Living in the Past

I was at a huuuuge Departmental conference on Thursday, where I took the opportunity to chat to as many of my colleagues as possible. I work in a fairly small team, and it is easy to end up only interacting with the people who you deal with professionally, or who happen to sit near you. 

Mind you, the alternative would be to wander the building tapping strangers on the shoulder and demanding that you both spend some time getting to know each other.  I can't imagine too many office environments condoning that kind of behaviour.   And I am fairly certain I wouldn't want to work in one that did.  Ew.  Touchy feely.  Ewwwww.

Anyway.  I was chatting with a group of people as we all sat around a table doing some brainstorming, or transactional analysis, or neuro linguistic programming, or possibly blue sky thinking.  I wasn't paying attention at the start of the exercise, a habit which has got me into trouble at work on many occasions in my long and chequered career.  I just nodded wisely, and said we should run stuff up the flagpole to see who saluted it, and that seemed to get me off the hook when they asked me a question. 

We finished whatever it was we were doing, went to get a cup of tea, and then chatted for a few minutes.  We did that "Where do you live?  Gosh, that's a long/tiresome/awkward journey" thing, which I like, because I ALWAYS win.  My commute is easily the stupidest.  Yay me.  People look at me as if I'm mad, and say "Three hours?  In total?"  and I say "No, three hours each way."  And then I sigh a little and look noble, and as if it is something that only the truly dedicated would ever undertake.  But inside I am going "I WIN!  Hurrah!  It's a stupid, pointless contest that nobody else even knows they have entered, but that doesn't matter, because I WIN!"

I don't get out much. 

The conversation then turned to that old chestnut "So what's it like, living in the country?"  I am always tempted to tell them we have to do our washing on rocks in the river, cut down trees with bone implements for fire, and trap all our own food, wearing the resultant skins for warmth in our fusty, dank, smoky turf-roofed hovels. 

I usually manage to resist that.  Usually.

I did impress them with the news that we are neither on mains gas or mains drainage, and that we have satellite dishes because of the crap TV reception round here.  And that we have next to no public transport.  "What if you need to go out?" they asked.  "Do you get a taxi, or use the bus?"  I explained that to get a taxi entails summoning one from town, so it's only really worth doing if there's a gang of us and we book a minibus.  I think we have three buses a day, but I'm not sure.  The only one I ever see is the school one in the mornings sometimes. 

"You do have electricity, though?" asked one of the ladies, looking horrified at the thought of a home with no access to cable television or a decent mobile phone signal.

"Yes, except when there's a power cut.  We get them quite often in the winter," I said, only exaggerating a bit.  "But we have lots of candles and an open fire so we can keep warm."

She looked at the tablecloth in silence, then back at me, trying to equate the normally-groomed, non-pelt-wearing person in front of her with the shocking image of deprivation she now had in her head.  After a bit she shook her head in wonderment.  "I just can't imagine why anyone would want to live like that," she said. 

Rules.

Ah, another glorious week in the buzzing metropolis is well underway. And I am working at home tomorrow, so yay me. I amused myself on the train ride home tonight by:

a) Finishing my book. "The Suspicions of Mr Whicher: or the Murder at Road Hill House" by Kate Summerscale...most excellent.

b) Listening to AC/DC's new album Black Ice on my iPod. Am still really enjoying it.

c) Composing a list of public transport misdemeanours that should, at the very least, earn you a sharp whack on the nose with a rolled up copy of the Metro.

My list is still evolving, but so far it runs thus:

1) Having your iPod up so loud that I can hear it over the top of mine when you are sitting on the other side of the carriage to me. It is going to make you deaf, you selfish fuckwit, but more to the point, it is really, really annoying. And your choice in music sounds shite.

2) Reading and walking at the same time. I mean, come on. Are we all supposed to think you are a truly intellectual, really deep thinker, unable to bear interacting with the mass of humanity for even the time it takes to negotiate a set of stairs and a ticket gate? Not with that lowbrow action thriller clutched in your sweaty paw, you oaf. Put it away and look where you're going before you get accidentally pushed down an escalator.

3) Sneezing. Yes, I know everyone does it. But try and do it before you get onto the Tube. And for the sake of us all, use a tissue. Do NOT do what one especially disgusting oaf did last week, and sneeze all over your hands, then wipe the mess (and there was a lot of mess) onto the grab rail. Ugh. And ugh again.

4) Getting to the top of a crowded escalator and then just standing there, trying to decide if you want the Eastbound or the Westbound District Line. Yes you, tiny Japanese couple with huge cases. I am talking to you.

5) Grunting. It needs no further explanation. But if you are dozing on a train, and the woman next to you suddenly jabs you in the ribs and hisses "Stop that", that's why.

6) Looking like a nutter on a crowded platform when everyone is having to do that horrible impression of the pennies arcade game where you wait for them to push each other off the ledges and into the winning tray.

7) Eating delicious-smelling food. Especially, and I cannot stress this enough, when it is half past seven at night, I haven't eaten since noon, and I am still an hour away from my supper. You fat greedy pie-eating bastard.

I daresay I will add more. And hey, feel free to join in.

Fidgets

I am snuffling annoyingly, but as I am at home today it doesn't seem so bad somehow. And it's not raining, which is nice.

You do see some types on the train, though, don't you? There was a woman sat next to me on Monday night who should win some sort of award for "Most Tiresome Traveller".

She was middle aged, determinedly blonde in a "Hey, I still have great looks, everyone" kind of way, and dressed like I used to when I was about 15. She had strategically placed her bags and coats all over two seats, trying to stop anyone from sitting next to her, and had her head down, ignoring all the passengers as they got onto the train.

Ahah. I don't fall for that ploy any more. Taking a leaf out of a chap's book who I had watched with admiration that very morning, I said "Shall I put those up on the rack for you?" as I started taking off my coat, and making it obvious I was going to sit there. She looked at me in frank dismay and started gathering up all her stuff, obviously not pleased that I was going to be joining her.

But, if she wants two seats, she can pay for two seats, is what I say. Well, thought. But she could read it in my body language I think.

Anyhoo. She cleared all her stuff away and I sat down, intending to read my book. FidgetWoman was writing letters, or postcards or something, and gradually twisted herself round in the seat till she was sticking her fat arse into me, in a manner I would have thought over familiar in my best friend.

I responded by fidgeting right back at her, putting in my iPod and shuffling around till she realised she was encroaching. She muttered an apology as she sat up straight again. I was tempted to pull the middle armrest down in a challenging and decisive manner, but that seemed a bit too overtly rude. She went back to her writing (she had really stupid handwriting, all big loops and twiddly bits, probably signed her name with a heart over it, not that I was looking), spreading her pens, notebooks, cards and assorted crap all over the table, much to the annoyance of the girl opposite who was trying to read some big serious looking work papers.

After what felt like about 17 hours of this, she excused herself and headed off to the toilet*, meaning I had to wake up from my half-doze and stagger to my feet so she could get past me.

When she came back, I went to stand up but she said "No, no, I'll sit here..." and slid into an empty seat across the aisle. Heh. My "I hate you and everything you stand for" body language is coming on a treat.

After a bit she decided she needed all her bags and crap, so leaned right over the table to pick them up. I offered to move again, but she said "No, it's fine, it's fine," in a flustered manner. The girl opposite and I shared A Look.

Eventually, FidgetWoman had gathered up all her stuff, and as she dragged it across the table, something wet and sticky in one of the bags sprayed all over all three of us. I looked at her in stunned amazement, clearly giving her the "How can anyone be that fucking stupid?" face I do so well.

The girl opposite silently wiped her papers with one hand, then fetched a clean tissue from her bag and wiped her face, before continuing with her reading. Every now and again we shared another Look.

I examined my bag (splattered), my suit (unmarked, or she'd have been stuffed out of the window into the middle of Wiltshire head first) and my beautiful scarf (covered in fuck knows what). Rather than emitting a loud cry of rage and strangling her with it, as I wanted to do, I merely *tch*ed, folded it up and put it in my bag.

It's great being British.

I did amuse myself by watching FidgetWoman's attempts to pretend she was relaxed and happy for the rest of the journey, though. Heh.

Other odd things I saw on the train this week:

1) A large amount of what looked like hemp rope, neatly coiled up in the middle of the track.

2) A small dead greenfinch in the corridor between two carriages. The guard walked down, spotted it, said "Aha! A freeloader!", picked it up by one claw (the bird's not his, he had normal hands as far as I could tell) and flung it into a secret guard alcove in the corridor. Perhaps to add to the stewpot for supper that night, who knows?

3) A middle aged chap in a mostly respectable work outfit, carrying a battered skateboard to use for the rest of his commute.




*Well, I assumed that's where she went. She might have been looking for a contract killer in need of a quick job.

Decorating

The morning started off slightly bizarrely.

Kevin the Decorator turned up unnanounced at 8am to measure up for a job we asked him to do ages ago. He said his dad had promised to call me to tell me to expect KtD this morning. Perhaps he'll ring later tonight.

Not a big deal in itself as I was up, not naked, didn't have wet hair and was halfway through breakfast when he rang the doorbell.

KtD was hacked off though. He left (after measuring and listening to what I want doing), muttering "Dad's always doing this to me. I'll kill him." Heh.

So, with any luck our downstairs loo with be made lovely before our mates from the States arrive, which would be great. It'll be a longer job than I'd hoped though. KtD scraped a bit of the hideous lumpy wallpaper off the ceiling in there and announced that there was no plaster underneath, just plasterboard.

Some fuckwit just stuck horrible wallpaper onto bare plasterboard. No wonder it looks so dreadful.

Not as bad as our last house which had expanded polystyrene ceiling tiles all over the place (well, on the ceilings, anyway). When we took them down we found extensive gaps and holes in the ceiling where internal walls had been demolished.

The kitchen, particularly memorably, had an old packing crate as part of the ceiling. Nice.

Taking the tiles down was tough in places too. They'd run out of the correct adhesive halfway through one room and used (we think) lino glue to attach them. We chiselled those buggers off inch by inch. Gah.

And people wonder why we pay qualified and experienced professional tradesmen to come and do stuff in the house for us.

Other news: There had been an accident on the way to work, so the road was closed, leading to massive holdups and tailbacks. Added half an hour to my commute, which I could have done without.

There was a very bored (and very young looking) policeman sitting in his car with all the lights going, blocking the road. He gave the impression that he'd already been there far too long.

Also. Watched "Bulletproof Monk" on TV last nght. Heh. I love films like that.

Off to London tomorrow. Can't wait. More train travel and tiresome pointless meetings. Marvellous.