Chicken Bones, Ticket Machines and Getting "Past It": Just Another Ordinary Day

Dear Reader,

Tell me, what would you do if your Mum was inconsoable over a chicken bone? If a ticket machine swalled your £20 note? And if your boyfriend told you he would no longer be interested once you hit 25?

As I mentioned yesterday, I went back to Brighton to spend some time with my Mum and enjoy some time at home. One of the delights of living by the sea, as many of you will know, are the swarms of Sea Gulls that cloud the sky and steal your sandwiches. We have one that lives in our garden.

Sylvia (I decided she must be female) frequents our back door every morning. A "tap, tap" announces her presence and she is usually rewarded for her patince with last night's left overs. If she's lucky she will also recieve a rasher of raw bacon. She loves it, gobbling it down and often calling out in delight. She has even stepped in to our house on occasion but only when she is feeling particularly bold.

Yesterday afternoon as we were drinking tea Sylvia decided to drop in, tapping at the window in the normal fashion. Obligingly, my Mum went to fetch her some left overs which she had been saving for the gull. These left overs consisted of old roast chicken. The meat was still on the bone.

Thinking that Sylvia would separate the meat from the bone before eating the contents, Mum threw the food in the bird's path. But Sylvia was too quick. With hawk-like finesse she swooped towards the chicken and swallowed it in one. Bone and all.

"Oh my God," Mum said, "I've killed the gull."

We both peered at Sylvia. She seemed......ok. Ok, except she had a bulbous bump in her next which extended sideways. Then, she flew away up on to a nearby roof.

By now Mum was fretting "I've killed her!" They had been friends for some time now. "Oh, what am I going to do!" Well, it's not as if you can feasibly catch a sea gull and then pull a chicken bone out of it.

We just had to wait to see if she came back.

This morning as I was getting ready to catch a train back to London we heard a tap at the back door. Looking out in to the garden we could see Sylvia glaring through the window at us. Her neck was still bulging but hey, she was still alive! Mum was over the moon.

I arrived back in London around midday and had an hour until I had to go out again. I am doing some PR for an up and coming poet and was accompanying him to an interview today.

Back at the tube station I approached a ticket machine so that I could top up my Oyster Card. For once I had cash and thought I'd use that instead of paying on my card. After choosing to top up by £10 I put a £20 note in to the machine expecting change. Nothing came out. Not a penny. Not even a glimmer. I was running late but furious. Cursing out loud I hastily looked for a ticket officer. No one was to be found (that's the trade unions for you). It was 1.15 and I really needed to be catching the tube. Zig zagging between the machine, in the hope that something may have popped out (surely anything can happen if you believe hard enough?!), and the ticket office, I ran myself into a frenzy and managed only to catch the attention of the security guard. When I did find the ticket man it was too late and I had to get on.

The interview though went really well and I managed to get home by 5 before my boyfriend and could make sure I was looking relaxed and pretty for when he returned. He arrived about half an hour later in quite a bad mood.

"Long day?" I enquired.

"Yeah," he sighed and proceeded to pour himself a whisky. Barely even a hug for me.

The evening progressed and B perked up to his usual self. In fact he felt so perky that he felt bold enough to tell me that once I was 25 (I'm just about to turn 22 now) I'd be past it. Old. Unattractive. Past it. He then said he was joking. Humph! Men do have the strangest sense of humour sometimes. I think I could forgive him as he made me hot water bottle this evening and said that he missed me last night.

But seeing as he's 24 I think he's lucky that I don't try and apply the same rule......

Singing for a Soul Mate

Near where I live a Robin lives too. He has a large chest, ripely red, puffed and proud. I often see him perched on my door step. Every night he sings out loud.

At first the song confused me. It seems strange for a bird to be singing at night rather than the morning. "Maybe the street lights have confused him," my boyfriend mused. I do wonder.........

It began a few nights ago. It was about 11.30pm and we were thinking about going to bed. Just as we turned our lights out we heard it: the loudest song bird in existence. I couldn't believe the sound was real! But lo and behold a bird was singing loud and proud.

The next night the bird sang again. I had almost thought it was a black bird, so pretty is the song, but then I realised that it is just one bird singing. Blackbirds always sing together in competition.

Yesterday as I arrived home I saw the Robin on our neighbour's flowerpot. Then I knew. He hopped and flitted, unsure of me, and then settled in the next front garden on another pot. Looking at his huge round chest it dawned on me: this bird wants a mate.

So every night he sings. He sings his soulful little heart out, calling in hope for a female. I can even hear him now. I do think though that he might have more luck in the morning when he won't be disturbing any beauty sleep............

Sexual Attraction & Fairy Cakes

 Today I walked in to Gilly Hicks. Gilly Hicks is the latest addition to the Abercrombie empire. Gilly Hicks is using sexual attraction as a sales weapon.

Now, this point may not seem consequential nor of particular note considering that sex is frequently used as a sales technique. If you need an example look at the Virgin Atlantic advert (which I have to say is pretty damn brilliant). But whereas most adverts use sex in a suggestive way, Gilly Hicks overtly uses sex to the point of exploitation.

Today I walked in to the Westfield branch of the shop to see what it was like. At the door stood a semi naked male model. His sole role was to wait outside the shop, shirtless.

Inside I was shocked. All the staff were young females, tiny (I would guess a UK size 4), and all but one were wearing knickers. Knickers. Tiny little knickers. It was their uniform.

I mentioned to one of the girls my horror that they all had to wear knickers. "Oh," she shrugged, "They're pajama bottoms." These were the smallest pajama bottoms I have ever seen. I suppose at least she felt comfortable wearing them. I just can't help but think that it is ethically wrong to require young girls to wear the 'pajama bottoms' as uniform, especially as there are many other items in Gilly Hicks which would still flatter the girls but ensure their decency. Am I just a prude or do you agree with me?

On a lighter note, yesterday I made the most delicious little fairy cakes. I feel so proud of them that I have been desperate to write about them on here! I think the reason that they rose so perfectly and were so light and fluffy was because I warmed the butter slightly before creaming it with the sugar. By the time I had beaten in the egg the mixture was a smooth yellow paste just ready for the flour and a touch of milk. When I took them out of the oven they had risen to beautiful golden domes, round yet tall and abundantly scrumptious. I have almost eaten them all already........

Celeb Spots & the Thames Path

Yesterday I was on the tube when I saw a face I recognised. The man was short, had a dark grey dashing beard and was aged approximately around 50. Any guesses? It was the BBC Radio comedien Richard Herring! I also saw him recently at a BBC party I went to and at a gig in Camden.

I met my cousin at Monument and we walked along the river and had lunch at Zizzi by the Globe. This particular branch of Zizzi is really nice because it is situated on the 2nd floor and overlooks the Thames. It was such a nice day yesterday too, it made a lovely view.

After lunch we continued walking all the way along the river, past Somerset House, St. Paul's and the Houses of Parliament, all the way to Plimlico.

By the time I got back home I was quite tired and crashed out on the sofa for a while. My boyfriend was still revising (he is doing so well!) and I didn't want to disturb him so stayed on the sofa in the living room. By the evening though he had had enough for the day so we went for dinner at Wahaca.

Today I am going to a meeting to organise a project with the charity I used to work for. It feels nice to be doing something useful.