Strangers in the night

Yesterday, after a leaving do for a colleague, I was walking home alone along Coldharbour Lane, and a young lady said 'Hi'. I said 'Hi' back, as I was brought up with good manners, and she asked me if I was looking for business.

The answer in that situation is probably a polite 'no', but I opted for 'No, just a good conversation'. The clear, sober head this morning said that could have been interpreted in a number of ways, but at the time, I think we both took it at face value, so for the ten minute walk to Brixton, I had someone to chat to.

She asked what I did - I told her. She answered the phone a couple of times and arranged a meeting with a client. I asked her whether her evening job was her only source of income - she said it was all she'd done for three years. She bemoaned the cold weather, and said this was really the hardest time of year for her line of work, and she was glad most of her business came through the phone and not off the street, so she could find somewhere indoors if she had to. She said something about it being difficult to find customers, and I said somehing about my father being in a similar situation, 'Self employed, I mean' I said. 'I guess at least what you're doing is tax free - if they legalise it, it'll just be so they can tax it'.

Then she asked if I'd said no specifically at her, or just generally wasn't looking for business. I wasn't sure what to say - thinking I was being sensitive I replied 'I vowed at an early age never to pay for it'. That's beer for you... She replied, slightly hurt 'that's not all it's about you know, some guys just want someone to talk to, some company'. I apologised sheepishly.

She said she was from Newmarket, but she'd spent a lot of time in Norwich. I idly said something about the race course and my grandfather being a jockey. She said 'Was he small?' and I said yeah, and my father's side of the family are tall, so I end up middle sized, which suits me fine. It was about here that I realised I'd run out of interesting conversation.

The client was going to meet her at Brixton in half an hour. I asked if she had somewhere warm to wait, but she said she'd be ok out in the cold. So she said 'Nice talking to you' and I said 'Look after yourself' and hopped on a bus.

I realise in hindsight that I would have been far too embarrassed to have that conversation sober, so maybe there are advantages in the occasional beer. I feel like I've learned something; that what she does is just a job to her, that people in that line of work are people too, and there's nothing to be scared of, or just that sometimes London isn't as unfriendly as it can seem, and it can be a surprise where you find a friendly face.

"Man who catch fly with chopsticks accomplish anything"

I'm sure we all heard the tragic news on Friday. A great man, taken from us too soon. Someone we'll all remember for his best moments and not his worst. I mean, The Next Karate Kid was a truly awful film, wasn't it?

Pat Morita was, to a ten year old me, perhaps one of Hollywood's finest actors - a calm, composed man who always had the answers, and while the later films were nothing special, the first three will always have a special place in my heart, wiht their cheesy Hollywood morality and cheap laughs that only a ten year old could attach any value to.

Partially I'm posting about this because I had no connection with George Best, and to me he was no more than the wife beating alcoholic that the papers portrayed him as, until he got ill. Mostly I'm posting in order to share this.

Take me to somewhere I can live in

I spent the entire weekend either sat by the TV or dismantling furniture and packing boxes. After Friday night, which was just messy, the most exciting thing that happened was that nasty tackle in the England Samoa match. I cannot wait to get moved into the new place, I have a feeling that living on my own is doing me no favours at the moment.

On the upside - Ffaction is in a couple of weeks, which is always fun. And more importantly (to me at least) I'm playing in a gig in Great Portland St on Friday 9th December, in the upstairs of the Green Man. And, as people seem to start saying in February, it'll soon be Christmas.

Move, move, quick you gotta move

I am leaving the desolate wastelands of backstreet Streatham and heading to the birhgt lights of Tooting! My new home in Avarn Road awaits, from early December, and with it, a new life of being-on-the-tube! This will be the closest to the tube I have lived since 2001, when I lived about 200m from Euston Square in Newman House.

Update from yesterday - my friend with the nastied shoulder is on the mend, and I can hear again, after Motorhead.

A list

of interesting things that happened at the weekend:

1) Terry Wogan refused to wear a dress for charity, on national television.
2) A friend dislocated his shoulder in an accident involving a mountainboard, a staircase and a blind corner.
3) I ate an enormous burger.
4) Wales played a rugby match against South Africa, the score of which eludes me, despite having watched the whole thing. I think Wales lost though.
5) I saw Motorhead with a few friends. They were loud, which is about all I could discern.
6) I regained my hearing, approximately 14 hours after the end of the concert.
7) I roasted a chicken - a first in my new, ovenless flat.

It's the magic number

A discussion on Saturday evening led to the conclusion that four is the magic number, for philosophical reasons. Channel 4, BBC4, E4 (perhaps not) and Radio 4 are most definitely my favourite media channels (I don't have BBC4 yet, but I know I'll like it) and they all have 4 in the title.

De La Soul were three people, but where was the magic? It was obviously in the audience, and if three people are magic and no-one hears them, do they make any magic? It's the fourth person that really adds something. Four is the magic number.

This also led us to ask the question, if a beat drops in the forest, does it make a noise. Then I got another beer. Shortly afterwards I woke up in the attic, having slept for 8 hours.

Let's go fly (on) a kite!

After owning the thing for around 10 weeks, I finally got off the ground with my Beamer 3.6 kite! In gusts of 17mph, and a steady 11mph wind, I managed to get around 5 feet off the ground for about two or three seconds. Admittedly the shock of having finally done it right meant I landed and fell on the ground immediately, laughing like a fool, but I have to say, that was a hell of a lot of fun. I can't wait to try it again!