Monday, 11 June 2012

Me and the New Year's Eve Party

It is New Year's Eve.
Boyfriend and I are going to make the long journey south to a party at his brother's house (i.e. 5 miles away in Clapham).  I am tarted up as befits New Year- something lurid, shiny and probably off-the-shoulder, accessorised with big hair - I fear.  Boyfriend is wearing his usual jeans and t-shirt combo (now that can't be right can it?)

'Yuck!', I squeal as I open the front door.  There sitting brownly on the front steps is the most enormous dog poo - I presume (hope) it is canine.  The dark brown shininess of it is both fascinating and repellent.   We stare in disbelief - Boyfriend says that he would like to have seen the originator- in the same awed voice he  uses when discussing calculus (i.e. this is something close to miraculous).

I look more closely.  Now - let's get this clear straight away that neither of us have coprophilic tendencies - it is just extraordinarily large and gleams.  Boyfriend finds a stick and goes to poke it.
'Come on, that's enough, that's really gross!' I shriek in disgust.
He then picks it up and chases me up the road; in my panic it takes some time to realise, that fastidious-type that he is,  there is no way he'd pick up dog-doings
There nestling in his hands I see that it is plastic - a joke dog crap.

Not wanting to be parted from our new toy we decide to take it to his brother's party - being sure it will come in useful.

At the flat there is a queue to go into the bathroom; several people squeeze in together at one time.  They are not using the facilities or indulging in any dodgy group activities,they are admiring the decor - Boyfriend's brother has been revamping his flat.  We wait our turn to admire the embossed mock-Victorian wall tiles.  Once inside we decide the bathroom really needs a little something extra to add to the ambiance.

With reverence we place the plastic dog poo in the centre of the bath - it looks perfect.  We then sit on the stairs outside the bathroom and watch people go in to admire the tiling and then come out with rather green faces, we laugh like drains - it is turning out to be a great party.

 Boyfriend's brother eventually discovers our gift and is not frightfully amused - guessing it was us because of our sniggering.  We are told we are immature and not at all funny - this makes us laugh even more.  When his sense of humour returns he confiscates our offering to take down to his parents' house to put in their bath.

Wednesday, 6 June 2012

Nan and the sheepskin slippers

Every Christmas as Nan looked on expectantly as we opened our 'surprise' packages.  The problem was the final presents we were given were never a mystery as they were always pairs of sheepskin slippers.  I think sheepskin slippers were thought to be rather 'posh' and every member of the family would be clad in a new pair for the rest of Christmas day.

I am not a fan of slippers preferring to wear nothing on my feet or if it is really cold I might don a pair of flip flops.  I suspect this is because years of enforced slipper-wearing have super-heated my poor feet.  Even the fashion for Uggs had passed me by; bit like wearing your PJs outside - not natural or necessary in my opinion.   I realised I was growing up and away from the bosom of the family when I announced before one Christmas that no one should buy me slippers as I wasn't going to wear them ever, ever, ever again.
No one took any notice and I continued to be given these furry monstrosities for years to come only to take them down to the local charity shop as soon as it opened after the festivities.
Never trust a man who wears slippers

Tuesday, 5 June 2012

Me and the flat in Baywsater

Boyfriend and I move into a studio flat.  It has a tiny sitting room with kitchenette, a bedroom which should really be called a roombed - there being no floor on three sides of it, an interior bathroom and a balcony.  To get onto the balcony you had to climb over the bed, inevitably anyone climbing back in would step on the pillows leaving dusty footprints -I would ensure Boyfriend's pillow were always on top when we had guests and then swap them at bedtime - he didn't seem to notice their grey grittiness.

Although small, the flat was in a great location.  We would go running in Kensington Gardens (about three minutes walk away), lovely in summer but the Round Pond seemed to take on the weather conditions of the Barant Sea in winter.  It was very convenient for Sunday afternoon cultural pursuits  - we could walk to the V&A and the Wallace Collection - this was at the stage of life when we decided to 'do' all the major London Museum/galleries in their entirety from room 1 to the end - we managed to complete the two aforementioned places, the National Gallery, the Science Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, the Courtauld, but I'm afraid the British Museum never got finished.   It was also well situated for food, restaurants in Queensway when we were flush and when money was tight (the usual) the shop around the corner that sold real Turkish delight, fresh figs and ready- made cocktails in sweet little metal containers.

The house we lived in was divided into studio flats, apart from the basement which was a proper flat.  The basement was the home of this very good looking actor who was usually seen in a black leather jacket, smoking gauloises.  He had an incredibly thin, blonde girl friend called Alison - they seemed to spend most of their time arguing, but we decided that living next to the dustbins would make even the most serene people argumentative.

The house was always busy with an almost constant stream of men - they tended to be quite chatty when I was on my own but not so friendly when Boyfriend was with me.  It took a rather more worldly-wise friend to point out that most of the female occupants were on the game and that the friendly guys were their clients.