Everyone in the office had chips at lunchtime yesterday - I snoozed and lost on that front so stopped in a troublingly spelled establishment called Flavas on the way home to make it up to myself.
Offered the choice of a sauce to go with my order of chips, I went with mayonnaise - at which point the guy behind the counter looked at me pointedly and said 'you'll get fat if you eat mayonnaise'.
The personal boundary issues of this statement aside, I was mostly rendered speechless by the situation - a vendor of dubious deep-fried battered chicken parts felt that the condiment I'd chosen was the most comment-worthy element of my meal.
Irony, it appears, is wasted on the ironic.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Food for thought
Why aren't bananas classified as 'tropical' fruits? They're grown in tropical climes aren't they?
Or are they so classified? If so, why has this information been kept from me for so long?
And why do banana flavoured products taste nothing like real bananas?
Or are they so classified? If so, why has this information been kept from me for so long?
And why do banana flavoured products taste nothing like real bananas?
Thursday, September 03, 2009
The company I keep
Really starting to wonder if it is indeed me, not them.
Was talking to a couple of friends the other day about cars - hardly my area of expertise, as demonstrated by the ineptitude displayed during the GM years - and threw out the observation that if I could have any car in the world, I'd like an Aston Martin DB9.
To which, one friend said, 'But the insurance on an Aston Martin would be so high.'
She raised a valid point. Because, you know, that IS why I don't already have an Aston Martin...
Was talking to a couple of friends the other day about cars - hardly my area of expertise, as demonstrated by the ineptitude displayed during the GM years - and threw out the observation that if I could have any car in the world, I'd like an Aston Martin DB9.
To which, one friend said, 'But the insurance on an Aston Martin would be so high.'
She raised a valid point. Because, you know, that IS why I don't already have an Aston Martin...
Monday, July 13, 2009
Going postal
Sent my previous landlords a rent cheque a few weeks ago - the last one, in fact, in a long line of cheques I've been sending them for (a personal record) nine months. The envelope (and the cheque within) got returned to me with no significant action taken such as postmarking the stamp (or indeed, cashing the cheque). No evidence whatsoever to indicate that it had ever left my possession. Or that it was any different than the several other cheques I've had to send over to the nincompoops at the previous landlord's office.
Mysterious you say? Indeed it was.
Although often content to leave mysteries well enough alone (I've seen the films, I know what happens to girls who go nosing around business that isn't their own), somehow I couldn't bring myself to leave this one unsolved. So I took the envelope down to the post-office and put the problem to the lady behind the counter.
She examined the envelope as thoroughly as I'd hoped she would. She looked at it forward and backwards, upside down and right way round. She might even have smelled it. She took it away and brought it back. And in the end, she said 'so why have they sent it back to you?'
To which I replied, incensed and justifiably so I feel, 'I don't know, THAT'S WHAT I JUST ASKED YOU'.
In the end we agreed on sending it as a recorded delivery and no more was said about the mystery of its return.
This incident has left me wondering if, just as Toosy is the keeper of the madness moths, I am the flame to which stupidity moths are drawn.
Mysterious you say? Indeed it was.
Although often content to leave mysteries well enough alone (I've seen the films, I know what happens to girls who go nosing around business that isn't their own), somehow I couldn't bring myself to leave this one unsolved. So I took the envelope down to the post-office and put the problem to the lady behind the counter.
She examined the envelope as thoroughly as I'd hoped she would. She looked at it forward and backwards, upside down and right way round. She might even have smelled it. She took it away and brought it back. And in the end, she said 'so why have they sent it back to you?'
To which I replied, incensed and justifiably so I feel, 'I don't know, THAT'S WHAT I JUST ASKED YOU'.
In the end we agreed on sending it as a recorded delivery and no more was said about the mystery of its return.
This incident has left me wondering if, just as Toosy is the keeper of the madness moths, I am the flame to which stupidity moths are drawn.
When our boots they hit the ground...
My, what a busy few weeks it has been.
Despite the best concerted efforts on behalf of all the estate agents I met with to try and keep me from finding a place that ranks even poorly on the habitability scale, I managed to locate and secure one such dwelling and am now cosily unpacked and settled into my very own studio flat in Balham. It shares the approximate dimensions of one of my less roomy shoeboxes, but now that I'm growing accustomed to tripping over my own belongings, the place is definitely starting to feel like home. Plus, blessed as I am with a truly appalling memory, I can't remember what it was like not to live here, which is surely a sign of some deeper sense of calm? In any case, I love the new place, creaky floorboards, tiny shower and all.
Unfortunately Claude did not take so well to his new surroundings and after a mere 3 days in the new homestead I came home to his lifeless little body lying on the bottom of the fishbowl. (If I'd looked closer I'd probably have found a little note saying 'I told you I was ill' but I was too distraught at the time to examine closer.) His absence seems to have affected Eustace's nervous system too, as he now zips around the bowl with a somewhat startled expression every time he hears any sound at all. Fortunately, unlike Claude, Eustace has always been smart enough to know that when food falls your head from the sky, it's best to eat first and ask questions later, so his overall health does not seem to have suffered significantly.
The highlight of the summer so far has been in music festivals, seeing the mighty (Def) Leppard at Download followed swiftly by Bruce himself at Hard Rock Calling a couple of weekends ago. Needless to say, Bruce rocked but for me the real gem of the day (and possibly of this year) has been discovering and seeing live a band called The Gaslight Anthem who have swiftly become one of my all-time favourites. Mixing Springsteen-esque blue collar storylines with punk sensibilities, and throwing in an endearing grin and tattooed (ch)arms, Brian Fallon is seriously vying for a place on my Friends 5 list. I only wonder if Matthew Perry will ever forgive me...
Despite the best concerted efforts on behalf of all the estate agents I met with to try and keep me from finding a place that ranks even poorly on the habitability scale, I managed to locate and secure one such dwelling and am now cosily unpacked and settled into my very own studio flat in Balham. It shares the approximate dimensions of one of my less roomy shoeboxes, but now that I'm growing accustomed to tripping over my own belongings, the place is definitely starting to feel like home. Plus, blessed as I am with a truly appalling memory, I can't remember what it was like not to live here, which is surely a sign of some deeper sense of calm? In any case, I love the new place, creaky floorboards, tiny shower and all.
Unfortunately Claude did not take so well to his new surroundings and after a mere 3 days in the new homestead I came home to his lifeless little body lying on the bottom of the fishbowl. (If I'd looked closer I'd probably have found a little note saying 'I told you I was ill' but I was too distraught at the time to examine closer.) His absence seems to have affected Eustace's nervous system too, as he now zips around the bowl with a somewhat startled expression every time he hears any sound at all. Fortunately, unlike Claude, Eustace has always been smart enough to know that when food falls your head from the sky, it's best to eat first and ask questions later, so his overall health does not seem to have suffered significantly.
The highlight of the summer so far has been in music festivals, seeing the mighty (Def) Leppard at Download followed swiftly by Bruce himself at Hard Rock Calling a couple of weekends ago. Needless to say, Bruce rocked but for me the real gem of the day (and possibly of this year) has been discovering and seeing live a band called The Gaslight Anthem who have swiftly become one of my all-time favourites. Mixing Springsteen-esque blue collar storylines with punk sensibilities, and throwing in an endearing grin and tattooed (ch)arms, Brian Fallon is seriously vying for a place on my Friends 5 list. I only wonder if Matthew Perry will ever forgive me...
Friday, May 22, 2009
When a man is tired of London...
... he is tired of life.
So says Samuel Johnson and I'm inclined to agree with him.
Yet, that precisely is what Gareth has announced his intention of doing. Apparently the hills and vales of Wales (if there are any) have called to the deeps in his soul and are beckoning him homewards in July.
That's right, I have to move house.
Again.
So says Samuel Johnson and I'm inclined to agree with him.
Yet, that precisely is what Gareth has announced his intention of doing. Apparently the hills and vales of Wales (if there are any) have called to the deeps in his soul and are beckoning him homewards in July.
That's right, I have to move house.
Again.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Head like a hole
I have a bump on my head that hurts when I prod it. Putting aside the question of whether the key here is not to prod it, the important thing is that I don't remember bumping my head.
But maybe that's because the bump erased part of my short-term memory.
I believe I have reached what the French call an impasse...
But maybe that's because the bump erased part of my short-term memory.
I believe I have reached what the French call an impasse...
Thursday, April 02, 2009
And now...
My father just called to ask me where I went to University.
I'm really starting to worry about those two...
I'm really starting to worry about those two...
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Seriously?
The other day my mother called to ask if I was in the office.
At 10.30am.
On a Wednesday.
Honestly, I have no idea what she thinks I do for a living...
At 10.30am.
On a Wednesday.
Honestly, I have no idea what she thinks I do for a living...
Thursday, March 05, 2009
It's that time of the month...
The flat downstairs appears to be ready and on the market - and cheaper than ours for some reason we haven't yet worked out. In addition, our annual rent review is apparently coming up in April, which Gareth has hinted might have some impact on whether we continue in the flat or not.
As we're now in the sixth month I've been in this flat, the ominous timing (and potential implications) of these revelations has not escaped me.
As we're now in the sixth month I've been in this flat, the ominous timing (and potential implications) of these revelations has not escaped me.
Friday, February 27, 2009
A-list?
Forgot to mention my first decent celebrity spot since my London period began:
- Guy Ritchie swigging beer at The Punchbowl in Mayfair
Some might say seeing a celeb at a pub they own is no real achievement. These people should keep their unwanted opinions to themselves.
Whistlestop tours
What a busy last few weeks it has been.
After several varied attempts to deliver one of our new Billy bookshelves (I say one since we ordered three - our excesses know no bounds), I had little or no faith in IKEA successfully negotiating the delivery of the new sofa. And yet, somehow they did - even managing to get here during the specified delivery window. Bizarre. Anyway, new sofa all sorted. Now my Sauron-like eye turns to other things, viz. a new dining table. (Is this when you know you're old? When your wishlist veers away from shoes, entertainment and frivolity to furniture and homewares?) Gareth thinks I'm kidding when I speak of more new furniture - he little knows the true horrors that lurk within my catalogue-perusing soul.
The last week or so saw me fleeing the English countryside for warmer climes as I paid a brief but fruitful visit to the motherland and the sandlands. Three days in Chennai were filled with watching baby cousin Diya dancing like Flag Hippo, a dramatic bit of food poisoning, picking out lighting fixtures and attending a religious ceremony at my parents' new flat which involved circling around an indoor fire comprising of twigs and dried cow dung. Yes, an indoor fire.
The sandlands were simultaneously just as I left them and completely different than I remember. As always the roads have changed, there are innumerable new buildings and the new dedicated Emirates terminal has opened at the airport - all very big and shiny and new (natch) but with just a touch too much of the great hall with all the columns under the mountains of Moria in LOTR for my taste. Still, hurrah for getting hair and nails done, catching up with good friends and, of course, shawarmas.
Must make special mention here of the girl behind the counter at McDonalds in Jumeirah who spent longer telling me that getting a cheeseburger with no pickles would take more time than a regular one that was already made than she did actually considering that she was wasting more time having the conversation than just placing my order and getting on with it. When I ask for better customer service, this is not what I mean.
Still, visits to Dubai always serve to highlight to me just how right I was to move away when I did. What seemed like a bit of an irrational and not fully-formed plan at the time has worked out for the best in so many ways - stressful though it has been at times - and I am grateful for having had whatever sense I did that made me make the leap into the unknown. While the city remains a nice place to pop by every so often, it feels less like 'home' every time - even less likely to feel so once the few remaining people I know there move away, as they inevitably all will. Cue a long and varied debate on the nature of growing up as an expat and the sense of inherent homelessness it engenders.
Anyhoo, back in sunny England now, with the wedding approaching ever closer and a mild sense of panic setting in that I have to turn 29 before then.
After several varied attempts to deliver one of our new Billy bookshelves (I say one since we ordered three - our excesses know no bounds), I had little or no faith in IKEA successfully negotiating the delivery of the new sofa. And yet, somehow they did - even managing to get here during the specified delivery window. Bizarre. Anyway, new sofa all sorted. Now my Sauron-like eye turns to other things, viz. a new dining table. (Is this when you know you're old? When your wishlist veers away from shoes, entertainment and frivolity to furniture and homewares?) Gareth thinks I'm kidding when I speak of more new furniture - he little knows the true horrors that lurk within my catalogue-perusing soul.
The last week or so saw me fleeing the English countryside for warmer climes as I paid a brief but fruitful visit to the motherland and the sandlands. Three days in Chennai were filled with watching baby cousin Diya dancing like Flag Hippo, a dramatic bit of food poisoning, picking out lighting fixtures and attending a religious ceremony at my parents' new flat which involved circling around an indoor fire comprising of twigs and dried cow dung. Yes, an indoor fire.
The sandlands were simultaneously just as I left them and completely different than I remember. As always the roads have changed, there are innumerable new buildings and the new dedicated Emirates terminal has opened at the airport - all very big and shiny and new (natch) but with just a touch too much of the great hall with all the columns under the mountains of Moria in LOTR for my taste. Still, hurrah for getting hair and nails done, catching up with good friends and, of course, shawarmas.
Must make special mention here of the girl behind the counter at McDonalds in Jumeirah who spent longer telling me that getting a cheeseburger with no pickles would take more time than a regular one that was already made than she did actually considering that she was wasting more time having the conversation than just placing my order and getting on with it. When I ask for better customer service, this is not what I mean.
Still, visits to Dubai always serve to highlight to me just how right I was to move away when I did. What seemed like a bit of an irrational and not fully-formed plan at the time has worked out for the best in so many ways - stressful though it has been at times - and I am grateful for having had whatever sense I did that made me make the leap into the unknown. While the city remains a nice place to pop by every so often, it feels less like 'home' every time - even less likely to feel so once the few remaining people I know there move away, as they inevitably all will. Cue a long and varied debate on the nature of growing up as an expat and the sense of inherent homelessness it engenders.
Anyhoo, back in sunny England now, with the wedding approaching ever closer and a mild sense of panic setting in that I have to turn 29 before then.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
White Monday
An unexpectedly long weekend, thanks to 8 inches of snow on Sunday night, which ground the whole city of London to a halt on Monday. I was pretty effectively stranded at home for the day seeing as buses, Underground lines and trains had stopped running and I require all three to get to work.
Still, a nice unexpected day at home, consisting of hot beverages, a walk to the park, being snowballed by delinquent teenagers, the start of Season 2 of the Sopranos - oh yes and a bit of remote working.
Over the weekend I received not one but two cookbooks so Saturday was spent proving that I can cook as well as anyone with the letters n,i,g,e and l in their name. Made Nigel Slater's Potato & Mushroom Pie (which turned out to not be pie at all) and Nigella Lawson's New York Cheesecake. (The capital letters are meant to reflect how much time and effort this recipe-following involved - mostly in sourcing ingredients and a suitably sized springform cake tin.)
After expressing mutual disinterest in schlepping out to IKEA on a Saturday, Gareth and I decided not to get a new sofa after all. On Sunday we ordered one online. It arrives on the 14th.
Still, a nice unexpected day at home, consisting of hot beverages, a walk to the park, being snowballed by delinquent teenagers, the start of Season 2 of the Sopranos - oh yes and a bit of remote working.
Over the weekend I received not one but two cookbooks so Saturday was spent proving that I can cook as well as anyone with the letters n,i,g,e and l in their name. Made Nigel Slater's Potato & Mushroom Pie (which turned out to not be pie at all) and Nigella Lawson's New York Cheesecake. (The capital letters are meant to reflect how much time and effort this recipe-following involved - mostly in sourcing ingredients and a suitably sized springform cake tin.)
After expressing mutual disinterest in schlepping out to IKEA on a Saturday, Gareth and I decided not to get a new sofa after all. On Sunday we ordered one online. It arrives on the 14th.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Bewilderness
Talked to my mother last night. Told her my plan for the weekend was to buy a sofa. To which her response, verbatim, was 'but wouldn't you rather have a laptop?'.
As yet, I am unable to work out how or why these two objects would be considered interchangeable substitutes for each other.
As yet, I am unable to work out how or why these two objects would be considered interchangeable substitutes for each other.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
So, 2009 eh?
Looks like I've left it too long to comment in any useful way on the changing of the year, death of the old, rise of the new etc. Suffice it to say I have spent much of this year cold and hungry and my prospects for that changing any time soon seem slim to none. On the plus side, I still have a job and I haven't moved house. Yet.
Claude is still looking ill - he has developed a worrying new symptom which sees him floating near the top of the bowl and puffing in a strained fashion. Am trying another dose of the medicinal drops as prescribed by the lady in the piscine emporium but am unsure how to proceed if that doesn't work...
Pre-ordered the new Bruce album last week and it's STILL NOT HERE. You have let me down, Play.com. The effects of this dastardly behaviour on our otherwise strong relationship remain to be seen...
Books I've read so far in 2009:
On a more cheery note, he posed the question last night of which celebrities we should cast in a live action remake of the Cluedo boardgame (or Clue, to my American readers who did not have Ludo as children and thus were denied one of Life's simple pleasures. Along with Snakes & Ladders - I have not the words to describe how contemptible I think their cop out Chutes & Ladders version is). So far I've got:
Claude is still looking ill - he has developed a worrying new symptom which sees him floating near the top of the bowl and puffing in a strained fashion. Am trying another dose of the medicinal drops as prescribed by the lady in the piscine emporium but am unsure how to proceed if that doesn't work...
Pre-ordered the new Bruce album last week and it's STILL NOT HERE. You have let me down, Play.com. The effects of this dastardly behaviour on our otherwise strong relationship remain to be seen...
Books I've read so far in 2009:
- Dreams From My Father - Barack Obama - v good
- The God Delusion - Richard Dawkins - v interesting for the most part. Gratifying to see I was and am not deluded although this did deny me any kind of eye-opening or life-affirming experiences
- Dawn Of The Dumb - Charlie Brooker - painfully vitriolic but v funny for the most part. Sets the bar for the kind of writer I wish I was brave and smart enough to be
On a more cheery note, he posed the question last night of which celebrities we should cast in a live action remake of the Cluedo boardgame (or Clue, to my American readers who did not have Ludo as children and thus were denied one of Life's simple pleasures. Along with Snakes & Ladders - I have not the words to describe how contemptible I think their cop out Chutes & Ladders version is). So far I've got:
- Mrs White - Dawn French
- Professor Plum - Stephen Fry
- Colonel Mustard - Bill Nighy
- Mrs Peacock - Cate Blanchett
- Miss Scarlet - Angelina Jolie (Gareth had Nigella Lawson down for this one, presumably because he fancies her. That was his game, this is mine and I decline to let Nigella's unspeakably smug mug anywhere near it)
Which leaves only Reverend Green remaining - I'm toying with the idea of Rob Brydon but am open to suggestion. Thoughts and comments to the usual address please.
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