Commitment

Committed to a cubicle?

That's not something I say or think frequently, but in recent months, I've found myself stuck with the toilet cubicle you wouldn't want your worst enemy to smell, let alone enter.

Let me explain. I've got this weird thing about me that doesn't like bumping into people in the toilet. Public or work ones that is. Not as if there are many people entering my toilet at home. This includes coming out of the cubicle as well as entering the room. I a) don't want to see people whom I enjoy their company, only to find out that they could kill a small rodent with their stench or blind a spotter with what they leave behind. Oh and b) can't hide the fact that we all don't smell like roses. Therefore it's a mission to wash hands and race to the exit.

This leaves me with very time outside of the cubicles and to make a very quick choice. Once that door has opened, you (me) are committed to that cubicle and cannot change your mind, as there is someone more than likely inches away from entering the toilet. So get your ass [ed. pun not intended] in there and hide.

This of course, is probably just me being me or something much more dramatic, like a horror movie such as IT scaring my childhood memories and forcing me into the realms of weird.

Not quite what I was after but a great image none the less

A (n)oodle too loud

I can’t really complain that she was too loud.

I really can’t.

It was positively hilarifying.

There I was, at the Leicester Square branch of a famous-rice-’n'-noodle-chain-beginning-with-’W', minding my own chilli men, looking neither to the right, nor to the left… when all of a sudden a petite lady bumped herself down and started verbalising the menu in fog horn. I mean English, but whole hearted fog horn english, ok?.

I tried not to stare or grin and focussed on my bowl.
Too late: her new but quite startled (and now embarrassed), not-so-drunk boyfriend saw me grin at Jon with noodles in my mouth.
Just then, Wagamama’s (surely award winning?) speed-demon-waiter-meets-Ruby-Rhod from the Fifth Element rushed by and all was forgotten for a split second as the napkins and paper menus wafted in the backdraft of his energy.

Then I remembered – back to the embarrassed boyfriend. I sympathised instantly with him as I recognise his non verbal signals to his beau, to calm her down. I suffer from over-excitement all the time and Jon regularly puts the following into practice. It’s tough to be successful in this arena, because the oner-excited one mostly realises what’s occurring, with a dash of hindsight (a prompted one at that).

1) Squeezing of the arm – gently brings me back to reality
2) A gentle tap on the back of the wrist – makes me lose focus and train of thought and decelerate my babble as I check back of hand for traces of food
3) Widening of eyes – I trail off and grind to a halt as I wonder what 8 legged freak stands towering behind me.
4) The “shhhh” shape that I eventually lip read – the kind you do to a baby when you love them but wish they’d pipe down… the baby normally pauses for a sec with unblinking eyes right? Yeah, it works on fully grown adults too.

So I recognised these signals and grinned at the boyf – letting him know it was ok. His face muscles relaxed a notch as if to say “thank you… she’s lovely really, just a bit too much champagne y’see…” but it only lasted a split second.

“GYOOOOOOOOOOOOZAAAAAA – see?” She screeched.

“Geeeyoooozaaaaa. Say it!” She grinned triumphantly, proclaiming the cabbage dumplings as “v, v tasty” and then putting her hand against the side of her mouth to signal she knew this was naughty and this was a secret, and screeched “we can even put them in my handbag and have them at the cinema”
Man! She’s a girl after my own heart. My chest swelled with pride and I was filled with an oodle of LLL: Love for Loud Ladies.

City yam

I can hear the call in the distance as I exit Waterloo each morning.

“Cityaaaam… Cityaaaaaam… City yam”

As I get closer the blurred words make sense. It’s more of a question. Oh gosh - she’s talking to me!

City yam?

(pauses, repeats, a hopeful tone)

City A.M?

Oh god, she’s assessed me as the type to read it…

I smile gently to signal silently "No thank you, not today" I won’t be reading about the latest in stocks, shares and city deals... though I should I guess... Argh. I feel slightly embarrassed: I opt to lunge for Stylist and Shortlist without fail every week, but City A.M? Weeeeell, I’m a bit more reserved. Meh. I can take it or leave it really.

But then I feel a pang of guilt.

Did she read the "Thank you" part of my silent "no thank you"?
Does she now despise me for that extra 25g of paper I should now be bearing instead of her?

This smiling girl must be weary – she’s been on her feet since 6 am, performing nothing short of a continuous 4 hour aerobic workout! Rocking back and forth, side to side, reaching into our paths non intrusively, with a silent but assured “don’t worry about reaching for me, Ill reach out to you” motto, she continues. Left, right, left swoop, right swoop… swiping one paper away to a discerning reader, and deftly folding another simultaneously.

“I’m gonna make a change… gonna feel real good… gonna make a difference…heh!
Ah Michael Jackson… Lawd love him” I say, inspired.

I turn back.

Suddenly I’ve got a real appetite for yam.

A Cityam

Freaks

Now don't freak out [Ed - oh god], this isn't a post about the top ten freaks of all time or anything quite as blunt. I just overheard someone use the term the other day on the underground to describe someone that to him, was out of the ordinary and so led me to a point. Who's he to to determine what can be called a freak. Who is anyone.


Mind you, living in London, I think I can confidently say I've seen enough people to be deemed a freak of nature. Camden is a very good place to start.


What I immediately had in mind though were people that would look at the average Joe and see him as out of the ordinary. Some tiny people in the shape of some exotic fruits, with tiny limbs for teeth and only spoke in exquisite dance, trying not to vomit when they saw a biclops!


"Jesus! Did you just see that four limbed guy with TWO flippin' eyes! What a freak."


I probably a) thought about that a bit too much and b) created an awesome B movie, in the space of a couple of minutes. Attack of the One Torsoed, Two Legged Biclops from Over the Road 2: Double Damage. Skipping the first movie for the convenience of the more fitting title.

AMAZING paint skills

Whats more, I'm sure it wouldn't be too much hassle to find an actor with 2 "working" eyes - what a freak.