The now imaginable has happened...the one lens is gone. Last night was Denton's summer party - 'Black Tie Optional' read the invitation. So I figured that it'd be a wonderful sedate sit down English affair. I always, of course, get these wrong - remember the Manches Cup prediction? Anyway, so its like this smash bang affair with everything on the house and basically a chance for everyone to get drunk at the firm's expense. 2 glasses of wine at dinner later - I told myself that I had had enough alchohol. Unfortunately, the party was then getting very boring, because everyone else was basically getting to a stage of being 'pissed'.
Annotation: In England, the word 'pissed' is used in a different connotation from the usage in the States, or for that matter at home. 'Pissed off' means angry. 'Pissed' means drunk.
I therefore decided that I would entertain myself. So I got on to the Motorised Bronco/Rodeo thing, scraped my hand really badly staying on about 30 seconds, besides pulling my leg muscles. But fun nonetheless, and I enjoyed it. I also played the electronic car racing thing - with one car on a track and you're controlling its speed. I was very good at that - won most my races. But there's only so much of car racing that can go on and it's only once that you can ride the bronco. So I sort of sat down at a table screaming into a colleagues ear and he screaming into mine making PC. Its insane to think about the amount of effort that's expended into making PC at a noisy, poor music-laden party. There was, of course, a live band called 'Lovetrain' with a seemingly - no - almost ostensibly - sexually deviant guy, singing awfully picked songs relatively well.
At this point, everyone who wanted to get pissed was, and those who didn't had left, but I was still there, of course. Then something happened which would have extremely embarrasing in under any other circumstances, but these. This woman, whose name I couldn't for the life of me recall and still can't - (Elizabeth, I think) screams "SUPERMAAAANNN" and gives me a bear hug.
Note: For those of you who cannot follow the significance of her screaming or any other part of our exchange - please don't ask. I will live happily ever after and you will live.
She then drags me to the dance floor (how could I turn down a pretty and seemingly 'on edge' English woman - note that attractive English women are in short supply, see my previous blog) and I spend the next hour or so dancing to songs I've heard only once before, at the Manches Cup party. The English DJ's are sad, they really are. The music they play is appreciated only by the English - some cult thing, I think.
Anyway, to lengthen a short story, I walk out of the place - try and figure out how I am going to get from the bank of the Thames to Victoria (it is 1:15 a.m.). Cabs are 12 quid a pop and I can't find anybody to share one. As always, I take off my glasses to think - and the lenses are there. I give the loose screw a once over and everything is still ok. I then walk to Monument, which is obviously shut, but find some Underground employees and ask them. He points me to a Bus Stop from where I will get a Night Bus to Victoria. That bus stop was actually good enough to take me to Shoreditch, Richmond and Putney, but not Victoria. So I do what I always do - walk.
I'm looking quite weird, I must admit - I'm in a Bandhgala with the jacket now open. I'm carrying a backpack and an umbrella which I use like a cane - very English! Anyway - I find a bus stop and a bus - manage to to make it to Victoria with only the odd drop off listening to a German couple getting very cosy behind me! I then get on to the Oxford Tube bus and crash.
Usually I would remember seeing Marble Arch, Notting Hill, Hammersmith, a bit of the motorway and then wake up a little after the Park & Ride stop. Last night, I crashed (the nauseous feeling had not left my side naturally) and then wake up at a roundabout. I figure its the Park & Ride place, but see The Pub Oxford to my left. A jolt and I'm up. St. Clements comes and goes and luckily he stops at High Street (he did ask me where I was getting off - presumably for this reason). and waits. I am really really really sleepy. Its 3:15 a.m. on a pretty deserted looking High Street. 15 minutes, a couple of calls, a barely recallable conversation with anna, a change of clothes and a quick set up of the extra bed later - I am asleep. The lens is now very eerily missing! Hmmm...I know where I'll be headed once I'm in Bombay.
Moral of the story: when you go to parties with the Brits - go with someone who has a car and will drop you home - and get sloshed. There is no other way to go about it. The difference between a night club and a gig like this is that no one misbehaves here (at least there's something positive about it). Also do not wear glasses which are on the edge, do not ever dress up as Superman unless you're crazy and avoid attractive young English women!
The All Blacks have just thrashed the Lions, Henman and Safin are gone - Federer has to win now - please? Sharapova also looks the strongest along with Clijsters. The only thing is that Clijsters hasn't had serious match play for a while - and it'll be difficult for her to last the fortnight.
In other news - I have 2 weeks of work left. It's a shame, cos I've just got the hang of things and having immensely busy days with really non-stop work - and it's getting on for time to pack up. Oh well - next year maybe!!
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hands.
Not quite my thoughts, but I like the song nonetheless.
Sunday 26 June 2005
Sunday 19 June 2005
20:20 Hindsight
Yesterday, the unimaginable happened - one of the lenses from my glasses popped out. I'm pleased that it happened while I was in anna's room and not on the tube or something. I now have to put it back together, besides taking an informed decision about whether to actually wear it outside the office or not. I can do without it, or so I shall proudly claim anyway.
Anna and I watched The Guns of Navarone last night. I had last watched it ages ago, when I was still a piddly little kid and couldn't understand the English part of the dialogues leave alone the German and the Greek. Yesterday was an improvement on that. Not only did I grasp 80% of the English but I also managed to figure out a few of the German dialogues. (Ja, ich kann sehr gut Deutsch sprehen!!!) Comments on this aspect of the blog are not welcome, particularly from those who know more German than me.
Today when I woke up, the better bart of my body was covered in pain and/or stiffness. I could always say that I should have known better before going and running and working out in the evening despite the tennis as well. Today there's some cricket that' s happening. A few of anna's gang and we're playing with a Slazball. The Slazball is the equivalent of the Cosco Cricket balls we used to use back home, and particularly in Delhi, where one could bribe oneself into playing with a gang by providing the ball, rather than the "Bhaiya, khilaoge?" approach. For those of you who are incredibly uninformed - a Cosco Cricket ball is basically a rather hard tennis ball. The advantage of playing with a harder ball (and heavier) as compared to an ordinary tennis ball, is that it will travel further in the air when hit. (not that its in any danger of that when I'm around!)
I can feel myself getting bored as I type, so I shall sign off for the day (and probably the week).
Oh, wait wait. I can't not mention this in my blog - Bangaldesh beat Australia yesterday! I am nearly the happiest chap living. I read one of the most disgusting pieces of colmn writing by Shane Warne (with whom I incidentally share a birthday). See here for the column. Someone should now make him eat his laptop, not just the paper on which the column was printed.
I'm off now. For a quote..hmm..let me see..
"Another prophet of disaster who says this ship is lost
Another prophet of disaster leaving you to count the cost
Taunting us with visions, afflicting us with fears
Predicting war for millions in the hope that one appears"
The prophet reminds me of George Bush (both of them!)
That from 'Die with your Boots on' by Iron Maiden
Anna and I watched The Guns of Navarone last night. I had last watched it ages ago, when I was still a piddly little kid and couldn't understand the English part of the dialogues leave alone the German and the Greek. Yesterday was an improvement on that. Not only did I grasp 80% of the English but I also managed to figure out a few of the German dialogues. (Ja, ich kann sehr gut Deutsch sprehen!!!) Comments on this aspect of the blog are not welcome, particularly from those who know more German than me.
Today when I woke up, the better bart of my body was covered in pain and/or stiffness. I could always say that I should have known better before going and running and working out in the evening despite the tennis as well. Today there's some cricket that' s happening. A few of anna's gang and we're playing with a Slazball. The Slazball is the equivalent of the Cosco Cricket balls we used to use back home, and particularly in Delhi, where one could bribe oneself into playing with a gang by providing the ball, rather than the "Bhaiya, khilaoge?" approach. For those of you who are incredibly uninformed - a Cosco Cricket ball is basically a rather hard tennis ball. The advantage of playing with a harder ball (and heavier) as compared to an ordinary tennis ball, is that it will travel further in the air when hit. (not that its in any danger of that when I'm around!)
I can feel myself getting bored as I type, so I shall sign off for the day (and probably the week).
Oh, wait wait. I can't not mention this in my blog - Bangaldesh beat Australia yesterday! I am nearly the happiest chap living. I read one of the most disgusting pieces of colmn writing by Shane Warne (with whom I incidentally share a birthday). See here for the column. Someone should now make him eat his laptop, not just the paper on which the column was printed.
I'm off now. For a quote..hmm..let me see..
"Another prophet of disaster who says this ship is lost
Another prophet of disaster leaving you to count the cost
Taunting us with visions, afflicting us with fears
Predicting war for millions in the hope that one appears"
The prophet reminds me of George Bush (both of them!)
That from 'Die with your Boots on' by Iron Maiden
Back at last
Hello everyone...although I know everyone's basically stopped checking my blog. Greetings from the motherland. It's a wonderful day today what with bright sunshine and women walking around by the hundreds with little wardrobe to show off. I met an ex-colleague yesterday for lunch - an Irishman, and one of the nicest chaps you will ever come across - "One of the good things about this weather is that the women are a lot more attractive". Please don't tell him I actually told you this, though.
To correct him, the women aren't really more attractive - they're just wearing less. English women have just too many unattractive samples among them. Italian women on the other hand, are sensationally gorgeous. I mean, one could make a trip out of just spending time in Italy and ogling the women - I'm serious. And the really amazing part is that they don't have to wear less to achieve the effect. They are inherently beautiful. Speaking of Italian women, I shared a bus with three young ones yesterday on the way to Oxford. One was crying unontrollably while the other 2 took turns in consoling her. The first gave up in the duration that it takes to listen to Smells Like Teenspirit. But that wasn't the end of it - she actually hit the one crying before returning to her seat. The second one was a lot more peaceful, but also left unsatisfied.
Now some of you may be wondering what I was doing eagerly making mental notes of what was happening. And undoubtedly, some of you have reached the assumption that these were rather attractive specimens of young Italian women. Not wanting to lie, these were moderately attractive. But given a choice, I wouldn't have paid attention to all these maddeningly interesting happenings - one must concentrate as hard as one can to drive away motion sickness in the UK. Anything in the UK without ventilation (and some with) which moves will make you feel nauseous - note for future travellers - use the trains if you have an option. The reason I actually noticed all this can be attributed to a trait found in all Italians. Or, at least as far as I noticed in my few days there. They jabber and jabber and jabber and LOUDLY. Smells Like Teenspirit was on pretty loud on the iPod, (even by my standards) and that didn't stop their noise from filtering through. To be honest, if the entire bus (2 floors) wrote blogs - they'd put this irritating incident down.
On to interesting and happier incidents then. I can't really think of many - but a little advice for you about the Brits. If you don't know them and need to make PC (Polite Conversation, for the uninformed), talk to them about the weather. I tell you - their life revolves around the weather and the weather forcaster. For those of you who have watched Pushing Tin (starring John Cusack, Billy Bob Thornton and Angelina Jolie), if you thought ATC's had high pressure jobs - the British weatherman has his job on the line when he predicts a sunny weekend. The country almost en masse migrates to another part of it. I can assure you that the motorways are bumper to bumper about now. It is simply insane.
Having said that, I quite like the weather here myself. Today's actually a little too warm for my liking. I like the moderately cold to cool weather - comfortable and makes you more efficient and also allows you to survive long days with 4 to 5 hours sleep. I played tennis today, for probably the 4th or 5th time since I gave up playing competitively 9-10 years ago. Atrocious play, to say the least - but the basics are there. If there are any takers for weekly tennis in Bombay, with a relatively accesible place to play in - let me know.
That's about it for today - I'll try and blog again tomorrow again - otherwise it's next week.
The ultimate pick up line to end this one:
"You and me babe, how about it?"
-Romeo & Juliet (Dire Straits)
To correct him, the women aren't really more attractive - they're just wearing less. English women have just too many unattractive samples among them. Italian women on the other hand, are sensationally gorgeous. I mean, one could make a trip out of just spending time in Italy and ogling the women - I'm serious. And the really amazing part is that they don't have to wear less to achieve the effect. They are inherently beautiful. Speaking of Italian women, I shared a bus with three young ones yesterday on the way to Oxford. One was crying unontrollably while the other 2 took turns in consoling her. The first gave up in the duration that it takes to listen to Smells Like Teenspirit. But that wasn't the end of it - she actually hit the one crying before returning to her seat. The second one was a lot more peaceful, but also left unsatisfied.
Now some of you may be wondering what I was doing eagerly making mental notes of what was happening. And undoubtedly, some of you have reached the assumption that these were rather attractive specimens of young Italian women. Not wanting to lie, these were moderately attractive. But given a choice, I wouldn't have paid attention to all these maddeningly interesting happenings - one must concentrate as hard as one can to drive away motion sickness in the UK. Anything in the UK without ventilation (and some with) which moves will make you feel nauseous - note for future travellers - use the trains if you have an option. The reason I actually noticed all this can be attributed to a trait found in all Italians. Or, at least as far as I noticed in my few days there. They jabber and jabber and jabber and LOUDLY. Smells Like Teenspirit was on pretty loud on the iPod, (even by my standards) and that didn't stop their noise from filtering through. To be honest, if the entire bus (2 floors) wrote blogs - they'd put this irritating incident down.
On to interesting and happier incidents then. I can't really think of many - but a little advice for you about the Brits. If you don't know them and need to make PC (Polite Conversation, for the uninformed), talk to them about the weather. I tell you - their life revolves around the weather and the weather forcaster. For those of you who have watched Pushing Tin (starring John Cusack, Billy Bob Thornton and Angelina Jolie), if you thought ATC's had high pressure jobs - the British weatherman has his job on the line when he predicts a sunny weekend. The country almost en masse migrates to another part of it. I can assure you that the motorways are bumper to bumper about now. It is simply insane.
Having said that, I quite like the weather here myself. Today's actually a little too warm for my liking. I like the moderately cold to cool weather - comfortable and makes you more efficient and also allows you to survive long days with 4 to 5 hours sleep. I played tennis today, for probably the 4th or 5th time since I gave up playing competitively 9-10 years ago. Atrocious play, to say the least - but the basics are there. If there are any takers for weekly tennis in Bombay, with a relatively accesible place to play in - let me know.
That's about it for today - I'll try and blog again tomorrow again - otherwise it's next week.
The ultimate pick up line to end this one:
"You and me babe, how about it?"
-Romeo & Juliet (Dire Straits)
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