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.

The revolution

Today I was away on business.

That makes me sound quite grown up and important, doesn't it? In fact, I was on the 9am from Kings Cross, destined for Harrogate, where I spent four hours walking around shops, then got back on the 16:05, and came home. Which I was paid for.

It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it!

Naturally a jam-packed day like today requires a girl to take a load off at lunchtime and sit in a French cafe for a croque-monsieur and a few pomme frites. It was over said lunch that I realised I was vexed.

The observant amongst you will, by now, have realised that I do get a little vexed from time to time, and not always rationally. Given the range of things that was making me twitch today, I thought that today was a typically Tooting-esque complex fume. See if you agree ...

1) As I looked around the restaurant, I noticed that not one person ... NOT ONE ... was holding their knife correctly. There were a range of techniques being used. The "dagger", the "fountain pen", the "feather duster". But none of them using the more traditional "table knife" hold.

Grr!

2) The waiter who showed me to a table using an ambiguous wave of his arm then stoically refused to make eye contact with me for some time. He then wandered over looking at me as if I might be an immigration officer and asked if I wanted anything else. "Yes. A menu would be a start". He then forgot me again for a time, before taking me order which, when it came, was wrong. To be fair to the poor young thing, there were as many as twenty other customers, and only the four waiters to deal with them ...

Fuuuuuuume!

3) A family arrived. Five adults with a toddler in one of those three-wheeler buggies (just the toddler. The adults were walking), which they laboured to get through the doors (whilst being ignored by the above four waiters). They moved tables, they rearranged chairs, they swapped places, they moved back, they got up, they sat down. And all that time, the buggy was immediately inside the door, where they ditched it. (Yes ... still with the toddler in it).

Mumble-mumble-mumble

All very different things to be irked by. Or so I thought ...

In fact, I've realised that there is one thing above all others, that irritates me, and that actually all of the above fall under the same banner. That thing is laziness.

Bad service, bad manners, it's all the same. It's all just not being bothered and THAT is what bugs me. I find it so tedious that there are so many people who coast though life doing the absolute minimum.

Today, I'll admit, I was rather over zealous, but it is a bit of a theme. I come across people through my work who do the least possible to get through the day, and essentially wait for the answer to come to them. I know people who turn up at work and stay until they can leave and do something more interesting (then gripe that they are passed over for promotion).

I see shop assistants ambling around and gazing into space, or standing in huddles chatting, whilst customers struggle to pay for things. I see waiters and waitresses gossiping behind the bar, whilst food goes cold and customers go hungry, then stand with their hand out when it's time to pay the tip.

AND IT VEXES ME!

The thing is, that I don't DO anything about it. It irks me and I just walk away irked. I decided today that I'm going to start tackling it head on. Are you with me?!

Next time you're in a shop and see a gum snapping gormless looking teenager being paid to do nothing, go over to her and say, "excuse me, but do you have this in a twelve?". I don't care if you don't WANT it in a twelve. It'll get her moving!

If you're in a restaurant and you think the waiters are being more than a little slack, drop your knife on the floor (I only hope you were holding it correctly first ...) and ask for a new one. Or ask for a glass of tap water, then another and another, until they are really shifting!

If you see a street cleaner walking past rubbish, tell him he's missed a bit! If the estate agent doesn't bring anyone 'round to view your house, get a friend to act as a stooge and demand to view your house! If the guy on the barriers at the station is reading the paper, give the barrier a shove so the alarm goes off! If the bank only has two of it's eight desks open, whilst six people in matching uniforms stand behind the glass and work out when they're going to take their lunch breaks, then carefully take out £5 from one account, transfer it to another, then take £5 out of that account and transfer it back, and so on, until more tills are open.

It's childish, but I think it's necessary! We need to get these lazy little buggers moving!

Come on people! Let's tackle the bone idle head on!

The Adventures of the Invisible Woman

Today the Invisible Woman went shopping. She needed something fabulous to wear for a wedding next weekend, which she ought to have thought about before now. She decided to go to Westfield.

She left the house and set off to walk to the station. Half way there, four workmen stepped onto the path blocking her way.

"Not to worry," thought the Invisible Woman. "I am six feet tall and of not-delicate proportions. They will see me coming and step aside." (The Invisible Woman had forgotten that she was invisible). When she got to the workmen, she said, "excuse me please," which confused them, causing them all to look around to see where the voice had come from. Not being able to see anyone near by, they didn't move, so the Invisible Woman had to squeeeeeeeeze between them and their big mucky van, and then go on her way.

When she got to the station there were people using the two ticket machines, so she waited for them to finish. As one of them came available, another lady came from nowhere and stepped in front of the Invisible Woman. The Invisible Woman said, "erm ..." but the lady hadn't seen her, and was in a rush, so she carried on, and the Invisible Woman had to wait to buy her ticket, then to hurry for the train.

The train was quite busy, but there was a seat that a man had put his bag down on. The Invisible Woman asked if he would mind moving his bag, but he didn't hear her. She asked again, but he still didn't hear her. Then another seat came available so the Invisible Woman sat there instead.

She got to Westfield with a spring in her invisible step and a feeling of optimism about the shopping day ahead. Into the centre she went, and headed for ladieswear!

She drifted in an out of shops, but no-one saw her. Shop assistants stood in front of her, or cut across in front of her making her have to stop and let them through. Other shoppers also pushed in front, then ambled, slowly, in front of her, oblivious of the fact that the Invisible Woman wanted to get moving.

(Unfortunately, when the Invisible Woman tried on wedding outfits, and looked in the mirror, she noticed that her lumpy and ripply bits weren't invisible, which was a shame).

In and out of shops and changing rooms she went, and, whilst she was enjoying a day of her own company, and her own thoughts, she was a little bit sad that no-one could see her.

Finally, having tried on what seemed like fifty or sixty outfits, she found a dress that she liked, and headed for the tills, feeling triumphant.

At the tills there was one lady already being served, and there were three members of staff having a conversation. The Invisible Woman tried to catch the eye of one of the chattering staff, but of course they didn't know she was there, so no-one came to take her money (which by now, was burning a hole in her invisible pocket). It crossed her mind that, if she was invisible, she could probably walk out of the shop with the goodies in her hand, but the Invisible Woman does have some scruples, so she waited for the only member of staff who could see her, and paid for her new frock (new shoes, new bag, new cardigan, new other dress (just in case)).

On her way out of the shop, the Invisible Woman was walking between clothes rails, when a man stepped in front of her, and put several large shopping bags down in her path, whilst his wife tried on a coat.

The invisible red mist came down, and the Invisible Woman went crazy. She threw her new purchases on the floor, the better to jump up and down on the man's bags, and then, for good measure, on the man. As she did so, she screeched and screamed, "why can't any of you see me? I'm right here, and I've been fricking invisible all sodding day!" and tore at her clothes. She then did two laps of the shop, stark naked, calling out, "can you see me now? Eh? Can you? CAN YOU?!" before putting her clothes back on, picking up her shopping, and calmly heading back to the train station.*

The Invisible Woman in now at home with a cup of tea and the biscuit tin, too tired from a day of hardcore shopping to cook anything nutritious for dinner. She thinks that she might have the energy to get the giant bag of doritos out of the kitchen. She's thinking, "what the hell. If I'm invisible, I might as well be chubby and happy." Don't judge her.

* This bit didn't really happen, but in the film of the Invisible Woman's life, when she's played by Angelina Jolie's more attractive younger sister, it will.

Dressing for dinner

A friend of mine is quite giddy with excitement at the fact that he's just booked his DJ for his company Christmas party.

I rally a bit against organised fun. It makes me come out in a bit of a rash. I loathe New Year, I struggle with hen parties, I try my best not to have a birthday unless I can help it. Any event, basically, which involves a host of planning, and won't live up to expectation makes me squirm.

But a wee bit of me felt wistful for the big dressy affair. It's been such a long time since I properly dressed up, and I do so love it. I used to work for bit corporate monsters which had annual dinners, and now I work for small niche firms where that sort of thing just isn't practical. I haven't put on an evening dress and heels for such a long time, and I'm not sure when I will next get the chance to. I wonder ... do we little girls ever tire of playing at dressy ups?

So today at lunchtime I was feeling a bit twitchy, and in need of a walk, so I left the office and wandered up Carnaby Street. The windows are all full of party outfits and sparkles now, and there are shoes, shoes, shoes to be gawped at, but nothing that I really need, so I kept walking.

At the top of the street, I ducked into Liberty's back door, and wandered aimlessly through gifts, perfumes, bags, jewellery, and lots of lovely things to satisfy my glamour craving.

Out the front door and on to Regent Street, and again with the windows full of sequins, sparkles, silk, satin, fluff, and feather. I slipped into one or two shops to let the fabrics run through my fingers and think lovely party thoughts, then back out again, and on up to Oxford Circus.

I decided that I ought to head back to the office, so I shuffled through the scrums, and nipped through a department store, back to Carnaby Street and to the office.

A shame, I hear you mutter, that, with such romantic shopping notions, and so many opportunities, I should come home empty handed.

Well you're WRONG! Of COURSE I bought something! Of COURSE I have something new and exciting to slip on. Of COURSE I have something just perfect for the approaching holiday season.

I am sitting here, typing this post, whilst wearing ... my NEW SLIPPERS. With pom poms on the toes. Oh yes! I am ready for the Christmas party season, and I'm doing it in style!

Ho ho ho!