Put it away you idiot.

I lived in London for about 10 years. During that period I was a 'victim of crime' 3 times. One was official, I got a letter from the police inviting me to attend victim of crimes counselling, and the other two I didn't report.
The 'official' crime was when I got by flat burgled. I was sharing with a friend who insisted on switching all the lights off and leaving all the curtains open when we were out even though I told her a million billion times that it would be best to do the opposite....this wasn't a 'nice' neighbourhood just because it had an Islington address, we were essentially Dalston border. Any cheeky git could have a recee and bash the window in , basement flat, old vicarage, wobbly windows...we may as well have left the fucking door open. The day after Boxing day some cheeky git just had a reccee and bashed the window in, all my stuff was nicked including all my underwear and pj's my, cds jewellery, what wasn't nicked was wrecked. It was carnage. Interestingly her room was so messy that they couldn't, or didn't want to try to find anything of value. That'll teach me to be neat and have matching bras and pants.
The other two crimes were less material and more... shall we say... *sexual* or at the very least a bit Carry On. The first took place at Waterloo Station, I was on the train and this pin stripe suited fellow got on and sat opposite, He had a broad sheet that he was reading.....so far so normal. Then he started flicking the edge of the paper trying to attract my attention. I of course ignored him and tried to get back to my book. He became very insistent. I pointedly didn't look up, he became more insistent so with a sigh I looked up to see that under the paper he had his cock out....poking through his trousers. In what I can only describe as a cat like lightening quick reflex, I stood up, pointed and shouted at the top of my voice,'That man has he PENIS out'!!!!!!
The whole , quite packed by now, carriage turned round and he got up and ran off the train with his nob still flapping about. I think my use of the word 'penis' gave my retaliation a more grown up flavour adding to his humiliation.
The other non crime was also a flashing but took place in West Hampstead tube station. I was going to Waitrose in St John's Wood for our groceries, I had moved into a flat with my new boyfriend and future husband, living like kings on two fat wages. We had taken a flat in West Hampstead probably the most expensive place I have ever rented ( although the one we had in Dublin was pretty fucking expensive for an ex council flat, Celtic tiger greed). Anyhoo, I got on the train which was quite full and this bloke got on and stood in front of me and the lady sitting next to me....the train sat there for a bit and he got off although he didn't leave the platform he just stood with his back to us in one of the side tunnels. The train continued to sit there and this bloke was still in the tunnel although now his arm was moving about a bit....he caught the attention of the lady sitting next to me and we both commented on his odd behaviour...then all of a sudden, he turned round and started waving his nob up and down at us. He wasn't wanking off just flapping it about, maybe he couldn't get hard or something but it was the most bizarre thing I have ever seen, it was quite big so he had a lot to work with. He continued to waggle it up and down until the train eventually pulled out of the station.
The 'Lady Sitting Next To Me' commented that you don't get many of those to the pound and we laughed and laughed all the way to Waitrose.

Small Victories

Days like today are awesome, the small things make all the random annoying shit melt away.
I had a great phone call with the hideously incompetent Natwest mortgage people were I had the woman on the phone grovelling for forgiveness. Every single time something changes with our mortgage deal we have to chase them up, many times they haven't scrolled down the screen to get the full picture of our history or current deal and things have gone tits up. I don't like to leave things stationary, if there is a better deal I run towards it hoping to pull back that few pence which makes getting through the month easier. This kind of deal tango seems to befuddle Natwest leaving it running round after it's own tail like a dopey puppy. They sigh with distress when they read the details on their screens, admitting that yes they do have a record of the deal they set up ...and no they didn't put it into place at the agreed time. I didn't push it or become difficult but the apology made me feel all smiley.

THEN I went to get bread from the supermarket and whilst walking through the carpark thought about what to get eldest brunette child for his birthday.....I started to browse the toy section and came upon a Rey Mysterio WWE figure at a knockdown price of £4.97. I think wrestling is a great big bunch of old shite but let the little fella have the toys because he is brilliant at school, polite, cheeky but with a cute edge, generous to his little brother and makes me laugh everyday. I will never understand the attraction but all his friends like it, he likes it and who am I to deny such a lovely kid this one small vice. He has wanted this figure for 18 months and it would have been worth it at double the price.

THEN I found a fiver in the side pocket of a bag I hadn't used for ages and decided to treat myself to a iced latte from Costa, the woman made it just how I like it and they had Nick Cave playing on the stereo....sometime things fall nicely into place and you cruise through the day on a cloud of Yoda like calmness......I think I might get me a lottery ticket.

Old Job

When I moved to London back in the early 1990's I took a Christmas temp job in a record shop. I was deciding what I really wanted to do.
I kind of knew what I really wanted to do but had yet to make it happen. I wanted to either make stuff or be Quincy. Being Quincy was off the table on account of not bothering to go to university to study forensics. Making stuff was great but paid badly and I still had to buy electricity and food so I thought working in a record shop would be fun.
It was.
Also, being in the West End I got to see famous people shopping for records. We didn't get as many famous people as our big shop up the road but we got our fair share, mostly old duffers like Ken Livingston or show people like Michael Ball.
I served...........

Stephen Hawking....he bought Tracy Chapman 'Greatest Hits'......he didn't 'speak' but did look at my boobs and drool... although the drooling might have been coincidental.

Princess Diana.....she was with a bodyguard and bought the soundtrack to 'Indecent Proposal' and Abba 'Gold'...she wore a lot of blue mascara and leaned on the counter.

Pat Cash......can't remember what he bought but it was in the first part of the A-Z so was probably Beach Boys 'Pet Sounds' or something by Ginger Baker. He had a HUGE ruby cross in his ear... was buff and ripped.

Michael Parkinson....he browsed the classical section then went upstairs to the dvds so I didn't see what he actually bought BUT he was proper stylish and smart in an understated but wealthy way, very polite.

Jools Holland used to come in a lot, he had cute kids and always checked to see what cd's of his we had in stock.

There was nothing I enjoyed more at the time than walking the A-Z, doing orders, putting stock back in place, seeing what was missing from the back catalogue and generally just getting lost in it all. I didn't care to much for the retail aspect but always respected the customers even if they did buy some right old shite.
When I am in a record shop now I find it hard not to tidy up as I browse.

Best job in the world

This week I have watched two series of The West Wing on DVD whilst finishing a huge stitched sampler for an American customer. The sampler is almost traditional in so much as the alphabet is replaced by sweary words and the pictures are of nudey pinups, daggers and roses like old time tattoos. For this I will be paid enough to buy groceries for a while, some shoes for the small blonde child and some footy boots for the taller brunette child. I might even be able to squeeze a few cinema trips and the odd *nice* bottle of red instead of the discount price Ribena we've been drinking of late.