Breakfast

Breakfast this morning in the cafe in Tooting, on the end of a road that used to be home.

Sitting in the scrunchy armchairs in the window, I can watch the world go by.

People pour on an off buses. People in uniforms going to work, people with bags, going shopping, mothers with buggies. An old lady, in a matching skirt and jacket, and black patent court shoes, bought when "Sunday Best" still meant something, walks with a stick, looking lost and frail, but when her bus comes in, she barges a teenager out of the way so she can get on first.

Couples walk briskly to the station; men in suits and ladies in dresses, heels and carrying hats, heading to weddings and champagne. People drag trolley suitcases behind them, destined for weekends away, and others walk away from the station, chattering happily with their weekend hosts.

101 men carry furtively carry roses. 101 bargain hunters carry brown paper Primark bags. 101 people with orange Sainsbury's carrier bags bursting with groceries and goodies. 101 nations represented before me, and 101 stories waiting to be told.

A man walks up the road in his pyjamas looking lost and confused, until a nurse catches up with him and gently turns him around. A girl, about my age, I'd guess, wears mittens on a cord which runs up the sleeves of her coat, and she twirls one absent mindedly whilst she waits to cross the road. Two women meet on the street, and greet one another with a hug - they mirror one another's gestures subconsciously, and have similar frames. They can only be sisters. A little girl stands next to her mother, who is reading the menu in the window above my head. I wink at her, and she tries to mimic, scrunching her whole face up in the effort to close only one eye.

A steady flow of people go to and from the hospital. Anxious looking first-time-visitors peer up roads, wondering which leads to the hospital entrance. Nurses and orderlies in uniforms dash up the roads with the confidence that comes only with doing the same journey daily. The walking wounded walk away from the hospital, sporting bandages and stitches new from a wild Friday night out.

My friend Steve walks past with a bag from the supermarket in one hand, and his phone in the other, which he is tap-tap-tapping away on. My old neighbours cross the road with the purpose of people running late, and I now with certainty that they will be heading for a day in an Irish bar to watch the rugby. Another old neighbour walks past in her own personal uniform - fishnet stockings, mini-skirt, plunging neckline, and too much makeup. We never knew what she did for a living, but everyone presumed ...

Cars and lorries shuffle up and down the high road. Horns toot. Mopeds squeeze through narrowing gaps. Three police cars, one after the other, weave between the traffic, sirens blaring, heading to the rescue of someone in need.

I can see into the shops facing me. Drivers and passengers shuffle in and out of the cab office, and the strange, customer-less patisserie gets a huge delivery of cream cakes that no-one will eat. The man in the aptly named "Taki Menswear" redresses the mannequins in his windows with cheap-and-not-so-cheerful shirts and jumpers.

Old and young, tall and short, busy and idle. They're all here. And I'm one of them.

I have a warm affection for Tooting. I love it's slightly grubby edges and it's tight packed mix of residents. I love it's buzz and bustle and the churn of people always around the station. And I love that I'm part of that, and that people were watching me right back.

London Belongs To Me

I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I live and work in London.

For those that are unaware, that's where you might go to seek your fortune and where, upon arrival, you might find the streets to be paved with gold. It is, apparently, where Burt the Chimneysweep came from in Mary Poppins. Where I come from, everyone talks like that ("Cor blimey, Tooting Squared! Let's be gettin' you up them apples and pears for a right bloomin' knees up!")

The thing is that, much as it's home, which compels me to feel a warm and fuzzy fondness for it, London can be wearing. And wearing it has been for a few weeks.

A capital city has to be a business centre and a stock exchange. It has to be a media centre, and a PR vehicle. It's got to appeal to residents, countrymen and tourists. It has to be a political, stage and transport hub.

It shouldn't be any wonder then that sometimes it's a little bit busy. And that's what vexes me. I've been plagued recently by dawdlers in front of me and by people who swoop into my path only to stop stock still, then glare at me when I walk up their ankles. And I've been caught in the queue behind a ditherer more times than I care to mention.

And I've been a bit overwhelmed by noise and hassle and bustle and fluster. Yesterday I thought I'd lose my mind when workmen started digging up the pavement outside our office, and when I went out at lunchtime for a little respite, and was shouted at in the sandwich queue, I really nearly had a proper tantrum right there and then.

I'm tired of squeezing my way onto a train every morning (with people who are inexplicably smelly for such an early hour of the day), and then being looked at sideways when I say that I'd rather wait two minutes for the next bus and have a seat, than get to work two minutes earlier having stood with my face pushed against the window all the way.

Basically, it's all been a biiiiit tedious recently, and all feels a lot like hard work.

Last night, I met up with some girl friends for a drink and ended up heading for the bus stop quite late. At midnight I was standing on the south end of London Bridge frowning at the three minute wait for the number 133 (I ask you! How is a girl meant to WAIT for THAT LONG?!) and generally thinking griping thoughts, when I looked up.

To my left the floodlit dome of St Paul's Cathedral dominated the view. Straight across the bridge the Gherkin (should that be capitalised?) and the building formerly known as the Nat West Tower were picked out in blue and red lights and, when I strolled away from the bus stop a bit, to my right was Tower Bridge, looming over HMS Belfast. And in that moment it all looked still and grand and peaceful and ... well ... stunning.

And I realised that London is quite lovely really.

Back to earth with a thump

So that was Christmas. In this house, at least, it's over for another year, and I can't say that it ended any too successfully. You don't need the details - they are too tedious - suffice to say, there was an incident relating to a bowl of tomato salsa, a cream sofa, an enthusiastically slammed door, and some frayed nerves. I think that all was resolved in the end, but it did rather take the sheen off the Christmas Cheer. If you ask me, the Little Baby Jesus has a lot to answer for.

And to top it off, I seem to have caught one of those snotty, snoring, wheezing, hacking kind of really sexy colds. Beautiful.

So all in all, when The Parents left this morning, I was feeling rather flat, and more than a little sorry for myself.

After an hour of self indulgent sulking and moping, I did what I do when I want to shake the mean reds, and I started walking. All did not start well, for I am still encountering teething problems with the sodding iPhone (am I the only person who thinks they aren't all that ...?) and couldn't get it to more than whisper music at me, so instead of setting my journey to the soundtrack of whatever the Shuffle threw at me, it was set to the thoughts running through my head. My journey went something like this ...

1) Bugger. Turned right instead of left. Oh well, I'll go 'round the block and look like I always meant to go this way.

2) Is that lady (could she really be drunk at this time? Well I suppose it is Christmas) going to veer left or right when I try and walk past her? I'll go left. Oh, dear! So will she! Squeeeeeze!

3) Do squirrels hibernate?

4) What IS that child wearing? And is it a boy or a girl? A girl. It's got long hair. Or maybe it's a boy with long hair. But what IS it wearing?

5) I wonder what will happen next Christmas. Will I have them come to me or will I go to them or will I do neither? Option (c) has a certain appeal. Perhaps a wee cottage somewhere remote with an open fire, a radio, no telly, and loads of books.

6) These houses are nice. I like the colour of that front door. Ooh, look at that nice Christmas tree. And I wonder where they got those blinds. They'd be nice in my house. Oops! Homeowner staring at me! Keeping walking!

7) Shall I go to The Nightingale for lunch? They do the lovely smoked haddock. But then it can be a bit brat infested. Perhaps I'll keep walking. Or shall I? Oh for goodness sake! Make up your mind and stop dithering on the pavement! Keep walking? Good decision. Now stop wondering about the smoked haddock.

8) Oh, these houses are nice too. I wonder if I'll ever live in a place like this? I wonder what I'll live in next. I wonder how long I'll live in my house. I wonder if I'll buy my next place alone or with someone. I wonder how long that will be. I wonder where it will be. I wonder if I will still live in London, or will I move out.

9) Good Lord! Is this year's "Must Have" accessory a three wheeler buggy? Everyone's got one! And did that mother really just say, "Please don't let him dribble on his tank top darling. It's Hilfiger"?

10) I know where I'll go. I'll go to Brew and have eggs Benedict. That'll hit the spot.

11) Oh sod. All the shops are shut. Bloody bank holidays! Wait! Cath Kidston is open. Perhaps they'll have something floral that I can't live without. I'll look after lunch.

12) No, not takeaway, eat in please. Yes a table would be nice. No, I'm not waiting for anyone. Yes, a table for one. One, yes. No, I'm really not waiting for anyone. (**Thinks to self: If you make me feel any more like a loner, you'll not get a tip, dear**). Yes, it is just me today. (**Thinks to self: There it goes!**)

13) That was nice. Now, a quick nip to Waitrose and then I think the bus home.

14) First I'll pop back and get a flowery laptop bag I think.

15) Oh look! There's the bus! Run, run, run, run, runnnnnnnn! Gottit!

16) Bugger. Didn't go to Waitrose.

17) Gosh, but I'm tired! Home, cup of tea, quick (!) blog post, and something easy for dinner I think. Something, of course, involving turkey (groan).

Rules for the use of public transport

This has been a big week. Momentous. Massive. Mega.

There are new buses on the route of the number 38.

Previously the route ran on the controversial bendy bus which has apparently now toppled one cyclist too many, and been replaced with good old fashioned double deckers. Thank you Mad Boris.

All week, the bus stand at Victoria has therefore been swarming with those nice men from British Transport Police ... telling people how to get on the bus. I'll say that again. They've been telling people HOW TO GET ON THE BUS.

This morning I took the chance to ask one of the rozzers if they really felt they were needed in this role, and before he had the chance to answer a man interrupted and asked (whilst standing in the shadow of an approaching two storey bus) where he could find a number 38. Said copper turned to me, one eye brow cocked, and said, "you'd be surprised, love".

I have therefore found myself thinking a lot today about the vexatious things that people do on the train or bus that need addressing. I give you Tooting Tooting's guide to the use of public transport:

1) Don't be a nobber. If you're sitting down and you see someone old, pregnant, on crutches, carrying a child, looking a bit queasy, or in any other way balance-challenged, offer them your seat.

2) That is, unless the person in question is wearing a "baby on board" badge. They're just showing off.

3) If you are in any way balance-challenged, and you want to sit down, then ask. The sitters probably just haven't looked up from their copy of The Lost Symbol long enough to notice you. Don't just stand there huffing and muttering. That will only make you look a bit mental.

4) If you're on the phone, and you use a phrase like, "don't tell anyone, but ...", or "between you and me ...", or "can you keep a secret?" don't be surprised if the nearest thirty people to you put their books down and listen in.

5) You know those ENORMOUS three wheeled buggies? The ones that have a footprint about the size of the Isle of Wight? If you have one of those and have any choice at all, please don't travel in the rush hour. As well as taking up the space of about eight people, your child, surrounded on all sides by comparatively tall people, will be terrified, and will start to squark. Other passengers will then start to squark too. At you. It'll be a whole squarking extravaganza.

6) If you absolutely must eat stinky food on public transport, then so be it. It's not pleasant, but most of us have been caught on the 18:52 with a Cornish pasty at one time or another. But just eat it. Don't pretend it's not you and nibble it out of the bag secreted up your sleeve when you think no-one's looking. You'll just make it take longer and really, the sooner you're done, the sooner the whiff will pass.

7) No farties, please.

8) Please don't walk along the tunnel, walk down the steps, get to the entrance to the platform, then stop. Please. If you do that, fifty stampeding commuters will, as one, walk over you.

9) Broadsheets opened flat have the footprint of four three-wheeler buggies, side by side. They need to be folded in half. Or get a tabloid. (Also, I prefer to read something a bit trashier over your shoulder. Thanks).

10) If you're listening to your iPod, I should either be able to not hear it at all, or be able to identify the song, sing along, and maybe dance around a bit. Anything in between is plain irksome.

11) Men. Knees together. There just isn't room.

12) When you need to get off, wait your turn. Don't shove. And shoving whilst saying "excuse me" is still shoving. Pack it in.

I think that's all. But if I think of anything else, I'll get back to you. Thank you for listening.