Road rage

Thanks to Joe's positive influence, I was on the early train this morning. From Waterloo I went to Piccadilly Circus and then to Hyde Park Corner marvelling in being able to sit down and drink my coffee without risking serious facial burns and asphyxiation a la the Northern Line. I had to go to the Lanesborough hotel to collect the belongings I had left last week after a work event (a work event where I almost met slash spied through a peephole on Lady Gaga.)

I love the Lanesborough. It's where civilised people spend their time being civilised. Two bowler-hatted gentleman retrieved my things - one metal table plan and two pop-up banners in case you were wondering - and hailed me a taxi, carrying my luggage with them. I sat in the taxi thinking about ways to spend less time in the office and more time in the  Lanesborough (being Lady Gaga's PA?), when I realised that the taxi driver was a mentalist.

It started off with a few minor incidences such as him muttering "come on, you like that yellow van? It's morning time. MOOOVVVVEEEE," and then increased in intensity as he decided to drive up a closed road gleefully shouting "you can't fool me!" while I tried to appear busy and avoid eye contact. He then clipped a cyclist's handlebar through some fairly erratic driving and rather than apologising shouted "what are you in the middle of the road for you f-ing c***!" The next cyclist we encountered made the mistake of looking at the taxi driver and got "what the f are you looking at you pr**k?" I was just thinking to myself that he was going to kill someone pretty soon when he confessed to me, sounding rather pleased with himself, that he was going to "knock one of them cyclists over deliberately one day and go to prison." Hmm.

By the time he dropped me off I was terrified and ready to tip him handsomely in case he kicked me in the face and threw me into the gutter but he knocked 60p off the fare, probably because he thought I would otherwise report him to whatever authorities deal with such behaviour. And he would be locked in padded cell. But I'm just thinking about what to spend my shiny 60p on. Perhaps a quarter of a cup of coffee in the Lanesborough? But I think I'll stick to the tube next time.

Lady Marmalade

I have recently noticed that there is a recession going on. As a wise friend of mine pointed out on Tuesday it's quite a lot like Britain in the Blitz - the sandwiches in Pret are getting more expensive by the day, people are setting fire to their degrees in the street - all things that happened in war-torn Britain. Possibly. I expect we'll all be rolling round the City with wheelbarrows full of worthless banknotes soon.

Apparently one in ten people in London are unemployed. One in ten! I was pondering this statistic whilst I strolled into the office ten minutes late this morning. It is a little on the worrying side.

In the spirit of frugal fun, I was given marmalade chicken for dinner on Tuesday. I was rather alarmed when the chef opened the front door crying "guys! I'm covered in marmalade! It's your dinner!" but it was surprisingly delicious. Perhaps we should start eating powdered egg and covering ourselves with gravy too to further channel 1942?

I will give it some thought. Off to Cornwall now. A bientot. Or Kernow equivalent.

Long John Silver

This weekend I took to the seven seas. Coming from Cornwall you may assume that I have spent lots of time on boats. You would be mistaken.

We spent Saturday morning putting the entire contents of the house into the car and driving to Portchester to find the boat. I mean, they knew where it was, but I didn't. It seems that sailing and travelling light are not compatible and I was most grateful for all the extra clothes and tea when we were out in the elements.

I soon realised there was more to this sailing malarky than I initially realised. You have to wear comedy clothes and adopt a casual air despite being in constant danger. I found a little smoking seat which was practically on the outside of the boat, and got ready to drown. We considered doing a "man overboard" exercise with a bucket but decided we'd rather have a sausage sandwich. It's important to have clear priorities at such times.

We spent the evening in a pub where everyone gets pissed and dances on the tables. It's actually not enormously sensible to get drunk when you have to get back on a boat a few hours later but when in Rome etc. Joe and I almost came to blows with a man dressed as a crocodile who ordered 35 drinks at the bar. Reptiles are selfish. And thirsty.

We had a jolly good time despite the near-ruckus and the sea-sickness/hangover/general horror of waking up in a small triangular moving bed. I think next time I might even pull a few ropes.

Vodafone, I'm leaving you

Or at least I am considering it.

Somehow I managed to lose my phone in stupid Liverpool. Vodafone has not deigned to send me a new sim card yet so I am bereft and only have my work phone for company. I'm sure I am missing hundreds of interesting calls and messages... Pretty sure anyway... At least one or two...

Two conferences down and one to go.

Highlight of Liverpool was seeing Hugh Grant. Twice. Beat that Manchester. No idea what was happening politically because I was distracted (inebriated) by my serious work (by drinking in the bar.) But I am turning over a new leaf for Tories. I am going to be sober and professional and share my weighty political opinions with important people. And not lose any of my items. Or bash into anything.

And then the next travel adventure on the horizon is sailing to the Isle of Wight with Joe, Adam and Lynne. Apparently on the Saturday evening we are going to drive (?) (float?) to a restaurant/bar where everyone dances on the tables. I can literally not wait. I am already planning a suitable outfit of part foulweather gear, part party dress. Look out Isle of Wighters.

Northern Lights

Political party conference season is upon us so I am setting sail for Birmingham this afternoon to see the Lib Dems. Next week I am in Liverpool for Labour and the following week I shall be heading to Manchester for the Tories.

I have never been to any of these places before so I have high hopes of northern metropolises with people talking strangely and eating foreign foods. Actually, that's a lie, I went to Birmingham once. But only to Cadbury World. I'm not sure if that counts. (Note to self: do not tell this anecdote over dinner. It is dull.)

After four months off I would say my understanding of current affairs is patchy at best. I am going to need to disguise this by either 1) steering the conversation round to things I do understand, like weird things that happen in India or how nice the Guardian Weekend fashion special was, or 2) making vague and meaningless comments such as "well it may be a difficult season for the Lib Dems. But in the current climate perhaps you could say that about any of the parties." Or maybe I could just nod sagely while other people talk. I remember a philosophy seminar where the tutor said "well, I can see what Kate's opinion is. What do the rest of you think?", because of my sage nod. Needless to say I had no idea what was going on.

Wish me luck - hopefully I won't embarrass myself too badly. Or audibly grind my teeth in the shared apartment.

Rule Britannia

After two miserable penniless days in New York, Joe and I said goodbye to the big adventure and flew home. We were delighted to be travelling with BA.

"May I have a white wine please, Mr Air Steward?"
"Certainly, why not have two?"

Hello again delicious binge-drinking culture.

I am terribly sorry for not writing sooner - I know there are hundreds of you pining for my pithy wit... but the excitement of English things has been so overwhelming that I have mostly been sleeping for two weeks. Well, sleeping and eating cheese. Oh, and securing gainful employment. Score.

I am currently having a jolly break in Cornwall. I really needed a holiday after those three months off. Top moments so far have included dinner with the next door neighbours aka the most Cornish people in existence. I discovered that they refer to me as Cinderella because apparently the first time they saw me I was rather overdressed for village life. Now I don't remember each sartorial choice I have ever made but find it hard to believe that I helped Mum move house whilst sporting a ball gown. Clearly there are different standards at play here.

I am very much enjoying pretending to be a student on summer holidays and travelling around in a purple Clio containing five girls (friends, not random chumps found on the beach), five enormous handbags (belonging to said friends), two binbags loaded with rubbish (damn foxes) and a set of golf clubs (don't ask). I am also enjoying "helping" round the house i.e. putting things in the wrong places and accidentally throwing out the compost. Whoops. The joys of temporarily living at home.

I am not sure what to do with the blog now I am back. I have very much enjoyed writing it but am not narcissistic enough to think people want to read about my everyday adventures (today I woke up, got the train and went to work. I had soup for lunch. A man sneezed on me on the way home), so perhaps I shall have to pretend to still be travelling?

Back to the big smoke soon anyway so ideas on a postcard please....

Previously on the West Wing

We have been in Washington DC for three days now and have seen the White House, the Capitol, and the outsides of lots of other attractions (too hot to queue to get in). I keep hoping we might see some of the West Wingers and then have to remind myself that it is in fact a TV programme and the people are actors. Very upsetting.

Through watching the complete West Wing about six times I thought I had a good understanding of American politics. This turned out to be completely false. Joe and I were sitting on the steps of the Capitol and I confessed that I did not, in fact, really understand the US political system at all. He tried patiently to explain it to me while I fiddled with my nail varnish and forgot to listen. He then had to explain again. I'm still not sure I've cracked it to be honest but it's probably not that important. Separation of powers off.

We are staying in a very bizarre establishment which seems to be a hotel cum halfway house. There are various people here who are clearly not on holiday and come to breakfast with their own bread. We have to share a bathroom which is a real treat. The best part is that we are conveniently located for everything, including the George Washington University student hangouts. We have been "carded" several times and enjoyed several happy hours. GWU looks quite a lot like Bristol but with frat houses. Each frat house has it's name in symbols on the door - you know, the kappa gamma motor neurones or whatever - and its inhabitants sit outside drinking out of those red cups you see on American films. Jealous.

Tomorrow we climb aboard the Megabus (keeping up the tradition of travelling in style), and head to the Big Apple. We met someone yesterday from New York and asked her for recommedations of things to do. Her response? The NBA store and the M&M store. Seriously. Next time someone asks me what they should do in London I am going to send them to Niketown.

The end.