August 23, 2012 · 9:39 am

The perfect guest

One of my friends is on a boat.

I’m terribly worried about him.  It’s a boat belonging to another friend’s parents, and I’m really not sure that my friend is making the most of it. There are several things it is imperative to do when invited as someone’s guest. (These rules apply generally, but on a big-ticket item such as a boat, they are even more vital)

1. A good host will tell you to ‘make yourself at home’. Do. If you feel like taking a quick bath before dinner, feel free.

Wander into the kitchen, grumble about the quality of snacks on offer, yell at your host about how you are ‘always the one who does the washing up’, snaffle some socks.

2. There is nothing worse than a guest who does not know how to entertain themselves. Therefore, as soon as you arrive at your host’s house/ cottage/ boat/ car, make sure to find plenty of things to pass the time with. I personally have found that the best finds tend to be squirrelled away by over-cautious hosts in drawers and cupboards- so make sure to have a  thorough rootle around.

3. Hosts like to feel useful and needed, so help them to achieve this by arriving without luggage.

(Honestly, nothing advances friendships further than sharing a toothbrush).

4. One of the very worst things about becoming a grown-up is the demise of the party bag. Rectify this. On the morning of your departure, walk around the place taking things you like the look of.

5. This last one is particularly for my boat-bound friend- remember, you’re the guest. Which means, if, Titanic-like, there are not enough lifeboats to go around, you get first dibs. 

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August 21, 2012 · 11:12 am

I hate orange juice

I was taken to breakfast at the Dean Street Townhouse this morning. In an abrupt, and hypocritical volte-face, I have recently decided that I simply love going out for breakfast. ‘Shall we meet for a breakfast or lunch?’ A nice lady emailed me last week. ‘Breakfast sounds great,’ I emailed back quickly. She chose the restaurant, and put herself firmly in my good books by setting our breakfast for 9.30am. I cycled there, so arrived nicely sweaty. I’ve never been to the Dean Street Townhouse before, but it’s glorious.

I was early (what with the cycling and all), so I quickly sat down in one of their armchairs and ordered a vat of water. ‘Would you like any juice?’ The waiter asked. ‘I hate orange juice,’ I replied firmly. ‘Um,’ The waiter stammered politely in utter confusion.

‘That’s OK. You don’t have to have orange juice.’ ‘Did you know that orange juice is the world’s most popular juice?’ I asked him fiercely. ‘No,’ He replied. ‘That’s very interesting.’ ‘Some people hate coriander,’ I continued. ‘But I hate orange juice.’ The waiter, to give him his due, had stopped frantically trying to make eye contact with his colleagues, and was quietly looking at me with pleading eyes. ‘We have apple juice and fresh grapefruit juice,’ He whispered. ‘Ooh,’ I replied. ‘I’ll have both. Thanks very much.’

It was unfortunate that my apple juice arrived first, so that I had to drink my grapefruit juice in front of my host, who handily had arrived after my little contretemps with the waiter, and was fairly puzzled when it took us a little while to track him down to order again.

Often, restaurants tell you they serve fresh juice, when what they mean by ‘fresh’ is ‘recently poured out of a carton’. The Dean Street Townhouse is not one of those places. My grapefruit juice was delicious, and so fresh that I found the occasional pip floating in it- which I politely spat onto my napkin. ‘It’s very good,’ My host said. ‘But there are pips. Why not try the orange juice?’

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August 17, 2012 · 1:08 pm

The great wars of 71a

My little sister, our housemate and myself have moved in together. Like all good households, there are several covert and deadly wars running quietly below the happy surface of our home.

1. The kettle war

We bought our kettle because it was silver, and we had decided that the very best way to make our kitchen look like one of those show-room kitchens was to have silver appliances.

We had no other criteria, so the kettle we have is pretty crap. It looks nice, and I believe we have fooled at least one (drunken) person into complimenting us  on our kitchen, but it’s one of those ones where unless you shove the little thing right up, it continually tries to turn itself back on. ‘See,’ I explained patiently to our housemate. ‘Can you hear that sound? That dry hissing sound? That’s because you haven’t flicked the little thing up fully, and the kettle is trying desperately to turn itself on.’ ‘I can’t hear anything,’ My flatmate told me confusedly. Which is odd, because yesterday she asked me fairly abruptly to stop rapping in my room.

2. The shoe war

‘We each have 2 feet,’ I said to my sister carefully. ‘You spend too much time alone,’ She replied, looking for her stethoscope. ‘And for each foot, there is a shoe,’ I continued. ‘Is this the kind of stuff you’re writing nowadays?’ She asked worriedly. ‘And so, if one of us leaves their shoes in the hall,’ I went on. ‘Feasibly, there will be 6 shoes in the hall. Which is then less a hall, and more a shoe locker.’

‘You can’t call it a shoe locker, there’s a store in America already called that,’ My little sister said absent-mindedly. ‘This isn’t a game of semantics,’ I shouted crossly. ‘Stop leaving your shoes in the hall.’ My little sister looked up at me finally. ‘Is that the end to your poem? It’s rather abrupt, don’t you think?’ I stormed off in a huff, tripping over one of her flip-flops as I stomped into the kitchen.

3. The clothes-drier war

We have 3 clothes drying racks. They all look reasonably similar, but I happen to know exactly which one is mine. ‘There are many others like it, but this one is mine,’ I muttered as I took it out of the clothes-drier cupboard. I carefully hung my wet clothes over the drier and popped off to work.

I came back to find my clothes lounging on the floor, and my clothes-drier in my little sister’s room. ‘Ah,’ She said when asked. ‘I needed it.’ ‘Whereas I was admiring it as an architectural phenomena?’ I replied. (Actually, I have spent some time marvelling at how it folds down so small then rises up so tall. It’s bafflingly excellent). There are 3 of us in the flat, and 3 separate clothes drying racks. Unfortunately, laundry in our flat is done on a flash-mob model, where weeks of no laundry whatsoever are suddenly followed by all 3 of us doing as much laundry as possible.

‘Give me back my clothes-drier,’ I insisted, attempting to wrestle my sister’s clothes off its sturdy frame. Unfortunately, at this point my clothes-drier decided to demonstrate the aforementioned folding ability, and collapsed on my foot. I think underneath my little sister’s hysterical laughter was the tone of deep remorse and defeat.

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August 15, 2012 · 11:15 am

Abracadabra

‘The best thing about being alive,’ I said to my little sister yesterday. ‘Is that there are moments when you feel as though you’re magic.’ My sister looked at me uncomprehendingly. ‘Yes,’ I continued. ‘For instance, riding a bike. There’s no way a person should be able to ride a bike. And yet I can. Magic.’

My sister wandered into the kitchen to get some food, or to avoid me. I followed her quickly. ‘Look!’ I said proudly. ‘See those beers? I bought those.’ ‘Lucy,’ She said firmly. ‘Having money does not make you magic.’ ‘I agree,’ I said. ‘But I got those 7 bottles of beer for £2.50. You know why?’ ‘Because they’re contaminated?’ My little sister asked dubiously, hastily putting her beer back. ‘No,’ I replied crossly. ‘Because one of my ‘skills’, which some  people might call ‘magic’, is to find tremendous bargains.’ ‘No-one would call that magic,’ My little sister told me firmly. ‘Well, ‘ I retorted. ‘Then why do they call them financial wizards?’  

 

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August 14, 2012 · 11:51 am

Too late to apologise

I’m sorry, I couldn’t write anything today because I was dying from hunger. I ate a mousepad, and then I had to eat my keyboa

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August 13, 2012 · 11:15 am

The best thing since sliced bread

I’m still in the office, despite my best attempts to be promoted to a ‘working from home’ or ‘consultant’ position.

But as it’s the start of a whole new week, I’ve decided to mix things up. I strode into the office this morning brandishing my bike helmet. ‘Hello!’ I exclaimed to the room filled with people silently working. ‘Good morning!’ No-one seemed to notice that I had cycled in to work, so I took care to bump my helmet along their desks as I found mine.

I settled myself into my desk. ‘Not much room here today,’ I exclaimed loudly. ‘What with my cycle helmet and all.’ No-one responded, but I hadn’t finished.

Yesterday, I went to Tesco. Usually, I probably wouldn’t mention this, but modestly sweep it under the carpet of my excellent grown-upness, but this trip was different. Tesco had filled its reduced rate shelf. I picked up a pre-made Italian pasta thing for 46p, a tuna and cucumber sandwich for 27p and, in a final coup, a loaf of white pre-sliced bread for 26p.

‘The best thing since sliced bread!’ I told the bemused cashier. I suppose a soft benefit of working in Tesco is the pearls of wisdom that must rain down on you as you man the till. (Oddly, the cashier was equally un-responsive when I told him this).

I ate as much of my 26p loaf as I could, but I still had a few slices left over. So this morning, before I got onto my cycle, I made a packed lunch.

My colleagues hadn’t seemed particularly interested in my cycling to work, but surely even they couldn’t resist my delicious packed lunch. I slowly removed my Tupperware from my bag and attempted to fit it onto my over-crowded desk.

‘Mmm,’ I said loudly, balancing the lunch precariously on my lap. ‘Packed lunch.’ I rattled the Tupperware about a bit to show it off in all its glory. A flash of silver showed me that one of my carefully tin-foil wrapped sandwiches had come loose during its energetic cycle across London.

I didn’t have any spare tin-foil on me (I need to travel light, what with all my cycling and so on), so I decided that the only thing to do was eat the unwrapped sandwich. But once I had eaten it, I noticed that the rest of my packed lunch looked rather bereft. I was keen that my colleagues did not think of me as someone who had made an insufficient, pathetic packed lunch, so I decided that the only thing to do was eat the evidence.

My colleagues seemed a little surprised that I was eating half a loaf of bread at 9.35am, but I assume they thought it was part of my stringent cycling programme. I am excited for tomorrow, when the ‘how to cycle and eat bread’ flyers I have had made will be distributed all over the office. They’ll be promoting me to an ‘out of office’ position in no time.

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August 9, 2012 · 10:56 am

Friend required

I have been invited to a weekly exercise class. I would like to go, but obviously I cannot go alone. So I am looking for a new friend. They must meet very specific requirements.

1. They must always be free on Thursday evenings, from 7.30-10pm. If I am not free, they still need to be.

2. They must be enthusiastic and motivating but not grating. ‘Shall we bother going to this outdoor exercise class?’ I will ask. ‘Well, we might as well,’ They will reply. ‘I’ll make us bacon baps when we return.’

3. They should be good, but not better than me, at sport.

(I am intensely motivated by beating people who are slightly worse than me. Conversely, I am entirely disheartened by those who are much better than me at things, and give up instantly. It’s really the only thing that’s preventing me from competing in the Olympics).

4. They should be easily impressed. If they are easily impressed by women in neon Nike kit, so much the better.

5. They must have a very good sense of direction, and the ability to locate the exercise class- which, as far as I know, takes place on Hampstead Heath.

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August 8, 2012 · 11:13 am

I speak very little English

Today is the third day of my 2-week job. Well, I think it’s a 2 week job. I have decided to adopt a new personality for this particular job, and am modelling myself on someone who speaks very little English.

(I wanted originally to pretend to be someone who had only recently learnt  a very little English, but I’m terrible at accents. So instead I’m playing a native English speaker who rarely speaks). As someone who speaks very little, I am finding it relatively difficult to find out information. I am, however, perfecting my pleasant smile, which I have taken to inserting into all interactions which would usually involve speech. It is quite remarkable how popular I am in the office.

I assume this job lasts 2 weeks because I have been invited to an ‘office drinks’ event next Friday. It is, however, entirely possible that I have been invited as part of ‘all staff’, and am not really welcome at all. Though I can’t imagine my silently-smiling persona has earned me anything but endless invites. Who wouldn’t want to hang out with someone like that? I’m both inoffensive and mysterious. Little-speaking Lucy is the most popular person in town.

Or at least she would be, if she wasn’t stuck in the office. Though obviously there are plenty of people in the office for me to engage with. Unfortunately, the air conditioning is fiercely effective, and therefore I am forced to huddle around my computer for warmth.

(I don’t usually work in an office- I have no idea how much clothing you are allowed to wear). It is possible that this hunched, silent persona is not as popular as I originally thought. Luckily, she’s only here for 2 more weeks. Or so she thinks.

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August 7, 2012 · 10:53 am

Check your emails

Last week, I was invited to South Africa.

I didn’t realise this at first, because I rarely read my emails, so I toddled around as normal. Then my Grandfather called me. ‘Lucy,’ he began sternly. ‘You must keep on top of your correspondence.’ I thought this was rather unfair. I keep all of my actual, real-life post in a very neat pile at the bottom of my wardrobe.

(Well, it starts its life very neatly, but it shares its home with my shoes, which I tend to need fairly regularly, so there might be some disturbance). ‘I’m sorry,’ I said quickly to my Grandpa. ‘If only the weather were better. My flip-flops live in quite a different part of my wardrobe.’ My Grandfather continued as if I had not spoken. ‘You simply must tell us what dates you want to come to South Africa,’ He said. ‘I am free all the time,’ I replied cheerfully. ‘What are we talking about?’

Apparently, people nowadays are using emails to offer things other than ‘miracle weight-loss cures’, and I should probably start reading mine.

Anyway, we’re off to South Africa. I still haven’t quite worked out when (don’t tell my Grandfather- he has sent several emails with detailed itineraries) but it’s going to be great. As all of the grandchildren (well, the ones who count) are grown-ups, we are being asked to make a modest financial contribution to the trip.

‘Grandpa has cut us some awesome deal,’ My little sister told me. ‘In which he pays for almost everything, and we pay for petrol.’ I looked at my sister. ‘Why are we buying petrol?’ I asked, bewildered. ‘Oh,’ She replied. ‘He’s renting us a car so we can travel around South Africa independently.’

‘We should probably put some money aside for car snacks,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘Gosh, I might need to get a job.’

I have started my new job. It lasts 2 weeks, and I’m not sure it’s a perfect fit. For a start, they get into the office in the morning. I usually use the morning for sleeping. Equally, they take a single hour, once a day, for lunch. I have carefully attuned my body to an eating model based on endless snacking and continuous eating of foods located in my kitchen. It has all been somewhat of a shock. Luckily, I have had several hours to read my emails, and it really seems that this form of communication is taking off! I recommend checking your emails at least once a week. It is quite amazing what people are using it for.

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August 3, 2012 · 10:10 am

Living ‘together’

My little sister, our friend and I have moved in together. We’ve got a flat, with separate bedrooms, and they have full-time jobs, so when I say ‘together’ I don’t mean constantly, but if I plan things properly I still get to see them reasonably often.

When we first moved in, we tossed a coin for the best room. I won. This is a fact my little sister has been loath to let me forget. I recently was so cross with her constant sighing references to her lack of storage space that I approached her. ‘Emma,’ I began carefully. ‘I have an idea.’ She stared at me through the endless swamp of drying clothes that is currently her bedroom.

(Our housemate and I are pretty sure she is supplementing her doctor’s salary with an illegal laundry service. Either that or Beyonce-like, she changes her clothes 14 times a day.)

‘So you know how I have the biggest room,’ I told her cheerily. She glowered at me. ‘Well, why don’t we mix things up? We can turn my room into the sleeping room, and use yours as a walk-in wardrobe.’ My little sister stared at me. ‘You want to use my room as your wardrobe?’ She asked incredulously. ‘Well,’ I began slowly. ‘I mean, yes, but-‘ My little sister interrupted me. ‘Look,’ She said sternly. ‘We haven’t shared a room since I was 5 years old. Are you 5 years old, Lucy?’

I was not sure why I was being told off for my generous and accommodating idea, but I left her room suitably chastened. Like I said, we’ve moved in, but not really together.

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