A week in the sun

Holiday company hierarchies

Families with very small children.

Families with bigger children.

Families with teenagers.

Groups of three or more.

The hierarchy for boarding coaches from the airport to hotels last night. Thirteen hour delay.

“Well, we must be next,” I said to C. cheerfully. “They can't do much to pigeon-hole couples.”.

“Don't bet on it,” replied a voice from behind me. “Married. Living in sin. And then us. Sodomites.”.

Books Etc

The shop assistant scanned the three books I had placed on the counter. Slowly, very slowly, he raised his head from the till and fixed me a long hard stare.

“Heavy duty...”, he commented.

I smiled. “And?”

He hesitated.

“And male”.

I laughed. “Holiday reading”, I replied.

Conspiratorially, confidingly, he lent forward over the counter. “People at Canary Wharf buy trash to take on vacation”.

He withdrew, pulling himself up straight. Admiringly.

Nabakov. Chekov. Hamilton.

Things that have been said to me today

1. Pupil: Don't you think you should have a baby soon? You are getting on a bit.

2. Work Dad (leaping off chair): Those stockings are too sexy for work. You can't interview in them. Are there any male candidates? You're putting them at a disadvantage. You need to think before you get dressed in the morning.

Lunch

- Your lunch looks, well, too healthy. That pot of seed things looks like something my guinea pig would eat...And, what's that?

-Beetroot.

- Beetroot?

- Would you like to try some?

- NO!

- Do you know what happens if you eat too much beetroot? ... Your pee turns purple.

(and your poo, yells a colleague).

- You're not exactly selling it to me, miss.

I love London books

It's good!

Should have gone to Specsavers

We've all been there.

On the tube or train or bus. Intently looking at a woman's stomach trying to work out whether or not she's pregnant. You don't want to be impolite if she is; you don't want to offend if she isn't.

The man who offered me his seat Monday evening on the Central line clearly needs his eyes testing. After my uncontrolled laughter I doubt he'll ever ask another woman ever again if she wants a seat.

My waist is a rather small size eight.

Welcome to 2008

Given the day started with the washing machine exploding (slight exaggeration but I did have to take my clothes to my parents to wash out the smell of burning rubber) and the Hoover breaking down (reasons enough for wanting to steer clear of both as I usually do) why I thought it would be a good idea to do a spot of overdue DIY I don't know.

The supercilious teenage twat in Homebase informed me that I could not find the “toilet flushers” as I was looking for the wrong product. I did in fact require a “cistern lever”. He was fortunate enough to escape unharmed as my brain was picturing him strangled with the chord of a power shower with a loo brush sticking out from where the sun don't shine.

Fitting the new toilet seat took far longer than anticipated due to the ridiculous length of the central metal spike, plastic wingnuts and the proximity of the bowl to the wall. I think the blue stripe is rather fetching. I'm guessing from C's face when he returned home he does not agree.

But, then, he may have been looking at the mess covering the bathroom floor. The old cistern lever may have been broken but could I remove the damn thing? No, anything that was supposed to come apart refused as it was melded together with limescale. I tried all kinds as evidenced by the array of tools, gadgets and implements littering the tiles. Helplessly, I appealed to the man for assistance. He couldn't budge it either but then he had a plan. Acrid smoke filled the flat for the second time today when he set fire to it and melted it to bits. I am still not convinced it was a good idea but as C pointed out it worked.

When was the last time...

a book made you cry?

Small Pleasures

Being ill, and bed-ridden, has afforded me some time to read.

Progress

I attempted two and a half things on the list.

The car still doesn't work (Thursday).

I created pretty piles of matching items in the front room.

I haven't been taken up on the child minding offer (relief) so I took myself off to Tate Britain for the Millais exhibition.

Sublime.

I came out a different person.

Texts I received today

"you are destined to be a tory"

Hurrah! Perhaps not.

A week off to try and catch up with life. The Tates. Books. Walks in the autumn sunshine.

But then I think of all the things I really need to catch up with:

1. Getting the car fixed (it currently doesn't move).
2. Cleaning the kitchen (including the fridge and the oven).
3. De-cluttering the front room of papers, books and various assorted bits and pieces.
4. Sorting my clothes from a mountainous heap before C. gives them all away to the local charity
shop.
5. Offering to look after my friend's children for the week as his wife is in hospital.

Helmets off to Ken

Since my summer cycling holiday I've become a bike enthusiast. I cycle at least twice a week to school (seven and a half miles each way) and to other places besides. So, it didn't take much to twist my arm to sign up for the first Hovis Freewheel.

Three of us set off in a group from the Vicky Park hub like excited kids in our bright red bibs ('Watch out the bikes are coming') entering the traffic-free route at London Bridge. Friends, entire families, people on their own – all joined together to demonstrate London at its best. Fun, friendly and full of life.

Bikes of all descriptions were on display. Unicycles. Tandems. Children pedalling hell for leather; legs whizzing round and round. Stabilisers. Little ones (and dogs) in trailers. Recumbent bikes of all varieties – including one with an amazing Kenwood sound system attached to the rear.

We thought we'd have to give the free sarnies a miss due to the huge crowd at the festival in St. James's. But, no. The organisation was superb and the queues short. Sandwich, apple and water for nought. And a demonstration of some even more bizarre bikes.

Early to rise

I don't do lie-ins but even I usually draw the line at getting up 45 minutes earlier on a Saturday than I would do in the week. The Boy was running in Battersea Park. But, believe me, it was worth it.

Home for a day

Austria, Slovakia and Hungary. An utterly amazing experience.

Cycling down the Danube

The bike is in about six pieces. My belongings are scattered in little piles across the sitting room floor waiting to be crammed into two pannier bags. And I'm thinking why did this seem like a good idea at the time.

I have very little patience with shopping. I know what I want and I buy it as quickly as possible.

On occasions I think I know what I want and I buy it as quickly as possible.

This is where the Internet becomes a dangerous place.

I could tell from the tone of his voice the delivery man was pissed off. (I couldn't tell much else as I can never understand a word anyone says over the Intercom. "I've come to murder you in your own home". "Ok!" I'd reply merrily before buzzing them up). Watching him to try to manoeuvre the half-landing I could see why.

My feeble "Oooh, I wasn't expecting something that big" followed by a burst of uncontrollable, hysterical, nervous laughter did not go down well.

After signing for the box, same height as me and wider, I dragged it inside in bewilderment (surely they'd sent me the wrong thing) before attacking the tape with a kitchen knife. Lo! The Rolls Royce of bike bags.

Will it ensure BA doesn't bend my bike to buggery? Yes.

Can I strap it to the back of my bike for a tour of the Danube? Can I f**k!

Return to bike company by courier. Small fortune.

Leave at left luggage in Vienna airport. Small fortune.

I needed to speak to someone. I almost called my dad but couldn't bear the 'didn't you read what you were buying' lecture; my friend G, is indisposed and C is going to kill me.

All Change

I'm a skilled practitioner of overdoing it on the first day out after an illness.

A morning jaunt to Marylebone for the most beautiful bookshop in London - Daunt Books - and while I was there a couple of tarts from Patisserie Valérie.

Having been unable to do any training for my cycling trip we thought it best I get back on the bike. The afternoon saw us follow our familiar route down the A13 and up the Greenway and Lee Navigation. Except once you hit Stratford it's becoming less and less familiar faced with the march of progress - also known as the preparations for the 2012 Olympics.

I took this photo last year - you can just see the car yard on the right.


The cars have now gone. And the tell-tale blue hoarding has been erected.


Marshgate Lane would have vans, car and lorries moving about at all hours. Now it lies eerily empty but strangely so - there is a sense of purpose rather than decay.

The Summer Holidays - Week One

Two thirds of the way into Joanna Blythman's Bad Food Britain I was feeling a little smug. I try to buy independently when I can – no small feat as I live in a working-class food desert – I cook from scratch almost every day and I rarely eat processed food. My body rebelled anyway. It refused to take anything on board and violently expelled any left overs from both ends. Fabulous. I'm not entirely sure what I'd planned for the first week of the holidays but five days in bed with sickness and diarrhoea hadn't been mooted as an option.