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