bored of excitement – the griefjunkie blog
Archive for February, 2012
Wednesday, February 29th, 2012
I was cornered on a train from London to the eastern provinces by a lady novelist for three hours last week. If you’ve never happened across a lady novelist, it’s what pretty much all middle class girls want to be before a) deciding to be a journalist instead, then b) deciding to be an English teacher instead before finally c) keeping a blog about the novel they are writing instead, instead of actually writing it. The only good thing about a blog of that kind is that it at least it avoids the Big Three blog subjects: Having A Baby, Having A Cat, or Having An Illness. Come to think of it, this blog also avoids those things, although as it is largely concerned with me wandering through London market trading life in a state of appalled resignation, it avoids almost everything else, too.
Wednesday, February 8th, 2012
Recently, a colourful advertising banner in the Times claimed that Ten Pilates was the workout that ‘everyone’s talking about’. While I doubt that this claim was ever meant to be taken as statistically accurate, I allowed myself a small smile as I read it. I did this because what everyone around me at that moment was talking about was as follows: a) Danny, outlining the sexual attributes of Keith’s wife Barbara to Chris the Knowledge in order to annoy Keith, and b) Keith, involved in an extraordinarily foul mouthed discussion about the sale of Cuban cigars to the bloke who runs the juice bar outside the antiques shop with the Millwall fan in it. All four participants in these exchanges were talking very loudly, principally as a result of Danny trying to drown out Keith, and Keith trying to drown out Danny. Chris the Knowledge, incidentally, is so called as he is training to be a cabbie which – if you are unfamiliar with the procedure – involves acquiring ‘the Knowledge’. The Knowledge is knowing where every street in London is and knowing how to get there from every other street in London, and is an impressive thing to have floating round your cerebral hippocampus.
Wednesday, February 1st, 2012
There have always been widespread reports of ghostly passengers on the tube, especially for some reason on the Bakerloo Line between Paddington and Oxford Circus. I think I know how they have come about. This accidental ghostbusting occurred last Thursday while removing a pair of gloves at Holland Park. Around Christmas, I suddenly took to glove removal by gently tugging at each gloved finger in turn, before removing the glove proper, for no other reason than I felt it might lend me an air of sinister gravitas, in the manner of a Bond villain. Catching myself doing this in the reflection of the window opposite revealed that actually it makes you look like a preposterous homosexual weirdo and I immediately resolved to never do it again, but not before I had noticed the reflection of the girl sitting next to me. She had a canvas shoulder bag with ‘OMG’ written on it in giant letters, which I thought was quite a larf, and more crucially was wearing the commuter classic office clothes with trainers combination, which I have always found strangely endearing.