Date

"You sound very posh," she said.
We were in a real boozer in Forest Hill. It wasn’t hard to sound posh.
My grip tightened around my pint. A comment like that is usually a full stop. There isn’t really anywhere to go after that.
"Really?" I said, trying not to sound like Boris Johnson.
I had started internet dating again. She had very blue eyes, wore a Star Wars top -in an ironic way- and then she had said that. It was supposed to be a fun pint, not a class war.
She wasn't exactly dropping any H’s herself but, as I said, there isn’t really anywhere to go after that.
On the train back into Central London, I looked at the faces of my fellow passengers. Like me, they looked sad and alone, and I thought, "Why am I here? Why isn’t there a first class?"

I Work Therefore I Am

The Angel In The North

"You look unhappy," she said to me, sitting down.
I pushed up the corners of my mouth with my hands. "Is this better?"
She was young and blond and pretty.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Ruth," she said. She laughed at this. She was drunk.
I was in a bar in Newcastle. It was carnage. It was like an army of stags meeting an army of hens. It was like Lord of the Rings dressed in Top Shop.
"Hello Ruth, I'm Se..." I let it float in the air as she stood up and walked off. She found a friend and started dancing.
I watched the carnage. I felt old and removed. She was young and blond and pretty.
Her loss.

The Smooth Surface Of Life

I was bored, surfing, and found this entry on Gumtree London:
“I do confess I feel so lonely ....I'm not asking for ever lasting love just a short time even to have someone hold me and not want to run away......I'm not even asking for someone to break down my walls...just enough time to make me feel a tiny bit warmer.........”
It was anonymous, not asking for anything, no details, just a note. It struck me. I read and re-read it.
Sometimes we put on a façade, a smooth surface, to cover up the turmoil within. Sometimes it’s easier to unburden on strangers than it is on friends. Sometimes I feel just like this person.
I thought about writing a response to him/her, but then I thought maybe he/she should just put on a jumper.

Who Dares Wins

I was having a coffee, reading in the newspaper about Simon Mann.
He had just been released from a jail in Equatorial Guinea. He was put in jail for trying to plot a coup d'etat, for raising a small troop of mercenaries and trying to overthrow the government there.
Mann went to Eton, Sandhurst, and then was in the SAS. He served in the Gulf War and went on to become a mercenary. Apparently, his father once captained the England cricket team.
He was jail for four years for raising a small army and trying to overthrow a ruling African government.
I sipped my coffee. I had just been charged 25 pence for an overdue library book. I find the charges at my local library pretty steep.

Great Expectations

"I'm not afraid of disappointing people," he said.
"It's expectation management," I said, "not disappointment management."
"No, it's disappointment. They are always disappointed."
The conversation was work related although I had the feeling he had widened it out.
"Well, just lower their expectations until even the worst news isn't disappointing," I said.
He stared blankly at me.
"You know," I continued, "just say that what they ask for is impossible and then when you do the smallest bit towards it they'll be happy."
"Really?"
"Sure." I didn't believe it but I thought the least I could do was get his hopes up.