"Washing your car?"

Ah, Sunday. Papers, relaxation, pottering. I love Sundays.

Today was a little different to usual. I normally wake up bleary-eyed, wondering what the hell happened the night before (if it's been a good night, that is) and asking the nearest person to make me a cup of tea, immediately, PLEASE.

Today I awoke on a sofa bed after a wonderful university housemate reunion, with a ginger kitty called Horris purring in my ear. We were leaving early to get back to London so I could attend yoga and go for a swim.

The Cyclist and I boarded the train in Sutton, full of bacon sandwiches and tea from our hostess's fine breakfast. We'd not had much luck on the way down from London, as we'd inadvertantly boarded a train carriage that contained the Spawn of Satan. A gaggle of middle-class teenagers had whined, shouted, brayed and squealed through the whole journey. One of them was called Paris. I wanted to smack Paris, a LOT. Severely obnoxious with a total lack of self-awareness is a winning combination for others wishing violence upon you.

As we boarded, I said,

"If Paris turns up on this train, I'll punch her in the babymaker."

Luckily there was no Paris. But there WAS an insufferable, pseudo-intellectual bearded idiot sat with who I presume was his girlfriend. Or if not, he definitely wanted to fuck her and was using smart-arse film references to get in her pants. Now I love a bit of culture, don't get me wrong. I will happily sit and talk about music and art and films. But hopefully I don't do it loudly on a train with a smug, self-serving tone. If I do, let me know yeah?

The Cyclist and I glanced at each other as he harped on loudly about some film and some other pretentious crap. A stream of spurious culture references spilled out of his mouth. I was dying to a) laugh loudly, b) take the piss out of him, and c) self-harm so I could concentrate on something else. I texted The Cyclist as I just had to vent.

"Oh my god Jonny Lee Miller was, like SO understated yah? When I was at The Globe, yah? Shut up you massive drama student TWUNT!"

The Cyclist read it on her phone and smirked, I gritted my teeth. The braying idiot, now using his Magnum lollystick to gesticulate to his poor potential Rohypnol victim, shouted, "So Sara organised dinner at The Globe!"

We cracked up loudly.

We had to endure the following conversation before the sweet relief of arriving at London Bridge.

"So me and my sister yah, started saying 'Your Mum' to each other! And THEN my Mum started saying it too! Fnar fnar fnar."

"Devotion breeds complacency then that breeds IRONY, YAH?" At this point him and his friend erupted into peals of laughter. The Cyclist and I met eyes and did that quizical "what the fuck?" face. I sat on my hands so I didn't go over and beat him to death with his own copy of Empire magazine.

Journey over, I managed to be in time for the yoga class and both No'rn Ir'on and I managed to get through the class without getting 'too relaxed' which I'd heard horror stories about. Afterwards we went for a swim. The normally quiet pool was manned by two dodgy guys sitting in the shallow end, who watched us walk from the changing rooms to the water while pulling faces like a sex pest. I didn't understand this, since looking at me in a swimming costume is something you Just Don't Do, like looking directly at the Sun, or putting foil in the microwave.

We began our lengths of the pool, avoiding Splashy McPervert who was hanging around in our general vicinity and inexplicably splashing halfway into the middle of the pool then swimming back again. I was concentrating on breathing and my stroke, when I passed No'rn Ir'on.

"Guess what just happened to me?"

I shrug. "The weird guy touched you up a bit in the deep end?"

"No. I did a lap of the pool before I realised my right boob was out."

I checked she wasn't at risk of being arrested for indecent exposure in a public family place and we swam to the shallow end. She looked wistful.

"I wish I was a mermaid sometimes."

I disagreed. "Nah, there's loads of things that would be impossible to do." I dived under the water and carried on my lengths. I passed No'rn Ir'on in the deep end.

"Like bungee jumping?" she suggested hopefully. I inhaled a litre of swimming pool water and tried not to drown whilst regaining my composure in 12'6" of water.

She was obviously considering it, as the next time we passed she ventured, "Washing your car?"

We luxuriated in the water at the deep end after the pool was vacated by the Special contingent, floating and chatting.

No'rn Ir'on: "I need to wee."

Me: "Oh."

No'rn Ir'on: "Do you think they have that chemical that changes colour if you wee in the pool?"

Me: "Only one way to find out...?"

No'rn Ir'on: "No, after swimming about with one boob out for a while, that's probably enough embarrassment for me for one day."

"Deer park? Is that because it's expensive to get into?"

No'rn Ir'on and I decided that after the cocktail and wine excess of Bank Holiday Sunday, today we ought to go and power walk around Victoria Park. I was nervous about the squirrels but we braved it, those and the stabby gangs.

Hackneyites and their dogs filled the park, meaning that we got inevitably overexcited at the canine frolicking.

"Awww look at that one!"

"Ah, he's got a cool face, I'd call him Duncan."

We spied a couple with a few young Italian Greyhounds,

"OH look at those! Oh no wait. Oh no, they're REALLY going for it." Not really what you want to see on a civilised Monday afternoon.

No'rn Ir'on: "No wait, I want to see how they separate them, like."

I dragged her away from the doggy show and we marched around the lake. Of course, there were kids everywhere. Not No'rn Ir'on's favourite things. A family consisted of three squawky young girls whining and bickering.

"I'm not even sorry that I want to punch them."

We decided to venture into the part of the park that we've never been in before. The signposts promised exotic adventures - a model boating lake, the mystically-titled One O Clock Club and the deer park. DEER. In east London.

No'rn Ir'on remarks, "Is that because it's really expensive?" and sniggers to herself.

We actually do catch a glimpse of two sleeping deer and it makes my day.

As we meander around the model boating lake, laughing at dogs splashing around in the water, No'rn Ir'on picks her way along the edge. I resist the urge to shove her into the water, very tempting. I inform her of this and she poses, sticking her bum out. I realise that we look mental and we're in very close proximity to the children's play area so should probably move along.

Naturally, we encounter the scary east London squirrels, and find one holding court under a tree with a gaggle of pigeons. I think that it's going to launch itself at a pigeon and eat it. No'rn Ir'on is more concerned with that fact that they might get a little amorous like the greyhounds earlier.

"They're going to MATE and then it will get out of hand and before you know it, the park will be overrun with SQUIDGEONS."

As we wander off giggling, I spy a man who I've seen several times this weekend. Tall, east London skinny, massive quiff and some particularly striking and brave sartorial choices. I mention that he's quite beautiful to No'rn Ir'on.

"No way, he's so totally gay."

"Not necessarily! Even straight guys in Hackney dress like that."

"You only fancy guys that look gay."

"Maybe I do. Hence why so unsuccessful in these matters."

"I know that if I am about to congratulate a man on his TUNIC, he's probably a queen."

One to mull over there, I think.

A Change is as Good as a Rest

January's been a bit mental really. I've taken a big step and resigned from a job that's basically been my life for two years, to go and face a fresh creative challenge. I am nervous, sad, excited and filled with anticipation. And vaguely worried - what if they don't like tea or swearing?


It's a timely change, as The Blonde and Grumpy Scot are also moving on to new challenges, and as well as being a big joint celebration this weekend, it's also a double birthday whammy. There was never any choice but to party in Edinburgh this weekend. It's the weekend that marks the beginning of the next era.

The partying began last night with the final end of month drinks for me. I had to be a bit sensible though and come home to pack. No'rn Ir'on, not so much. After falling through my bedroom door at 5am, mumbling "wrong room" and bouncing off the walls to get to her own room, I went to the bathroom. I immediately trip over her massive handbag, dumped inside the front door, along with her shoes, book and various other possessions strewn around the hallway.

My towel is in the shower for some reason, there's cash on the bathroom shelf and it generally looks like it's been used by a very drunk person. I think this is the extent of it, until I leave the flat to get to the train station. I find the front door open with her key in the outside lock still, and some more of her possessions in our communal stairwell. Brilliant.

I'm now safely on the train rattling through the lovely Yorkshire countryside lit by the winter sun and listening to Oddblood, the new Yeasayer album. Very good record. Looking forward to a reunion with two of my best friends in the world who have shared a journey with me including a LOT of tea, even more creative swearing, laughter and tears. (Mainly mine, Grumpy Scot has witnessed a few 'tired and emotional' scenes from me. Including when I left Canterbury where I sobbed uncontrollably for three hours like a mental. But we had been drinking cocktails all evening so I don't take responsibility for this.)

Right, onto Wild Beasts album, and I'm going to seek out the refreshments person in search of tea.

Tea on the train. I'm going to regret this aren't I?

Another Weekend, Another Write Off

Friday night.

"Yes, I will just come out for ONE."

Famous last words. We headed out for a "couple" of drinks with some very important work people, all civility quickly descended (once the important people had gone on to an important dinner) and it was the usual gang.

It swiftly mutated into us ripping it for no real reason out of No'rn Ir'on, including me offering her some crayons in a mime about how I couldn't understand what she said, so she could write things down for me.

Other highlights included:

• Casual racial stereotyping of a new New Zealander in the office (me: "I just want to quote Flight of the Conchords at you. 'Band meeting!'" He was impressed, obviously. Though he does do a fine Gollum impression. I nearly ran away crying.) I also may not have endeared myself by proclaiming that the Lord of the Rings trilogy is three films about people on a really long walk. It is!
  

• The Dane kindly reminding me about a time when I utterly, publicly disgraced myself by telling a colleague in a smug, I'm-correcting-you sort of way, "But Copenhagen is a country!" This will not die, they're never going to let it go. So geographically-challenged, an American asked me if I was American. Not my finest moment.

• For a reason that is now fuzzy with wine-clouded retrospect; everyone very loudly cheersing my Mum (I really don't know why), and talking about her in a very respectful but also massively inappropriate way. I remember not knowing if I should laugh or cry. I think I laughed. In a "can't believe you just said that" manner.
  

• A random man joining us stood outside the bar who was kind of odd - we all politely assumed he knew someone else in the group. We eventually established he didn't. It was only afterwards I received a text from No'rn Ir'on saying he'd put his arm round her and I needed to save her. "Get someone to pretend to be my boyfriend!"

• A heated soliloquy from No'rn Ir'on about Tayto (pronounced 'Tater') crisps and how they were the best crisps ever. EVER.

There were definitely some other entertaining incidents, I just can't recall them right now. I managed to stumble into a cab home, and woke up in the morning to find a trail of late night snacks, clothes dumped in the lounge and a very confused No'rn Ir'on in the kitchen.

Yep, just a quiet Friday night.

Good job I had a nice quiet Saturday evening.... oh, hang on...