So Much Time So Little to Blog

Work is suddenly so quiet that we occasionally pick up the phone to check for a dial tone. This gives me time to reflect on the ironies of having enough time to blog, but little blog fodder.

Small diversion on home front caused by my horrified discovery that favourite PJs are now tight. HTB kindly suggests that since I have been drinking fizz (minor celebration regarding triumph over HTB's former wife which will remain for ever unblogged for fear of what it reveals about my personality) perhaps I am bloated. I respond that this, although very sweet, would have more basis in reality if it were not the thighs that were tight (instant guilt ridden flash back to hot chocolate and bagel earlier in the week) Perhaps, says HTB I Have Secret Gas Chambers in My Thighs? Can't help but think that this sounds terribly Nazi of me and wonder if my kneecaps will deny knowing they were there at some unspecified point in the future. Further speculation thankfully curtailed by sleep.

Friday 13th

Have never really understood the preoccupation with Friday 13th as unlucky. I know that some people say it's because there were 13 people at the last supper (just how this was unlucky for Jesus escapes me as patently not the reason he was crucified, which was predestined anyway, and Christianity would be in a right pickle if only 11 people has turned up for supper and the Romans changed their minds as a consequence, in Life of Brian manner.) Have also heard that it relates to the number of witches in a coven, which amazes me, as I don't know 12 other women who I could put in a room together, let alone 12 witches, but again don't see that it's unlucky (Unless you are in a room with 12 witches who don't get on with you I imagine that could be unlucky).

Decide to take a risk and wear my unluckiest shoes to work. I adore these shoes as they are very passable copies of Louis Vuitton Boudoir shoes (yes very last season I know but for some of us boudoir is a lifestyle choice not a season!) but as they have heels that spin off in different directions on a whim (ok so they are cheap copies I know!) they are not always the safest footwear for a boat. They immediately prove my point my jamming in the pedals of my bike, which is fine until I have to stop at the pedestrian crossing, at which point I topple slowly sideway into a hedge before leaping back out in a gymnastic manner whilst trying hard to give the impression that this is my usual way of dismounting my bicycle. (From looks on faces of fellow commuters I deduce I have not succeeded.) Successfully achieve station where I recognise fellow commuter from pedestrian crossing and fiddle with bike lock in airy, devil-may-care manner until train leaves, to avoid travelling with him to Waterloo.

Tube is busy and I end up jammed between two traders, hanging onto the central pole like an inadequate stripper.

Further proof of unluckiness of shoes occurs as I leave London Bridge when man who is standing handing out papers manages to tread on my heel, removing shoe in process (How? How does he do this he was STANDING STILL?).

Have just mentally resolved to throw shoes in Thames when River Police appear from nowhere. Immediately give into paranoia on subject of thought police, which is made worse when the Police boat slows down and creeps along the river parallel to me until I get to work. Think pure thoughts until they have gone, just in case.

Day takes turn for better with call from Gorgeous George, current favourite client with lovely voice who we know to be wearing uniform whenever he calls. (Gorgeous is honorary title based on joint imaginings of girls in office, as obviously we have never seen him.) He admits today he is in his blues and is joined by number of colleagues wearing their greens who proceed to audibly serenade me in the background to the tune of "Oh Mandy" inserting my name at the appropriate point.

Day peaks too soon and have mid-afternoon crisis, which is resolved by medical application of G&T and sage advice of Dear Friend Rachel. Have cause to review sage-ness of advice when DFR announces she wishes she had a willy. Further investigation as to internal musings that prompted such a statement reveal long and involved train of thought relating to ease of relieving granny-like bladder in public place with addition of such appendage. Level of shock to Adored Husband Andy not discussed. Further strains to granny like bladder proposed by boss and we retire to the bar.

Find myself in snit with HTB for no other reason than his staying at work until normal time when I had envisioned early return, house cleaned, supper in oven and lift from station. Entire fantasy based on something he said two weeks ago and hasn't mention recently and I should know better.

Take life in hands once again and choose to keep unlucky shoes to walk home in.

Snit and gin cause me to march across London Bridge swinging my arms with such vigour that I whack perfect stranger across groin with free paper. Apology charmingly accepted, leading me to cynical conclusion that strangers are perfect because they remain strangers. Am momentarily diverted by train of thought in which chance whacking leads to conversation, drinks, unsuitable marriage and exile to S America before necessity of negotiating escalator in unlucky shoes brings me back to present and perfect stranger disappears onto Jubilee Line unaware of his narrow escape.

Would like to discuss cleverness of conclusions reached regarding perfection of strangers with HTB, but since we have not been strangers for at least 25 years, I cannot think of any way of doing this that he would not find insulting.

Seated on train between woman who is spitting image of Judy off Richard and Judy but who I assume is not, and married man who smells strongly of cat pee. Some strangers NOT perfect - think fondly of charming Argentinean looking man with whom things could have been so different if we had not been going in different direction on tube.

HTB meets me at station with takeaway and rapprochement achieved that I will draw veil over. Friday 13th aparently lucky for some.