Larn-Darn-Tarn

Warmer than expected today, but rain due - making wardrobe choices difficult and generally, I got it wrong. Was either too hot or too wet.

On the way to the station, in Wellington Square - there was a paperback copy of 'The Lives Of John Lennon' on a park bench - with a card saying 'please take me'. I didn't. I wasn't keen on the book and worried it might be a trap - with a sniper aimed at my heat from one of the tall building nearby.

Behind me on the train - a woman in a wooly hat with exactly the same voice as Janet Street Porter, was talking too loud.

"I want to use a mouth wash, I want to do it now"

"What do you mean - I can't - I don't care if it is a train, it's still a free country."

There was a middle age bloke at another table transcribing morse code from a hand held device, and a young girl who was texting furiously on a phone that had the 'bleep' sounds turned up very loud. When the trolley arrived, her breakfast was a packet of crisps, a tub of Pringles and a coke - she wanted it to be VERY cold.

An elderly woman had bought a packet of safety pins and was concentrating on turning the whole packet into a single, long daisy chain of safety pins. She looked very OCD.

To my side, a young woman with two spoilt little girls was insisting that they drink them whole 2 pint carton of strawberry milkshake she had brought with them, or 'pink milk' as she kept calling it. It stank of fake chemicals, flavouring and sugar - and I was glad to move away when I saw someone I recognised further up the carriage. A relief because it was only a matter of time before they were sick, and the couple opposite me were really winding me up.

It was fairly obvious that this was a grandmother taking a boy of about 8 years old away for a few days, to Highgate. The boy was a precocious little bastard. He was in a Ramones T Shirt, had a selection of vintage punk badges, a pierced ear, and an expensive iPod.His hair had been expertly gelled into a casual James Dean style quiff. He kept telling his grandmother about his vintage vinyl collection, and exclaimed that he was an 'obsessive collector of rare vinyl' and she would have to take him to Soho to check out a few vintage places. when asked what he wanted for lunch in a Highgate restaurant - he said 'Venison'. He'd clearly been styled by his parents and was under the impression that he was 'someone. He was EIGHT for Christ's sake.

I moved to sit next to someone I know and get on well with, we were able to talk about work for an hour. The journey went quickly. Helped by the fact that opposite was someone we both knew very vaguely - who revels in being the single most handsome man on the South Coast. He's an OK bloke and really hard working - but he has the kind of face and charm that means he could probably get through life in grand style just by smiling at people.

The train was a human zoo. I was glad to be off it.

In London I went to the Eastman Clinic on Grays' Inn Road for my appointment and made another for next month. I didn't enjoy it, but it wasn't as bad as I expected.

After I had lunch with a friend, which we both agreed was fucking horrible and couldn't finish.

I went to Foyles at St Pancras Station. I'm in St P's quite a lot and it's like a little village of it's own - a self contained retail ecosystem, always busy, always buzzing. Foyles has a particular Queueing system - I was the only person playing by the rules, so I got served last. I bought the DVD version of 'A Man Escaped' by Robert Bresson - one of the best films ever made.

Later I went too try and buy a suit - I need one for a wedding, and since I've lost weight - I thought I'd try something more modern - every one I tried on made me look ridicules - and just drew attention to my fat head.

I wandered over to the Apple store to buy an independent disc drive. I have 3 laptops, one that has no disc drive, one that skips DVD's and one that only pays the films it likes. It was busy. The staff are all chosen because they are good looking hipsters - except the 'reception' staff who are all clearly models and so artificial looking that they scared me.

I went into French Connection, the Regent Street store is huge, I was the only person in there, apart from some very surly staff, none of whom were particularly nice to look at. You can aways tell when a west end store is in trouble - they can't hire attractive staff. The product was shite, really poor.

London was full of young, good looking people in great clothes with great hair, I could feel them mocking me with their eyes. There were also a lot of tourists and children - all carrying too many bags

On the way back I came via Charring Cross - they have self service payment in the WHSmiths which isn't working and a man had to stand there and do all the work for me. I used the gents and was propositioned by the man at the next urinal - I was furious - it's 3pm in the afternoon, half term - and I pay 30p a time not to have to put up with stuff like that. 

I'm on the train - it's very slow. That awful meal is repeating on me. Tunbridge Wells looks shit in the rain, a group of nuns just got on - they always make me feel uncomfortable.