Big brother on the trains

I was smoking and thinking at a quiet Ash Vale station today, hungover from the brilliant officers' commissioning ball at Sandhurst, when the tannoy struck up:

"We would like to remind customers that all SouthWest Trains property is non-smoking"

Embarassed, I looked around for spies but could see none. I shyly abandoned the cigarette on the rails and remained at the trackside with my ponderings. A few minutes later the voice crackled back to life:

"We would like to remind customers not to leave any unattended baggage on the station"

As I turned toward my far-off dinner jacket in amazement a couple who'd seen what happened a few minutes' earlier laughed out loud. They pointed to an ugly SIEMENS CCTV camera further along the platform. Oh honestly! I yelled to the camera, to the puzzlement of those who hadn't been following.

So I got on the train - readers will have to trust I'm not making the next bit up - and sat down ready for a doze. But a girl who'd followed me on was speaking on her phone. Yes (a live voice this time):

"Customers in carriages with a yellow sticker are reminded that use of a mobile phone is not permitted in these areas"

The unfortunate girl blushed and finished off her call. "Unbelievable - it's like Big Brother!" I said. Not knowing my story she ignored me, thinking I was trying to get inside her pants.

I soon closed my eyes, hoping sleep would get me before depression. But some soul elsewhere in the train had obviously made himself too comfortable. The voice came back:

"Customers are asked to refrain from resting their feet on the seats. Thank you for your co-operation"

The world is increasingly appalling; I might have to start blogging again.

If not quite love...

My mentally handicapped cousin C got married on Friday. Her new husband is slow too, as were the best man (C’s ex) and one or two of the guests, making it quite funny, in a naughty kind of way.

The registrar began proceedings unaware of the couple’s specialness and had to quickly adjust her delivery into little snippets:

“To love…”
“Te ruv…”
“and respect”
“argh spec”

The speeches were inevitably hilarious, and we all wore huge grins throughout. Fortunately the happy couple are blessed with an endearing self-awareness that made one feel unobliged to pretend it was a ‘normal’ wedding.

And it really wasn’t. Apparently, like many such partnerships, this had been all but arranged by the local mental disability charity. C and S were of an age and situation that meant they could be partially ‘released’ into civilian life in each other’s care.

A heart warmer, all told, the only drawback for me being an absence of intriguing female wedding guests.

Getting to know the neighbours

My block of flats had a summer garden party last night and I thought I'd go along, if only to meet the pretty-but-moody girl who's moved in below.

I'd made a couple of elaborate salads for the buffet in order to gain acceptance with the other residents (many of whom would undoubtedly remember my infamous housewarming party last year). Good move: I was taken immediately under the wing of the gay couple organising the show, and plied with free booze and great gossip.

After a few Pinot Grigios one of the silver-haired queens, Karl, recounted a story from the days when a retired sergeant major named MacKenzie inhabited our square.

The bigoted MacKenzie enters the gate one day to see Karl and partner Adam in some kind of embrace. Appalled, he harrumphs: "We had the parking fiasco, then the pigeons... now we've got the poofs!"

In campest tones Karl drawls "But my dear, the three "p"s, how wonderful!".

And just as the old codger is about to explode there is a bark of "MACKENZIE! Is that YOU again?!". All turn to the corner of the square where, fully naked at his living room window, stands a household name Gay Historian - then a resident. From this public vantage GH unleashes a storm of furious wit and belittlement on the hapless MacKenzie who has no choice but to skulk back to his flat, humiliated.

And then there's Louise, the schizophrenic old lady who frequently hounds my poor flatmate about his "unsightly" bicycle. Last night's news was that some urchins had been drinking in the square, so Louise had marched outside to give them a telling off.

Urchin: "Fuck off grandma, yeah?"

80 yr-old Louise [screaming]: "No sunshine, you fuck off, right out of my square you horrible little cunt!" The kids fled.

Apparently she knew the Krays!

The evening ended in the marquee, me sharing a spliff with the poofs and a couple of randoms. I knew I'd drunk too much when I heard myself asking Karl's boyfriend if he was "the pusher or the sewer" (eh?) and had to go home where, gurning over the basin, I managed to pull the mirror unit off the wall: smash! The vomiting began and my flatmate came home to the sight of me semi-conscious on the bathroom floor, surrounded by mirror glass. He and his girlfriend accepted it with good grace. I think I need a holiday: really ought to go visit my sis in Greece, although she's a bit of a boozer herself.

The Jubilee Line...

...is where it's at these days!

Awful story

A friend recounts an incident involving his drunk friend Chris.

Chris is smashed and runs into the club toilet, bursting in the first available cubicle in order to puke. Such is his state that he doesn't immediately register the presence of a big man having a shit on the toilet. The vomit flies all over the fellow.

Chris sees this guy's face turn beetroot as he looks at Chris, down at the vomit on his lap, and up again. In blind panic, Chris punches him in the face and runs for it.

Poor victim; what must he have thought? His life probably changed in some way...

ah bollocks

Hey London Bachelor,

Nice to see you at the bbq, good that the gig was, good.

Sorry for just replying now – been out of the office for most of the week.

Don’t think I’ll make it unfortunately as I try not to head out too much on weeknights – but if they’re playing on a weekend again sometime, that could be fun. Otherwise, come Harry Potter with us if you like.

Cheers,
Aussie Big Shades

with us? US??? a straightforward snub or could there be some hard-to-get shit in there? ach, who am i kidding.

Brave New World

I arrived back from Belgium and the entire regular clientele of the York was squished into the terrace area outside, while the bar itself was deserted save a dozen shandy-drinking softies.

Quiet satisfaction pervaded in place of smoke: these new customers had successfully annexed pub life from the English national experience - and they knew it.

As we benighteds went up to order we received smiley looks from women whose jeans came bosom-high, their comb-over husbands hardly more bashful.

Wasn't this a nice change, to be able to come for a nice drink and not go home smelling of smoke!

In us they saw a sorry yesterday, in them we glimpsed tomorrow.

Prediction of the evening: outdoor gas heaters will be banned by 2009.