Invisible

I am having the day off today because it's my birthday, and I want to enjoy doing stuff just for me.

In reality this means I will do all the washing, most of the ironing, clean the place and probably go and get the shopping.

Yay me.

Last night I realised with a sad shock that I am officially invisible now. I have reached the age where people don't notice me any more. It was all most disipiriting.

I was in the office till quarter to 7, because I wanted to get what I was doing finished, so I could take today off. So I got the 7:20pm train out of Waterloo, at least an hour later than usual, and thus saw a completely different commuting crowd.

I sat at a table, and was joined by a large elderly chap, a young lady with lots of bags, and a chap who, it transpired, knew two or three other people in the carriage. They all started chatting, I put my iPod in and settled down to read my book.

Now and again I would hear snippets of the conversation through my music, and the girl opposite me smiled at me in a friendly way whenever we made eye contact, but I was too tired to want to indulge in "strangers on a train" chat, so continued reading.

After what seemed a very long time indeed, the refreshment trolley arrived. I got my purse out to buy a bottle of water; there was much rummaging for wallets and so on from pretty much everyone else around me too. The chap next to me gestured expansively at the girl, and said "After you" so she asked for a glass of wine.

As she tried to hand over her money, he said "No, no, no!" and waved his own at the trolley attendant. "I insist! Let me buy you a drink! Put that away!" etcetera etcetera.

The chap opposite then asked for a beer, which the older chap made a song and dance about paying for as well. It was all rather awkward. The trolley attendant was very patient, getting the money eventually, after lots of jokes had been made about the lack of decent whisky on the train. How he must have laughed. Inside.

Once all the palaver had died down, I asked for a bottle of water, was given it, and paid for it, at which point the girl opposite me and the younger chap looked really embarrassed. The older chap continued bragging expansively at the other two, occasionally glaring at me if I moved, thus disturbing his huge flappity arms as they lolled into my half of the seat.

So. What do you think? Was I ignored because:

(a) He assumed I was a miserable grump who didn't deserve to be offered a drink along with all the other people at the table?

(b) He simply forgot to ask me, and possibly felt terrible all the rest of the way?

(c) He was making a point that those who didn't listen attentively to his endless anecdotes were therefore not in the "offered a drink" club?

(d) I am simply invisible now, being too old and raddled to be offered a drink?


Well, anyhoo, it's my birthday. I might make myself a cake in a bit.

Red red wine

The things you see on the train.

Last night, on the way home, I managed to bag a seat at one of the "four seats round a table" spots. A prime spot as long as you don't have a daddy longlegs opposite you. No, I checked carefully. The chap opposite was broad, but not tall, a good combination usually.

He smiled politely as I sat down opposite him, next to a woman who was studying a stack of work papers. The other seat next to the chap, by the window, was unoccupied. The chap opposite me arranged a newspaper, a heap of napkins, a large baguette, a plastic glass and a small bottle of red wine on the table, preparing for a picnic on the journey.

He seemed very happy, but brightened up visibly as a slim, pretty young lady made her way along the aisle towards us.

"Room for a little one here!" he boomed, patting the seat beside him.

She kept walking.

The woman next to me read all her papers, then started working on her laptop. She was a lawyer, and now I know all about the case she was working on*.

The chap opposite and I played footsie on and off, both of us trying to be polite and accommodating, but also both trying to be marginally less uncomfortable. He had long legs for such a short bloke. Or so I thought, till I looked under the table and saw that I was in fact fighting for floorspace with his briefcase. So I pushed it slowly and discreetly under his seat with my foot and relaxed again. Heh.

He worked his way through the bottle of wine, intermittently reading his paper and dozing. How nice, I thought. How very civilised. Until he rummaged around in his bag and produced another bottle. Greedy bugger! At the very least he could have had a few more plastic cups. Gah.

As the train emptied, I was able to move across the aisle, smiling at him in a "I need more space, I'm not going because you didn't offer me any wine" way. He smiled back in a "I'm really quite pissed now, I have had a lot of wine and baguette, lucky me, eh?" kind of way.

At Basingstoke, two very sweet, dolled-up young ladies came and sat opposite me. They were on their way to a Christmas party. I know because I was eavesdropping on their conversation, despite wearing my iPod. There was a bit of a clue in the plastic stemware and box of wine they were carrying. They sat and drank their wine, giggling and gossiping. I now know how much they earn, and how much they dislike one of their colleagues**.

At Salisbury they tripped off the train, still drinking their wine and giggling, off for a grand night out. Bless.

I arrived home and had time to change out of my suit and into my slippers*** before our lovely mates arrived for dinner. Mr WithaY has decided we need to party our way back to glory. I'm all for that.

As a gift, they presented me with The Farmers Calendar.

It is brilliant, and I urge you all to get your own. I particularly like Mr August, who has struck a pointed-toe ballet dancer style pose, naked in a hop field.

Other news: Went to the dental hygienist this morning. I have wonderful teeth, and she is deeply envious. Yay me. However, at one point she was scraping off some calcified crud from my back teeth, making me cringe.

"Sorry" she said. "I know it feels weird, but this is the best part of the job (scrape scrape scrrrrrraaaaaape) It's so satisfying."

I like her. If it didn't cost me 50 quid a time, I'd go every week.



*Good job I'm semi-discreet, eh?
**See above
***I did wear other clothes as well. It wasn't that sort of party.