Tuesday, November 02, 2010

Parting is such sweet sorrow

They say music is food for the soul, and while it may be, I think food is love. Well, not so much that but more if you've got the love thing down, all you want after that is food.

I’m baffled when watching people in a relationship that everything becomes about food. But not so much when people get together, but more when they move in. The conversations around my house now days are constantly about food - not me - my flatmates. It's 'what are we having for dinner' and 'what’s for breakfast', the supermarket is the new nightclub, the kitchen top is a defrosting machine, and the constant sound of grazing is heard by everyone in sizzling, popping, crackling distance from Clapham Common. In fact, MasterChef is the most watched programme, with Come Doine with Me being second.

It’s not unusual I guess. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs established that the base things that people need in order to he happy are food, shelter, procreation. So when your missus moves in you’ve got two (albeit one drops off a little) so you may as well go gang busters on the third – num num num!!!

Why am I on about this? Well, I've just gone through a break up myself. It was my decision, and there are no hard feelings. In fact, I would even go back one day if the opportunity was there. Yes, after nearly four years, Lloyd's and I have gone our separate ways. 'That's not a break up' you say, but I disagree. For many years I've been married to my work and putting it first in most circumstances - in fact ending proper relationships when they got in the way.

I've been loyal to it, spent all my time with it, gone out with it and taken it home with me. It quite ironic that the Who's song (below) played on my iPhone in shuffle mode when I left..spooky.
But now time for a little break in my relationship with work. Why - because it's frigging freezing and I'm going to Asia to warm up! It's so cold that people are lighting fires in the middle of parks and letting off fireworks in the name of Bonfire night.

'Remember, Remember the fifth of November'.

For those that don't know, this is the rhyme taught to kids to celebrate the plot by Guy Fawkes to blow up the houses of parliament many moons ago (can you imagine celebrating this now?). Some know it as Guy Fawkes night, others know it as Bonfire Night. I know it as Let's Burn Shit.

The premise is that everyone crowds in to a small patch of grass to watch fireworks, usually put on by the Borough (or council for others), who then don't pay for anything else for the rest of the year despite charging what's called 'Council Tax' - yep, even the local council gets slice of your income. When I moved to Sydney, we saw fireworks nearly every second day - we thought we were being shot at, but the English go nuts for them

And how typically English was it that on Bonfire Night (called that due to what occurs, obviously) that the London Fire Brigade decided to go on strike. Yep, the day when they are needed the most, it's time to lay down the hoses. In fact, right now there are a few strikes.

Take the tube for example, they're always downing tools, but they do it in the strangest way. Some lines on the underground, and even some sections of lines, operate under different unions. This means that catching the tube during a strike is like Transport for London's big game of Snakes and Ladders.

Get on at Clapham South on the Northern Line, go passed three closed stops, Stockwell up, Central Line back, pass Bank and end up at London Bridge... the Tube should pay Mattell royalties!

And I ask you, what are they striking for - it's not as if they pay attention when they are are working. Here's the update on their website which monitors where the trains are (check out the top one)!!


We've got a rogue locomotive!!!

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