I'm forever blowing bubbles

FLAT UPDATE: We are now sans floor, living on bare, damp concrete with water seeping out from under the bathroom tiles.

It was a cold weekend spent mostly standing around in full coat and scarf watching other people run about.

On Saturday, we slowly recovered from our Friday night in Brick Lane with Steve, Hannah, Andy and Charlotte, and headed off to Upton Park to watch the Hammers hammer Watford.

It was weird watching 'my' team (family tradition rather than because I've ever seen West Ham play before) play Watford because, compared to normal, I cared EVEN LESS who won or what was going on!

All I know is that it was f*ing cold and there were no veggie pies at half time. West Ham won 3-2 but to hear a proper Hammerite, like Travis, talk you'd think they had just lost the FA cup or something. Some people are never happy.

Saturday night, we just fell asleep as we clearly can't take the pace any more.

Sunday morning, we were up and cycling before breakfast. TOH did really well and only crashed into a fence once, sustaining a slight graze and bruise to the upper arm.

We went to Newham City Farm again and laughed at the piglets having mock fights in some hay.

As the afternoon drew on, and it got really cold and rainy, we headed off to Surrey Quays to watch Phil, Gordy and Tom run the Nike 10k night run.

Ho ho ho! It never fails to be please me that I never got into running. 30,000 people shivering in the wind and dark to run round Bermondsey! What on earth possesses people to do this kind of thing? Even The Other Half, marathon man, was glad he was having nothing to do with it!

By the time most runners had finished, they were covered in dirty road splash all up the backs of their legs.

The funniest thing though, was the tube announcer asking people 'for the comfort of other passengers' to refrain from getting changed in the station.

I feel dirty

Dear Deirdre,

I have a confession - I've been watching Blackpool and enjoying it.

No-one else I have spoken to has seen it, which is making me think that perhaps it is a shameful habit.

The singing policeman looks like a certain Tricky Dicky from News Shopper, while Toyah from Coronation Street is looking gorgeous.

I feel like I shouldn't be watching it with its tacky song and dance routines, but I do.

Am I going mad?

Yours,

T Wyebird, aged 32

Lee not Herring

Last night TOH, Steve, Jo and I went to see Stewart Lee doing stand up at the Soho Theatre.

I was pleased to notice that out of Lee and Herring and Richard Not Judy, Stewart Lee was the good looking one. Although now he is pretty old and is rather reminiscent of Morrissey, with grey hair on the sides of his quiff.

But, my god, was he funny.

Not many people can find humour in the terrible state of affairs of the world, such as the current anti-Islam propaganda (9/11. The ninth of November?), the death of Princess Diana (Nooooooo, not the Queen of Hearts!) and sodomising tea cosies.

He had an idea about how a fart could bring world peace. He also claimed that nothing Angus Deaton could do, say, or privately think could possible be as funny as a cloud of gas smelling of shit.

Hil-AR-ious.

Fully tooled up - with blades

After literally days of deliberating I have finally bought some rollerblades.

Actually that should be Rollerblades, big R, as I went for the brand which invented the whole thing.

I decided to go to chav central Decathlon, as it is the nearest sports shop to work, and they were discounted by £40.

But, and I say this everytime I go in there, I am never shopping there again!

The staff are so incredibly French, it is unreal. When I asked the skates guy to retrieve the pair I had put aside yesterday he refused, 'as zis ozzer pair are ze zame, no?'

No. They are not the same. The ones I found yesterday were in better condition, had not been tried on by all the pikeys in SE London and still had the factory safety tab on.



Three other assistants refused to find the other pair. I should have walked out, but I wanted my skates and was getting fed up looking.

I tried on the last pair of fives. All assistants disappeared. I had questions.

Eventually another bloke arrived (possibly German) who seemed to know what he was talking about.

So after an hour of being told 'what you need a box for, eh? zere is nussing to know about ze skates, non?' and that 'ze instructions are rweally, you know ...' - 'No!, I don't know! I know nothing about any of it. I want some sort of instructions!' - I parted with the cash and walked out with my new blades, in a plastic carrier bag.

So, whose up for some Citiskate action?

Farewell, my lovely

Hankies all round. Changing Rooms is no more. Last night was the final episode.

No more floppy-haired, frilly-cuffed decorating antics, no more foppish use of pinks and oranges.

Thankyou LLB, you, are my interior design hero.

Incredible

Bottles of wine = 2
Boyfriends still in love with = 1
Calories = like a woman's age, you should never ask

As Bridget Jones would say, a very good weekend.

On Friday I met up with Jenny in a pub off Oxford St for a pre-posh drinks drink. The Christmas lights this year are about five sets of giant spotlights which light up the clouds above London. We can actually see them from the flat and I didn't know what they were before.

We went on to Hush for a couple of bottles of red. It was great to see her again after her six-week trip round SE Asia. I even enjoyed looking at her photos!

We looked fabulous draped over the plush sofas while waitresses wearing black poured our wine and took orders for nibbles.

I think Terence Stamp was there, sitting alone in a black pinstrip suit, supping cocktails. He just looked around the room, not smiling, not aggressive - more like a man who literally had nothing else to do on a Friday night. It may not have been TS, but it did look like him.



Saturday, the Other Half and I went to Surrey Quays to meet the Greenpeacers to take the Oceans campaign to the great mass of chavs who shop there. But, what is this? Surely they couldn't be so disorganised that noone turned up?

We waited an hour-and-a-half, walking between the two tube stops via the shops but there was noone to be seen. Our group is a shower of lame-arses.

The Other Half was forced to go to Watford for the footie and I was forced to go to Bond Street and look at shoes for my wedding. At the moment everything is all wintery, so I will just have to go back again in January to look at the spring/summer collections!

And then on to meet Penny and baby Samuel. He is the model child. We went for coffee and he just sat on Penny's lap looking round the room. It must have been fascinating to his five-month-old eyes! The he ate and slept. Perfect.

In the evening, I met TOH again and we went to see The Incredibles. It is brilliant, not really a kid's film at all. A sort of King Of The Hill meets James Bond with superpowers. Highly recommended.



On Sunday morning I managed to get TOH on a bicycle. This is a moment for greater celebration than it sounds - he hasn't ridden a bike since he was eight!

After a wobbly start, he soon found his cycling legs and was whizzing about.

In the evening, I met Jenny again and went to see Bridget Jones. It really is quite shit but perfect for an easy Sunday night mong.

I love Fridays

Early start this morning, shifting the rest of the crap out of the bedroom so 'Danny from Rainbow' could come and clean the carpet. I wanted new flooring, but the insurance company was (un)surprisingly reluctant to cough up for it. But considering all the hassle it has been, it's probably better this way.

Dealing with insurance contractors means dealing with utter pedantic jobsworth. The one who left all the drying equipment, after nearly losing his voice insisting we take care not to fall over the 20cm wire laid right next to the wall and not anywhere where our feet would fall, not even by accident, proceeded to tell me to 'wrap up warm, it's a bit nippy outside'. Pratt.

So, the flat has descended to further depths of junkyard-dom. Everything we own is crammed into the hallway and spare room. Apart from our double mattress, duvets, pillows etc, which are choking up the living room. Oh to live in 'trendy' Docklands, eh?

The highlight of the day so far was getting my spine clicked back into line by Dr Joel, my chiropracter. The man is a genius when it comes to paralysingly-crooked backbones.

All the better to put on my glad rags and head into London Town tonight for glamorous drinkies with Jenny. Hurrah!

Last fishy heads to fishy heaven

I think my last goldfish is on his way out. He was removed from the tank this morning and placed in the ceremonial bowl where he will hover betwixt this world and the next for a couple of days, no doubt in agony which I can do nothing to relieve, like his predecessors.

The tank now only contains two tiny zebra danios and a pleco. What to do?

Last night, The Other Half and I went to our monthly Greenpeace, only to discover we WERE the meeting! The organiser turned up about 40 minutes late to pass on the information about what's coming up. It was quite 'intimate'.

We have concluded that the grass roots of the organisation are fairly ill-disciplined. Deadlines and times seem to mean nothing to them. I tell you, when we start our own group in East London things will be different!

The flat is such a f*ing tip, it is heartbreaking. No amount of remembering it isn't as bad as, say, Dafur or parts of Myamar is helping.

We are now waiting for the drying company to come and rip the floor up for a few weeks to dry the concrete and have all our possessions in a pile on the only parts of the floor that escaped the deluge.

And looking forward to a break from dealing with all the contractors and sub-contractors who seem to enjoy aggravating our situation.

Quiet drink

How weird going out for drink on a Monday. I met Jo, Steve and Sara in the Real Greek Souvlaki, by The Globe, for drinks and nibbles.

And a jolly time we had too - basically taking the piss out of ourselves, as usual. Apologies to Sara as our problems must seem terribly insignificant on the scale of things where she is!

But after about 7pm, the place was empty. We had it to ourselves, which was nice, especially as that meant there was no choking smoke, but also a bit strange.

Perhaps everyone is saving themselves up for Christmas benders. Roll on the party season!

The best boyfriend in the world!

I really do have the bestest boyfriend in the whole wide world.

The Other Half asked me to keep the weekend free for another of his big surprise weekends. I dreaded having to put on 'a happy face' as he announced that we were going to Watford again but this time he outdid himself totally.

On Saturday morning, we got a cab to City Airport and flew to Amsterdam! Wow! I haven't been to Holland for years so it was great to be back there.



After finding our hotel (in a freak rainstorm) we jumped on a tram to the Rijksmuseum. But we didn't go in there, we went instead to a diamond house and bought some gems for our wedding rings.

Ahh, the boy is so romantic. Everyone should have an Other Half.




It was also our anniversary trip but one month early. December 13 will mark two years of blissful togetherness.

Saturday evening, we wandered round the red light district, giggled in sex shops, avoided live shows (one of which offered 'writing show' as part of the attractions. Enquiries revealed it wasn't quite the display of master calligraphy the name suggested) and ate a great paella in a Spanish restaurant.



We were up all night. Not, as you might think, playing with sex toys. Oh no. The hotel room was right above the bar and we lay there listening to the bass vibrating through the floor. I think about 2am they must have turned the music up. Great.

Sunday morning we took the train to my old 'home town' Utrecht. Getting out of the station filled me with excitement as I hadn't been here for at least eight years, or so.

It was still gorgeous. The Dom tower still dominated the skyline. The roads were still clean and oh-so-Dutch.



We wandered down the Nieuwegracht to where Roger's old squat was (my ex-boyfriend who I lived with for a while). The house looked beautiful. It's no longer a squat and is in the process of being restored.



Old landmark shops, cafes and pubs were all still there. Sarasani for excellent smokes, De Oude Pothuis for smoky jazz, Cafe Andersom, where I nearly got a job rolling spliffs, the bead shops, the launderette, Piet Snot (I think it sold comics), Peek & Cloppenberg, Mannikin Pis chip shops etc etc etc



What a lovely trip down memory lane.

Flying back to City is brilliant. We were home half-an-hour after landing. And before you come round to raid our (still ruined from the flood) flat looking for diamonds, forget it; they are now safely locked up in a secret vault, in a secret London location. You can see them next July!

Well done Hugh

Hugh Edwards outdid himself last night! Look at this lovely tie/poppy combo. See how the red poppy pattern reflects the wearing of the remembrance poppy.

This is why Hugh is The News. Let's hope he survives the 50 per cent cull of BBC staff.

Baghdad and 'Nam

Thankfully, the bathroom has stopped flooding (it was coming from a flat three floors above us) and we are now waiting for things to dry out.

The flat smells of damp and must and grey furry mould.

The insurance companies are all looking at their feet and mumbling about ‘excess’ and generally trying to pass the buck.

I have put my first items on eBay – so far no-one has placed a bid. Three books, which are fairly shite (hence being sold) are up for grabs.

Sara and Jenny are back from Baghdad and SE Asia, respectively, so I am itching to catch up with them but The Other Half has organised another surprise weekend, so it will have to wait!

Old friends and floods

Yes, yes, I know I said I’d gone off drinking and then proceeded to down several vodka-and-cranberries and mojitos (both of which count has health drinks, by the way) on Friday. But that is part of why I don’t like drinking – it’s like Pringles for me, once I pop I just can’t stop. And then I feel reeeeeely shit the next day. It’s my age, see.

But one thing about going off the booze is the reaction from others – people around me look horrified, as if I had calmly announced I was taking up crack cocaine, rather than giving up alcohol, which does actually damage the body.

Anyway, Friday was a cause of celebration. Bridget was back (Hurrah!), Helen (with tiny Wilkinson on board – congratulations!) and James were out, Gail was there, carefully avoiding wheat, yeast, alcohol, and various carbohydrates, and Steve and Jo were there! Oh, and the Other Half, looking very dapper as usual.

Saturday, however, was a bit of a bummer. I went shopping to buy something to wear with my posh Prada shoes. So far, so good. When I went to get said shoes from the cupboard, to my horror, I discovered they were soaking wet and covered in mould and spores.

What the f…!

It turns out the leak, which has been raining on our bathroom from the flats above, had spread under the floors into our bedroom cupboard and soaked the carpet and about £800-worth of ‘designer footwear’.

Our flat is now a complete tip – we have an industrial dehumidifier, pikey Argos clothes rails full of shirts and suits cluttering up the spare room, a collection of ruined shoes and a bathroom with holes cut in the ceiling and wet, brown-stained walls.

The Other Half was NOT happy. The only light at the end of the tunnel was that we were going out to dinner with Lee and Katie – two of our most upbeat friends who really did cheer us up.

So despite the fact I had to wear inferior shoes, the evening was a big success. Especially as the powers that be put on a brilliant firework display outside our window on the dock!

RIP Kyoto

If there is one thing you should do in life, it’s march on the American Embassy.

Last night, the Other Half and I joined about 300 people to walk through the streets of London to mourn the re-election of Dubbya Bush and what it means to our environment.

We were supposed to be dressed for the funeral of the Kyoto agreement – something the US has steadfastly refused to sign – but many people were in costume and carrying bright lanterns.

There was a Statue of Liberty wearing a gas mask, holding a ruined copy of the agreement, an Uncle Sam, everyone carrying placards with various ways of comparing Bush to the devil.

Two bicycle-powered soundsystems rode along with the march, amplifying musicians singing and playing guitar as we passed through The Strand, Trafalgar Square, Picadilly and on to Grosvenor Square.

As we passed the traffic jams I saw a fella in a gas-guzzling Range Rover looking a bit guilty!

Some of the anti-E$$O Greenpeacers wore their tiger suits and, as we passed Exxon HQ, four lads in white coats pretending to be E$$O independent scientists shouted ‘abuse’ at the passing column of people. ‘There is no such thing as climate change,’ they said while celebrating another four years of unhindered fossil fuel exploitation.

It was fun as well as serious. The march was organised by Campaign against Climate Change, which is a one-man band. You can meet him on Mondays as he protests outside the American Embassy weekly.

Whether or not the message got through to the US, and lets face it, it’s unlikely, at least there are people out there who are taking this seriously.

Our own chief scientist has warned climate change is the biggest threat to the world, bigger than anything Osama bin Laden and his cronies can throw at us, and yet the US continues to pour its energies into empire building and dumbing down the masses.

From CACC website (please go there to get the full picture):
Some Facts About the U.S.
The US is responsible for about one quarter of the world's greenhouse gas emissions, with only about 4% of world population. Since 1990 emissions in the US have increased by 20% while experts warn that industrialized nations must reduce their CO2 emmisions by 60% by the middle of this century. Furthermore, while other countries are working to reduce their emissions, Bush's energy plan ensures that US emissions will continue to rise

God help us

So the good bergers of America have seen fit to re-elect that Christian fundamentalist Bush back into the president's chair. This act alone must prove there ain't no God.

More proof was given this week in harrowing tales such as that told in the film Finding Neverland and the book The Kite Runner. Not because they are bad but because they are tales of death and pain and war (well the Depp film isn't about war) and only mildly happy endings, ie just like real life.

That is too simplistic - there is hope too, and all the other emotions experienced by the living, it's just I get so caught up with the characters and get upset when they die, as if I knew them personally.

Actually, the book (a gift from Alex the girl) is brilliantly written and compulsive reading. I highly recommend it.

But among the heart-wrenching tales and the horror of the world's biggest busy-body superpower being run by a fanatical hypocrite, there was some good news - our broadband has been turned on at home!

Our New Forest adventure

FRIDAY
As you sit in traffic, trying to leave Deptford in the Friday rush hour, waiting in a Petts Wood carpark and getting lost on the M27 because your navigator can’t read maps, you give thanks that areas like the New Forest still exist.

Miles away from the stink and greyness of London town, we drove across the heathland, New Forest ponies looming out of the dark with their fluorescent neckbands, where I felt the stress and pollution draining away.

We stopped for a bit on a desolate road, turned the lights off and breathed fresh air. Then I got a bit freaked out that the woods might be concealing a rapist/murderer so we got back in the car and continued our journey.

We eventually found our guesthouse in Brockenhurst – a charming place on a ford – and headed straight for the pub.


SATURDAY
After a brilliant night’s sleep, we headed downstairs for our full English breakfast and some polite conversation with the other two grandparent-aged couples who were also staying there.

And then, into the forest.



We were given a sketchy route by the lads who ran the bike hire place, and to start with, it was OK.

The landscape was beautiful. Heathland gave way to trees and muddy tracks. Ponies were standing about all over the place quietly eating the grass.



Strange mushrooms and toadstools were growing in rings in the grass. No magic ones, unfortunately, but there was this impressive fly agaric.



At one point, the track went down a very sharp hill. We got off and walked but at the next one, we were shamed to see and old granny in a scooter heading down the slope.

We cycled to a pub for lunch after getting lost a few times. The directions were beginning to get a bit confusing by this point.

The afternoon ride took us up a very long hill. By the time we got to the top, our legs were shaking.



And then we got totally lost. After riding for about half-an-hour in what turned out to be the wrong direction, I began to lose faith a bit. Luckily, Tidy had the foresight to feed me some chocolate and my sulk disappeared.

It was a long pedal back to the guesthouse. We reckoned we cycled about 26miles. And for the first time in years, my lungs did not hurt during extreme exercise. Fresh air is a wonderful thing.

That evening, after driving about the countryside looking for somewhere to eat, we found a curry house and had the best Indian food I think I’ve ever tasted.

SUNDAY
A big breakfast, a beautiful ride round the forest, a quick change in the street as the guest house wouldn’t let us back in to take off our muddy clothes and the long drive back to the smoke.



Tidy and I have made a pact – go cycling somewhere at least once a month. The best way to spend a day when the Other Half is at the football as it is the perfect excuse for me not to go!