So this is Christmas, and what have you done?

We were slovenly and unrestrained.
We gorged on food, guzzled on wine, and reveled in our company.
Outside, a strong wind lashed the landscape and rattled the hotel windows. Inside, we were warmed by the spice of wine and the comfort of family.
We huddled together at our round table, like behind wagons in a circle, sitting around the fire of conviviality, insulated against cold reality.
Christmas, a family time.
Although, after a bit, you do just want to zone out and watch some shitty Hollywood film on telly.

Spicy Sausage

"Spicy sausage," I said to the girl.
She came back with the hot-dog about 30 seconds later. She was quick, efficient and busy.
"Four pounds," she said.
I was at a stall in Winter Wonderland, in Hyde Park. There was a German theme. I’m not sure if she was German because we only exchanged four words. And she wasn't in lederhosen, say anything about being in Moscow by Christmas , or win on penalties either.
I ate my dog and watched families walk by.
Later that evening, as Sunday died, I thought back to that moment. I realised that those were the only two words that I had said all day. I speak three languages and I only said two words all day.
Spicy sausage.
Honestly, with my education, I could've picked two more exciting words to use. I should've said something like "bratwurst piquant" or "fiery frankfurter." Or I could have just said "quantum solace" because that sounds smart.

Central Line Blues

She was pushing into my back so I pushed back.
She pushed again so I said, "Excuse me, would you mind stop pushing."
She said, "Why don't you move in?"
I said, "I can't, this gentleman is in the way. Why don't you move in?" What I meant to say was, "What am I, a bloody hobbit?"
She looked at the small gap and pushed her way through. "Well, I can fit it." She almost looked pleased with herself, as much as one can be when one is squashed like a sardine in a hot, smelly tube carriage first thing in the morning.
"Good for you," I said. "And have a nice day." It's good to be polite.
She grumbled and turned her back on me. Then everyone ignored everyone again as we all swayed rudely into each other through the long tunnels under the city.
For a fleeting moment at least, two strangers made contact in this fragmentised society. Not good contact, granted, and, on reflection, another date opportunity shot to pieces.

She Was Picky Yet She Picked Me Which Didn't Make Sense

I met this girl on Saturday night.
We were talking, shooting the breeze. I bought her a drink. She had a great laugh. Her face sort of crinkled up in a very attractive way.
We talked about our jobs and what we did outside our jobs. We talked about relationships. She was single.
While she talked, I watched her face. She wasn't looking over my shoulder, she was looking at me. She was talking and listening and smiling at me.
She told me she was picky which was why she was single.
You can see the dilemma. It didn't make sense.
I didn't ask for her number.
You can see the dilemma.
You idiot.

Me, Me, Me