So it's new years eve.
So it's new years eve. Wow, another whole year has passed for me, and since it's also my birthday, I can really say that, mmm yes, another year has gone by.
It's been a busy one. I have moved accross the world, visited Canada, Ireland, Denmark, France twice, Iceland... Got a new fabulous job in London, had the biggest assembly of my closest friends ever (sadly to say goodbye), competed in swimming at the Outgames in Montreal and most impressively for me, survived my first Christmas and new years in the winter.
Well, almost.
Today, just to cap off our lovely week of doing f all around London, we decided to skip off to the Glorious London Portrait Gallery at the rear of the National Gallery for some culture. The wife had seen an advert for an exhibition of the Pet Shop Boys, and we wanted to make sure we saw it before it finished in March.
Ok, so, if you've been nodding thinking, "ooh, yes, I'd like to see that", well, let me spare you the tube fare. Go to your CD drawer, and open up your PSB "Discography" CD (yes, OK, I know you've all got a copy), and look at the inner sleeve. There you will find a better exhibition than the half dozen manky pictures hangin' in the cellar next to the shop in the basement of the gallery.
Pissed off mach 1.
After this occupied a whole 7.5 minutes of the afternoon, and I had already put on my best scarf, best brown boots and new Paul Smith pants to head into the west end, we decided to stroll down the Mall, just to have a nice London walk. This was lovely, we sauntered along the Princess Diana commemorative walk through St James park and laughed like lovers at the squirrels, the geese, the ducks, and the skyrats. We decided that the rain didn't really matter, darn it! lets be devvilish, and get a hot chocolate from the little kiosk adjacent to Buckingham Palace.
What could be more disappointing than a tepid watery hot "chocolate" in a plastic cup on a cold day? HMPH. I don't know, but it doesn't put one in a very nice frame of mind. In fact, when one of the other customers who were milling around sipping their cappucino THREW their swizzle stick ONTO THE GROUND about 2 feet away from the bin, I'm sorry, but I actually felt compelled to sacrifice my drink to decorate his balding head.
I work in an industry who's purpose is to create and manage the land - landscapes, urban spaces, gardens, streets, boulevards, palaces, stately homes, waterways and forests. So when someone blatantly litters in front of me like that (Which, I might add, is a chargable offence in Australia) I do like to say something.
"Excuse me, you dropped your coffee stirrer" as I walked away. As I watched, he was looking for what I was referring to, as if he'd misunderstood, and was looking for the gold Rolex I had spotted on the grass, and really wasn't interested in.
Go back to your own country, and litter up your own national monuments.
Pissed off mach 2.
Arriving back to Queen's park, it was raining, so we took shelter in the station before making a dash for it. We were in the company of another shall we say, largish family, whos 17 children were running around like midges over a dead fish head in a steamy summer rock pool, all eating manderines. One of these alien spawn had decided that the ground was where the peels would look their best, even though the colour scheme of the station clearly said "Lost on a mountain" and not "Carmen Miranda's fruity funbag jamboree".
SO there these peels lay scattered before me, and as my blood pressure started to rise, the child's mother appears before me, and she then begins to chastise the child for the action. I thought, mmm, this is good. She is pointing out that there is a rubbish bin, only 2 metres away, and that its not very nice to litter like that, because it might be someones bed. Caring lady.
To which the child answers back "But everyone else does it..."
Ok, so in my mind, I see my mother's back hand coming at me, with a shriek of "Pick it up or ELSE.."
What I hear from this...woman... is *grunt* "ok"...
I had to contain my fury as we ran out of the station. I would have said something, but I just had this image of Barbarella
being chomped to death by rabid metal toothed dollies as these foul dirty children circled around me.
Sigh
Pissed off mach 3.
Now I'm sitting here, blogging at 9.00pm on new years eve, because we have nothing to do, and we're comtemplating heading to Soho, but we kind of can't be naffed, because I would probably get into a fight anyway. I guess the herbal tea and vegetables diet has begun a few hours early.
Now where are my last ever 3 cigarettes and that bottle of smirnoff?
It's been a busy one. I have moved accross the world, visited Canada, Ireland, Denmark, France twice, Iceland... Got a new fabulous job in London, had the biggest assembly of my closest friends ever (sadly to say goodbye), competed in swimming at the Outgames in Montreal and most impressively for me, survived my first Christmas and new years in the winter.
Well, almost.
Today, just to cap off our lovely week of doing f all around London, we decided to skip off to the Glorious London Portrait Gallery at the rear of the National Gallery for some culture. The wife had seen an advert for an exhibition of the Pet Shop Boys, and we wanted to make sure we saw it before it finished in March.
Ok, so, if you've been nodding thinking, "ooh, yes, I'd like to see that", well, let me spare you the tube fare. Go to your CD drawer, and open up your PSB "Discography" CD (yes, OK, I know you've all got a copy), and look at the inner sleeve. There you will find a better exhibition than the half dozen manky pictures hangin' in the cellar next to the shop in the basement of the gallery.
Pissed off mach 1.
After this occupied a whole 7.5 minutes of the afternoon, and I had already put on my best scarf, best brown boots and new Paul Smith pants to head into the west end, we decided to stroll down the Mall, just to have a nice London walk. This was lovely, we sauntered along the Princess Diana commemorative walk through St James park and laughed like lovers at the squirrels, the geese, the ducks, and the skyrats. We decided that the rain didn't really matter, darn it! lets be devvilish, and get a hot chocolate from the little kiosk adjacent to Buckingham Palace.
What could be more disappointing than a tepid watery hot "chocolate" in a plastic cup on a cold day? HMPH. I don't know, but it doesn't put one in a very nice frame of mind. In fact, when one of the other customers who were milling around sipping their cappucino THREW their swizzle stick ONTO THE GROUND about 2 feet away from the bin, I'm sorry, but I actually felt compelled to sacrifice my drink to decorate his balding head.
I work in an industry who's purpose is to create and manage the land - landscapes, urban spaces, gardens, streets, boulevards, palaces, stately homes, waterways and forests. So when someone blatantly litters in front of me like that (Which, I might add, is a chargable offence in Australia) I do like to say something.
"Excuse me, you dropped your coffee stirrer" as I walked away. As I watched, he was looking for what I was referring to, as if he'd misunderstood, and was looking for the gold Rolex I had spotted on the grass, and really wasn't interested in.
Go back to your own country, and litter up your own national monuments.
Pissed off mach 2.
Arriving back to Queen's park, it was raining, so we took shelter in the station before making a dash for it. We were in the company of another shall we say, largish family, whos 17 children were running around like midges over a dead fish head in a steamy summer rock pool, all eating manderines. One of these alien spawn had decided that the ground was where the peels would look their best, even though the colour scheme of the station clearly said "Lost on a mountain" and not "Carmen Miranda's fruity funbag jamboree".
SO there these peels lay scattered before me, and as my blood pressure started to rise, the child's mother appears before me, and she then begins to chastise the child for the action. I thought, mmm, this is good. She is pointing out that there is a rubbish bin, only 2 metres away, and that its not very nice to litter like that, because it might be someones bed. Caring lady.
To which the child answers back "But everyone else does it..."
Ok, so in my mind, I see my mother's back hand coming at me, with a shriek of "Pick it up or ELSE.."
What I hear from this...woman... is *grunt* "ok"...
I had to contain my fury as we ran out of the station. I would have said something, but I just had this image of Barbarella
being chomped to death by rabid metal toothed dollies as these foul dirty children circled around me.
Sigh
Pissed off mach 3.
Now I'm sitting here, blogging at 9.00pm on new years eve, because we have nothing to do, and we're comtemplating heading to Soho, but we kind of can't be naffed, because I would probably get into a fight anyway. I guess the herbal tea and vegetables diet has begun a few hours early.
Now where are my last ever 3 cigarettes and that bottle of smirnoff?
Labels: About town, MADNESS
posted by Eddie Knittster at 8:17 pm
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