I wish I had a pot to piss in, I'd take it outside

I had a slightly unusual dilemma yesterday morning: I was on Brixton High Street, holding a pot of my own urine and didn't know what to do with it.

I should colour this one in a bit. I registered with a new GP last week and was booked in for a standard health check. Part of which required me to bring a urine sample. Unfortunately, on the morning of the appointment I slept in, only just leaving me enough time to shower and wee into a tube (not necessarily in that order). I dashed out of the house, ran to the appointment and ended up being 10 minutes late. I was told that this was too late - the nurse would be unable to see me and I would need to reschedule. So I'm stood at the reception, breathing heavily and arranging a suitable appointment in my diary. It was then that I remembered the special package in my coat pocket! 'Do you want that anyway?' I asked, waving the bottle at the receptionist.
'No,' came the reply.
'Ok', I mumbled and it went back into the pocket, along with a fresh tube for me to collect sample #2.

Back outside, I was confused. What would I do with my wee? For a few minutes I stood outside the surgery, walking a couple of steps, taking the bottle out of my pocket, putting it back, taking it out again. My internal dialogue went a bit like this:

"I could carry it to work and pour it down the toilet.....but I don't want to sit on the tube with a load of wee in my pocket! [Although I probably wouldn't be alone if I did choose to do this, judging by some of the people you see on there in the evening]. What if it burst in my pocket/bag? Urgh! My diary would go all pissy! ..... I could pour it away in the street......yes, I've relieved myself in the street before but that was after booze and seemed normal. Pouring a bottle of wee away in broad daylight would be weird...... I could drink it! There was a thing in the paper yesterday (
http://news.independent.co.uk/uk/health_
medical/article346805.ece) about the alleged health benefits of auto-urine therapy - anti-cancer properties! .... Don't be stupid! I'll just throw it in this bin. What if a tramp drinks it? Then that's their problem. And at least they won't get cancer. But I can't just leave it in a bin?! Yes, you can. You're going to be late for work. Leave it."

So I did.


* if anyone's playing spot-the-lyric from the title, award yourself 5 points if you went for 'Outside' by the Beta Band.
http://www.betaband.com/press/reviews-heroes-to-zeros.php#sunday-herald

What you talking 'bout Willis?

[whoever had 'under a fortnight' in the 'when will he use that title?' sweep - congratulations!]

Late last night I started to wonder what the chances would be of the owners of Willis towers actually giving me a room in there. Y'know, like a publicity thing: a real Willis lives here! Ohmigod! [It was late, and my mind was frazzled from too much Nintendo].

Anyway, I've looked them up. They're an insurance broker apparently, and there's some info on their spangly new building here: http://www.britishland.com/devwillisbuilding.htm
I can see the crane from my office. Woo! Go Willis!

The Willis website is here: http://www.willis.com/
If I were to ever get any good at computer stuff, I would redesign this page to look just like that. Maybe if I ask Ak nicely....

I'm looking for a new flatmate

...about 500 of them actually, as work nears completion on my new London pad:

Don't fancy carting a wardrobe up all those stairs though...

Tonight, Cat, I'm going to be.....

Cracking weekend, the Megabus providing the bread that surrounded my Leeds fun sandwich.

Maybe it's a Monday thing, maybe the initial rush is beginning to wear off, but I'm struggling to think of things to put up here now. Whereas last week EVERYTHING was a potential blog piece, now nothing is. Perhaps I should ask Ak how to keep the thrill in a long-term blog relationship.

The title refers to a thought that struck me while watching TV on Saturday evening:
are contestants on 'Stars in Their Eyes Kids' allowed to appear as Gary Glitter?

A monkey on CP

Nipped to the bookie's at lunch. I hope I'm right!

Little red writing book

When I got in last night there was a package waiting for me (left). Note the use of 'Dr. Willis'. Still not used to that :o)

I wasn't expecting anything exciting and feeling that it was quite a chunky package, I figured that it was probably the replacement parts I had requested for my bed. [Not very interesting story - assembled my new bed a couple of weeks ago and there were two bolt-type things missing. I'd already thrown away my old bed when I realised this so I built it anyway. 3 weeks on it's still standing so they can't be that important, right? Anyway, Benson's for Beds, you claimed to be sending the replacements. Where are they eh?].

So I was already mentally working out where I had left the Allen key when I opened the envelope. Inside, however, there were not two bolt-type things. Instead, there was a small red notebook (right). There was nothing else in the envelope, no note or indication from who this might be from. Feeling slightly confused, I opened the notebook and on the inside cover there were some instructions.

Checking back onto the envelope for clues, there was no postmark and no indication of where it could have come from. I carefully studied the handwriting but no joy there either. In these days of texts and emails, I realised that we hardly ever see other people's handwriting anymore.

You may be wondering why I have been sent this spotter jotter. Since moving to London a few weeks ago I have clocked [quick finger count] 5 - 7 celebrities (I'll explain why it's not a definite number another time). I've been quite excited by this and eagerly telling people ever since.

Anyway, using my detective skills, I've narrowed it down to a couple of possibilities. Both of whom are probably going to read this. Whoever the phantom sender be, thank you so much! This is possibly the bestest package I have ever received and the anonymity makes it even better. I feel like a spy! My housemate was impressed too.

At present, the book remains blank (right). But I shall record the celebrity spots already collected in my new Record of Celebrity Spots and keep you updated with my progress.

Thanks!
xxxxx

News just in

Lapsang souchong really is not very nice.

I tried it for the 1st time a couple of years ago at Moulin's. Didn't like it.

Just given it another go during coffee time: yuk. It's like drinking a bonfire.

:o(


EDIT:
You can find out about horrible smoky tea here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lapsang_souchong

Didn't want no yam, didn't want no ham, just some good old fashioned chips

'ain't no chippys in Brixton, codfishman on strike*


It was Friday night, and I fancied fish and chips. Being new to the area, I did my homework and a quick google of 'chip shops in Brixton' provided 2 close to my home. The first, Arthur's Plaice (the classics will never die) was well within chip-cooling distance of my house. To be on the safe side, I also checked out the 2nd option, just in case Arthur's was one of those classy chippys that are so popular that they can afford to close before 7pm. And I was glad I did - this had to be a sign! 'JB's fish and chips'. Man alive....these must be the finest fish 'n' chips one could ever consume! Just imagine the juicy macronutrients packed within...... I was drooling at the thought.

So off I trot, past the scary punks & goths on their way to see Bauhaus at the Academy, and to where JB's should be, eagerly anticipating the salt n vinegar bedecked delights that await. Disaster! The sign remains, but the shop had given way to a Mexican cafe.

Fortunately, I'd noted the directions to Arthur's Plaice. So, weaving back through the punks and touts, I made my way back down Brixton Hill. Must be near it now....here we go. Nightmare! 'Closed for refurbishment' declared the window. No idea when that message was left, but the place looked long-dead to me. Anyway, now that I think about it, exactly how much refurbishment does a chippy need? Put up new posters from Pukka Pies once a year and clean out the Insect-o-cutor every couple of months and that's it surely? Whatever, Arthur's Plaice was closed and I was running out of options.

By this point it was about 9pm and I was pretty hungry. Although I had food in, I didn't fancy cooking anything and wanted a quick tea so I could do more work. 'There must be a chippy here somewhere - after all, Brixton is "rapidly gentrifying"
(>http://www.londontown.com/LondonPC/sw21az.html).
So out came the handy pocket atlas (thanks again Ak) and I set off towards Herne Hill.

Chicken shack....Somalian restaurant....Curry Delight....there are loads of takeaways in Brixton. And I mean LOADS - it's like Hyde Park on MSG. But there was absolutely no sign, anywhere, of a traditional fish and chip shop. Running out of ideas, I texted my housemate: 'Are there any decent chippys near house?'. 'Afraid not' came the reply. At approx 9.30pm, after an hour of fruitless wandering, I gave up. Turned around and headed home to see what I could produce from my cupboards.

One way of looking at the whole sorry event is that I may have located a potential business opportunity. The growing number of gentrified folk in Brixton must need somewhere to cater for their old-fashioned fish n' chip needs after all. Ladies & gentlemen, once I can find a suitable location, produce a business plan etc etc, the 'Hand of Cod' will be born.

PS
If anyone can provide a solution to my Brixton chippy deficit, please get in touch.

* Apologies to the Vibrations (I think) - Ain't no greens in Harlem

oops...missed a line from the last one

Like white turds & hairy caterpillars, tombolas seem to be a feature of childhood that I just don't see any more.

Memo to self: go to more fetes. Wonder when the next one in Brixton is....

Tombola

Of course it's a pun.

It would have been tomfoolery but that got used already. But actually, this works. Like the classic church/school fete game, this blog can be viewed as a tombola of sorts. Some entries will end in a metaphorical '5' or a '0' and although you won't win a prize they'll be the ones that are easy and fun for me to write, and they might make you smile too.

Others (and probably the majority if I'm to persevere with this clumsy analogy) will represent the tickets ending in any other digit. They'll be crap, disposable, inane, self-obsessed rubbish.

Roll up! 1 ticket for 20p, 6 for a pound!

All the world's a blog.....

Since stumbling into the creation of this blog approx. 3 hours ago, my mind has been over-run with blog-related thoughts: "leaving work was quite scary - that could be an entry!", "the celebrity I saw earlier - definite blog potential!", "the word 'tombola' and how it might serve as a metaphor for blogging....." it's constant.

Where's your computer when you need it on the tube eh? I had to feverishly scribble these (and other) thoughts down on the back of a piece of paper, while fellow Underground-users looked at me like I was a weirdo and worried that I might push them under a train.

Hello!

From an attempt to leave an amusing comment on a co-blogger's er, blog, I ended up giving birth to a blog.

For now, dear reader, I have important missions.

See you soon!

Tombolaxx