It was more shininess, as if her forehead had been made from plastic padding - smooth as a baby's whatsit and without a hint of a crease. Is there ever a polite time to ask someone as to whether they've ever played with botox? The short answer is no. But the thought having popped into my mind, just wouldn't go away. It was like being in an interview with someone who has a large boil on the end of their nose. You know you shouldn't stare, but something always draws your eyes to the unlanced growth on the end of their conk.
And so it was this time. It got worse too, as I found myself trying to make her laugh, just to see if her facial muscles would move. I couldn't really tell if they did or not and so I tried a different tack. Would she frown if we started talking politics - err no, or if she did then I couldn't tell.
I was snapped out of my train of thought by T, complaining that he hated the snow and that the bitter cold outside made his face feel dry. "You should use the cream I bought you" she said. "The cream?" I asked. "Mmm yes, the Clarins cream" she said, "oh, you should try it too, it's great for laughter lines." "You think? I said jokingly, "Maybe I should just try botox".
Not a flinch...
She was older than his usual girlfriends I thought to myself, maybe 40 or 42. She was no less fun though and on the contrary, was quite engaging, if opinionated. There was something about her though that I couldn't quite put my finger on. Was she pretty - Check! Was she fun - Check! Was she bright - Check!
Then I realised - she was shiny. Now I don't mean greasy, as in she had the oily skin of an acne ridden teenager or anything like that. It was more shininess, as if her forehead had been made from plastic padding - smooth as a baby's whatsit and without a hint of a crease. Is there ever a polite time to ask someone as to whether they've ever played with botox? The short answer is no. But the thought having popped into my mind, just wouldn't go away. It was like being in an interview with someone who has a large boil on the end of their nose. You know you shouldn't stare, but something always draws your eyes to the unlanced growth on the end of their conk.
And so it was this time. It got worse too, as I found myself trying to make her laugh, just to see if her facial muscles would move. I couldn't really tell if they did or not and so I tried a different tack. Would she frown if we started talking politics - err no, or if she did then I couldn't tell.
I was snapped out of my train of thought by T, complaining that he hated the snow and that the bitter cold outside made his face feel dry. "You should use the cream I bought you" she said. "The cream?" I asked. "Mmm yes, the Clarins cream" she said, "oh, you should try it too, it's great for laughter lines." "You think? I said jokingly, "Maybe I should just try botox".
Not a flinch...
Saturday, 16 January 2010
Birthday Deadline - Part 2
I walk out of the shoe shop and head to Regent Street checking my watch as i go - it's 1:15. I keep reminding myself that in order to get to Hertfordshire on time, I will need to have left my flat by 5pm. On my Christmas shopping list are clothes for family members and books. The crowds in Regent Street seem to be slightly prettier than in Oxford Street for some reason, although no less busy. Tourists seem to be the mainstay of the hold up as they stop to look at the Hamley's window display, holding everyone else up in the process. Elsewhere, more tourists (well they could be from North London for all I know) huddle together in the cold air and point to the Christmas lights. Oh come on, you've seen Christmas lights before, I think as I try to get through.
I spot a branch of Banana Republic and duck in to avoid the crowds. I'm thinking, It's my birthday and so why not see if there's anything here I like, as a saunter around the mens section. I end up trying on and choosing two t shirts and sweater, just as I receive a call from my friend J. He is local and wants to buy me a birthday lunch. Great, I say, as I make my way to go and pay. The queue for the checkout seems to be longer than the queue outside Hamleys, made worse because everyone seems to want their purchases gift wrapped. I check the time - 2:15. I get to the front of the queue. The sales assistant looks miserable and plainly wants to be somewhere else.
Sales Assistant - Would you like it gift wrapped?
Me - Nope, this is an entirely selfish purchase as it's my birthday.
Sales Assistant - Good for you!
Me - I know, thank you.
I meet J for lunch. We talk about the morning so far, bemoaning the fact that everyone else has left their shopping to the last minute and filling up the pavements in the process. I check the time. It's 3:15. I'm really going to have to get a move on if I'm going to leave London by 5pm.
Next stop Waterstones on Piccadilly. This is one of my favourite shops in London. It is the largest bookshop in Europe and stretches over 5 floors. At the top there is a chic little cafe bar which is great for a rendezvous.
I get carried away with myself and start reading a copy of Table Talk, by AA Gill, before eventually buying it along with the Christmas presents. As I queue at the checkout I notice a man reading a copy of Yachting Monthly, who looks like he's just stepped off his own boat - complete with thick Gortex jacket, thick woolly hat, beard and leathery face - although he may just like a drink..
I've taken too long. I check my watch - it's 4pm! I'm looking for a clothes shop, the name of which I cannot remember. I pop into Boots and walk up to the perfume counter.
Sales Assistant - Hello, is there anything in particular you are looking for?
Me - Directions actually. I'm looking for a clothes shop around here but can't really remember the name. I think it's called West something or North something.
Sales Assistant - (Calls out to colleague across the shop) Sally, do you know of a shop called West something or North something?
Sally - Eh? West something or North something? Naaa.
Sales Assistant - (looks back at me) she says naaa.
Me - (Remembering the name) All Saints, that's the place!
Sales Assistant - Try Debenhams.
My phone rings. It's a family member "Have you left yet, you should have left by now". "I'm leaving shortly" I say. Too long spent buying clothing items results in a rush as I hurl myself down Oxford Street to the nearest station. I run in and out of the road armed with Christmas presents and dodging pedestrians. I finally reach Oxford Street Tube, sweating from my run, and check my watch - it's 5:15.
I spot a branch of Banana Republic and duck in to avoid the crowds. I'm thinking, It's my birthday and so why not see if there's anything here I like, as a saunter around the mens section. I end up trying on and choosing two t shirts and sweater, just as I receive a call from my friend J. He is local and wants to buy me a birthday lunch. Great, I say, as I make my way to go and pay. The queue for the checkout seems to be longer than the queue outside Hamleys, made worse because everyone seems to want their purchases gift wrapped. I check the time - 2:15. I get to the front of the queue. The sales assistant looks miserable and plainly wants to be somewhere else.
Sales Assistant - Would you like it gift wrapped?
Me - Nope, this is an entirely selfish purchase as it's my birthday.
Sales Assistant - Good for you!
Me - I know, thank you.
I meet J for lunch. We talk about the morning so far, bemoaning the fact that everyone else has left their shopping to the last minute and filling up the pavements in the process. I check the time. It's 3:15. I'm really going to have to get a move on if I'm going to leave London by 5pm.
Next stop Waterstones on Piccadilly. This is one of my favourite shops in London. It is the largest bookshop in Europe and stretches over 5 floors. At the top there is a chic little cafe bar which is great for a rendezvous.
I get carried away with myself and start reading a copy of Table Talk, by AA Gill, before eventually buying it along with the Christmas presents. As I queue at the checkout I notice a man reading a copy of Yachting Monthly, who looks like he's just stepped off his own boat - complete with thick Gortex jacket, thick woolly hat, beard and leathery face - although he may just like a drink..
I've taken too long. I check my watch - it's 4pm! I'm looking for a clothes shop, the name of which I cannot remember. I pop into Boots and walk up to the perfume counter.
Sales Assistant - Hello, is there anything in particular you are looking for?
Me - Directions actually. I'm looking for a clothes shop around here but can't really remember the name. I think it's called West something or North something.
Sales Assistant - (Calls out to colleague across the shop) Sally, do you know of a shop called West something or North something?
Sally - Eh? West something or North something? Naaa.
Sales Assistant - (looks back at me) she says naaa.
Me - (Remembering the name) All Saints, that's the place!
Sales Assistant - Try Debenhams.
My phone rings. It's a family member "Have you left yet, you should have left by now". "I'm leaving shortly" I say. Too long spent buying clothing items results in a rush as I hurl myself down Oxford Street to the nearest station. I run in and out of the road armed with Christmas presents and dodging pedestrians. I finally reach Oxford Street Tube, sweating from my run, and check my watch - it's 5:15.
Thursday, 14 January 2010
Christmas In The Country
I have found that it can be a bit of an effort at this time of year, ie, winter, to visit the gym. During the summer it's a piece of proverbial piss - broadly speaking. During spring, summer and even autumn, the evenings are long and light and the mornings are bright and early. I can easily get myself out of bed and go for a run before work. At the end of a day, it's easy to get in 30 minutes at the gym or go for a swim. In this weather though, it's a loathsome task to do either, but there's a guilt at the heart of it which forces you to go. knowing that if you don't, then you may be mistaken for someone who has eaten Vanessa Feltz.
This is why Christmas was a relief. Come my birthday, (part 2 of which will follow shortly) I decided that my plan was to have a period of complete relaxation and indulgence over the Christmas period. I would consciously resign myself to the process of consuming endless food and drink that is part and parcel of the time of year. And this is what I did, as I visited family in the country for a few days, eating like an American who hadn't seen a burger in two years and drinking as if in a contest with Olly Reed (circa The Word).
I love the countryside. The reason I love it so is probably because I live in London and so enjoy it more when I'm there. The Hertfordshire villages tend to be effected much more by the snowy weather than we ever are in London - well, unless you happen to be in charge of London's public transport system, in which case it all goes up the swanny at the first mention of the word, frost.
The Hertfordshire countryside looks quite beautiful after a snowfall. Even more so when seen from the vantage point of walking the dogs across the snowy fields to one of the locals pubs for lunch and a pint (me, not the dogs). Lots of conversations, putting the world to various right, dinners, lazy watching of DVDs in front of the fire and walks ensured that project, have a very relaxing and indulgent Christmas, went entirely according to plan. The only sad point however, came the day before I left. A fox, a nasty malicious (please don't tell me they're cute or i'll vomit) piece of beagle fodder had killed the chickens in the yard. It didn't eat them. It just killed them - all of them, or so I thought. One sprang into life as I tried to pick it up, making me and a relative jump. Just then we looked around to see one of the dogs walking with a dead chicken in it's mouth - we had to laugh at the dog, if nothing else.
So Christmas has now come and gone again for another year. And now for the aftermath - getting ones arse back into the gym.
This is why Christmas was a relief. Come my birthday, (part 2 of which will follow shortly) I decided that my plan was to have a period of complete relaxation and indulgence over the Christmas period. I would consciously resign myself to the process of consuming endless food and drink that is part and parcel of the time of year. And this is what I did, as I visited family in the country for a few days, eating like an American who hadn't seen a burger in two years and drinking as if in a contest with Olly Reed (circa The Word).
I love the countryside. The reason I love it so is probably because I live in London and so enjoy it more when I'm there. The Hertfordshire villages tend to be effected much more by the snowy weather than we ever are in London - well, unless you happen to be in charge of London's public transport system, in which case it all goes up the swanny at the first mention of the word, frost.
The Hertfordshire countryside looks quite beautiful after a snowfall. Even more so when seen from the vantage point of walking the dogs across the snowy fields to one of the locals pubs for lunch and a pint (me, not the dogs). Lots of conversations, putting the world to various right, dinners, lazy watching of DVDs in front of the fire and walks ensured that project, have a very relaxing and indulgent Christmas, went entirely according to plan. The only sad point however, came the day before I left. A fox, a nasty malicious (please don't tell me they're cute or i'll vomit) piece of beagle fodder had killed the chickens in the yard. It didn't eat them. It just killed them - all of them, or so I thought. One sprang into life as I tried to pick it up, making me and a relative jump. Just then we looked around to see one of the dogs walking with a dead chicken in it's mouth - we had to laugh at the dog, if nothing else.
So Christmas has now come and gone again for another year. And now for the aftermath - getting ones arse back into the gym.
Thursday, 7 January 2010
Birthday Deadline Part 1
Christmas Eve – one of the most exciting times of the year you might think. Well for some more than others. You see, Christmas Eve also happens to be my birthday. Not as bad as a Christmas day perhaps, unless you're a hippy with a beard, in which case you're immensely popular (just kidding JC). With Christmas Eve, no one is around to celebrate with and you end up, if you are me at least, spending your time buying presents for other people. This brings me to this year.
All I knew was that I had a deadline to meet in the form of a family dinner in Hertfordshire for 7pm. In fact I’d been told that this was a false deadline (always a mistake to share this sort of information with me) and that 7:30 was the absolute deadline to be there. In my mind I knew I had to leave London by 5pm in order to get there in good time.
Not a problem I thought, as the postman delivered two Christmas cards, one for me and one for the previous owner of my flat (which now also looks good on my fireplace) and three birthday cards. My phone had started beeping with Happy Birthday texts, which immediately lifted me out of the slight melancholy of being a year older, just as I was beginning to get used to the age I was last year.
A hearty breakfast and the morning papers ensued at the local cafe. "Happy birthday" said the cafe owner and said that the tea was on the house. I munched my way through bacon and scrambled eggs and smiled as I received two more birthday texts. It was getting on for midday and I was going to have to get a move on if I was going to be on time later.
One of the advantages of late Christmas shopping is that everyone else has usually done theirs already - not so this year, or so it felt. Oxford Street can be the ugliest of places to visit and today was no exception. Primark must have started their sale, I thought, as I ducked into Bond Street to avoid the huge crowds.
I checked my watch and saw that it was 1pm. I spotted a cool looking shoe shop I hadn't seen before and popped in. Now being single at Christmas has a benefit in that there is extra money to spend on one's self - and what better excuse than your birthday. I heard a voice call over to me as I started to muse around the shop. "Last minute shopping?" she asked. It was the manageress. "Yes, there's nothing more lovely than Christmas shopping on your birthday" I mused "Awww Happy Birthday, bad luck about the shopping" she said. She was adorable and over the next 20 minutes we discussed everything from Christmas shopping to birthdays, to food and shoes - her favourite topic. My phone beeped with another birthday text. I looked down to read it and noticed the time on my phone. I was going to have to get a move on. "Listen I’ve got to get on with this shopping, but I’d love to carry on this conversation. Can I take your number and maybe meet for a coffee sometime." "Yeah, why not" she said as she punched her number into my phone. I headed out the door, ready to brave the crowds.
This was starting to look like a good birthday...
All I knew was that I had a deadline to meet in the form of a family dinner in Hertfordshire for 7pm. In fact I’d been told that this was a false deadline (always a mistake to share this sort of information with me) and that 7:30 was the absolute deadline to be there. In my mind I knew I had to leave London by 5pm in order to get there in good time.
Not a problem I thought, as the postman delivered two Christmas cards, one for me and one for the previous owner of my flat (which now also looks good on my fireplace) and three birthday cards. My phone had started beeping with Happy Birthday texts, which immediately lifted me out of the slight melancholy of being a year older, just as I was beginning to get used to the age I was last year.
A hearty breakfast and the morning papers ensued at the local cafe. "Happy birthday" said the cafe owner and said that the tea was on the house. I munched my way through bacon and scrambled eggs and smiled as I received two more birthday texts. It was getting on for midday and I was going to have to get a move on if I was going to be on time later.
One of the advantages of late Christmas shopping is that everyone else has usually done theirs already - not so this year, or so it felt. Oxford Street can be the ugliest of places to visit and today was no exception. Primark must have started their sale, I thought, as I ducked into Bond Street to avoid the huge crowds.
I checked my watch and saw that it was 1pm. I spotted a cool looking shoe shop I hadn't seen before and popped in. Now being single at Christmas has a benefit in that there is extra money to spend on one's self - and what better excuse than your birthday. I heard a voice call over to me as I started to muse around the shop. "Last minute shopping?" she asked. It was the manageress. "Yes, there's nothing more lovely than Christmas shopping on your birthday" I mused "Awww Happy Birthday, bad luck about the shopping" she said. She was adorable and over the next 20 minutes we discussed everything from Christmas shopping to birthdays, to food and shoes - her favourite topic. My phone beeped with another birthday text. I looked down to read it and noticed the time on my phone. I was going to have to get a move on. "Listen I’ve got to get on with this shopping, but I’d love to carry on this conversation. Can I take your number and maybe meet for a coffee sometime." "Yeah, why not" she said as she punched her number into my phone. I headed out the door, ready to brave the crowds.
This was starting to look like a good birthday...
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