Things that make me smile no.84

Approaching the front door as I leave the house for work and spotting a carrier bag with my name on it hanging from the door handle. More specifically, opening said carrier bag to find it contains slices of homemade cake for me to take to work. Even more specifically than that, sitting here now with blueberry and lemon bread in my hand (and my mouth). Good start to the day.

Where do you draw the line?

A lot of women do their make-up on the tube or train. I don't, if I can avoid it, since my manual dexterity is not up to much at the best of times, and adding unpredictably lurching vehicles to the equation is inevitably going to result in a glamorous streak of lipstick up my cheek, or a mascara wand to the eyeball. It doesn't bother me when I see other women making such use of their commute though. If they can successfully beautify themselves whilst being rattled around like beans in a maraca, then more power to them. There is a line though, and that line was well and truly crossed by the woman I saw this morning, who was thoroughly and matter of factly drying her hair with a towel on the train. Drying her hair! On the train! With a towel! That's odd, right? Nobody else even seemed to bat an eyelid.

Things that make me ever so slightly baffled

The charity collector this morning who was imploring me to support children's cancer. I know I'm not the world's nicest person, but that seems a bit evil even for me. Still, she was very emphatic that it was an important cause so, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and blow cigarette smoke at small children.

You're the one. You make bathtime lots of fun!

The cat has reached new levels of embarrassment in the new home. Last night it emerged that one of my landlady's many dinky rubber ducks has gone awol from the bathroom. She hasn't moved it. I haven't moved it. The only feasible explanation is that Molly has embraced kleptomania and spirited it away. To be fair, I can see why she would think that a selection of cat-mouth-sized rubber trinkets were laid out for her personal entertainment, but goodness only knows where she's hidden the blasted thing. Fortunately, the Chameleon thinks it's funny, but I would quite like to retrieve and return it. Then I apparently need to put a label on every one advising Molly that 'This is (despite appearances) not a cat toy!'. Sigh.

On the move

There's been a bit of a break in the blog writing, hasn't there? There are two reasons for this: Burning Man and moving house.Of the two, Burning Man is infinitely more interesting but, simultaneously, infinitely harder to write about. I have this problem every year. It's like trying to explain a purple dinosaur to a colour-blind herpetophobe who's never seen an episode of Barney. As is rapidly becoming traditional, I shall resort to a list of a few 'top bits', in an effort to encapsulate the joy:

• The Carport of Doom. Instead of tents, this year two of my friends and I decked out a huge carport with airbeds (with real pillows!), carpets, a canvas wardrobe and chest of drawers, bedside tables (well, storage boxes) with individual lamps (LED candles) atop! The luxury of being able to, not only stand up, but actually wander around one's abode is not to be sneezed at.
• Wandering through an imminent dust storm looking at art, then being drawn away by calls of "grilled cheese!", and finding ourselves being presented with delicious croque monsieurs and lethally strong vodka cocktails.
• The support and congratulations of my campmates on my first attempts at MCing the cabaret show. I had big shoes to fill, as the person I was standing in for has done this fabulously for years, so I was hugely relieved not to have ruined her pet project.
• Scrawling down some things I needed to let go of onto the walls of the temple, and then watching it burn. I've never attended the temple burn before, as I suspected myself of not having the emotional strength for it. Indeed, it is intense, as thousands sit there in absolute silence and watch their woes, celebrations and dedications to lost loved ones go up in smoke. I cried, of course, but the catharsis and beauty of it is extraordinary. Ooops. I seem to have turned into a hippy..........and I'm back! Sorry about that!
• Discovering my 'power animal' with the aid of a campmate in a traditional shamanic polar bear beanie, with a faux-American accent and a soup pan in lieu of a native drum.
• Standing on the prow of a ship art car in a princess outfit, leaning out into the wind in true figurehead style, then watching the man burn from the deck as my friend yelled touching song lyrics in my ear.
• Lying in a huge, cuddly pile of people on a trampoline, playing leg jenga while trying to explain the 'furry' fetish phenomenon to a campmate who was unwittingly clad in a fuzzy, full-body tiger costume.
• Being able to be there for others in their low moments, and having others be there for me in turn. Sorry, the hippy is back. I can't help it! You realise a lot about yourself and others out that thar desert.
• So many fun days and nights in camp and out and about on the playa. New friendships made and old ones cemented.

Once I came back I had just a week before I moved house. This was not ideal, as it can take longer than that to acclimatise to the real world again even without all the stress of packing and arranging. However, it needed to be done, and so it was. I'm in temporary accommodation now, as there are problems with the lease on the new flat. Fortunately for me, the Chameleon was looking for a lodger, and has kindly installed myself and Molly in her home. I am now, for the first time, living South of the river. I haven't been mugged or stabbed yet, which is excellent progress, and no doubt the practise in avoiding these things will come in handy on my eventual move to Tottenham.

 

On Thursday, with the kind help of my family, my belongings were split between storage and new lodgings in an epic undertaking which only took, oooh, about six hours longer than I expected it to. I also had to go back the following evening for the cat, who had not deigned to be captured the preceding day. This became more of a worry as Friday went on, and she still hadn't been trapped but, at the point when it was looking like I'd have to give up, leave the pub and head to the new home, I got a text instructing me to 'Go go go!', and hopped on a train to fetch her. The journey home, stinking drunk, with cat in basket, was interesting to say the least. I sat and shared a ham and cheese baguette with her, to the evident disgust of the prissy old lady opposite me, and prevented some young lads who were even drunker than me from poking their fingers at her through the bars of the carry case. Luckily the threat of being bitten was enough to scare them off, so I was not forced to resort to the threat of a clip round the ear.

 

The cat is unfortunately proving to be something of an embarrassment in the new home. This morning, as I put on my make up, I was called from my room to look at something, and emerged to find my landlady standing at the bathroom door, gazing in bemusement at the sink, which was inexplicably full of defiant feline. Despite this, I'm settling in well there, and very much enjoy getting to sit down to dinner and a chat with my friend of an evening. I'm also loving my new journey to work, which offers me glorious views of the Thames from the train, along with the sight of an old brick building, into the wall of which are placed lighter coloured bricks spelling out the phrase "Take Courage". It bolsters me nicely for the day ahead!