Bus Stopped

I've been stuck on the 345 for an hour and forty five minutes now. I'm traveling from South Kensington to Peckham, the full length of the route, and I'm determined to finish. For the last hour we've moved about twelve meters, two of which I accomplished myself when the seat at the front of the bus became free. There's a huge major traffic obstruction in Stockwell and the police are flying into action with their trademark tact and understanding. So we sit there as cars blow their horns and drivers blow their tops and I listen as a girl behind me blows bubbles in time to the tinned tunes pranging from her mobile phone. I could just get on the tube. Or the train. A couple of changes I could be at London Bridge and ten minutes from my destination. But I don't. I want to be there for my bus driver. I'm sticking it out for him. We started this together, we should end it together! I won't desert him just because it would take seventy four minutes off my journey time. And as we finally pull out of Stockwell and crawl our way to Brixton, I'm glad we made it through together. I feel an all round better person to have put two fingers up at my schedule and stuck it out. Until he switches off all the lights and leaves me stranded a good fifteen minutes from my destination. I'm going on my break, he says. Bastard, I say, treacherous bastard!

MAC vs unPC

My computer is laughing at me. Literally. It won't stop laughing at me. Every time I move the mouse or hit the keyboard it cackles and howls at me. I search the internet for mac-based laughing viruses. Nothing. I look in the manual, call up friends, ask Jeeves; no-one seems to have ever experienced this. But I have, and I am, and it's driving me crazy. I restart and restart, but each time I do the wicked witch of the west comes back with avengence. I mute the volume but that knocks out youtube and itunes, and what would be the point of life without these? Two hours later I find the answer. The 'Voiceover' utility has turned itself on. And, I'm not making this up here, it's been switched to 'Hysterical'. Why the f@$K does it have an Hysterical setting? What kind of sick mind dreams this up? The Voiceover utility is designed to promote access to those with impairments, the visually impaired, the hard of hearing, etc. Surely this amounts to nothing less than mocking the disabled? Another reason why Apple is the true evil of the computing world, a Digital Damian that makes Microsoft look about as Satanic as Spinal Tap.

What's White and Black?

I walk into one of those 24 hour convenience stores. It's late at night and I seem to be alone in my need of convenience. I put a loaf of bread on the counter. The man behind waits patiently. Is that all? He asks. Yes, I reply, waiting for him to ring it up. Are you sure? He says, looking at my other hand. At that moment I remember I've come out with half a pack of penguins. Chocolate biscuit penguins that is, not swimming and fish eating penguins; that would be weird. Still, this could be difficult to explain. I brought these with me, I venture. You've brought your own penguins? He repeats, raising an eyebrow. I start to say I was hungry and trail off. When I think I look guilty, I start acting guilty. Suddenly I remember how I can prove it. They're refrigerated! I burst out. They're what? He replies. Do you refrigerate your penguins? I ask him. No, he says, why would we? They taste so much nicer, try one, I say, and just like that, to spare my ass from jail, I spill the beans on one of my most closely guarded secrets.

VANDERPUT on Magicians

Those who can, do.
Those who can't, teach.
Those who really can't, work in magic shops.

Dear Rain

Last Christmas, wandering around Waitrose whilst blinded and despirited by the eternal death of the phosperence and lost in aisles so endlessly unending, I came across two reindeer glasses. I'd just moved into my flat and surviving on three forks and an old bowl which I think used to be an ashtray. I picked up the glasses and turned them in my hand, feeling warmer even as I stood there. I put them in my hand basket and paid at the till. For a month I drank from them, each sip making me feel a little more at home in my new surroundings. And then one day, whilst washing up, I dropped one in the sink. It cracked down the the side and my heart sank. I stood there a while before I turned the tap off. Without another thought I put on my boots and went to back to the store. They had one left and I bought it without hesitation. Now I still feel that glow everytime I use them, but at this time of year, I'm a lot more careful when I wash them.

Marathon Struggles

Only people dumb enough to run 26 miles would warm themselves with a tinfoil blanket.

Travel Tips

It wears you down. That's the thing. It's not the money, it's not the expense, it's the constant expectancy. The hand forever out, the longing looks, the platters of change. When you arrive it's a novelty. You feel quite the benefactor handing over what is mere loose change to you. What will otherwise be lost down the sofa, dropped in the gutter, thrown away for pure convenience. But when the hand is out expectantly for the thousandth time that day, when you're handing out a buck a time for every all-inclusive drink, when you can't turn down a street without feeling the tug of your sleeve and another story of how many mouths to feed, it wears you down.

See Life on Stage

I'm watching a Dolphin show, and I wouldn't like to admit this to anyone, but I'm jealous. Jealous of their attention, jealous of their applause, just plain jealous. I mean, all they're doing is knocking a few balls around and jumping through hoops... You should see what I have to do to get fed! My beloved turns to me and offers me some ice cream. What's wrong? She asks. Nothing, I say, glaring at the overgrown cabaret fish.

Waiting to happen

I'm on a plane to Cuba and I can't sleep. Senior citizens walk up and down the aisle non stop to ward off the DVT. They've shown the same movie twice, and the endings been the same both times. My love has already charmed an extra gin and tonic out of them, but it helped my drowsiness no end. The problem is, any minute now, the plane could EXPLODE!
It could be NOW!                          or NOW!


                                                                                    or NOW!


All in all it's pretty troubling.

To the country...

What am I doing here? Serving this concrete machine? I remember when I was young, at night, padding the summer grass in my bare feet. And that was in South East London! Now that is far out of reach. I spend my time crushed in stuffed tube trains, paying more than I earn for the privilege. Chewing tasteless paper-wrapped consumables as I scurry between appointments. Returning home to be imprisoned in blocks of grey sarcophagi. The parks are overtaken by bums and winos, the lifts are full of piss and shit, packs of youths roam the streets and I think of leaving. To where the stars break across the night sky. To where the air is heavy with earth and the ground sinks beneath your step. To the country, flee.

Assistance

You might not have heard of Hans Klok. He’s a fluffy haired magician with a show in Las Vegas. Starring Pamela Anderson. Right now that makes him a pretty big fish in the puddle pond of magic. If you have heard of him however, you could be forgiven for thinking his role consists of little else but running around pointing at large boxes. Kind of like a very camp version of life in a Dixon’s stockroom. The real miracle workers seem to be the women who leap in and out of said boxes wearing magnificently improbable outfits and grinning like horses. Calling these show jumpers ‘assistants’ is yet another reason why I don't like your average magician.

Mind the Jaws

What I'd love is to get on a deserted tube carriage with one of those cat basket carrier things. An empty one. With the door wide open. Then I'll fall asleep, give it a while, maybe I'll start snoring. Once the tube is packed and on its way, out of nowhere, I'll wake up and start screaming- My snake! My SNAKE!!! Has anyone seen my highly agitated, possibly claustrophobic snake??!

Home Shopping

On the best of days I can hardly bring myself to go near a tesco's. I was brought up a Sainsbury's man and that stuff sticks. However as I live nowhere near the land of orange, and the Waitrose is at least an eight minute walk from the tube, the convenience of the tesco express is overpowering and I hit it like a smack addict hits an alley. But what makes it so much worse is that they've decided to get rid of their cashiers, and replace them with a series of self service stations. I have to scan my own items! And I don't even get the minimum wage! What are they going to have us do next? Restack the shelves? Package the food? They must be aware that the reason we resort to this shop in the first place is because we are very very lazy?

Venue Specific

Why are Elvis impersonators so popular in Indian restaurants?