Eavesdropping, good times and sudden death.
Well the best bit of yesterday was sitting in an air-conditioned South Asian restaurant with Kate eating various sorts of samosas and pooris and chatting about slash projects - and then going to Laurence Corner and looking at military dress uniforms far too small for me, but interestingly possible for Kate if she ever decides to get into Sergeant Pepper Slash. And having loud conversations about various slashinesses on the tube.
Years ago, I read about how a group of upper-class communists at Oxford in the Thirties used to go around in tuxes beating up the workers in order to spread class hatred and bring the revolution. There is a weird joy to certain sorts of loud conversation in public because they make up for all the times you have been forced to eavesdrop on very boring conversations. It is a matter oof repaying karmic debt.
The best ever was the time when I was in a pub in Soho and in a lull in the conversation heard a woman say in abrasively posh tones - 'Well, you can tell him that my friends are Corsicans.' I assume I know what was going on, but it was worrying all the same.
Actually though, the train back from going with Kate and Dol to see 'Josie and the Pussycats' out at Bluewater had its moments - three twentyish black women in party frocks with bottles of champagne dissing the whole thing of thinking of themselves as Jamaican because their grandparents came from there, but not really wanting to be Black British either. They were Island folk they decided, even though their lives will always be here - it just added an extra dimension to who they were. And they were seriously rude about the synthetic patois attempts of the ex- boyfriend of one of them - her mother always referred to him as Connex South East because once when he rang, she asked him which train he was on, meaning from which London terminal, and thought it unbecomingly pompous of him to answer with the company name.
The others will tell you all about the afternoon and the movie - which I thought was a huge hoot in spite of its terrible looksism - be true to yourself, but if you are albino or have a lisp you will probably turn evil. Apart from which idiocy, lots of fun.
Hairraising taxi ride from London Bridge home - road rage between my cabbie and some guy in a fast motor who cut him up - sorry, US people, tried to cross lanes in front of him dangerously. They abused each other and then my cabbie suggested he pulled in at the next turning and sorted it out - and when he did drove off fast. They then kept overtaking each other and shouting abuse which got serious when the other guy nearly ran someone over, swerved, spun 540 degrees and nearly collided with us.
I miss drinks to settle nerves - people could have died, including possibly me, over stupid testosterone fueled crap.