a weekend away, but not a world away

I managed to make it out of London for the weekend and went to visit an old friend in West Sussex. I was really looking forward to it: the chance to go somewhere by train, the lack of a firm plan once I'd got there, the change of scenery, the fresh air, the running into my ex in their home town.

What?

Yup. Because apparently running into him last month at the club where we first met wasn't enough. Fate decided that it would be best if I see him directly after getting of the train for a night out. Fortunately, this time I was the bigger person and waved an enthusiastic hello. I was greeted with, "What are you doing in my home town?", which perhaps is the traditional salutation in those parts. I didn't mind, as it was more of a confused greeting than a hostile one, and besides, I felt extra cool because I was holding a bottle of beer. :)

And of course, there were no texts asking to meet up, no emails later to say hello, because only like someone like myself would be so silly as to surrender their dignity in such a manner. Like I did last time we bumped into each other.

Ah well. Fortunately I had learned a lesson from last time, and kept my cool. That would likely be a first.

knock before entering

You know you haven't seen much action in a while when your housemate accidentally walks in on you in the shower and you're not the least bit miffed.

Make that your married housemate.

Your married, Albanian housemate.

But still. If it's the first time anyone's seen you naked since oh, say, JANUARY, you still can't help but think of it as kind of a thrill.

And that pretty much sums of the state of things.

These boots were made for walking (thank jeebus)

Oh tsk, tsk. Or should I say London, London?

You are the beating heart of these isles, you are the financial, cultural, social and legislative centre of the United Kingdom, and in some respects all of Europe. And you know what? I've always stood up for you. I've always said that for a city this size, you're amazingly clean. I've said that your larger museums are free and your public transit is impressive and your people as a whole are polite.

I even used to stick up for your public transit. But now?

Look. I've given you a lot of chances. A lot. More than three strikes. More than I gave to my last boyfriend -- so really, a whole lot.

But lately, TFL, I feel like this isn't working. I mean, I know everyone has their flaws (just ask Stoner McNojob) so that's why I was willing to cut you some slack. I mean, the whole point of this blog is that I am so far from perfect it's almost painful.

But man. I get that the 453 bus comes every 15 minutes (or more), thus leaving me to watch TWO of every other bus go by whenever I need to get home. I get that not every bus driver really speaks English -- but why would they have to? I get that the Tube could get stuck underground at any point, giving any claustrophobes a chance to make bargains with god they will never keep.

But today? Walking from Pall Mall to Baker Street? Really? Because traffic was so congested that the bus driver actually advised us to get off the bus to catch the one ahead, except that busdriver said it was pointless to get on? Because there was a "fuel spillage" a couple of miles away? I mean, I know it's not TFL's fault that the stuff spilled all over one of the toniest neighbourhoods in central London, but couldn't someone had explained why I was getting off in the first place? Or hey -- how 'bout Tube vouchers? Just an idea.

Not such a crazy one, either: the last time I was in Barcelona they were giving away free train tickets from the airport to the city centre (I swear I didn't just not pay) to apologize for how bad their train services had been lately. Sure, that didn't really help all the people who'd previously suffered a disservice by the Renfe train network before I even got there, but still. Their Catalan hearts were in the right place.

So I would like to suggest that Transport For London get their shit together, otherwise I'm leaving them. But probably not for Barcelona -- I hear their trains are a bit f*ed up.

Numba One!

Well, that's probably the last chance I'll have to use that heading for a post in a very, very long time.

Why?

Becuase the entire point of this blog (more or less) is that it will be a forum for me to post all of the sup-bar, almost-achievements that seem to happen in my life. Let me try to expand:

My life, at the moment, is fine. I guess. It's about as even keel as it can get when the only constants I have are temporary. Just imagine it: you're a 20something who has accidentally become a professional temp (oh, what an odious phrase!), rents an apartment rather than owns because moving every six months is almost garaunteed, your only prospective significant other doesn't really speak English and lives abroad and you have become accustomed to "almost" getting a job, "almost" seeing someone and pretty much every article of clothing you own is either a hand me down or a sale item.

Now that you've walked a few feet in my bargain-basement shoes would you care to have your full price Hush Puppies back?

Thought so.

So here, rather than brag about my achievements, I will instead document the more underwhelming aspects of my sad little life. Here's hoping that my foibles and failures will help fulfill your sense of schadenfreuede, because man, somebody's gotta do it, and it seems that for whatever reason the hand of Fate has decided that someone is me!

Now, I'm going to switch off the TV I "inhereted" from my room's previous tenant (the remote is long gone and the DVD player works only a fraction of the time) and go take a shower that will range from scalding to feezing, if the water doesn't cut out entirely.

Oh, and the PJs I'm going to be wearing tonight? My friend was going to give them to charity ... until she thought of me. :)