Jelly is waiting

Jelly is waiting for her internet supplier to get around to sending her the router and jazz for getting t’interweb up and going at home – and has been waiting for all eternity. There are hundreds of things that have happened since the last post and hundreds of pictures awaiting your perusal – but until I get the internet at home I can’t do the updates that I have planned. Comedy characters, bizarre outfits, lehman brothers and canary wharf, exciting Jelly related news and joy is all bubbling away and awaiting it’s chance to burst onto your computers like, erm, slightly disappointing fireworks (in the rain? Nah, not that disapponting).

I do have a router at home – but no matter how many times I call BT they won’t accept that I am not Mark Proust, that he does not live in my flat (I’d have noticed were either of those things true) and that the phone number associated to the account is not the phone numer associated to my account, or my flat…that they have, in fact, made a boo boo and need to stop sending letters to my house asking for money – I don’t owe them a thing! They also won’t take back their router, which is pretty shabby really.

Anyhoo – I’m alive, I’m well, I’m as frustrated as everyone else at the lack of updates, but patience for a little longer and all shall be revealed.

Jelly is MOVING!

It’s happening – tomorrow! I have no idea when the next update will be because I don’t know how long it’s going to take to get the interweb set up at the new place – but it’s happening!

We’re very, VERY excited – our first proper real place together, and it’s proper gorgeous too!

Jelly’s Foxy

Oh gosh, how witty, a double entendre. Fortunately, for I suspect people are all too aware of how high an opinion I’m developing of myself, this isn’t an entire post about how hot I am. I am hot though, very, but you know that – it’s too obvious to even have to say. Of course I’m hot. It’s July. (oh gosh – I did it again, *snarf*, I am full of witty today. And possibly sleep deprivation…)

Back to the point Gorrill.

As you’re aware (or not – so for those who aren’t, ignore that first part and simply read on) the Bumble and I are currently living at his Mum’s while we wait to move into our new gaff. It’s rather gorgeous living here (apart from the commute) because there’s a lovely great big garden we can lay about in being Suburbian (well before our alloted time) and taking advantage of having somewhere to hang laundry to dry (I know, the excitement is overwhelming you so far…grit your teeth, hunker down and work through this with me).

In the giant garden there was born a very cute (and noisy and mischevious) family of foxes much earlier this year. The majority of them seem to have moved on to grander (at least more distant) climes but one of the babies (who isn’t so much of a baby any more) has stuck around.
Growing up in the sticks I always rather thought that I knew about foxes and their behaviour and interraction with humans (i.e. run like the wind, the Redcoats are coming) but I wasn’t at all prepared for urban foxes. A few weeks ago I was in the kitchen cooking dinner, door wide open (best option when I’m cooking, really – provides both replacement air for the, um, smoke I create – and an easy escape route when things go awry. Not if. When.) and Fantastic Mr Fox strolled casually to the doorway (the cats fleeing inside at his approach) took some of the cat’s dinner that was sitting there and then turned to look at me, frozen in the kitchen at a fox being at the door, sat down and slowly licked his lips, looking at me with utter disdain and contempt before turning his back haughtily and swaggering off.

The family have taken to putting food out in the garden for him and he obviously fancied some lunch just as I was outside hanging out laundry; he’s rather handsome, if a little flea bitten, and not at all shy. He came close enough to have a sniff in the laundry basket I was standing next to to see if there was anything edible in there. (insert poor taste ’shreddies joke here’) We fed him some bacon (he rejected our bread) and off he popped, having flirted a little with Bunty – aka Jelly’s Best Cat – before he departed.

Me and Fantastic Mr Fox

Fantastic Mr Fox departing through the hedge right next to me, having spent a few minutes sniffing our pants.

Jelly is threatened “wiv beats, innit”

There’s a lot in the news at the minute about London gangs and teenagers with knives and so forth; tonight, heading home, I took huge risks with my life – not only did I look at teenagers, earning myself the threat of “beats” I laughed, quite hysterically, at the duo offering out street style “lessons in respec”. Bless em.

In case you fear for your own life, the little sweethearts are pictured below; they kept playing their music, doing a funky little box dance with their acrylic nails flailing (perhaps they have those in leiu of knives? They certainly looked lethal…) worrying close to, as Nanny would have said, “having someone’s eye out”. Their inane and overly loud chatter about their “sick tunes, innit” and “I’z gonna av to get some fake tan, innit, I’z lookin well pasty” filled the carraige (thus emptying it of most other passengers at the next stop – though I’m sure they were happy crammed into the next carraige) and I – much to their disgust – continued laughing at them which wound them up enough to start passing comment on me; “look at her pale skin”. Cue me laughing even harder and her glaring at me shouting “what’s funny you stuck up b***h”
“look at her pale skin? Seriously?”
“yeah” (sniff, toss hair, look gobby and “hard”) “you’re, like, well pale”
“yeah…?” (look at her like she’s a tard…because she clearly is…)
“you’ve got no colour. You’re like a ghost”

Side splitting hilarity ensues. Her friend keeps telling her not to talk to me “She’s lookin down at us just cos we’re teenagers, innit, she finks she’s better than I, innit”
“izzit” (bizarre sucking air through teeth thing, hand waving in manner of “Ricky Lake” guest)

Apparently though I have no right to look down on them because they live in big houses in Hadley Wood.

Bless em!

They did go on, but I couldn’t hear over the sound of my own collapse into mirth. Waved when they got off the train, earning myself a bitten thumb and a point.
Oh how I laughed.

This was threateny girl

I couldn’t get a good enough shot of the pink nylon clip in addition to her straw…sorry, hair…

and this is the friend who of course I would never look down on or scorn. After all, big house in Hadley Wood…walking talking class.

Jelly looked under something!

Let me hear a cheer of unsurpassable joy – I looked under something – I looked under something else – I stubbed my toe, swore, kicked something, dislodged it from it’s precarious perch atop some more somethings – and there it was…..the elusive cable. Horay!

And there was uploading, and there was computer crashing, and there was some stomping and huffing and sulking – and then there was blogging. Horay for blogging. And tea.

I’m not going to do this in any particular order – I’m just going to post, comment, laugh, eat biscuits (you can’t have any – they’re hard to share over t’interweb) and post what I suspect is going to be a picture-tastic uberblog. You might want to pop to the loo before you carry on. Not because I think I’m going to be particularly funny (though I am a comedy genius, topped only by my brother – who is of course better at everything than I am. Apart from shopping. Actually, no – I think he has me beat there too! Wonder if he ever did go back and get those shoes in grey as well as brown…apparently they were the most comfortable shoes ever and, in his own words, “Like walking on a cuddle”!) but because you may be here some time and I wouldn’t want to cause any long term damage to your kiddleys (kudos to “Finance Guy” at work for that)

I was walking (crawling, in exhausted long commute type manner) tubewards after work a few days ago when I saw this fella jogging along; bizarrely shaped muscley men are always odd to look at – it being unnatural and a bit gross – but it’s even more wierd when they’re running and pulling a little old lady-type shopping trolley along with them!

then once I staggered onto the tube I saw that I was far from being the only one shattered and making the journey

There’s always at least one person fast asleep on one train or another.
Bumble and I were on our way home from somewhere or other – my fatigued brain forgets where – and there was a rather portly gentleman, all suited and booted, snoring his head off loudly and sound asleep – we were a bit worried he might miss his stop and did try to wake him but he was having none of it! Hope he made it home eventually…

One of the things I detest most about public transport is morons. They come in many forms and everyone who’s ever had to share their mode of transport with a single other person will have come across countless morons; the worst are the ones who stop right at the top of the escalator (DON’T TUT AT ME – HOW COULD I AVOID WALKING INTO YOU – THE GROUND I’M STANDING ON IS MOVING AND YOU AREN’T! MORON!) the ones who don’t know how to work the barriers at the station or who forget to get their ticket out their purse until they’re standing RIGHT in them, thus blocking it for everyone behind them and causing a big queue of people, all of whom are determined to stand on my feet – and once you’re on the train, the idiots who use their horrible tinny sounding mobile phones to play their chav music out loud for everyone to “enjoy” causing potentially good tunes to sound like Alvin and the Chipmonks on speed.

Such as this fellow.

I think the woman sitting opposite me would quite gladly have used his mobile to carve off all of his limbs by the time she reached her stop. She was certainly doing her jaw some damage grinding her teeth so much.

You see all kinds of ‘alternative’ people in London (specially in the fun bits like Camden and Brick Lane and actually anywhere there are markets) and I wish I could get photos of all of them. I wish I’d got a photo of the purple girl – hair, clothes, make up, shoes, giant fake eyelashes, every single piercing – and there were a lot – and braces on her teeth, all purple, it made your eyes hurt to look at her! I did get a photo of this girl’s hair and liked it because of it’s stripeyness.

Energy flagging…chocolate break…all is well.

I love catching people who are into fashion and who really go for it when they follow what they’re told to – I have no idea where to find half the things I see people wearing – and I liked this girl (who also smelt lovely) because she was so colourful, which in rush hour heading into work in the city makes a nice change from the sea of monochrome (including, for the most part, people’s skin due to utter exhaustion and tube-smut)

Fighting for your own space on the tube is never easy either – I wouldn’t mind so much if it weren’t so hard to find something to hold on to – they’re rather bouncy on starting and stopping and it makes you fall over, which is embarassing AND means that everyone around you HATES you because you’ve sat on them or touched them or got too close to touching them – so you have to elbow your way to the few places you can cling to then stand there with some moron (I believe I’ve mentioned the morons?) hitting you in the face with the paper he insists on reading even though there’s no space to hold it up without taking out some eyes…

This here

Is a station I wouldn’t normally have seen – nor would The Bumble, had I not rushed us onto the wrong train in a panic thinking we were running late. In the end we were quite late – because we went comletely the wrong way but were so hooked on our sudoku that we didn’t realise until quite some time (and distance) had passed. Go Jelly! (I am refusing to accept that I’m one of those morons…though I’m getting closer to being one!)

I love shoes – I love high heels – and I do tend to spend a lot of my time eyeing up and lusting over all the nice shiny shoes the London girls are wearing – and I was very impressed with these ones; not only with the fact they were rather lovely but, more importantly, that their wearer – a rather lovely looking young lady in something of a hurry – was practically sprinting in them. That takes some dedication.

Then we come to today.
Today I had to share my public transport (and my very limited and fiercely protected personal space) with smelly people.
How hard is it? Take a shower. Sponge bath? Squaddie shower would do! Just please, please, please don’t be stinky in my personal space – it makes me want to ralph all over your feet!

I’m pretty sure there’s a whole lot more to add – but I can’t think any more and I’m out of chocolate so I’m going to have to go on the search for some real nutrition.

Love, and all that jazz

Jelly

Jelly is frustrated

No pictures today, I still can’t find the bloomin cable! I did find it, then I lost it again. Go me! Potentially lots of blog though.

I posted about our flat offer and the joy of that – the joy of that was short lived because the owner isn’t sure whether she wants to let, to sell, to refurbish (more?) and yada yada, fluff, fluff – concluding in the agent basically sending us a list of other properties (unsurprisingly out of our price range and not particularly wow – if we were to find something completely wow we’d probably talk each other into spending more – silly, but true!)

So the search continues – meaning that we’re going to be meeting with two other agents on saturday and viewing a pile more flats – still in the same area and full of joy. Bumble is being very zen about it and insisting that it just wasn’t meant to be and that it means we’re destined to find something more perfect – which is funny because it’s usually me who’s zen about things and instead I’m gutted and it’s almost put me off looking at others because I’ll be comparing everything to the first one! (But then if we find something else and it’s even better than the first one I’ll accept his I told you so gratefully)

In the excitement of the flat I do believe I forgot to share the joy of the young estate agent (not the one who showed us around – he was just good at his job and nice and not a moron) there was a young guy working in the office who had It. I don’t know what It is – it’s that something that you can’t place – but this guy had it in spades. He wasn’t good looking but you couldn’t not look at him – mainly because he was dressed like a total div – but he pulled it off without looking like an actual div – which is quite an achievement. He had on a stripey shirt with an enormous cartoon white collar that stuck out a mile, he was well over 6′ tall but about 8 stone wet through, and his not quite long enough trousers showed off his bright red city-boy socks perfectly – and his shiny shiny deck shoes. I didn’t think deck shoes were meant to be shiney – but shine they did, non the less. He didn’t walk around the office, he bounced – kind of like Tigger in a suit; we liked him.

Before I forget – today’s best tube-ness.
First of all – I wish I’d been able to get a photo (damn you phone battery!)- I saw the BIGGEST afro I’ve EVER seen – seriously, it was incredible – it looked like someone walking around with their head buried in a storm cloud! (Complete with lightning – because she had it streaked. I say she – I’m not completely sure because I didn’t look at anything but The Hair. Nor did anyone else on the platform…)

I was distracted from The Hair eventually by the tannoy announcer telling us we all had to leave the station immediately as there was a reported emergency – he said it loudly, over and over again (mostly people just milled about looking irritated – there was no rushing for the exits which you’d expect in an emergency – it’s funny how quickly you become jaded during any commute through London – emergency? I don’t care – as long as the bomb misses me and doesn’t make me late home! Suicide you say? Tragic waste of life? Nope – damned nuisence delaying my bloomin train!) then a train pulled in and rather than make for the exits, as requested, the entire platform got on it and headed to Finsbury park to wait there for changes to the places we really wanted to go. Evacuate! Ha! No chance buddy – I want my tea! I’d have to be on fire myself before it worried me!

(I’m a Londoner! Sorry Dad!)

When I got onto the right train, from Finsbury park (which was nicer to wait at anyway because it’s outside and has actual sunshine) there was a girl sitting opposite me, on the other side. She was quite etherial looking – like a tiny, dainty fairy – long dark hair, huge blue eyes (yep, bigger than mine) teeny tiny little bones and very doll like – and she was STUFFING a Macdonalds down her throat like she’d been starved for months! It was fantastic. I love watching people completely abandon themselves in enjoying what they’re doing (although this one did make me want a big fat dirty burger!) and she was utterly oblivious to her surroundings, just enjoying her greasy food with no inhibitions.

There’s been a bunch more going on but right now Bumble is about to arrive home and I need to get back out of my jim jams so we can go and buy our tea!

Love, and all that jazz,

Jelly x

Jelly can’t upload

I intended another post last night but – as anyone who knows me will understand – I have a habit of misplacing things (in this instance the USB cable for the cameraphone I use to get my sneaky pics) and it’s bound to be in that mysterious place that – again, anyone who knows me will know – I like to call “under something”. When the important item you’re searching for is “under something” it may as well be in Mongolia – there isn’t a chance I’m going to find it.

This is why I have my tried and tested method of, um, organisation – I don’t put things away, or even down neatly – I shed them as I pass through a room, ensuring that each and every surface is covered in a thin layer of detrius. This isn’t, as people have made the mistake of thinking in the past, because I’m messy – far from it – it’s simply to avoid the frustration of the very-important-I-need-it-right-now item I’m searching for mistakenly ending up “under something”. If that happens I’ll never, ever find it.

It’s a very deliberate and carefully thought out system. It’s taken me nearly 25 years to perfect.

Unfortunately the Bumble appears to have perfected a similar technique (though I suspect he’s just defeated by my overpowering ‘organisational’ skills and in fact can’t fight his way through my, um, ‘things’ to the wardrobe and the chest of drawers in order to put things away properly like he’d want to. And in the unlikely event of my clearing a space on the floor big enough for him to stand in – in which case he could get into both wardrobe and drawers – he’d find them all stuffed with my things – those which had previously held residence on the floor…

He’s very patient. I think that’s because he hasn’t yet sprained his ankle tripping over some item or other of mine that I’ve carefully filed on the floor in case I need it “inaminute” but that’s only a matter of time.

Hopefully, before that, we’ll be all moved into our new home. We made an offer on a flat this week and the agent is bartering with the owner to make sure the work that needs done is going to be done. She’s in Australia, so the place is empty – and we’re ready to move the minute we get the word – so as long as everything is agreeable in all directions we should (fingers crossed so hard it hurts) be able to move in early August.

The flat is on the Isle of Dogs (that’s that wibbly bit on the Eastenders titles, for those of you not in London) here’s a pic

At the top there you can see Canary Wharf (can I have an “ooooooh”) and the big green park at the bottom is where we’ll be – see the rectangle of man made canal type part in the middle of the island? That’s where we are – the floor to ceiling windows look out on that and over to Canary Wharf and it’s all lit up at night so it looks incredible

and just a short walk away is the Greenwich tunnel which takes you under the river to, funnily enough, Greenwich (where there’s a rather excellent market full of exciting food – so everyone who visits us is going to get dragged there!)

The agent was brilliant and he was meant to spend about 40 minutes with us and show us two flats and in the end he was with us for about three and a half hours and showed us loads more flats, a house (which was manky) and drove us all over the island showing us the sights and how to get to asda (important for the shoes…and food I suppose) and where all the parks are (all minutes away) and the private gardens and walkways that come with the flat – the whole place is amazing and it felt like home – and then we walked into the flat and it truly was home.

I’ve lived a lot of places and I’m kind of known for people not really knowing where I live – or if they have an up to date address for me. That’s mainly because I’ve never really felt like I’m at home anywhere – I’ve always felt like a guest in someone else’s home – there’s never been anywhere that feels like a haven to me or that feels like a safe little bubble when I shut the door behind me.
Since I met the Bumble I’ve got closer to that than I ever have before and I felt that in this flat with him – even though it looked a leeetle bit like a building site – I sat on the windowsill, he sat on the sofa and we looked at each other and that was it – home.
So not only am I close to having my first ever (our first ever) “home” I’m also really rather pleased with the way everything else is going right now.

We’re both in new jobs that are going very well – with mine I’m studying for another degree, this time in purchasing – then I’ll be Jelly ba(hons)mcips. None of which I’ll actually WRITE after my name, obviously – people will think I’m a div. With his the Bumble is being fast tracked into management for the company and I’m very proud of both of us!
I’ve settled into life in the big smoke better than I expected – it’s pretty daunting moving from the place I lived as a child (on a farm, then in a tiny hamlet, both in the Lake District) to metropalis – but it’s only scary when you’re thinking about it – if you just get on with it it’s pretty straight forward – and with a family like mine I can’t really be worried by all the mental people here (love you!)

Having Bumble obviously made the transition far easier – I don’t think there’s been anyone so devoted to making my life easier and making me happy – which he does. He makes me feel like a princess and I do the same for him (only prince – not princess – though he looks nice in make up I think that even for him a tiara and sparkly frock might be going a little bit far) and that’s what makes it feel like home. I moved a lot because I was searching for something. I stopped when I got here, because I found it.

Before everyone starts needing sick bags I’ll sign off. Technically I’m meant to be working so I guess I ought to do so…or at least look like I am, whilst nursing my first coffee of the day…before I go, hello Mama and Grampa, who announced yesterday that this blog should be in a national paper (I’m inclined to agree, it is rather fab – all it needs is glitter) big hugs and love to them xxxx and some flowers for Mama to make her smile

Love, and all that jazz

Jelly

Jelly does monster update

It’s been another busy week for Jelly, what with there being so much of London and all.

I’ve settled nicely into work – and into the long train journey each way. It’s worth the risk of someone drooling on your shoulder as they snooze their way to Finsbury park to see this view when you get off the tube and walk around the corner to work

I dodge my way past the various free papers being thrust into my face as I walk to the office (I’m coming AWAY from the tube station – I don’t need your paper, or your pre-breakfast enthusiasm! Begone!) and trip my way merrily past my collection of morning check points leading me ever closer to my morning meusili and organic fruit selection (horay for work getting fruit delivered – tip top for my five a day and none of the hassle of fighting my way through the yummy Mummy collective that always seem to descend on the supermarket when I’m yearning for blueberries)

Every morning I walk past the arches under the railway line and I think I’ll have to take a photo of that one day…through the very industrial looking arch, surrounded on all sides by workmen, mechanics, builders merchants et al there appears a little haven; you peek through and lo, an inner city idyl; a gathering of quaint, olde worlde, cottages covered in ivy (goat scroat, Bumble!) and always glowing in the sunshine and smiling at the world. I took the picture…initially it was disappointing

but then I decided that it’s merely the good lord above shining his extra shiney love down on the happy happy little cottagers who have to put up with idiot commuters peering at them every day.

Along the same street is a block of flats that are the complete opposite to the quaint cottages – thoroughly modern and packed full of city boys who have homes in the country to head back to at weekends (admittedly, located here, the home in the country is likely to be Mummy’s – but still)
I tried for weeks to work out how – and why – someone got a scooter to the top floor to store on their balcony. Right until Bumble came to meet me from work and take me to dinner – I pointed it out to him, incredulous and wondering if he could shed some light on the mystery…he could. It’s not a scooter, it’s golf clubs. Of course it is. Gosh.

You can make it out in the photo about as well as I could walking by every day and you can, perhaps, see how I managed to make the error. Or perhaps not – perhaps I simply need another trip to specsavers…

I know that, other than my Dad, most people aren’t reading this blog for the scenery shots – you’re here for the people (bad, bad people that you are) so here’s a few to keep you going.

I was shattered, and too hot, as I was making my way home earlier this week, but feeling – for once – pretty good about how I looked; I’m addicted to pashminas (if you can still refer to them as such when you buy three for £5 in soho) and have one worked into my outfit every day

I’d thrown together an outfit entirely created from Primarni’s finest and the obligotory pashmina and was feeling almost as though I looked fashionable – I felt pretty good and had even braved the giant, ridiculous green glass ring (you’d be able to see it better in the pic if it didn’t weigh so much – I can’t lift my hand above waist height wearing it but you have to suffer for fashion…) so I made my weary, fabulous way to the tube and – miracle of miracles – a seat! Then, of course, on walked a vision of beauty, carved from a block of perfection and sprayed with gorgeous to complete her.

now don’t judge the girl’s posture on this photo – it was, of course, perfect – but she’d just placed down the enormous “I’m a backpacker and therefore need no glam” rucksack in front of her. Now, it really shouldn’t work; blue men’s t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the tiniest of tiny primary school gym shorts (they were furry in the way that only primary school gym shorts can be) and biker boots (they were there – but plaid shirt man turned to gawp as I was taking the picture and didn’t move until she got off the train so you can’t see them) but she looks incredible. She was aware that she did too, which would normally make me dislike her automatically, but she was grinning at everyone around her with that carved-by-angels face and it was impossible not to smile back.
Normally I’d stay on the train until Finsbury Park but seeing her made me crave sausage roll, so I got off at King’s Cross to purchase one and get a train home from there. Jesus was keen to avoid me breaking my healthy eating plan though; as I got off the train and into the station King’s Cross closed and threw us all out into the street – sans sausage roll – because of a fire. I managed to blag my way back down to the underground – which wasn’t alight, apparently, and continued on my way.

It was worth the effort of getting a tube (fighting my way through the hundreds of other people who’s trains were cancelled because of the fire) just to see this guy getting on the same carraige

Not only was he wearing spray on stripey jeans, mary janes and an electric blue hand bag what you can’t see is the my little pony t-shirt, bright pink and purple glasses and a towering black quiff that would have Wino weeping with defeat – topped off with giant silver DJ headphones. Score. Full. Of. Win.

I clearly wasn’t the only person weary on this journey; I spotted this guy at Finsbury Park who was falling asleep where he stood, but having to lean quite considerably to one side to avoid falling over with the weight of this bag – god alone knows what he had stuffed in there but it obviously weighed quite a lot. I was a bit concerned about his standing so close to the yellow line – and therefore the line itself – because he looked like he was likely to tumble with the extra weight at any time. And yes, he did fall asleep on the train. I hope he didn’t miss his stop!

Opposite me when I was seated were these two

They’d made a day of their shopping and were carrying an absolute mountain of bags between them. I briefly contemplated asking if they’d had a good day and what they’d been buying then remembered that this is London and I’d look like a mentalist so I went back to my book

and managed to mind my own business until another train passed ours in a tunnel, causing all the windows in the carraige to slam – and the three of us to scream like proper girls. Then there was much embarrassed laughing at each other and ourselves. In my defense it was loud!

There’s more to be told about Bumble meeting me from work, our dinner at an inappropriately named restaurant and the excitement of flat hunting – but you’ll have to wait until next time. Right now I have some lazing to do.

Love, and all that jazz

Jelly

Haitus

There has been very little observation of London this last week – the Bumble got some ill and decided to make the most of it and has managed to convince some Doctor types that it’s real and may require real live actual surgery. I keep telling him tonsillitis is a teenage girl’s illness, but he’s sticking to his guns (and, actually, to everything, what with the fever in June and all…) and we await news of the op being booked – only allowed once the massive dose of penicillin kicks in and he can do real swallowing again.

I lament the absense of a camera good enough to have photographed *quite* how disgusting his throat became mid week but also, at the time, was thinking more about how to regulate his temperature and get fluids into him than about photographic opportunities.

Since the Bumble has been ill I’ve been mostly leaving at the last available minute and heading home at the first opportunity to get back and threaten him with hospital if he doesn’t drink/take his tablets/try to eat so there hasn’t been much chance for taking tube pics or spotting crazy people. It’s also harder to spot crazy people when you’re asleep on a train. I’ve been doing that rather a lot – which is nice, because neither of us have managed it at home.

In my first week of work I was sent from our head office, where I have my nice, safe, obsessively tidy desk away from the humdrum of the outside world, and visited the depots, meeting the depot managers and the warehouse managers I’ll be working with (read *bossing about over the phone* ) and I was told at one that I was not – under any circumstances – to leave the tube station until my lift had arrived and been confirmed – for anything. I was not to walk around that area on my own.
Initially I thought this was a bit strange and over the top but I watched a group of young men walk past on the far side of the road and all of them stared through the big, wide window at me as they did so. Breaking into two smaller groups they split up and the smaller of the smaller groups approached the station. I very carefully began looking for something in my bag, avoiding eye contact, and surrepticiously watching out the corner of my eye whilst edging nearer to the barriers…the smallest (and leader) grabbed a handful of copies of the metro from the stand by the door and approached me to offer me one (which is what people do with them in the bigger tube stations in the city, for those as yet uninitiated to London rush hour…this was not rush hour, nor was it a bigger tube station in the city) and asked me why I was waiting there. I must have made some kind of monosyllabic answer because he seemed to want to chat; he went on to ask me whether I needed a mini cab “I am good driver – will go anywhere”….hmm….perhaps not. I politely declined his offer – and that of the other three members of his gang who came and asked in quick succession.

Finally my lift arrived (it was definitely my lift – I don’t think any of the ‘minicab’ drivers would have had a BMW…or been called Basil.) and with great relief I climbed over the discarded pile of metros outside the entrance and went my merry way.
You’ll be relieved to know that the warehouse manager (so enchanted was he with my promise of putting his order requests through the very same day) insisted I didn’t return to the tube-station-of-doom (and potential kidnap) but ordered a driver to deliver me right to the office door (but not until he’d spent some considerable time washing and polishing the cab of the truck, so I wasn’t sullied by contact with it!)

That was a relief – but for those of you who aren’t lucky enough to be chauffered around the city in your very own wagon I’ve seen these lovely little arrangements here and there – for a handful of small change you can hire your very own bike and travel about from place to place, simply depositing said bike on another post upon your arrival…

I’m *fairly* sure that this would be a good idea, were it not so simple for the bikes to be stolen…I’ve yet to find a pod with a bike attached. Perhaps I’m cynical – perhaps I have simply not seen one because there are a number of people merrily cycling around London on bright yellow bikes they deposit once their journey is complete…perhaps…or perhaps they’ve been stolen, taken apart, resprayed and pawned.

Around the corner from my safe little office there’s a rail bridge with a number of non-descript little doors running along it’s walls. Normally these aren’t anything worth commenting on or even noticing but every day when I’m walking back to the tube to head home I see this one

and have created an entire family who live inside having splendid adventures. Making these stories up occupies me for the majority of the commute and at some point I may share some of them. For now you can be satisfied with knowing that their lives are as colourful as their front door.

(I know they’re just service doors for workmen – but I’m enchanted by whichever workmen are associated with this bridge taking the time to make something so utilitarian look so colourful and make me smile every time I walk by)

I don’t know if these occur outside of London but I’d not seen them before – the double red

Now the single yellow – that’s a friendly warning. That’s a request. We’d prefer you not to park here, unless you’ve a good reason…it’s kind of inconvenient. The double yellow – that’s a bit firmer. You really can’t park here – you’ll be in people’s way and a damn nuisence. I always thought that was enough. Being a damn nuisence by parking there could get you towed – or walloped with a fine – either way it’s expensive. London folk are clearly a bit more blase about these things – so they brought in the double red. The double red is like the mafia of parking restrictions. Do not park here, on pain of kneecapping.

(A little tip I got from the chauffer/truck driver – bus lanes – I know you’re not allowed to drive in them but there are a number of them which have signs alongside with times indicated – meaning that you can only not drive in them at those alloted times – pretty much commuter times – in the evening and through the middle of the day they’re fair game and you can pop along them like a happy little bunny to get to your destination quicker, avoiding all those people who don’t know that you can do so and who are sitting in a traffic jam, tutting at you…I’m not sure if that’s just a London thing either, but it’s worth spreading even so)

My final photo for the day is another that’s espescially for my favourite fairy. I see it every day, it makes me think of you – you shall have to visit it when you visit me (hint hint)

Unfortunately the photo doesn’t show it in it’s full glory…it is also made of GLITTER.

Love, and all that jazz

Jelly

Today I *am* the crazy person on the tube

Ok. So you’re getting on the tube, you spot a seat, you avoid eye contact with everyone around you, home in, spin, drop, you’re in – you’ve got a seat, you continue to avoid eye contact and try your hardest to look deserving and secretly feel like you’ve cheated someone out of comfort, so you hide behind your book.

It’s the same routine every time I get the tube – without fail.

Cue today, rush hour, heading home. I grab my london paper from the friendly yellow bibbed man who thrusts it into my face every evening, I battle my way through the crowds of people walking S L O W L Y right in the middle of every available space, making it difficult to pass without some kind of semi professional rugby tackle, skillfully skirt the smiley homeless guy I can’t currently afford to give any money to (I *promise* to give him paper money when I get paid, just because he smiles at everyone every day and that’s worth paying for in London during rush hour) and cram into a tube; I reach old street and loiter stratiegically to wait for my train, which is less than two minutes away (cutting it fine Jelly…) and step through the doors first (I’m really getting the hang of this) I spot a seat, and it’s even facing the right way – bonus – and home in, I avoid the eyecontact, I get there, I spin, I sit…right on the knee of the very lovely girl who got there nanoseconds before. Darn…she took it very well, considering I must be twice her size, and the beaming smile she gave me was half comiseration (it was also half self congratulatory and smug, but I’d have been the same had the roles been reversed. Actually, she was so dainty that had the roles been reversed I might have let her sit out the journey on my lap.)

I saw my Mum of the Month on the tube, she’d collected her two kids from school and they were all heading home but the kids were tired so she took their rucksacks from them and wore them herself, one front and one back, so that they weren’t struggling;

You can just see the orange of the other bag strap on her shoulders. I liked her. They were all really happy and chattering away about their days.

I sat next to a man with the most freckles I’ve ever seen – even on his knees!

I’ve always wanted freckles – I think they’re so gorgeous, and if I see a girl with freckles trying to cover them with make up I just want to scrub it all off – show them off! You’re lucky to have them! (I would also like red curly hair in my next incarnation, if you could just sort that for me, thanks Jesus)

Again I have more – but I’m way too hungry to go on

Love, and all that jazz

Jelly