Puppy love

I've been neglecting you, haven't I? Truth is, I've been feeling a little low lately, which always leaves me disinclined to write. I had a particularly draining day yesterday, followed by an anxious night with little sleep, so was in a horrendous mood when I left for work this morning. I really didn't know how I was going to force myself through the day, and wanted nothing more than to just go back to bed and nap it away.

When I took my seat on the tube, a hippyish girl got on and sat next to me. With her was a brindle staffordshire bull terrier, with a withered back leg and a leash made of two knotted together Tesco carrier bags. The girl pulled the dog onto her knee out of the way of the other passengers, and we both took out books. After a while, the staffy re-shuffled herself, yawned hugely and lay down, settling her head into the crook of my elbow. Thinking this was rather sweet, I said "Hallo puppy" and applied a tickling thumb to the back of her ear. The next thing I knew she had vaulted the armrest, and I had a lap full of large, adoring dog giving my face a tongue bath more enthusiastic than it was effective or hygenic. Her owner seemed remarkably unperturbed, but then I was laughing my head off, so it must have been pretty clear that I was neither upset nor scared by the incident. In fact, it cheered me up no end. I enjoyed doggy snuggles for another couple of stops, until we all got off the train, and continued my journey feeling more relaxed and at ease than I have in many days.

Thanks puppy. I owe you one!

How to feel ignorant

1) Take a Yank to see a typically British play and discover the absence of frame of reference.
2) Confuse yourself and her, attempting to explain Restoration Comedy and the origins of panto, despite your English Lit graduate credentials.
3) Buy her another glass of wine to stop her asking questions, and leave it to google to educate her.

Heaven is a place on Earth

I have a soft spot for independent bookshops. Particularly the kind of second-hand bookshop I found just five minutes from my new office. It's a classic. There is no discernible criteria for organising the books, and you stir up vast clouds of dust when you attempt to extract anything. I felt mildly sorry for the scowling shop owner when I took my purchases to the counter. My manic grin and chirpy comments must have grated on his nerves something rotten, but I thought I might sound like a lunatic if I attempted to explain that even his surly demeanour just added to the excitement of my discovery.

I limited myself to three books, rather than the armfuls I wanted, on the basis that I would have to carry them home, but I will be back. I have to study the set-up for my retirement plan. I'm going to have just such a shop, where I will sit behind the till all day with a g&t. Ostensibly I will be working on my own novel, but really spending the bulk of my time glaring resentfully at customers, while a fat, ugly cat sprawls on a cushion on the counter. Obviously I will need to be stinking rich already, because there is no way such a business is going to support me in my old age.

Advance warning - anyone who so much as mentions the word 'Kindle' in my shop will be conked over the head with a cheap hardback, and the body stashed behind the rack of ordnance survey maps.

When you wish the ground would swallow you up

Today I walked into the little shop around the corner from work, merrily chatting away to my friend, who was close behind me. "Where would they put the tampons....hmm.....I don't think they sell tampons here.....oh well......I have one in my bag, that'll do until I get home". Then I turned round to my friend, only to discover that she had, in fact, opted to wait for me outside, and that the girl behind me was a complete stranger, smiling awkwardly as I wittered away about feminine hygiene products.

Injuries for Guardian readers

I just cut myself while peeling a celeriac. Could I be a)more clumsy? or b)more middle-class?

Squawk!

The other day, as I sleepily ascended the escalator at Victoria tube station, I spied a man coming the opposite way with a toy parrot on his shoulder. "Delightful" I thought. "How cheering, first thing in the morning". The very real parrot then opened its wings for a good long stretch, and squawked loudly before settling back down onto its owner's shoulder. I doesn't get much more cheering than that.

This is where I talk about underwear

A while ago I bought some underwear from a certain department store, renowned for reliable examples of such items. When putting my purchases in my bag, the sales lady somehow managed to add a multipack of knickers, several sizes too small for me. On discovering this when I got home, I chucked them to the back of a drawer, intending to pass them on to a slimmer friend at some point. I never got around to this but, yesterday, finding myself very behind on laundry and entirely sans knickers, I decided that too-small pants were a better option than a) no pants, or b) dirty pants. This turned out to be an error of judgement which would lead to me spending the day squirming in my seat as unforgiving, size ten elastic cut into my size sixteen flesh. I confided my discomfort to a colleague/friend, but sadly never quite found the time to take up her suggestion and smuggle a pair of scissors to the ladies to make some swift tailoring alterations. Even more sadly, I still haven't had time to put any washing on, so will most likely be forced to fish out another pair tomorrow. Sad times.

Things that make me smile no.90

I just did a rapid sidestep to avoid treading in a dog turd on the pavement, then was startled to see it move. Being the kindly soul that I am, I picked it up and gently tipped it onto someone's front lawn. It hopped off happily into a bush like the frog that it was.

Two mad magnets don't make a right.

I got out of work a little early on Friday, which led to me spending a half hour or so waiting at the pub for J to finish up in the office. Now, I know my last few posts have all been about my encounters with crazy people, and I should probably vary my subject matter, but I do just have to mention the elderly American Sikh man in a suit and broken glasses, who spent that entire half hour drunkenly lecturing me. I learned a lot. For instance, did you know that the basic physical law of thermodynamics means there is no such thing as a free lunch? How about that our knowledge of civilisation dates back only as far as the written word but that, as far as we know, neanderthals could have been very culturally advanced, just without a written tradition to prove it to us? Then did you know that the sun is going to die in two billion years, so we should all be devoting our energies to developing space travel? Or that, when we achieve this, the Kalahari tribesmen should be the first settlers on Mars? Incidentally, did you know that the Kalahari tribesmen can discern 50 different tones in language, and have you ever wondered why there are no Kalaharian opera singers? No...me neither.

It's also worth mentioning the three men who interrogated us about our outfits, demanding to know what we were trying to convey with them, the homeless woman who got angry with J because she deemed her cash donation insufficient, the till worker who requested I kiss his cheek so he could have a lipsitck print to match the one on J's cheek, the man who later grabbed J and scrubbed off said lipstick, and the boy who approached me when I got off the bus home to ask which way Tottenham Court Road was. "It's quite far away," I said, "and I'm not sure of the direction". "But isn't this Tottenham?" he replied. "Ah. Yes. That's really not the same thing".

Ssssshhhh!

Random pervy men on the street should be forced to check who I'm on the phone to before they make inappropriate comments. The last thing I need is for my Grandma to hear some guy's loud, profanity-laden remarks on the size of my rack.