transport tips for London

I know my recent posts have all consisted of lists (which let's face it, are a cop out) and for that I apologise. As soon as my world stops spinning out of control I will return to witty stories and cheeky observations, but for another day. This day I give you my jaded, 3 years in the Big Smoke, everyone but me is an idiot, top tips for surviving London transport. I can't,however,guarantee your sanity will remain in tact as a result of these tips. Better the devil you know, I say.
-most of the time (there are very few exceptions) there is no reason to sprint for the tube, hurdle your body-and your massive bag which you insist on rolling behind you for the 8 hours you will be at work-into the others calmly waiting on the tube. Everyone is already smashed like sardines and your lack of hand eye coordination creates a chain reaction of unwanted bodily contact
-please don't breathe on your fellow passangers. None of us wants to be there but your breath (especially if you smoke) makes the journey even less tolerable. Ditto for air that comes from places other then your mouth. Honestly, are you even remotely civilised?
-don't stare at people. In America we teach our children that this is rude. I think that rule should be international. And no being drunk is not an excuse
-if you are too cheap to take a cab to the airport and you have luggage bigger then some African countries, could you kindly plan ahead and not travel on Monday at 8am, or 6pm for that matter
-your bag/handbag/lunch/newspaper shouldn't have its own seat unless it also has its own ticket
-there is such a thing as travel karma. For every time you shove someone out of the way, you miss a train or tube

what I learned this weekend

-I am bad at PR for the people I date
-Therefore I am actually concerned my mates may revoke my right to choose (my own dates that is)
-One day of doing nothing but lie on the sofa will not cure the virus of 2007
-With copious amounts of mulled wine, watching your friends ice skate can be almost as fun as doing it yourself
-30 is a fun birthday no matter how many times you celebrate it
-Thanksgiving is about gratefulness (yes I made that word up) not a country or a day or specific food
-When the temperature drops to -6 people react in strange ways
-Some people are afraid of cats, I understand not liking them, but afraid is a whole new level of crazy
-I know more then the average girl about George Michael. I still don't see anything wrong with this
-Jonathan Rhys Meyers has a 2" penis (flag at full mast)

This was brought to you by the letter D for disease which I believe has plotted my demise.

You know it's almost Christmas when

• Out of charity you agree to go for Sugar Daddy speed dating as a wing woman
• The lights on Oxford Street make you tear up (OK, maybe I had too much champers)
• It's so cold that wearing your glasses is the only way to prevent your eyes from involuntarily weeping when you dash to the train in the morning
• Love Actually makes you tear up (hmm, again, wine this time, maybe there is a theme here)
• You justify purchases for yourself in relation to the amount of money you have spent on others
• You get so excited about the special holiday lattes that you miss your morning train
• Planning a night on the town for 5 weeks away doesn't seem unreasonable
• People start practising random acts of kindness**
• You detox once a week rather then once a month in anticipation of the gluttony to come

Happy Christmas Season!

**OK, maybe not in London, but in a lot of other cities

34 to 1 and pocket pool

When I boarded the plane from Johannesburg it was 34C (that's about 93 for the F peeps) and when I stepped off the plane in London it was 1C (about 33F). My body has refused to re-acclimate and my mind isn't far behind. I have been triple rolled in my duvet the last couple of nights in a vain attempt to ward off the cold cold air surrounding my bed. Lucky for me a friend met me at one of my favourite pubs last night. Twas a great reminder why I love London, even if I did nearly freeze. I also, as luck would have it, was the recipient of what seemed to be a quick game of pocket pool.
**Warning: I can laugh at myself and my partner in crime last night can laugh at me even more. The following story is not for the prude, faint of heart or otherwise humourously challenged.**

Let me explain. Upon leaving the first pub last night we wandered to a second for a top off to end the evening. When we entered, the smell was so offensive that we decided without even speaking to take our drinks outside (yes, into the 1 or possibly 0 by this time freezing cold air). Whilst discussing the meaning of life erm ok maybe it was more like the meaning of Chelsy and Harry splitting up, the bar man interuppeted us to ask if we smoked. He was collecting the ash trays, so the question seemed relevant.

No, we both answered.
How long have you been here, he continued.
Um, 10 minutes, we said.
No in this country, he stammerd.
He Scottish, I confused, looked at him and repeated 10 minutes.

My mate and I both expected a one person rant on the evils of America, Bush and everyone who happened to be born in the vast country also known as a world oppressor. Instead we got a very disconnected lecture on how we would soon start smoking in this freezing depressed desolate city otherwise known as London. Now is probably a good time to mention that the lower half of this very eloquent man was hidden behind a short fence and under the table. We finished our pints and left, probably a little faster then normal given the special friend we had clearly attracted. We got to the tube station and I noticed white splashes up the side of my knee high black boot, but only the left one. Splashes that looked suspiciously like the remnants of a one handed shuffle. It was quite possibly one of the most disturbing looking things to have been bestowed on me in over 3 years living in London (and trust me, this is saying a lot). Laugh and the world laughs with you, get a sticky white substance splashed on your boot and the world laughs at you.

Why?

Didn't I meet him when I got here instead of when I am leaving?
Did it have to be someone who is a 12 hour flight away?
Did he have to be so incredibly different then anyone I have met in ages?
Isn't he over his ex?
Do I like the ones I can't have?
Am I a sucker for a big heart and soulful eyes?
Can't I sleep on planes?

Nervous

I met a boy last night when I was least expecting it (of course). Product whore that I am, I quickly found the coolest little apothecary here in Jo'Burg. They do custom body lotions, bath melts, lip balms and other fun stuff. Needless to say I have spent more of my fair share (and money) there over the last 2 weeks. Last night I went in to pick up some of the things that quickly became favourites for xmas gifts, only this time the owner was there. Instant connection doesn't even describe the interaction that ensued. We talked and drank wine until I had to go to a business dinner and made plans to meet up tonight. He and his friend invited me to see a local band with them and they are due here to pick me up any minute. I am nervous. I rarely get nervous. I am unflappable usually. But I am sitting in my hotel room, palms sweating, 12 outfits later waiting to go meet them, not wanting to be early. Ok here goes.

Good at Something

I was struggling to iron my suit this morning. The suit is silk and the iron kept spewing water everywhere. Silk and water don't mix. Now for anyone who hasn't been to countries where hired help is the norm, let me explain. It keeps people employed who otherwise wouldn't have jobs, they are treated very very well and in some cases become part of the family. In no way since I have been in Africa have I seen any of the helpers treated poorly, nor do they ever seem unhappy. They sing whilst they work and seem more then pleased to help with things. So I called housekeeping in a panic and asked if they could press it for me. Of course they replied, of course. I laughed and said "I'm rubbish, I tried and I can't do it, I'm sorry." She belly laughed along with me and replied, "That's already darling, you are very good at something else and that's what matters." Everytime I am down on myself for not being able to do EVERYTHING perfectly, I am going to remember this.

Does it make me a horrible person?

I stumbled on an ex boyfriends "wedding site" a bit ago and had a less then favourable reaction to the story, photos, wedding plans, very large picture of the ring and oh did I mention the photos? Sorry I need to go throw up.

Recycled Air

I can't really sleep on planes. I mean it's usually not the best sensory experience and the recyled air, well it's just wrong. I can, but the means by which I get there is not worth the end. Suffice to say with the distances I tend to travel, one has a lot of time to think. Well think and watch bad movies, but sometimes the bad movies make you think even more. Anyway, I am far far from any of the places I call home at the moment and the flight here was 12 hours. I had a lot of time to think and funny enough, it was all very superficial. Brace yourself reader ( I am pretty sure there is only one) becuase I am about to get blonde on you with DEEP thoughts.

So I did that whole signing up to a dating site thing for one very specific reason, I firmly believe it takes a date to get a date. It must be pheromones or something, but as soon as you line up a date (you don't even have to go on it) you will inevitably get another. So I made a few dates for when I return to the UK within a couple of days of being on the dating site. Like clockwork, 2 days later I got a text from Cricket Boy asking if I wanted to have a drink. Being away bought me some space to decide. Perfect timing as I'm not sure I want to open that chapter again. Quite sure he's not ready for a new chapter and there is only so much recycling one girl with so many dates can do.