If you don't live in london, you won't want to read this London-centric opener about today's Tube strike because a) it doesn't affect you; and b) some people who don't live in London get very cross indeed reading things about London life for some reason, like it's not the country's capital city or anything.
Anyhoo, what I want to say is that I drove into work today and it took me an hour, which is unheard of. Why? Because of all the bloody bikes cluttering up the roads. I've never seen so many. It was like Beijing. It's bad enough at the best of times but today was something else. And of course, being cyclists out of necessity just for one day, their road sense was truly shocking. I hate bikes, I really do. They take such appalling risks, but dare point that out and the offence taken is unbelievable. Like people who poke pushchairs into oncoming traffic and don't see the problem in putting their child's life at risk and how dare you honk your horn at me, I've got rights, it's disgusting, etc, etc. Tsk. Can't wait for the return journey. Car is king.
Can you tell I'm bristling? Just as well it's holiday time then. Today is my last post for a week or so as Mrs F-C and I are off to the South of France then onto Paris for a Persuaders-style sojourn. She's played by Nyree Dawn-Porter and me by Roger Moore. She'll be in bold-patterned maxi dresses and I'll be in slacks and and Jason King scarves, and among other things we'll be speeding around mountain bends in an E-type, having breezy lunches overlooking St Tropez harbour, having cocktails on terraces, laughing over fine wine with a mixed group of jet set friends at hillside villas and going to bustling casinos where everyone's in national costume. And trying to relax at the same time.
So see you soon.
8 comments:
The pedestrians hate the cyclists, the cyclists hate the cars, the cars hate the cyclists and the pedestrians, and everyone hates the buses.
Have fun en vacances dans les sud France*. Bon voyage!
*probably used a wrong gender in there.
Don't worry, after looking out of the window here in EC2, by the time they get home they'll be soaked to the skin, catch pneumonia and die.
In a couple of days you'll be running through a sunlit lavender field, laughing like a young girl, in a beautiful cheesecloth dress and floppy straw hat. Stay calm and hold that thought.
Or you could go and buy an Anne Frank cushion from the shop in Wigmore Street and give it a good punch. Whatever works best, really.
I shall be imagining you and Mrs FC swanning around St Tropez with that sha-ba-da-ba-da Un Homme et Une Femme music playing constantly in the background.
That's absolutely right, Kitten, though the idea of running through a lavender field in a cheesecloth dress is equally appealing. Like a Dairy Box ad.
You and your transvesticism.
Have a lovely break and a traditionally belated happy birthday to you, old fellow.
Thanks Squirrel
An E-Type? Bit of an old banger for Persuaders-era motoring, ain't it?
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