MEMEHUNTER

M.I.B it's a big horse...

It occurs to me, as it often does, that some time has passed since last I put virtual ink to cyber blah and put something up here. Oddly, there's been a strange hiatus in bloggage among all those scribblers that I read (list to the right), as if we've all been far, far to busy, darling, to sling anything into the ether. Hmm. The others seem to be coming out of hibernation at the moment, so I suppose I should join in... seems somehow impolite not to.

So, I went home to London last weekend. For Chris and Rachel's engagement HOOO-hah! (that's like a party, but more so). Took me most of saturday to get back home, met my dad at the station, checked that my mum's car was still parked in the random house in St John's Wood and back to me dad's for martini (woo) and lasagne. Then off to party.

Spent most of the first half of the party moaning to friends various about how I wasn't getting drunk no matter how much I drank. So I drank more until very suddenly I couldn't feel my face and was having difficulty speaking. Yey. Amusing moments: me agreeing with Danny that what this party needed was goddamn limbo, me feeling up the German girl because I thought it was a mate of mine (what do you say? "sorry, I thought that was George, who I was feeling up ... for a... um...joke..."), the massive Old Wet pile-up, and me trying to kiss absolutely everyone. Then I passed out on the floor. Woo.

Nice lunch with some people on Sunday, and the purchase of what are undoubtedly the gayest cowboy boots in all the world. I'll supply a picture at some point, but me camera's up the creek. I wore them out on Sunday night (think shiny patent leather, think bright red stiching, think slightly S&M spur-strap thing... and you're not yet close) but, being new cowboy boots, they ATE my feet. Post pub, I had to hail a cab.

Now, if you've never been to London and ridden in a taxi, stop reading NOW, go there and do just that. There is nothing better than London black cabs and no better species of human than the London cabbies. Except the racist ones. They're cunts.

Conversation with cabbie ran as follows (cabbie has outrageous East End accent, I have mellow RP tones), we begin a minute after we are underway:

Cabbie: Mate, the weirdest thing just happened to me.
Me: Really?
Cabbie: Yeah. The fare just before you was this woman. She was totally pissed, right?
Me: gotcha.
Cabbie: so, I takes her where she wants to go, and she's paying me through this slot here [indicates a new feature of the black cabs, which is a slot in the perspex behind the driver for money posting]
Me: right
Cabbie: and she's down right on her knees, pushing money through. And she sneezes, right?
Me: ...right
Cabbie: and she fires her front tooth through this gap, and it hits here somewhere [indicates the dashboard].
Me: you're kidding
Cabbie: no, mate. It's in here somewhere... I don't know where. I think it's in me bag. She had all the doors open, we was looking everywhere. God knows where it went, but I know it's in here coz I heard it, you know?
Me: [unable to speak through laughter]

He went on to tell me that it is a well known con to take a cab and drop a ring in the front of the car when paying so that the cabbie bends down to pick it up and you can cosh him over the back of the head and take his money. I didn't know that, but apparently it's very common. He said he wasn't all that worried this time because it was, you know, a tooth and seemed somehow a bit extreme.

So that was great.

God I miss London.

Anyway, pleasant day with mum on Monday ("are you *sure* you're gay?"/ "yes, mum, reasonably") with roast beef and things. Yum. Then back up here on Tuesday and back to work on Wed. Fun fun.

My supervisor's decided he hates all of us today. No one knows why. I suspect the menopause. Or something.

posted by Memehunter @ 6:58 PM