8 March 2004
5pm Friday
To get dressed, or not get dressed: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of convention,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To remain in my bathrobe;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and at least put on a pair of socks
Lunchtime, Saturday
Convulsing in helpless giggles as I watch a small child (no more than 3 or 4 years old) pick up the squeezy bottle of tomato ketchup from the table, turn it upside down and with great concentration, squeeze it until a small mound of ketchup begins to grow on the carpet.
Saturday afternoon
Ahhh... Camden. As delightfully mental and busy as ever. The hunt for the perfect pair of fishnets is on. Black Rose as usual comes up trumps and I grab two pairs and a pair of stripey tights.
A last gasp trip through the Electric Ballroom results in two ace purchases at bargain prices. Have I mentioned I love Camden?
Saturday evening
sevitzdotparty, via an unplanned and unprecedented trip to Kensington (Olympia) when the train went the opposite way than expected based on what the signage at Earl's Court had led us to believe.
Pub was absolutely heaving with people, but some quick, and hopefully dignified moutaineering got me a seat, which I managed to hold on to for most of the night, until two large JD & Diet Cokes and several vodka jellies later I needed to visit the little girl's room, conveniently located at the furthest point away from where I was.
Almost pulled a very, very drunk South African guy on the way back, who asked for my number, and then he foiled my first opportunity to do the old "999 - call only in emergency" response by dint of the battery on his phone being flat. Ah well.
Think to self: music selection more appropriate for high-school disco than pub in Fulham. Laugh out loud when Theme from Ghostbusters starts up and confirms thought.
More vodka jelly (thank god for wipe-clean leather boots) and time for a long, leisurely night-tour of London, via the No. 11 to Liverpool Street and the No. 271 home.
Slight panic hits two stops from home, as I turn around and realise that a guy from work is sitting two seats back on the diagonal, and I have no idea when or where he got on the bus. Try to rewind conversation to assess potential damage done to reputation. Give up when logic kicks in a few seconds later and I remember that this is the second time he's seen me out and about at the weekend, the last time being D's birthday dinner where I was wearing thigh high boots and a miniskirt, and that this time I'm wearing knee high boots, fishnets and a miniskirt.
Resolve to stay at desk as much as possible, to minimise potential of bumping into said colleague, in the hope that by the next time I see him he's forgotten.
Also hope that he was really that engrossed in his paper and music that he didn't notice which stop I got off at, but then realise that it doesn't really matter since I'm going to be moving soon anyway.
Sunday afternoon
Supermarket. Quieter than expected, thank goodness. Have husky Eartha Kitt style voice as result of vodka jellies and shouting over school disco music.
Whee. Melbourne Grand Prix.
Boo. Ferrari 1 and 2.
Sigh. Here we go again.
Sunday evening
Pie.
Chicken & Bacon. Home made too.
Ace (even if I do say so myself).
Monday morning
I have to go back to work already?
Drat.
But but but i like the music.
And sorry about the jelly on your fishnetted legs accident ...
Don't worry about it Adrian, apparently somebody got pictures of it. Her lawyers will be in touch.
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