Tuesday, March 24, 2009


It's surprising, sometimes, how quickly someone can integrate themselves into your life. You're just swimming along, perfectly fine, and suddenly you're thinking that you really need to tell x about that funny thing you saw earlier on your way to work, and wanting to hear about the inconsequentialities of their days. They've managed to slot in, quietly, while you weren't looking, and you realise one day that you don't want to not have that.

And then they tell you that they're going away. And you won't get to see them before they go. No, they're not sure when they're coming back. Yes, you understand that it's a brilliant opportunity, and you really are genuinely happy for them. Of course, it's early days and it's not an earth-shattering thing. We'll obviously keep in touch.

So you hang up the phone. Set it down gently. Go into your room, shut the door, and cry into a pillow. You don't want to have to explain to your flatmate why you sound like your heart's been broken.


Wednesday, March 18, 2009

A single moment

I'm standing at the edge of the Victoria line (northbound) platform at Kings Cross, precisely aligned so that when the second-to-last set of doors open I will be just enough to the left of the doors that I shouldn't have to step back to let people off the train but obviously in the way enough to be the first on. (This is a journey that I have taken quite possibly over a thousand times, and I know where to stand on each platform on this particular journey to minimise the time it takes to get between lines.) People are queuing up either side of me - I walked on to the platform just as the previous train was pulling away, so I got the good spot - and they, too, know where to stand.

Shortly before the train arrives in the station, you can feel the wind blowing down the tunnel. Turning my head towards the direction the wind is blowing from, I narrow my eyes slightly. There is an astounding amount of dust on the Tube system. Right before the train rounds the bend to the platform, you can see the headlights reflected against the wall.

The train rounds the bend, and I close my eyes as my hair flies back from my face and the sound hits me.

For just a moment, I want to turn around and walk away. Get on to any other train, go in any other direction, and to disappear into this city and these millions of people and see where I end up. Go to the airport and get on the first plane going to any destination, anywhere in the world. Leave everything I know, and simply...disappear.

The train stops, the doors open, and I open my eyes.

I'll be home in about 20 minutes. I think pick up a bottle of wine at that Oddbins across the road to go with dinner.

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Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Blogging is hard

Dudes, seriously. Blogging is hard work. There are so many days where I don't feel like I've got anything interesting to say at all, nothing that anyone would be interested in is happening in my strange little life.

I mean, really. So yet again, you're going to get a list of random things.

1. I'm sorry, but what? You, someone who dumped my ass, really think that a) I am tempted to come round for a booty call? Really? and b) that you get to have any opinion about who I date? I am now tempted to jump him in front of you just to prove a point.

2. Why do crap things always happen together? I have to stay late at work and all my lines are running with delays, so I have to punch people out of the way to get on.

3. Veganomicon arrived. I want to hug it to my chest and grin for several hours. Now all I have to do is be able to afford something other than just the vegetables for the recipes.

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