fourth floor feminism | sociable speculation

Funny things still happen to my brain over here. Like being so spaced out from no sleep that I got strangely excited at spotting a pigeon on the platform at Baker Street Station and pointed it out to Monica saying 'hey, cool, a penguin on the underground.' Monica was so pleased with the line that she composed me a poem the next day. There's a penguin on Claire's subway Wand'ring this way and then that He waddles 'cross the platform Feet softly slapping, belly fat Dressed in warm grey feathers Birdlike beak 'neath tiny eyes Methinks that Claire's fat penguin Is a pigeon in disguise :) The story could just end there but later that week, while walking through the crowd at the Church for Australia Day there was a (hot) guy in a t-shirt that said 'one by one the penguins are stealing my sanity' Ah! But does the strange penguin inspired co-incidences stop there? No indeed not my captive audience! That very Tuesday at the pub quiz there ...

The weather forecast for the last week was snow, but frankly I was getting AWFULLY tired of waiting. On Tuesday I was walking down the street to lunch when itsy bitsy little snow flakes starting swirling around me like tiny lost baby hailstones. This lasted for about 30 seconds. Wednesday I entertained a few workmates by standing on the roof and doing a Julie-Andrews-in-the-first-scene-of-the-Sound-of-Music style dance in the 1 minute splatter of snow. Once again, not terribly exciting, but certainly an escalation. Then, Wednesday afternoon I went up to Old Street to see my house and as I came out of the tube it was snowing. Old Street Station has an open roof to the sky and so I saw the snow falling before I saw it on the ground. Being a snow-virgin there were a few fabulous moments when I didn’t even know it was snow, I seriously looked at the sky and thought ‘that is REALLY fat rain!’ (thank you Terry Pratchett) Walking out onto my very first stretch of snow covered ground I then ...

Immediately after this bitter little outburst I felt better. Perhaps because there is NOTHING like a good whine, and perhaps because I used trousers instead of pants - getting a handle on the lingo is very satisfying. Then, just to make sure that my bitterness really turned into a good dose of homesickness, Val sent me a photo of herself standing on a nameless Western Australian Beach and for a moment, sitting in four layers of clothes at my desk in London, I was transported. I could feel the sun drying my skin, the sand cradling my feet and the tang of the salt air from the surf. I could feel the weight of sunglasses on my nose, my hair lift in the afternoon breeze and recall my grin as I watch the surfies pass as I sun-baked with Louise on the shoreline. I could see the grey and brown gum-trees blur into a khaki sea as we roar at Dad's breakneck speed from Perth to Yallingup for that blissful two-week holiday. It is a strange kind of torture when your whole body aches fo...

See! I have swum in clothes before! It is just I have never done it in four layers on the way to work. Today is the start of the horrible winter weather and I am not in the best mood with London. ONE – why, why, WHY combine rain AND umbrella melting winds? I had been so proud of the little umbrella I bought from home. It had survived the three times I bought it out so far. On Friday it melted before my eyes in the middle of Hatfield Mead. By melted I mean it buckled and curled along all the ribs, and not even just at the joints. I just walked on watching the death agony of my umbrella and decided that the moment they bring out a titanium brolly, I will queue up for it in fine English tradition. TWO – surprisingly enough London town planners, drains were invented to keep the water OFF the roads. I walked three blocks today from Tube to work cowering against the far limit of the sidewalk so I could miss the meter high tidal waves churned up by the buses driving through the stream th...