The biggest tease in blog land, Madame Nikki, has asked Mo and I to list our seven favourite things. Mo, who is now down to posting one day a week because he’s a wimp, has asked me to do his for him. I’ve agreed because he’s bribed me with some beer glasses he’s stolen from one of his drinking holes. Here they are. Guess which ones are Mo’s and which ones are mine.
1.Without a shadow of doubt my Daughter is the favourite thing happening in my life. Every evening when I get home we have a conversation that goes something like this:
Me – Alright babes, what’s happening?
Daughter – nothing.
Me – What you get up to in School today?
Daughter – nothing.
Me – So what you’re saying is nothing happened in School at all today?
Daughter – Well (pause for deep breath), Mrs Davies gave us a surprise Maths test and I scored 20 out of 20 in it and Joe and Daniel had a fight and Daniel was crying and Emily isn’t speaking to Sasha who isn’t speaking to Megan who isn’t speaking to Bethan and Chris isn’t speaking to Josh and Debs Mum forgot to pack her lunch so I shared mine with her and we’ve got a School trip next week to St Fagan’s and Sophie and I have to do a project on the big bang theory and did you know there’s a Lab in Helsinki that has an Rhodium bar that is kept at absolute freezing temperature which is -273.15 degrees and it is the coldest place in the universe unless there are aliens that are conducting the same experiment and I was voted onto the School council today and they’ve stopped Spanish class so I’ve started to learn French and Eve had to see the Head Master because she swore and we’ve got a special assembly at Llandaff Cathedral next week and what’s for dinner, I’m starving?
Me – Oh!
I adore Public transport. No. I’ll go one further and tell you all that I love Public transport. Be it a train or a bus or even a tram, nothing can beat sitting amongst fellow Human Beings, taking in the sights and sounds and even the smells. Let me expand.
Today I caught the number 36. I eagerly scampered up the stairs hoping to take my normal seat in the very front row of the double decker. Nothing beats sitting in the front row, day dreaming that you’re actually driving the bus, flicking an imaginary indicator, honking the horn at some pathetic excuse of a taxi driver, carving up some old dear in her Citroen CV 1. Not today though. Two gimp teenagers had beaten me to it.
The Male was dressed head to foot in camouflage gear. Why does every other Male in London dress this way? Is everyone living out some desert storm enactment and I haven’t been informed. The Girl was dressed like a slut.
Across the aisle from me was an elderly Japanese guy dressed in full World War 11 Rear Admiral ensemble. He was furiously speaking into his mobile phone. My ears pricked as I tried to eavesdrop but I couldn’t fathom out if he was speaking in his native tongue or some form of pigeon English. It sounded very much as if he was saying “white devils on the starboard bow, dive dive dive”.
One stop away from my final destination the gimp couple decided to leave. Typical. I watched in awe as the pair of them sauntered off the bus and straight into the Groucho Club.
A tramp barged past me as I stood up to vacate the bus and fell into the front seat. He was dressed in a German Oberstleutnant uniform and looked like Richard Burton in Where Eagles Dare. He vomited on the floor before curling up to fall asleep.
God I hate public transport.
2. I love sitting in a pub people watching. Today found me in my favourite haunt, The Flick Knife and Crowbar. An hour for lunch only allows six pints maximum, I was on my fourth, casually reading the problem page whilst glancing furtively around the bar. There waas maybe a dozen people in there although there could have been a few more in camouflage gear that I hadn't spotted.
A young couple shared a joke over a bottle of Cotes Du Rhone. She elegantly flicked her hair back a wide smile engulfed her glowing countenance. He gazed lovingly into her piercing blue eyes.
Three skinheads guffawed over some joke, their Cider splattering the marble effect bar.
Two old fellows, their gleaming war medals pinned to their jackets, sipped their glasses of stout, their tutting and furtive glances towards the skinheads telling its own story.
Two professional types sat by the window. They swilled their Gin and Tonics around in their glasses as they quietly discussed some deal or other.
Four Secretarys skipped in giggling amongst themselves. They stood at the bar and ordered spritzers. Dave the barman expertly poured their drinks, sharing a joke with them. They looked at each other and started giggling like pretty Hyenas in lipstick and Prada. They took seats next to me and started talking about Dave. Their skirts rising up to mid tanned thigh. One adjusted herself in her seat giving a tantalising view of stocking top. I could take it no longer. I casually leant across and spoke.
"Oi will you four fuck off, the stripper is on in a moment and you're in my fucking way".
Rugby is the greatest sport ever. Rugby tours are even better. My personal favourite is Dublin and guess where I'm going next March. Yes, another tour to Dublin. I could write for hours about all the trips I've been on and maybe I will some day. My favourite though was 1998. First off our hotel caught fire and we were stood in the middle of the street at five in the morning in just our boxers. The firemen wouldn't let us back in so we're freezing our nuts off and this Woman appears from nowhere and invites us into her place. Spookily her place just happened to be a brothel. God, you just have to love Dublin.
More to follow tomorrow.