Waking up with no hangover was brilliant and The Blonde and I had big plans - Camera Club London was going to be in session, starting off in Columbia Road and making it's way to St Paul's and Southbank. We dandered to Columbia Road market so that The Blonde could experience the Cockney flower sellers shouting, and see the beautiful east end crowd again. It's so busy that I really want to punch people, but then I cheer up and forget all about it as I discover a vintage stall and spend money on a peach teacup set and a tin with a horse on. Brilliant.
We go and wait at the bus stop to go to The City, and a group of rather posh boys wanders past, clutching big bottles of Evian and looking rather disheveled. One of them asks,
"I say - do you know of any cafes around here? A greasy spoon, if you will."
I point them in the right direction and get a fist-bump in return for my helpfulness. I always gets asked for directions. I either look very friendly, helpful and knowledgeable; or like a cabbie. I think it's the latter.
The Blonde is sat at the bus stop and is rifling through her handbag looking for something. She pulls out a packet of snacks she'd bought for the train.
"I'm still clutching these fucking wasabi peas!"
She then eats a rice cracker that she found in her handbag and assesses it.
"Yes, salty and a bit cheesy. I want more."
After strolling around St Paul's and Southbank with every other fucking tourist in London, we park ourselves in a pub for lunch. The speakers were blaring out some R n B rubbish. I announce that it makes me want to hurt myself.
The Blonde: "Is this Chris Brown?"
Me: "I don't know... some TWAT."
After a hearty lunch we wander along the Thames Path and walk past The Golden Hind.
The Blonde spies someone and says,
"That's the bloke off the telly!"
By 'bloke off the telly', she means Andrew Marr. He's walking along with someone who we presume is his daughter, looking like he's talking very earnestly and knowledgeably about the ship.
The path runs along past the London Dungeons and we walk past it under the bridge arch. The Blonde is concentrating on faffing with her camera or something, and I spy a very tall, sinister-looking guy who works for the Dungeons, drawing the crowds in. I don't say anything. He walks past The Blonde and touches her shoulder, whispering in her ear, "Go easy, my child...."
The Blonde literally does a comedy gasp and nearly falls over, tears filling her eyes. The man walks off and I'm laughing at her shock, but she actually is frightened and has to go and have a moment to compose herself as she tries not to have a heart attack and vomit and sob all at once.
"I feel sick! I'm going to be sick! Fucking hell! I've got a very nervous disposition!"
A family walks past with a child screaming it's lungs out and she wails,
"That's how I feel inside! I know where you're coming from."
I take her back to mine to recover by watching some DVDs and drinking some tea. This relaxed, sensible domesticity doesn't last long and before I know it, we're finishing off Sunday with another trip to my local.
I wince as the barman says, "You were in here Friday weren't you."
Me: "Yes, I am dreadfully sorry if we were inappropriate or anything - it was a little, er, messy."
Barman: "No, don't worry - you gave us some great business."
I smile weakly and slink off back to the table feeling like the local lush and deciding that maybe I shouldn't go in for a while.
We round off the evening by watching The Inbetweeners with a take away and laughing at one of my favourite lines from the show.
"The winky face is the mark of a moron!"
;)
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