Doing battle with daily dragons

Friday, April 15, 2005

Country Mouse, City Mouse...

The Rock Star and I are bumpkins. We both grew up in the country. We like trees and grass and not having people urinate in the grate below our bedroom window. But occasionally, we like a little foray into the urban wilderness of London. Here are a few statistics that I compiled on our little journey today:

Time on train on the way down: 1 hour. We live 30 minutes away, but apparently there was a “signal problem” somewhere that caused us to move at a speed that could have easily been matched by The Rock Star’s Nan on her Zimmer frame.

Number of harassed mothers in our carriage: Two that I could see easily, one whose distress was played out only inches from our face. I hope, that when I have children, I can put off taking them into the city until they’re old enough to buy ME dinner.

Number of drunken twats in our carriage: 2. You know you’re in for a long ride when, at 2 in the afternoon, two guys clad in Burberry get on, each clutching a can of Stella in both hands.

Amount paid to relieve my bladder at Euston Station: 20p. I’m not sure where this cash is going, but at least one stall looked as if it had been the scene of a rather gruesome homicide.

Record number of pamphlets offered to me personally along Oxford Street from one end to the other: 26. Today, luckily, only 5 pamphlet pushers threw themselves in my path.

Number of Japanese tourists in Top Shop: 284,953.

Distance you have to throw a stone before hitting a Starbucks: approximately 10 ft.

Number of hairy rockers encountered: 1. (2 if you count The Rock Star, but he's kind of a given, really. We're talking surplus hairy rockers, here.)

Pints of cider consumed: 1 ½.

Number of accidents caused in the pub: 1. My circulation is notoriously bad. Even on warm days, I sometimes have pretty cold hands, let alone when I’ve been sitting outside for over 40 minutes. To manoeuvre my way through a very crowded pub on a Friday evening, I touched a girl on the back (which was bare, by the way) to let her know I was behind her and obviously, she was somewhat surprised by the chilliness of my digits, because she literally yelped and threw what looked to be Campari and soda all over the guy she was talking to. Oopsie. Exit stage left.

Number of fast food meals consumed: 2. Blarg.

Amount paid to relieve my bladder at Euston Station: Another 20p. Previous visit’s murder scene had been discreetly removed.

Time on train on the way back: 40 minutes.

Number of tired bumpkins: