...and yes, thank you, and how charming'
Compare and contrast:
'Sonnet 18' - William Shakespeare (1609):
'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
And summer's lease hath all too short a date'
'Right There' - Nicole Scherzinger (2011)
'I like the way that you talk dirty
Don't wash your mouth out I like it dirty
You like to please yeah I like that yeah yeah yeah yeah me like it
I like the way that you keep me coming
That yeah you so good you had me running
Me like the way that he goin' down down down down down'
...and that say romance is dead. I blame Chris Moyles. Never got this filth with Bruno Brookes.
Monday 25 July 2011
Day 72 (25 July 2011) - 'Millions of people swarming like flies...
...round Waterloo underground. But Helen and Fordy cross over the river, where they can be safe and sound'
Bit of poetic license there, however all quite relevant, as will become clear. But first, my last post appears to have created quite a stir - typical eh?! I spend weeks writing about deep, philosophical topics (and Brian Blessed) to very little reaction. The moment I bring sex into it, coupled with a bit of personal humiliation and everyone's all over it like a tramp on chips. Good job I love you all, isn't it! Incidentally, ran into 'said person' yesterday...I never learn do I? There were probably several things I could have or should have said to restore some pride or even win a crack at Round 2. Instead, off I went again 'I've just blogged about you' Utter, utter twat!
But on to the subject of today's post. Ladies and Gentlemen I give you the continuation of Task 15 - 'Be a tourist in London' (Helen), and - you're in for a treat here - special guest starring the lady herself, who flew in from Portugal especially! Well, that last bit might not be strictly true, but suffice to say 'The G' joined me for a splendid day out around our spectacular capital city that I am proud to call my home. Like a modern day Rock Hudson and Doris Day, Paul Daniels and Debbie McGee or Hinge and Bracket, last Saturday saw us don our best dodgy foreign accents, grab our cameras and head out to explore Laaaandon town.
Like all good tourists we had painstakingly planned our day to ensure we made the most of our limited time. Our packed itinerary consisted of arriving into Waterloo Station, where we would promenade along South Bank, stopping occasionally to cool down with a fresh glass of Chablis (who am I kidding?) and admire it's general quirkiness, before sampling the fine delicacies of Borough Market and have a spot of lunch, then spend the afternoon running around London like Japanese tourists on speed to pack in as many sights as we could. Oh yes, this was going to be a day of gentle and genteel sophistication. Like a white Barack and Michelle Obama on a state visit.
But, how foolish we were, for this is the UK in July, which can only mean one thing. It absolutely pissed down. We're not talking a mere shower, on no, this was practically Armageddon weather. If I ever catch that old bint who just a week before hand sat next to me on the 265 moaning about the drought, she'll feel the back of my hand. So instead, we scampered along South Bank, like two retarded Kelly Holmes' so by the time we reached Borough Market I looked as though I hadn't made it home from a bender three nights previous.
Now for the uninitiated, Borough Market is London's equivalent of the Emperor's New Clothes. Yes, it has some lovely food, yes it's colourful, but for goodness sake people, it's only a bunch of fruit and veg and some overpriced bread covered in ruddy seeds. Anyone would think there was war on, such was the clamour for exotic ne'er seen items such as tomatoes and apples! For all the fuss people make about it, I'd expected to be able to buy the hair of a unicorn or a section of the Bayeux Tapestry. £2.50 for a chocolate brownie. £2.50!!! 'But all our ingredients are organic and locally sourced, sir'. Yes, what that means is that there's a greater chance of listeria and they the chocolate was a bar of Galaxy sourced from Tesco round the corner! However, so as not to appear too curmudgeonly, it does have a certain rustic charm and, on the plus side, we did manage to procure both a nice glass of wine and the following photo, which appealed to my juvenile sense of humour:
Given the ongoing torrential rain and general footwear crises - my trainer had a previously undiscovered small hole, whilst G's ballet pumps had rotted to her feet - we decided to skip the walking tour and decided to take the bus. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, as we are now nearer 40 than 30 we have reached that age where a bus tour is a source of excitement - I am turning into my Mother! But that was nothing compared to our sheer glee at the prospect of a further bonus...
...the free pac-a-mac. £27 for a bus tour may seem expensive to you, but the delight of the free pac-a-mac made it seem a veritable snip in our minds. Look at the joy we felt:
So like a couple of geriatrics we spent the next three hours on the red route, accompanied firstly by guide Rob and latterly by guide Emma; they swap over in Pimlico, don't you know, which in Rob's case was a good job for after eight years in the job we were honoured to be on the bus for what he described as 'one of the most exciting and eventful' days he'd EVER had! This frenzy of excitement stemmed from the following three events, all of which we were lucky enough to witness:
Anyway, we had a wonderful time and saw amongst other things: The London Eye, House of Parliament, St Paul's Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, some nuns, at least one domestic and an old man having a wee. London really is splendid!
After all that gallivanting, and another couple of glasses of wine, we headed home for a traditional G & Craig evening (that could almost be H & Claire, couldn't it?!), namely lots more wine and a dance round the kitchen. In homage to The G, here are the five songs which most remind me of her:
Bit of poetic license there, however all quite relevant, as will become clear. But first, my last post appears to have created quite a stir - typical eh?! I spend weeks writing about deep, philosophical topics (and Brian Blessed) to very little reaction. The moment I bring sex into it, coupled with a bit of personal humiliation and everyone's all over it like a tramp on chips. Good job I love you all, isn't it! Incidentally, ran into 'said person' yesterday...I never learn do I? There were probably several things I could have or should have said to restore some pride or even win a crack at Round 2. Instead, off I went again 'I've just blogged about you' Utter, utter twat!
But on to the subject of today's post. Ladies and Gentlemen I give you the continuation of Task 15 - 'Be a tourist in London' (Helen), and - you're in for a treat here - special guest starring the lady herself, who flew in from Portugal especially! Well, that last bit might not be strictly true, but suffice to say 'The G' joined me for a splendid day out around our spectacular capital city that I am proud to call my home. Like a modern day Rock Hudson and Doris Day, Paul Daniels and Debbie McGee or Hinge and Bracket, last Saturday saw us don our best dodgy foreign accents, grab our cameras and head out to explore Laaaandon town.
Like all good tourists we had painstakingly planned our day to ensure we made the most of our limited time. Our packed itinerary consisted of arriving into Waterloo Station, where we would promenade along South Bank, stopping occasionally to cool down with a fresh glass of Chablis (who am I kidding?) and admire it's general quirkiness, before sampling the fine delicacies of Borough Market and have a spot of lunch, then spend the afternoon running around London like Japanese tourists on speed to pack in as many sights as we could. Oh yes, this was going to be a day of gentle and genteel sophistication. Like a white Barack and Michelle Obama on a state visit.
But, how foolish we were, for this is the UK in July, which can only mean one thing. It absolutely pissed down. We're not talking a mere shower, on no, this was practically Armageddon weather. If I ever catch that old bint who just a week before hand sat next to me on the 265 moaning about the drought, she'll feel the back of my hand. So instead, we scampered along South Bank, like two retarded Kelly Holmes' so by the time we reached Borough Market I looked as though I hadn't made it home from a bender three nights previous.
Now for the uninitiated, Borough Market is London's equivalent of the Emperor's New Clothes. Yes, it has some lovely food, yes it's colourful, but for goodness sake people, it's only a bunch of fruit and veg and some overpriced bread covered in ruddy seeds. Anyone would think there was war on, such was the clamour for exotic ne'er seen items such as tomatoes and apples! For all the fuss people make about it, I'd expected to be able to buy the hair of a unicorn or a section of the Bayeux Tapestry. £2.50 for a chocolate brownie. £2.50!!! 'But all our ingredients are organic and locally sourced, sir'. Yes, what that means is that there's a greater chance of listeria and they the chocolate was a bar of Galaxy sourced from Tesco round the corner! However, so as not to appear too curmudgeonly, it does have a certain rustic charm and, on the plus side, we did manage to procure both a nice glass of wine and the following photo, which appealed to my juvenile sense of humour:
Given the ongoing torrential rain and general footwear crises - my trainer had a previously undiscovered small hole, whilst G's ballet pumps had rotted to her feet - we decided to skip the walking tour and decided to take the bus. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, as we are now nearer 40 than 30 we have reached that age where a bus tour is a source of excitement - I am turning into my Mother! But that was nothing compared to our sheer glee at the prospect of a further bonus...
...the free pac-a-mac. £27 for a bus tour may seem expensive to you, but the delight of the free pac-a-mac made it seem a veritable snip in our minds. Look at the joy we felt:
- Roadworks on Waterloo Bridge
- The bus running out of pac-a-macs
- An American being caught drinking a can of lager on the top deck
Anyway, we had a wonderful time and saw amongst other things: The London Eye, House of Parliament, St Paul's Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, some nuns, at least one domestic and an old man having a wee. London really is splendid!
After all that gallivanting, and another couple of glasses of wine, we headed home for a traditional G & Craig evening (that could almost be H & Claire, couldn't it?!), namely lots more wine and a dance round the kitchen. In homage to The G, here are the five songs which most remind me of her:
- Jamiroquai - Little L
- Mary J Blige - Family Affair (she made me leave a club we'd spent two hours travelling to, after just 30 minutes when this song came on as 'they can't top this'!)
- Kylie Minogue - Love at First Sight
- Sophie Ellis Bextor - Murder on the Dancefloor (complete with obligatory foot-stamping)
- Steps - After the love has gone
Monday 18 July 2011
Day 65 (18 July 2011) - Mr Loverman
OK, so Shabba Ranks I am not, although we could almost be twins?! I've been deliberating whether to tell you about Tuesday or not, but as we're practically family and I feel I can tell you (almost) anything, what the hell...but be warned, you really may not want to read on, so feel free to shuffle off for a jaffa cake and a Midsomer Murders instead.
Still with me? Then gather in, as others may be listening.
As previously mentioned in this Web Log (or Blog as we like to call it), I am not a stud. Bright - ish, funny - kinda of, well mannered - definitely, but the Don Juan of Putney - not on your nelly. Kate's flirting challenge has provided some degree of angst - with some rather marvellous moments too - but Ron Jeremy I am most certainly not. If I'm quite honest my problems with sex are two fold; I'm a romantic at heart and I struggle to disengage my brain. That's not to say I don't enjoy sex - who doesn't? It's just that sex, for me, usually has to involve a degree of romance - you know, a bit of smooching, some kissing, some good-natured giggling and a good cuddle - and it needs to be with someone I feel relaxed with. So when I visited a Tarot Card reader on my trip to Brighton and was left with the parting advice 'stop analysing everything and go get laid' it almost felt like Challenge #31; to make the most of being single and do what most blokes in my situation would do; namely fill my boots.
To cut a long story short, on Tuesday night following a jolly night in the pub, I found myself on a strange doorstep at 10.00pm being invited in for a drink by someone I can only describe as 'unbelieveably fit' and who didn't want me for my mind! Now, this scenario always puts me in mind of the old Gold Blend adverts, which ran for about 10 years after which time, the couple in question finally got round to shagging. Heaven knows why it took them so long, she couldn't have made it more obvious if she'd answered the door with her knickers on her head! But I digress...to my knowledge I've never had a one-night stand (given I spent much of my early 20s drunk, I am waiting for someone to correct me on this??), preferring the more sensible, more romantic route of going on a round of dates and getting to know someone first. Well my mother brought me up properly and I always like to know with whom I'm having the pleasure! My first instinct was to politely decline and do the 'decent thing' but then I remembered 'the cards' and the fact that I am the new, confident me, pushing boundaries and living life to the full. Spontaneity is my new middle name.
I won't go into too many details, but thirty minutes later after a ridiculous amount of flirting (Kate - you'd be proud) nothing had happened. I kept telling myself to make 'the move' and get on with it, but having not found myself in this situation for over eleven years, I was ridiculously out of practice. I couldn't help but keep thinking 'what if I've misread the signs; what if they thought I looked thirsty and were merely being polite? Suddenly I knew exactly why it had taken ten years to break the seal of that ruddy jar of Gold Blend.
Eventually, the stand off ended when a hand reached over and squeezed my shoulder in such a way, that I determined that I was, in fact 'in'. This was the time to stay cool, look confident, man up and do what any stud would do. But what would a stud do in this situation???
...whatever it is I'm pretty confident uttering the words 'nice lamp' wouldn't have been top of the list. But there I was in full Hugh Grant, bumbling mode jabbering on like Vicky Pollard on speed about all sorts of inane rubbish, until I was silenced by a pair or lips locking against mine. Now, think about nuns or your elderly uncle or Richard Whiteley, because you really don't need to let your mind go too deeply into this image, however with the tension finally broken, sheer, unbridalled passion commenced and it was amazing. Within what seemed liked moments the floor was covered in recklessly abandoned clothers, just like the movies and I felt like a proper Latin lothario. As I gazed on the most perfect, naked form I'd ever set eyes on (in real life, at any road) it felt as though a big fat man in a red suit with a big white beard had delivered sack upon sack of presents my way...
...and then the brain kicked it. 'OMG, you're amazing' suddenly became 'OMG, I'd better be good'; the 'you are sooo beautiful' was rudely elbowed out of the way by the 'Why didn't I spend more time in the gym instead of eating cake' and those moments of sheer unbridalled passion slowly became submerged under growing pressure and doubts. I fought desperately against them and it was a mighty battle in which both sides swung back and forth and for a long time there was no clear winner.
And then the cramp hit. I'd no idea my leg had been stuck in the one position for so long, but frustrated with my lack of attentiveness it rebelled with an almighty shooting pain which made me both wince and grimace at the same time. As my immaculate partner became more stunning as the beads of sweat formed on their flawless face, I was left hopping around trying to regain circulation, increasingly aware that I was a red, sweaty scruff hyperventilating through the effort required to suck my stomach in and now with a limp. In truth I started to find the whole episode quite laughable and found it difficult to stifle my giggles, but when I looked up and saw a frustrated, bemused and slightly weary pair of eyes looking back at me, I suddenly realised the whole ridiculousness of the situation.
I went home soon after following a conversation involving the standard apologies and 'it doesn't matter' cliches. A long, lingering kiss on the doorstep told me the night hadn't been a complete washout...and I had pulled at a level several stratospheres above my station. However, in the days that followed in which I went from laughing my head off to physically banging my head against random walls I came to realise that the studly life isn't for me. I am destined never to be the new Callum Best, but instead will happily wait until I meet a special someone who I want to date, who finds life as ridiculous as I do and who knows how to relieve cramp
Still with me? Then gather in, as others may be listening.
As previously mentioned in this Web Log (or Blog as we like to call it), I am not a stud. Bright - ish, funny - kinda of, well mannered - definitely, but the Don Juan of Putney - not on your nelly. Kate's flirting challenge has provided some degree of angst - with some rather marvellous moments too - but Ron Jeremy I am most certainly not. If I'm quite honest my problems with sex are two fold; I'm a romantic at heart and I struggle to disengage my brain. That's not to say I don't enjoy sex - who doesn't? It's just that sex, for me, usually has to involve a degree of romance - you know, a bit of smooching, some kissing, some good-natured giggling and a good cuddle - and it needs to be with someone I feel relaxed with. So when I visited a Tarot Card reader on my trip to Brighton and was left with the parting advice 'stop analysing everything and go get laid' it almost felt like Challenge #31; to make the most of being single and do what most blokes in my situation would do; namely fill my boots.
To cut a long story short, on Tuesday night following a jolly night in the pub, I found myself on a strange doorstep at 10.00pm being invited in for a drink by someone I can only describe as 'unbelieveably fit' and who didn't want me for my mind! Now, this scenario always puts me in mind of the old Gold Blend adverts, which ran for about 10 years after which time, the couple in question finally got round to shagging. Heaven knows why it took them so long, she couldn't have made it more obvious if she'd answered the door with her knickers on her head! But I digress...to my knowledge I've never had a one-night stand (given I spent much of my early 20s drunk, I am waiting for someone to correct me on this??), preferring the more sensible, more romantic route of going on a round of dates and getting to know someone first. Well my mother brought me up properly and I always like to know with whom I'm having the pleasure! My first instinct was to politely decline and do the 'decent thing' but then I remembered 'the cards' and the fact that I am the new, confident me, pushing boundaries and living life to the full. Spontaneity is my new middle name.
I won't go into too many details, but thirty minutes later after a ridiculous amount of flirting (Kate - you'd be proud) nothing had happened. I kept telling myself to make 'the move' and get on with it, but having not found myself in this situation for over eleven years, I was ridiculously out of practice. I couldn't help but keep thinking 'what if I've misread the signs; what if they thought I looked thirsty and were merely being polite? Suddenly I knew exactly why it had taken ten years to break the seal of that ruddy jar of Gold Blend.
Eventually, the stand off ended when a hand reached over and squeezed my shoulder in such a way, that I determined that I was, in fact 'in'. This was the time to stay cool, look confident, man up and do what any stud would do. But what would a stud do in this situation???
...whatever it is I'm pretty confident uttering the words 'nice lamp' wouldn't have been top of the list. But there I was in full Hugh Grant, bumbling mode jabbering on like Vicky Pollard on speed about all sorts of inane rubbish, until I was silenced by a pair or lips locking against mine. Now, think about nuns or your elderly uncle or Richard Whiteley, because you really don't need to let your mind go too deeply into this image, however with the tension finally broken, sheer, unbridalled passion commenced and it was amazing. Within what seemed liked moments the floor was covered in recklessly abandoned clothers, just like the movies and I felt like a proper Latin lothario. As I gazed on the most perfect, naked form I'd ever set eyes on (in real life, at any road) it felt as though a big fat man in a red suit with a big white beard had delivered sack upon sack of presents my way...
...and then the brain kicked it. 'OMG, you're amazing' suddenly became 'OMG, I'd better be good'; the 'you are sooo beautiful' was rudely elbowed out of the way by the 'Why didn't I spend more time in the gym instead of eating cake' and those moments of sheer unbridalled passion slowly became submerged under growing pressure and doubts. I fought desperately against them and it was a mighty battle in which both sides swung back and forth and for a long time there was no clear winner.
And then the cramp hit. I'd no idea my leg had been stuck in the one position for so long, but frustrated with my lack of attentiveness it rebelled with an almighty shooting pain which made me both wince and grimace at the same time. As my immaculate partner became more stunning as the beads of sweat formed on their flawless face, I was left hopping around trying to regain circulation, increasingly aware that I was a red, sweaty scruff hyperventilating through the effort required to suck my stomach in and now with a limp. In truth I started to find the whole episode quite laughable and found it difficult to stifle my giggles, but when I looked up and saw a frustrated, bemused and slightly weary pair of eyes looking back at me, I suddenly realised the whole ridiculousness of the situation.
I went home soon after following a conversation involving the standard apologies and 'it doesn't matter' cliches. A long, lingering kiss on the doorstep told me the night hadn't been a complete washout...and I had pulled at a level several stratospheres above my station. However, in the days that followed in which I went from laughing my head off to physically banging my head against random walls I came to realise that the studly life isn't for me. I am destined never to be the new Callum Best, but instead will happily wait until I meet a special someone who I want to date, who finds life as ridiculous as I do and who knows how to relieve cramp
Friday 15 July 2011
Day 60 (13 July 2011) - 'Go West, life is peaceful there...
...Go West, in the open air'
Alroight my lovers? Look, 14 days have passed since my last post! How did I let that happen? Big apologies, quite unforgiveable. Life has been moving at a million miles an hour in those fourteen days and I think only one of those fourteen has involved staying in. It's been a whirlwind of dinner, drinking, parties, drinking, catching up with friends, drinking, karaoke and drinking. Whilst it's been tremendous fun and very enjoyable, it's done nothing for my waistline, my bank balance or my sleep patterns. Think this is how George Best started? As fun as life currently is, I'm beginning to look like Dale Winton, so one of those leaves of the new variety needs to be turned over, as I am 50% drunk and 50% knackered at the moment.
However, in spite of the frenetic period, I haven't forgotten my quests. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present Task 29 - Come and vist me in Bath (you bastard) - John.
John is one of my oldest and best friends. He and his wonderful wife, Ellen, rival the Casleys for the title of 'Most Intelligent Couple in the World'. Yet, in spite of having brains the size of small countries, they combine this with a humility, warmth and sheer daft-as-a-brushness which makes them instantly loveable. We've been friends for nearly 30 years and although we only see each other once or twice a year, seeing him is so wonderfully easy and instantly makes me feel 16 again. I always think of our English lessons at Sixth Form, where John would veer between making super-bright points and drawing pictures of our English teacher 'The Balloonatic' with various parts of his body up his bottom - not helped by the fact that for all his many skills and attributes, John (or 'The Cedilla' as I know him) is quite possibly the most piss-poor artist on the planet (sorry Cedilla). I would spend much of my time trying to stifle laughter, normally with a good deal of success (it was the drama classes); sadly this is John's other failing; he seemed to think that biting on his finger or holding an Arden Shakespeare immediately in front of his face would disguise the fact he was shaking uncontrollably and snorting! Unbelievably, that same teacher told my Mum at Parents' Evening, that John was a great influence on me?! Dread to think what would have happened with a bad influence?
So, last weekend, I headed off to Bath for two days and as always, had a thoroughly lovely break. We laughed - a lot - most of it led by total nonsense, just as I like it, and enjoyed great food (Ellen's hospitality is second to none) and lots of wine (surprise!). John and Ellen were, as always, exactly as I left them: amusing, hospitable and generally loveable in their beautiful home which exudes warmth and contentment from every brick. With both being / having been English lecturers (they're both Drs, don't you know!) they also have a veritable library which always fascinates me. I always secretly enjoy thumbing their Penguin Classics in their spare room (one of these days, they're going to catch me!
As anyone who knows me will testify, I regularly and openly champion London as the best city in the world. Granted, there are lots of places I haven't visited - Kabul may be lovely? - but as much as I love New York, Paris and Barcelona, nothing quite compares to what has been my home for the last 13 years and I can never envisage living anywhere else. Yet, whilst I can't reconcile the thought of not having London on my doorstep, I found myself being seduced by Bath's charms. Maybe I need to indulge in some proper human to human seduction, maybe it was being with one of my oldest and bestest friends, or maybe Bath really is that lovely. Whatever the reason, I found myself looking in estate agent windows and considering which area of Bath would suit me best. Not that I'm going anywhere yet, but for a fleeting moment I had a vision of a totally different life that may lie ahead of me. Bath is, quite simply, stunning.
As I headed back on the train to London (seeking flirting opportunities, as per Kate's instructions - none forthcoming, sadly) I realised that whilst generally in life I'm all a bit up in the air and a tad lost, those few hours with close friends were worth a gazillion drunken nights out. Now, if I can just hang on to that thought...
Alroight my lovers? Look, 14 days have passed since my last post! How did I let that happen? Big apologies, quite unforgiveable. Life has been moving at a million miles an hour in those fourteen days and I think only one of those fourteen has involved staying in. It's been a whirlwind of dinner, drinking, parties, drinking, catching up with friends, drinking, karaoke and drinking. Whilst it's been tremendous fun and very enjoyable, it's done nothing for my waistline, my bank balance or my sleep patterns. Think this is how George Best started? As fun as life currently is, I'm beginning to look like Dale Winton, so one of those leaves of the new variety needs to be turned over, as I am 50% drunk and 50% knackered at the moment.
However, in spite of the frenetic period, I haven't forgotten my quests. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present Task 29 - Come and vist me in Bath (you bastard) - John.
John is one of my oldest and best friends. He and his wonderful wife, Ellen, rival the Casleys for the title of 'Most Intelligent Couple in the World'. Yet, in spite of having brains the size of small countries, they combine this with a humility, warmth and sheer daft-as-a-brushness which makes them instantly loveable. We've been friends for nearly 30 years and although we only see each other once or twice a year, seeing him is so wonderfully easy and instantly makes me feel 16 again. I always think of our English lessons at Sixth Form, where John would veer between making super-bright points and drawing pictures of our English teacher 'The Balloonatic' with various parts of his body up his bottom - not helped by the fact that for all his many skills and attributes, John (or 'The Cedilla' as I know him) is quite possibly the most piss-poor artist on the planet (sorry Cedilla). I would spend much of my time trying to stifle laughter, normally with a good deal of success (it was the drama classes); sadly this is John's other failing; he seemed to think that biting on his finger or holding an Arden Shakespeare immediately in front of his face would disguise the fact he was shaking uncontrollably and snorting! Unbelievably, that same teacher told my Mum at Parents' Evening, that John was a great influence on me?! Dread to think what would have happened with a bad influence?
So, last weekend, I headed off to Bath for two days and as always, had a thoroughly lovely break. We laughed - a lot - most of it led by total nonsense, just as I like it, and enjoyed great food (Ellen's hospitality is second to none) and lots of wine (surprise!). John and Ellen were, as always, exactly as I left them: amusing, hospitable and generally loveable in their beautiful home which exudes warmth and contentment from every brick. With both being / having been English lecturers (they're both Drs, don't you know!) they also have a veritable library which always fascinates me. I always secretly enjoy thumbing their Penguin Classics in their spare room (one of these days, they're going to catch me!
As anyone who knows me will testify, I regularly and openly champion London as the best city in the world. Granted, there are lots of places I haven't visited - Kabul may be lovely? - but as much as I love New York, Paris and Barcelona, nothing quite compares to what has been my home for the last 13 years and I can never envisage living anywhere else. Yet, whilst I can't reconcile the thought of not having London on my doorstep, I found myself being seduced by Bath's charms. Maybe I need to indulge in some proper human to human seduction, maybe it was being with one of my oldest and bestest friends, or maybe Bath really is that lovely. Whatever the reason, I found myself looking in estate agent windows and considering which area of Bath would suit me best. Not that I'm going anywhere yet, but for a fleeting moment I had a vision of a totally different life that may lie ahead of me. Bath is, quite simply, stunning.
As I headed back on the train to London (seeking flirting opportunities, as per Kate's instructions - none forthcoming, sadly) I realised that whilst generally in life I'm all a bit up in the air and a tad lost, those few hours with close friends were worth a gazillion drunken nights out. Now, if I can just hang on to that thought...
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