Wednesday, January 14, 2004
A Good Innings
I've had a good 20something hours off. It's hard to imagine that I was at work yesterday morning, still, at 9.30 and that I went back to work again today at 6 pm.
In between I caught enough sleep to feel recharged, played around with my computer enough to feel renewed, and wandered out to Borders to buy Dido's Life for Rent.
Today I breakfasted on an exquisitely unhealthy artery-occluding fryup - bacon - with just-enough fat, tomatos and an omelete, washed down with a mediocre cup of coffee whilst seated in the bitter cold, outdoors of the Russel Square park cafe, surrounded by half the population of the Great Ormond Street Hospital. I've always loved breakfasts in the cold. Except toast, which turns rock-solid in a hurry. Today was no different except I captured the moment on film, having taken to carrying a disposable camera around in my overcoat for frozen-lake (& potential Preserved-English-Duck Au-Natural) moments.
I also learnt that the distance between London Liverpool Street station and Bank is precisely fifteen minutes (ok so that's not a distance) at a decent pace. Unfortunately, I ran out of time and didn't get to sit by the Thames as I'd intended, but it made me realise that at heart, I love large, messy sprawley cities like London, with their shares of nooks, crannies and surprises. And in the day the threat of an unpleasant mugging is much diminished.
I feel a bit the hedonist for having my quickie-back to london, for a mere twenty-four hours. But what they hey, I'm a happy hedonist. Seven days to my next mid-week "weekend".
*************
I also realised that if I should die unexpectedly, my passing would be pretty much in quiet contentment (and possibly a bit of resignation). Bit morbid, but yeah. I always imagined as a child I would die in my late teenagehood / early twenties - I never had a clue why though. Possibly something to do with an ex-best-friend becoming victim to a wild, untamed rogue SBS bus.
For a coming-up-to-middle-aged nobody, I've done pretty good. I might not be remembered, sure, but I've had my dreams come true; some came undone, some didn't.
How many people can say that?
(aside from Lucian who is automatically disqualified on account of his being a lucky ******* who is insanely happy with his life and takes ridiculously beautiful photographs with his camera)
I think I'd probably try to call two people before I died. Three if you count mum and dad as two people. I see them as a single entity. How saccharine. Shudder :)
I've had a good 20something hours off. It's hard to imagine that I was at work yesterday morning, still, at 9.30 and that I went back to work again today at 6 pm.
In between I caught enough sleep to feel recharged, played around with my computer enough to feel renewed, and wandered out to Borders to buy Dido's Life for Rent.
Today I breakfasted on an exquisitely unhealthy artery-occluding fryup - bacon - with just-enough fat, tomatos and an omelete, washed down with a mediocre cup of coffee whilst seated in the bitter cold, outdoors of the Russel Square park cafe, surrounded by half the population of the Great Ormond Street Hospital. I've always loved breakfasts in the cold. Except toast, which turns rock-solid in a hurry. Today was no different except I captured the moment on film, having taken to carrying a disposable camera around in my overcoat for frozen-lake (& potential Preserved-English-Duck Au-Natural) moments.
I also learnt that the distance between London Liverpool Street station and Bank is precisely fifteen minutes (ok so that's not a distance) at a decent pace. Unfortunately, I ran out of time and didn't get to sit by the Thames as I'd intended, but it made me realise that at heart, I love large, messy sprawley cities like London, with their shares of nooks, crannies and surprises. And in the day the threat of an unpleasant mugging is much diminished.
I feel a bit the hedonist for having my quickie-back to london, for a mere twenty-four hours. But what they hey, I'm a happy hedonist. Seven days to my next mid-week "weekend".
*************
I also realised that if I should die unexpectedly, my passing would be pretty much in quiet contentment (and possibly a bit of resignation). Bit morbid, but yeah. I always imagined as a child I would die in my late teenagehood / early twenties - I never had a clue why though. Possibly something to do with an ex-best-friend becoming victim to a wild, untamed rogue SBS bus.
For a coming-up-to-middle-aged nobody, I've done pretty good. I might not be remembered, sure, but I've had my dreams come true; some came undone, some didn't.
How many people can say that?
(aside from Lucian who is automatically disqualified on account of his being a lucky ******* who is insanely happy with his life and takes ridiculously beautiful photographs with his camera)
I think I'd probably try to call two people before I died. Three if you count mum and dad as two people. I see them as a single entity. How saccharine. Shudder :)
