The Unhappy Man and his Bicycle
Before launching into a riveting account of my journey north this morning (I'm living it up in a hotel all week – go me), I must share a moment from earlier this evening.
After returning to the hotel for the evening, I thought “do I go to the pub/restaurant next to the hotel and sit on my own waiting for the staff to bring me my food, or do I go to the supermarket to buy rubbish, and then spend the rest of the evening lazing around the hotel room, eating said rubbish, drinking cheap wine, and catching up on Twitter, Tumblr, Wordpress, and god-knows-where-else”.
I chose the Supermarket / Junk Food / Internet route. I'm quite predictable sometimes.
In order to get to the Supermarket from the hotel, you have to cross a massive intersection – well, massive by UK standards. If somebody from the US saw it they might laugh at how preposterously tiny it is. If you follow the highway code and wait patiently for each set of crossing lights to change, it might take ten or fifteen minutes to traverse the seven crossings required to get from one side to the other side (it's complicated, and I'm not going to draw a diagram). The alternative is to take your life in your hands and attempt to predict the sequencing of the lights – reasoning that nobody will make random turns down roads they should not as they might while being chased by Starsky and Hutch (oh my god that dates me).
While standing at the side of the four lanes approaching the junction, getting ready to play Froggerwith the traffic, I noticed an old-ish man fiddling with his bicycle at the side of the road. I didn't really pay him much attention – he was fiddling with something on the back of the bike, and had no bike helmet on. As I began walking across the road though, he made me jump.
“COCKappeared next to me, and said we were sitting in his seat. I showed him my reservation. Ah. The girl now owned up to having no seat reservation, and completely ignoring the liquid crystal sign above the seats that said “RESERVED” in tiny writing that you would miss unless you squinted directly at it from six inches away.
On to the food I guess. Can I just start with a disclaimer that I am NOT going to eat it all tonight? I came away from the supermarket with the following items:
A bottle of cheap white wine. I'm drinking a glass of it right now, from a tumbler I found in the bathroom.
A Cornish Pasty. For those stateside who have maybe never heard of such a thing, it's kind of like a smaller version of Calzone, but filled with meat, potato, vegetables, and seasoning. I've already eaten it.
A ready-meal Chicken and Bacon layered salad. I'm going to eat that later. Or as soon as I've finished writing this, which still counts as later, right ?
A “Fruit Medley” – in reality, a small plastic pot with a couple of strawberries, some melon, and som blueberries in it, by the look of it.
A bag of peanut M&Ms. Just because.
A bag of dry roasted peanuts. Again – just because.
A box of Rooibos tea. I'm going to try and stay away from coffee while I'm away this week – break the cycle of living on the damn stuff (I think I'm pretty much immune to caffeine). You might known Rooibos as “Red Bush” tea.
Some cookies. Ahem... because.
A freeze dried Ramen Noodle pot thing, because you never know when you might be on the internet at 1 in the morning, and suddenly think “I wish I had one of those Ramen noodle things”.
So there you go. Food to last several days, that will most likely last until tomorrow – if it's lucky.
If you see me online this week, do say hello. I really do have nothing to do, other than write this garbage, or read and comment on your stuff. I'm on most of the usual social places around the web too, and a couple of the instant messaging apps.
Now. Where's that TV remote – the Olympics must be on somewhere...