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What a morning it has been! My initial plan was to submit my documents by 10am and then wander over to Covent Garden and treat myself to a haircut and possibly a manicure and pedicure before lunching with shoefiend. Of course that plan has been unwittingly thwarted by dimwits in ties.
Instead I have had to call her from the crowded basement of the Indian High Commission, to shout over the hubbub of a thousand voices, to say that I will be late and who knows how long this could take. We have contemplated cancelling but it is so rare a day when we both have childcare somewhat sorted that it would be a shame to miss out a gander in the centre of town.
So after what seems like, and actually is, hours of my life drained away in the High Commission I am out and wandering up to Covent Garden in the last of the winter chill. There is still no discernable ash in my view although the sea of grey office workers out for their quick lunch look ashen enough. I’m early so I pop in to the Transport Museum and buy this Blue Plane for Kid who chewed it at a friend’s house. (Then again, he chews everything, so this is just me thinking this was cute. Or cuter than sachets of silica gel he keeps finding.)
We meet at the Covent Garden station. I can barely stand as I am exhausted from the physical exertion of the queue and the mental trauma of my experience so far. We retire to the ever faithful Wahaca, and over Margherita’s (decadent in the day on a working week, we know, but who are you? the Margherita police?) I attempt to make light of my morning. Not being able to laugh at some of the hell could turn me into a manic depressive. Luckily for me Shoefiend is an interactive audience, tut-tut-ing and laughing at all the right places. And then she goes on to match me by telling me funny anecdotes or bits from other rubbish service providers, all of which make me laugh and my misery seem shared. This is why I love her so.
After lunch we go and sit in a coffee shop and eat some decadent desserts to go with our cappuccinos. But no matter how much we laugh and how much better I feel I have that pebble-the-weight-of-dread rattling around in my stomach knowing I have to go back to collect my documents. Will it be all better?
Instead I have had to call her from the crowded basement of the Indian High Commission, to shout over the hubbub of a thousand voices, to say that I will be late and who knows how long this could take. We have contemplated cancelling but it is so rare a day when we both have childcare somewhat sorted that it would be a shame to miss out a gander in the centre of town.
So after what seems like, and actually is, hours of my life drained away in the High Commission I am out and wandering up to Covent Garden in the last of the winter chill. There is still no discernable ash in my view although the sea of grey office workers out for their quick lunch look ashen enough. I’m early so I pop in to the Transport Museum and buy this Blue Plane for Kid who chewed it at a friend’s house. (Then again, he chews everything, so this is just me thinking this was cute. Or cuter than sachets of silica gel he keeps finding.)
We meet at the Covent Garden station. I can barely stand as I am exhausted from the physical exertion of the queue and the mental trauma of my experience so far. We retire to the ever faithful Wahaca, and over Margherita’s (decadent in the day on a working week, we know, but who are you? the Margherita police?) I attempt to make light of my morning. Not being able to laugh at some of the hell could turn me into a manic depressive. Luckily for me Shoefiend is an interactive audience, tut-tut-ing and laughing at all the right places. And then she goes on to match me by telling me funny anecdotes or bits from other rubbish service providers, all of which make me laugh and my misery seem shared. This is why I love her so.
After lunch we go and sit in a coffee shop and eat some decadent desserts to go with our cappuccinos. But no matter how much we laugh and how much better I feel I have that pebble-the-weight-of-dread rattling around in my stomach knowing I have to go back to collect my documents. Will it be all better?
baap re. I certainly hope so. Am getting stomach ache reading this.
ReplyDeleteSounds very very painful. On the plus side, I know exactly what Shoefie's company is like, and I love her too. But she's leeeeeeeeeeeeeavinnnnnng...!
ReplyDeleteI, being the country bumpkin I am, didn't know of Wahaca until a shopping trip to the great and glorious Westfield in west London. It was really nice. I suppose it came close to making up for all the misery at the IHC.
ReplyDeleteTagged. It's a doozy.
ReplyDelete