.... AND THE GOOD STUFF.
Yes, I shall now scrabble around desperately on the floor (I lost my dignity a long time ago sirs) in an attempt to bring you a public post with a free ray of sunshine!
The gas pipes did indeed get fixed in the end. Called out some bloke who actually knew what he was doing, and was as much London as a human being can physically be. "See, whut they dun there, see, " - typed word does not do it justice - "Is they've botched it up and buggered off home, innit?" Or at least, that was the case and he very kindly did what *they* were meant to do in the first place.
Saturday did not improve much on its ugly sister. I went out to London finally, but ended up getting lost in Soho. I wasn't even aiming for Soho, sleazeden that it is. What with Saturday + Christmas, the pavements were lined with drunkeness, and I got accosted by at least three separate drunken scary blokes. One was just a twat who, in a feeble comedy cliche, I hit with my umbrella (the memory of it is both amusing and cringeworthy). Another would have been incredibly attractive but for the alcohol. The third was creepiest of all, asking my name and where I was going ( "Nowhere in particular." I replied. Quite truthfully.). And THEN he was asking, "Are you at school?" and I'm all, "...What? No! Urgh! I'm in my twenties." before finally fobbing him off with the fact I'm MEETING SOMEONE and having to stride purposefully up a street towards god knows what, hoping that he wasn't going to follow me. Wouldn't have been so bad had I not gone in a circle and ended up back where I started. That'll teach me to look like a lost schoolgirl alone in Soho on a Saturday night.
I've never been so happy to see the Leicester Square Tube Station in my entire life because I recognise it. London needs more signs.
Got told, "OMG I LOVE YOU." by a shop assistant in Claire's. I would have thought that, working in a shop, she gets £5 notes all the time but apparently not. If I wasn't poor, I'd consider making friends this way, it seems to work.
A bloke on the train home was having a bit of an interesting and loud drama, I completely forgot to listen to my iPod. He was insisting "WHAT DO I HAVE NOW?!.... Yeah, I know..... you tell me.... I had a wife, kids...." Gripping stuff.
I bought these. Japanese chocolate is not just amazing, it's impossible to throw away the packaging.
And of course, Thursday has been left unmentioned. We saw Ardal O'Hanlon doing some stand up at the Arts Theatre. The observant may notice that I've been there a few times of late. I WONDER WHY. Sadly on this occasion, a tall posh bloke in a stripy shirt was nowhere to be seen in the crowded bar. I thought I heard his laugh, but who knows.
Ardal was on top form. There was no theme (apart from random members of the audience helpfully informing him it was "Still raining") , he just talked funny for an hour or so and that seemed to work fine. Bonus points for crowbarring a favourite band in there when talking about what women really do at book group meetings (i.e dancing on the table to 80s songs): "It shouldn't be called a book club, it should be called the Depeche Mode Appreciation Night!"
He came back on (...) to do an encore about sex and our obsession with it, and some (quite possibly inebriated) chap threw paper down at him from the balcony. Turned out to be about the sex exhibition at the Barbican.
ARDAL: Why have you.... Are you one of the exhibits?
MAN: (struggling to remember Why) I....it.....uh....yeah.
The gas pipes did indeed get fixed in the end. Called out some bloke who actually knew what he was doing, and was as much London as a human being can physically be. "See, whut they dun there, see, " - typed word does not do it justice - "Is they've botched it up and buggered off home, innit?" Or at least, that was the case and he very kindly did what *they* were meant to do in the first place.
Saturday did not improve much on its ugly sister. I went out to London finally, but ended up getting lost in Soho. I wasn't even aiming for Soho, sleazeden that it is. What with Saturday + Christmas, the pavements were lined with drunkeness, and I got accosted by at least three separate drunken scary blokes. One was just a twat who, in a feeble comedy cliche, I hit with my umbrella (the memory of it is both amusing and cringeworthy). Another would have been incredibly attractive but for the alcohol. The third was creepiest of all, asking my name and where I was going ( "Nowhere in particular." I replied. Quite truthfully.). And THEN he was asking, "Are you at school?" and I'm all, "...What? No! Urgh! I'm in my twenties." before finally fobbing him off with the fact I'm MEETING SOMEONE and having to stride purposefully up a street towards god knows what, hoping that he wasn't going to follow me. Wouldn't have been so bad had I not gone in a circle and ended up back where I started. That'll teach me to look like a lost schoolgirl alone in Soho on a Saturday night.
I've never been so happy to see the Leicester Square Tube Station in my entire life because I recognise it. London needs more signs.
Got told, "OMG I LOVE YOU." by a shop assistant in Claire's. I would have thought that, working in a shop, she gets £5 notes all the time but apparently not. If I wasn't poor, I'd consider making friends this way, it seems to work.
A bloke on the train home was having a bit of an interesting and loud drama, I completely forgot to listen to my iPod. He was insisting "WHAT DO I HAVE NOW?!.... Yeah, I know..... you tell me.... I had a wife, kids...." Gripping stuff.
I bought these. Japanese chocolate is not just amazing, it's impossible to throw away the packaging.
And of course, Thursday has been left unmentioned. We saw Ardal O'Hanlon doing some stand up at the Arts Theatre. The observant may notice that I've been there a few times of late. I WONDER WHY. Sadly on this occasion, a tall posh bloke in a stripy shirt was nowhere to be seen in the crowded bar. I thought I heard his laugh, but who knows.
Ardal was on top form. There was no theme (apart from random members of the audience helpfully informing him it was "Still raining") , he just talked funny for an hour or so and that seemed to work fine. Bonus points for crowbarring a favourite band in there when talking about what women really do at book group meetings (i.e dancing on the table to 80s songs): "It shouldn't be called a book club, it should be called the Depeche Mode Appreciation Night!"
He came back on (...) to do an encore about sex and our obsession with it, and some (quite possibly inebriated) chap threw paper down at him from the balcony. Turned out to be about the sex exhibition at the Barbican.
ARDAL: Why have you.... Are you one of the exhibits?
MAN: (struggling to remember Why) I....it.....uh....yeah.