Gears or no gears? that is the question...

Are all these gears necessary? Well, yes, I can see how beneficial they are, but I feel that I am spending all my time trying to figure out the gears and the best combinations to use (and I'm trying really hard not to swear).

Anyway, my mission to get ready for the Great Bicyclette Ride continues. I have realised that not only do I need to get cycling (o dear God how am I going to manage 50 miles??) but I need to get fitter overall and I need to build up my stamina. Part of my exercise routine plan is going to be going swimming on a Wednesday evening. Wednesday evening is ladies night at the pool. At 9 o'clock, the lights went out as I was swimming a length and I thought there had been a power cut but moments later blue lights flickered on in the pool and music pumped out over the speakers. I was a little sceptical at first, wondering why ladies night equalled blue lights and fast music, but in the end it was a welcome distraction from my pathetic attempts at swimming.

Tomorrow I am getting on my bike again and hope to cover at least a little distance before I bugger up the gears.

Introducing Freya Sky

Welcome to the world Freya.

A lot of people love you including these two handsome fellas:

Single professional female in possession of own hair seeks tall, dark, handsome male; GSOH and own teeth a must.

Recently I dipped my toe (the big one on my right foot) into the waters of online dating. I have had limited success (ie. none) because having been freaked out by some of the, well, freaks out there I have backed away to rethink and muster my forces. I received messages like:

"I have recently moved to this country and you seem like just the woman for me, I am not messing about! If you are interested in me email englishwifeequalsvisa@illegalimigrant.com"

or..."I like cats too, our cats should meet.." I wasn't sure who I was organising a date for me or Freddie my cat.

or..."I hope you like my profile and will send me a message. You probably won't reply, most women are just heartless on these sites and mess men about." I didn't reply.

I know someone who went on a first date only to be informed that the guy had picked out 'the ring' and was just waiting to find the right girl. Later he observed that mixed race children were cute (she was white he was black). Nothing like taking things slow.

A friend was dumped recently she informs me; she never went on a date with this guy but he arranged and cancelled 3 dates with her before deciding there was no future for them "I've been dumped!"

Now, I must be fair because I also know plenty of people who have met great guys through online dating, who have met their life partners. On reflection, and having spoken to some veterans of online dating, I realise that I need to be more proactive, message more men and not just wait for them to contact me. My recent experience was just an experiment to see what online dating looked like; I think I now need to take a deep breath and get back in there whole-hearted. In a way online dating and I have had our first date and although things didn't go all that well I think it may be worth a second look.

The Case of the Missing Member

It was early on a Wednesday morning; the train creeped slowly up to the platform. Soon I was boarding the full train to London Bridge, leaning up against a chair to steady myself as the train moved off as there was no seat to be had. A man stepped onto the busy coach and stood across the aisle from me, little more than a foot away. I looked past him out the window beyond; the sun was breaking through the clouds. As the train set off it soon became apparent that something was wrong with this man. Did he have no control over his hand? Had an alien invader entered his trousers as he waited on the station platform? Perhaps something vital was missing and he could not believe it was no longer there? Whatever it was, this poor man could not stop from investigating his crotch area...

Honestly! What was he thinking? He could not leave himself alone. Every couple of minutes he was leaning over slightly one way or another and having a good scratch or feel of his crotch. I felt quite awkward, there was no way that he could have thought he was being discrete about it and I had to work hard to school my face to show no sign that I had noticed this strange behaviour. I was tempted to advise him to seek medical help because that much scratching can't be a good sign surely? Maybe he had suddenly realised something was missing and was desperately attempting to find it before panic set in.

Conversations on a train

17.29 train from London Bridge to Horsham.

I step onto the train within plenty of time and sit down (soggy and bedraggled from my walk through the rain in Islington, dodging puddles and standing well back at pedestrian crossings as cars drove by with a wave). Two women squeeze onto the train moments before it sets off. A curly ginger haired woman sits next to me and her brunette companion sits across from her. The conversation commences thus:

Ginger: "Did I tell you we put an advert in the Metro? We did but it was only small, but I spoke to Linda and she said she would include us. We need someone to cover Knightsbridge or Kensington but we don't know where we are going or who will replace us and we really need someone. They could do 10 'til 5 or 11 'til 6 so I told Casey and said 'you would be perfect, you should totally apply' But she would prbably do 11 'til 6 'cos she loves her bed (titter) but that would totally suit her. But now I'm going to help with recruitment 'cos we need someone there."

Brunette: "hmmmm"

Ginger: "and I rang Lucy and she said she bought cream! Yes cream! Can you believe it? Of course you can't! And she walks in last night and is all "whats that smell?!" and I'm like "what smell?" and she's "that smell!" Because I had eaten eggs but I had gotten rid of the smell.

Brunette: "yeah?"

(at this point this non-stop one-sided conversation has been going on for 20 minutes. I am so wet and tired and longing for a little peace and quiet that I have to struggle with myself not to turn around, shake her and yell "SHUT UP!!!")

Ginger: "So next week I'm on holiday and Steve is all I haven't booked the time off! and I tell him you either get on that plane or this is off! Because I have my new bikini and I have booked my tanning salon session."

(Ginger Yawns, thereby taking her first breath.

Ginger: "This train is taking so much longer than usual!"

(At this point Brunette makes her first multi-syllablic utterance)

Brunette: "Yeah, you're usually off the train by now."

Ginger: (Nervous titter) "Sorry to have been such an inconvenience" (Nervous titter) ..."So Steve took me out to that new Thai place..."

The Devil's Piss Jam Company

The Devil's Piss Jam Company proudly presents....Day 2.

Sunday morning, my second day at chez Anne and Seth. After a breakfast of toast and homemade apple and blackberry jam (see, famous five - all we need now is lashings of ginger beer) we decide to go for a walk. Off we set armed with Anne's map.

Interlude - I have many memories of Anne and her obsession with maps. she would bring them into school and plan out some new route she was going to follow at the weekend. Once, soon after we first met, Anne tried to convince me that I lived in London. It was one of many heated arguments we had and no matter how many times I insisted that, as I in fact lived in Woodmansterne and she had never been there in her life I should know whether or not I lived in London. One day she brought in a map to prove she was right....o dear. She flourished the map before me pointed out where Woodmansterne was and then dealt her master stroke, "you live inside the M25!" This was the first but not the last time that I encountered people telling me that all within the M25 was London (as if it were some barrier keeping back the evil tide of the capital) so I do understand where she was coming from. It is similar to the belief that there is nothing beyond the Watford Gap; there is nothing outside of London - we are all sucked into it's gaping maw! Anyway I digress.

On our walk we notice the blackberrys abundant in the hedgerow and Anne says "In September the Devil pisses on the blackberrys" You can imagine my shock, this was not something I had ever heard before. Is this a delicacy in Wiltshire? Or is this a conspiracy of the satan -worshippers from the previous night? "Hello, me darlin'. Would you like some of my finest Devil's Piss Blackberry Jam?" Apparently, because the blackberry's go bitter in September, it is said that the Devil pisses (or spits) on them. I have read since that it is after the 29th September this happens ( the 29th being Michaelmas - I suppose after Archangel Michael kicked Lucifer out of Heaven, Lucifer was so pissed off (literally) that he pissed on the blackberrys). I think there could be a niche for Devil's Piss Jam. Not everyone wants to eat the jam made from organic fruit that fell from the tree, fruit which was allowed to range freely and was gathered by nuns wearing soft cotton gloves singing hymns of love and gratitude over them. No! Some people out there want to rebel! They want jam from fruit that was ripped from the tree by people who hate babies and kittens, standing in the pouring rain on a wet cold English morning whilst a sick parrot screeches in a barn nearby, fruit which had such a miserable life that it tastes like devil's piss and has to be pumped full of sugar and flavourings! Now these people can be served by the Devil's Piss Jam Company! After all, should there not be freedom of choice? Does everyone want to live healthy, morally and evironmentally conscious lives? I think not! Devil's Piss Jam will stand for the rights of the common man.

So that was just a taste of the thoughts and rantings that Anne and Seth had to put up with after she said "the Devil...etc etc."

A Famous Five Adventure in West Dean

A couple of weekends ago I went to visit my good friend Anne and her long suffering (only kidding) boyfriend Seth who have recently moved to a lovely cottage in West Dean. So Saturday morning I make my way there and arrive, very punctually, at 2pm at their new home - I was at the designated place at the designated time. About 5 minutes before as I was driving I had received a text. It turned out to be a text from Anne telling me that she was in Romsey; of course, I always plan to be out when I have visitors coming. I sat in the boot of my car buddha like and awaited their arrival. I wasn't waiting long and they soon rolled up with a double mattress folded up in the boot of the car, which was for me to sleep on so all was forgiven.

Their cottage is delightful and it sits on a farm at the top of a hill overlooking a country church and a sleepy little village. They don't have central heating but they do have a real fire and a Rayburn! So much more exciting and I recorded the first efforts of lighting it, which went surprisingly well.

Anne and I sat outside in the large garden drinking wine whilst Seth excitedly got out the lawnmower for the first time to cut the grass (it must be a man thing to get so excited about being able to cut the grass in a new home but I am sure it wont last). We laughed about how Laura who was making her way there by train would surely get lost and we would get a text from her saying she was at a train station in Scotland (or possibly even on a ferry on her way to France - "West Dean's in France right?"). However, we had clearly underestimated Laura because Anne suddenly realised that she had been sent a text message from Laura about 10 mintues ago saying she had arrived at West Dean station and was waiting for Anne to meet her as she had promised. Up we leapt, slightly tipsy and full of remorse at forgetting to be vigilant, and ran with all due haste down the hill to the sleepy village to rescue the damsel in distress. We found her calmly sitting on a bench near the station. We made our, much more sedately, way back up the hill.

The Great Rayburn Lighting Adventure
I had more of an overseer role and Laura kept a candlelit vigil, her hopes and prayers with the fire to keep it burning. Seth threw on twigs and Anne passed on advice given by her dad and Anne, Laura and I ran outside to see if we could see any smoke coming out of the chimney.

It was a good day with lots of wine and laughter, reminiscing and mocking old school acquaintances behind their backs. Laura couldn't seem to relax and was determined to be useful either by making a salad or by hanging curtains. She constantly asked to unpack things or would spot a job to be done "a cd rack! do you have cds? I could put them out!"..."this picture would look great on this wall, I could put it up for you!" Laura and I had very different expectations of the weekend - she thought she had been invited down to help unpack and arrange furniture, I thought I had been invited for a piss up. Thankfully I was right. Laura got her way with hanging curtains but it turned around a bit her on the ass. It turned out that a cat had slept on the curtains and Laura is allergic to...cats. By the time she left West Dean her nose and eyes were swollen and streaming and she was speaking like she had cotton wool stuffed up her nostrils. When she got home her husband must have wondered what we had been doing to her.

As Laura was not staying that night, we saw her down the hill to that sleepy village (with not a street light to be seen) and took her to the railway station (which being in the country was not much more than a shed with a platform). When we got there we discovered there were no lights on the platform. We tripped our way up and upon me exclaiming at the lack of lighting on that 'deserted' platform, a voice came out of the darkness announcing "lights bin owt a week" I then jumped round to face the shadows under the platform awning and shrieked "O my God there's someone there!" Calm and level headed at all times. Eventually the train creeped slowly (really really slowly) up to the platform and we saw Laura on to the train (following a 5 minute wait in which I had told the horror story of the girl who gets off on a darkened platform and the next day when her family try to find the girl, whose name is Laura, they don't think to look at the old abandoned train station where NO trains stop anymore and if they did all they would find, if they were looking closely enough, is a peeling poster advertising train trips to Brighton showing a picture of a blond haired girl standing on a train platform...). "bye, bye Laura, have a safe trip home."

At this point I was not ready to turn in so I suggested we find a local hostelry. Anne and Seth knew of one within walking distance, which they had never been to before (o why o why did we choose to go to that one). So armed with a torch, an anorak (rock and roll) and thoughts of the beverages ahead of us we traipsed down the dark country lane towards the pub. At this point I am starting to feel like I'm in a famous five story...The Famous Five (Brianne, Anne, Seth, Laura and Gerbil) and the Mystery of the Ghostly Railway Station. As we walked through the dark I saw one baleful red eye looking down on us from a tower off to the right (so maybe we are in Lord of the Rings now). I assume it was some sort of telecommuncations mast or some such thing.

We arrived at the pub and little did we know what we were stepping into (the mines of moria?). The walls were painted a dark red with dark red furnishings everywhere and a fire roared over to one side. This all gave a hellish cast to the evening as we sat fanning our glowing sweat drenched faces and drinking vinegary wine. Then we went to the toilets....well, what can I say to express my disbelief....In the ladies the walls were covered in a mixture of 1950's memorabilia and pictures of semi naked men and down near the sink was a golden statue of a man with a large penis. Apparently the gents had a similar decor with naked ladies and Marilyn Monroe. Soon afterwards we left the pub, which looked so cute and country on the outside but secretly harboured a group of satan-worshipping porno addicts (who also collect 1950's memorabilia).

So ended day 1. What could day 2 possibly bring...Tune in next time when the Famous Five become embroiled in the conspiracy of...The Devil's Piss Jam.

NB. 'Gerbil' (for those who didn't work it out) is Anne's pet gerbil who has a little problem with pus filled ears and inclinations for jumping from high places.

Heavy Metal Egg-Bangers

Today I get into my car turn it on and I've forgotten that last night as I drove home I was listening to a heavy metal cd and it really wasn't the sort of thing I would choose to listen to at 7.30am. So after I have manouevered (isn't that a great word? say it with me now: "manouevered"; sensuous in the mouth and yet slightly comical) my car around so that I'm facing in the right direction I hit the radio button and hit a channel at random and get Classic FM, suddenly going from one extreme to another. It was just thing as it turns out, soothing, relaxing and preparing my mind for the day ahead when I would discover the computers weren't working, my RA01 form had gone missing and the soles of my shoes had a falling out with the rest of the shoe (the shoes I bought 4 years ago in New York - good times). As I drove along Tchaicovsky's Finale to Swan Lake came on and it brought back memories of my mum taking me to see the ballet when I was little girl and I remember being completely enchanted. Later that year we went to the ballet again to see Cinderella and I gazed wonderingly at the picture of Cinderella on the front and thought how beautiful she looked.

That was also the evening my mother decided to cook an aubergine for the first time - and the first time I had ever seen an aubergine and imagine my sense of sceptism that there was such a thing as a purple vegetable and who was she trying to fool! She had found a recipe for stuffed aubergine/egg plant (potato,pot-ar-to), had left the purple item in the oven and promptly forgot about it. We came back from the ballet to discover the blackened and deflated aubergine in the oven. Deflated is the best way to describe, it did look like a popped balloon (like those ones they have at fairs that they have somehow filled with glitter and ribbons and a disgruntled looking teddy bear. "here little girl, have a purple balloon full of mince and vegetables"). My mother was and is not a bad cook, no matter what my brother Mark would say. She has a limited repertiore and when she does try something new it has often gone wrong but she is very good at cooking warming, homely traditional British food; my favourite meal is still her liver and bacon (yum). What would always let her down when we were kids was her memory. There were countless times that she forgot something was in the oven, forgot about the sausages on the grill (which would then errupt into flames) or let the water boil away when boiling an egg until we would hear a BANG and discover the egg had exploded.

Anyway, listening to Swan Lake this morning brought back happy memories of all the wonderful places my mum would take me when I was kid. I remember thinking she was the coolest mum possible (and friends often told me that I was right to think this). She took me to the ballet, opera, Regent's Park Open Air theatre, art galleries, trips to European cities and wonderful restaurants. She encouraged my imagination and desire to see and experience new things and places. My relationship with my mother has often not been an easy thing but as I have matured I have realised again how special she is, I only wish I could tell her, but for all the things that my mother has shared with me as I grew up she did not like to share feelings (at least not openly); probably why things have been at times fraught with tension because I am the complete opposite.

By the way, do you like my title? head banging > egg banging...get it? maybe I should start a series of posts with egg themed titles such as "Egg - citing tales of the day!" hmmm, I will have to give that one some thought.