Taste Of The Orient...

... and of cheapness...

Dazzling diamonds we out on display the other day when I sauntered into Selfridges. There was a sale going on and there were throngs of people milling about and pushing past each other in an eager attempt to grab at the bargins that will be displayed for approximately 2.6 minutes before it hangs in the wardrobe for the rest of eternity.

I was in a bit of a mood that day. Prior to the beginning of our shopping sojourn OH took me for lunch at this lovely Middle Eastern tavern around the corner. Feeling slightly delicate from the night before, we opted to stay off the wine and just stick to the water. On the other table there was a burly man who was with two women who he was clearly trying to impress.

'Soave, please' he instructed the waiter, but pronounced it in an accent littered with pretention so it came out more 'Soh-ah-vey, puh-lease...'

The waiter flounced off and OH and I resumed our starters which had arrived. I had whitebait and OH had stuffed vine-leaves. While we munched, the waiter flounced back with a bottle of wine cradled in his arm. With a flourish, he presented the bottle to the man, who gave it a cursory glance and a curt nod. The waiter then proceeded to open it and pour a bit into the man's glass, and while he did so, I caght a glimpse of the label and gave OH a nudge.

The man raised his glass, and swirled it round like a true ignoramus, took a gulp and proclaimed it lovely. By this stage I was trying my hardest not to snort whitebait through my nostrils. OH was getting quite perturbed and asked me what the matter was. After I'd managed to calm down I explained to OH that the bottle of wine that was proclaimed 'lovely' was in fact the sort of wine that we used to drink all the time.

That came from Costcutters. And they were 2 bottles for £5.

And the restaurant was selling them at £12.95 per bottle, to this ignoramus who was guzzling it with Great Gusto.

The great big Galah.

10 Things I Saw...

... on the way to work today.

1. A Very Brown Woman (fake, obviously) trying to put mascara on.

2. A Bald Man with a Very Loud Shirt on.

3. A tramp (at 8 a.m.??)

4. A man in a pink shirt with Very Big Headphones on.

5. An oriental woman who was asleep...

6. A man who was doing the Sudoku, followed by the crossword (obviously read that Metro article on Brain power...)

7. A man doing a Mathematical Equations on a correspondence course with the Open University.

8. Two Chav boys in Kappa tracksuits.

9. A woman with very sweaty armpits.

10. A Very Gay Boy dancing to music (oh, that was my reflection...)

Silly me...

World Cup...

... and world class knickers.

(The following is taken with permission from a conversation between myself and Tinkerbell)

Tink's boyfriend, the lovely docile PeterPan (yes, the one who's always a young one at heart) went to Germany for the World Cup. Tink was somewhat reluctant for him to go given that he's now with a group of Very Blokey Males, in the event that Boys that are Away Will Most Certainly Play.

Tink, apart from having a lovely complexion, also has immaculate taste in undergarments. Once, not 2 weeks after I first met her, she dragged me off (okay I went willingly) to Selfridges to try on a demi-corset which she then put aside for PPan to purchase for her. The rationale was that PPan loved undergarments, but not as much as he liked to rip them off her. As a result, it was decided that a very very expensive pair was on the cards, so instead of the animalistic 'ripping off', they would be removed with the utmost care and hence, Win-Win situation.

So, corset tried-and-tested, Tink took it to the counter to be put on reserve. Bitch Woman who Wanted Money asked very pointedly why said boyfriend couldn't pay for it then and there, looking at me very crossly while she tried to enunciate syllable by syllable in her faux-posh voice. Tink just threw her luscious mane of hair back and retorted that I was Gay Best Friend, and not one who would try to Get Into Her Knickers.

Fast Forward

(Assuming now PPan now has a taste of expensive lingerie...)

Tink and I were at Alice's BF's birthday on Saturday. Tink wails that PPan is in Germany watching the, erm, legball, I mean, football. The night before she'd received a phonecall from PPan, saying that the Wild Boys had gone off after the game in search of Ladies of The Night.

Tink: 'What will I do if he meets an Aryan Dream?' (wailing)

Me: 'Erm, you mean Aryan Nightmare?

Tink: 'Oh, I do hope not...'

Me: 'Well, I don't think that Germany sells v v v posh knickers, so PPan would be repulsed by having to look at cheap pants, let alone touch them...'

Tink: 'Oh, darling, he'd get a rash if he was within twenty yards of bad lingerie!'

Me: 'Indeed...'

...much much later...

I was thinking how horrid synthetic knickers would be, when OH pointed out that I had lycra-blend pants...

I broke out in a rash.

That Bloke...

... in the corner of the tube looked well dressed and very smart.

So when the train pulled into the tunnel I got on the train and stood right next to him. I was in a very good mood, with the Numa Numa song playing on a loop, and the realisation that it was not only Friday, but that I also had been paid, made for a wonderful feeling. No longer the student having to scrimp to by a bottle of cheap wine, I now cockily saunter into Marks and Spencers to by Fresh Fruit Smoothies.

Anyway, I'm digressing.

Stood next to said bloke, and train pulled out of the station. I was mentally mouthing the words to the song and doing my Disco Diva dance. At this point I must have lapsed into the state where I close my eyes and inadvertently sing out loud, because I felt someone tapping me on the shoulder.

I paused my player, took out my headphones and looked up in embarassment, my mouth ready to form an apology. Instead I saw The Bloke looking at me earnestly trying to hand me something that looked like a leaflet. As I looked down at the leaflet he said to me in an extremely serious voice, 'Do you believe in the Kindom of Jehovah?'

I was astounded. Have they now resorted to Charity Style assaults on the streets as well as the tubes? Where you're walking along quite happily and then suddenly you get sidestepped by some overeager student (okay I know I used to be one) who wants to Save the Marmosets in Middle Mongolia, and you try and look away like you haven't seen them of you wave them away dismissively.

I was mind-boggled, and still he gazed at me expectantly.

'Erm, no' was my reply.

'Why not?', his retort.

'Erm, because I'm depraved.'

'Why?', he pressed on.

I lowered my voice to a theatrical whisper, 'Because I like cock,'

Train was pulling into my station.

'Actually,' I said, voice raised slightly, 'I LOVE cock'

Train stopped, I jumped out, and resumed Numa Numa playing and did a little jig on the way into the office, via Marks and Spencers.

Never, never interrupt me when I'm in the middle of my EuroTrash pop music.

And never ever stand next to a man which everyone else is trying to avoid on the train.

Especially during rush hour.

Nit Picking...

...and nail biting.

People have the most peculiar habits. Since joining the ranks of the employed masses, I have had the joy of commuting day after day, to and from work on these cattle wagons otherwise known as the London Underground. Now, if you have ever had the joy of travelling on the Tube during rush hour, you would realise the following:

• Everyone squashes up to you when the train is full, and you get a face full of whatever anatomical anomaly they decide to thrust at you.
• Everyone is always pushing past you to get to the only empty seat at the other end of the train.
• The only empty seat is usally right next to the Only Tramp who is the Only Smelly Person
  Other people on the tube who have seats automatically asume that they are shielded from the world and are in their own personal space, and as a result able to do whatever they want.

Take for example this morning. I managed to find a seat coming into work. The lady sat next to me looked very professional, and was busily making copious notes on her spreadsheets and Meeting Agenda. Halfway through the journey, while I was reading the Metro, I suddenly feel a slight nudge from my right where she is sitting. I looked round to find her biting the nails of her left hand, while her elbow kept jabbing me in the ribs. Her other hand held some notes high, to block the view of others standing above her.

This was most annoying.

Then when I got to my interchange station, there was an annoucement that the train was suspended due to a passenger taken ill a few stations ahead. They were awaiting an ambulance and as a result had cancelled all the rest of the services. Why London Underground just didn't move the sickly passenger off the train to allow for others to continue their day, I have no idea.

So, next stop was the bus. Hopped on and 2 stops later we were told that the bus was terminating and that there were 2 more directly behind.

As you can guess, by this time I am already seething.

Then I get stuck in the lifts.

These are no ordinary lifts. Due to this being a posh establishment, they have Talking Lifts. However, its not a very welcoming voice, but it sounds like some Korean Woman reading out instructions to people while being on Speed.

'DOORHS OH-PEN-ING' ('GEHT- AUHT')

'DOORHS CLOH-SEENG'

Finally after 2 minutes (it seems like an eternity if you're stuck in a lift) the doors opened. Speed-Laced-Voice announces with great (forced) jolity that I am on the 'FEERST FLOORH' (GEHT-AUHT) and so I get out to hear the doors slam behind me...

I'm not made out for work.

I think I might go back to uni and do a Masters instead....