Merry Halal

It's been a long time old friend. some stuff happened, some didn't, but I decided to rejoin the blogging world. and I'm still sitting here watching the world go by. except that it's christmas and I've got the mother of all coughs.

but christmas around here is a bit of a relative concept. when you count the greek orthodox, copts, muslems, hindus, jews, atheists etc etc do 50% of us here are actually celebrate it? You walk out and not one person rushing out bundled with presents, though one woman did give me a big smile as I walked past her. A smartly dressed guy did go up to the house opposite and ring on the doorbell, and the young cool bloke who looks like the young denzel washington did get into his car, dust himself down and drive off. but that's it. no santas. no trees in the window. Just the hint of indian music next door.

One of our little local shop was open christmas day (the one owned by turks not somali christians). the guy at the til definitely had something of the christmas cheer about him, not sure if that's because he was busy or not, but it was great when he wished us all 'merry christmas' booming out like he really was santa, and the albanian muslem who was buying cigarettes boomed it back. And me too, the jewish girl. You get into the swing of things I guess, in our own special way.

I took a walk round ally pally on christmas day in the morning. Now that was special. Loads of men with kids shoved out while the women did the cooking before lunch, dog walkers, and of course a few people jogging. (jogging on christmas day...?)
but the best was after christmas. After the meals, and the presents - or not - in the evening walking past the houses with everyone laughing and a bit tipsy. and the next day seeing a man running down the middle of the road after his child with his new bike, talking about balance and encouraging him on, and standing and watching as he pedalled on alone.
I guess that's what it's all about isn't it.

late night living

There's a man whistling in the street. Outside it's been raining, and it's midnight, but around here there's a whole new life out there. We're a quiet little street, but very mixed and we have our moments.

The red sea supermarket has shut up shop, and Malcolm, the local man whose job it is to hang around the street corners has finally gone to bed. But what is the man whistling? Some enchanted evening? I wonder if he has a black suit and trilby like Gene kelly. but he's out there, perhaps walking the dog, or perhaps grinning from a date at the local greek restaurant. The one which draws kebab fans from all over north london.

In a minute there'll be the whir of an electric vehicle. Our very own midnight milk float, scooting away down the road, with the odd little quiet clink of bottles, and the light thud thud of the cream cartons. I sometimes think of the beginning of under milk wood when he drives past. Gathering together the backdrop of the community scene. thoughts of all those hands nestling up to soft quilts, snores of middle aged men with hairy eyebrows, and the sound of his wheels entering into half dreams to mark the end of the day. I've never seen him. but I don't really need to.

Some nights there's the drama. Two doors down. the man who keeps coming back to his girlfriend shouting. Doesn't happen often. Or the rattle of bins on a wednesday night as everyone puts out the recycling. I often think of the cats at this point. How many have bells round their necks, and how many pace the streets like furry bouncers, staring up the rats.

Only me twitching the curtains here. And a faint twang of next door's indian music playing. He's up late. I thought doctors have to get to work early. Sometimes he plays seduction music. Kind of fun listening to that, but I've mercifully never heard it go further.

late night shadows.

thermometers and the world ending

Thermometers. They are sold out everywhere! According to the assistant at Morrisons, they sell out within five minutes of getting them in. It's like 'survivors' (TV series about catastrophic bug). We'll all get the lergy soon and die leaving the one person who survives (probably my neighbour Helen and nasty jack russell) to comb the shops for Belgian waffles.

Backtrack. I really wasn't feeling too good last night. Saw the Holland Park Opera, Verdi's the Masked Ball. Great set! Friend B's birthday. but felt really rough at the end, terrible sore throat. Which felt worse to the background of all the posh people with jackets and tans saying 'lovely darling' and 'the soprano was magnificent. I must tell Piers about this'. I felt rather gamma female. Unhealthy, dumpy and full of a mild case of swine flu.

Being the calm and happy go lucky sort, I feared the worst. Since then have been taking massive doses of vitamin C and doing self hypnosis to believe that I don't have a cold. I feel not bad considering. But, worst of all, I couldn't relax into the hypochondria of it all. My thermometer conked out.

(my thermometer, pictured with helpful depiction of virus cum alien by my 8 year old niece)

What I don't understand is why everyone has bought a thermometer? Is it to check whether they have temperature so they can go online to get a swine flu pill? Or is it to hold by the radiator and pretend to their spouses/workmates/friends that they're too ill to unload the dishwasher/write a response to a letter of complaint/go to a boring engagement party.

I think it's more complex than that:
50 ways to use a thermometer for someone who has nothing better to do (I've managed 9)

• cigarette substitute
• measure the temperature of the radiator that needs to be fixed
• draw round
• take apart and poison someone, preferably Tara from downstairs.
• check if the cat has temperature (that's obscene)
• check the temperature of soil for your dying yucca plant
• paint green
• look at and remember you primary school science lessons
• give away to someone really ill

Oh well. I think, thank god, I am still alive.

Hairdye and beer

Too tired. Too late to write this. in brief:
-met a man with badly dyed hair last night who told me about drinking gunpowder with home brew in Brazil
-the man talked about his job, about networking and told me I could learn spanish easy on linguaphone in 13 hours.
- I didn't think much about spanish or favelos at work, but about bearded white haired magistrates. Am I the only one who sits in boring meetings wondering whether any of the assembled are cross dressers, or members of the duran duran fan club?
I'm sure the civil service is full of us.
tired. too late. wanted to write part two of the latitude experience but that'll have to wait.
- had my hair dyed today. My hairdresser is a worrier too. We laughed about how much energy you spend worrying in life. but I still worried about whether I gave her enough of a tip, and whether she thought badly of me.
- the clouds on the way home were beautiful. Like blue venus. I stopped worrying for a few moments and that was good. I won't go into why I'm actually worrying. Too many subjects to mention.

Goodnight

Words

Have discovered there is a popular blog, linked to a book I think, called procrastinet. Very good it is too. Helping you spend your time on the net unwisely, with a lot of made up words.
if you meant to hit that, well, nice to have bumped into you anyway.

Meanwhile am trying to plan writing group session for saturday and decided to use unusual but real words eg.
Fabiform (shaped like a bean) as in I like your fabiform hips; and
facinorous (extremely wicked) ...you, parking warden, are facinorous and slightly odorous.

wouldn't it be great if we all used one of these now and then. definitely add a leam to your life!

meant to be working from home now. ..... am worried I have a brain tumour. I keep forgetting things. completely ignored several emails (they were from my boss) and several other enquiries.

these are the only beans I could find.