The Senses

I love crisp and crunchy mornings. Snuggling up in my warm clothes and striding briskly to the station - with my scarf wrapped round my face revolutionary-style so as not to choke on the fumes belching out car exhausts.

I had to walk past five cars with their engines running. Where were the owners? Sat in the driving seat hoping that a combination of the fan heater and the windscreen wipers scratching across the glass would shift the ice. Some hope. Whatever happened to the old-fashioned scraper? Mines being going strong these past fourteen years and, if I don't lose it, is good for another fourteen at least. Another sign that as a nation we're getting lazier, don't give two figs about the environment or the effect we have on other people.

Went off to a meeting on the Docklands. Before engaging brain I said to the woman next to me “Oh, look we've both got a burn in the same place”. (Top of left wrist). I blame mine on ciabatta, her on roast pork. By the time I got off the train I had Nonna's recipe for meatballs.

We were in a room far too small to accommodate us and I was shoved up against a scorching hot radiator. There was the mum's social worker, the dad's social worker and the kids' social worker. S.'s psychotherapist and M.'s psychotherapist. The Family Welfare Association. The parents. An interpreter and three teachers. It was all a bit overwhelming and after an hour and a half I had to lie to leave. I'm sure I have radiator burn down one side.

Coming home I had to listen to a woman wearing far too much make-up give the recipient of her phone call advice on 'tendering'. Don't concentrate on how cheap you can be but focus on service levels and reliability. “Stop, right there”, I wanted to scream. “Is it for the council? 'Cos you're going about it all the wrong way”. I've been on the receiving end of Cock-Up (or Shape-Up as the council likes to call it). Cowboys fitted the door so badly that I ended up stuck on the outside at some ungodly hour of the night and as for the double-glazing, that's a blog all of it's own. And they certainly haven't rid my flat of rodents.

Swapping onto the tube I became stuck next to a guide dog and his drunk owner. The dog stuck his head up my coat and when I tried to move him he started licking my hand rather violently. Not being sure what to do I just stood there thinking I can wash my hands when I get in. I wasn't counting on the toddler opposite shouting, “Mummy, why's the doggy licking the lady's hand?”. Everyone had a good gawp and the blind bloke coughed and spluttered fumes in my face to apologise.