When I was 13 I was a member of a girl gang. We used to "own" a bench in the playground and non-gang members were not allowed to sit there. There were always squabbles and power struggles going on and you daren't take a day off sick in case you had been talked about and found guilty of some imagined crime while you were away. Fickle as we were it wouldn't take long before you were once again everyone's best friend and another girl had been singled out for some bitchiness. By the time I left school the gang had disbanded and we all hated each other.
Last year on facebook I was contacted by one of the girls and eventually four of us met for a reunion. None of us had seen each other since school and none of us remembers how exactly we all fell out but the strangest thing was that after 30 odd years we all fell into our roles as if we were 13 only yesterday. Tracy the chatty flirty one, Mandy the giggler who all the boys used to fancy (and still do), Sharon the sensible one (she was driving that night) and me the lanky shy one. We had such a good time that it has now become a regular girls night out. Last night was great fun - roll on the next one!
Wednesday 21 April 2010
Sunday 18 April 2010
Blurred Vision
This morning as usual I fumbled for my glasses and put them on. Everything was blurred. Perhaps they were steamed up or dirty? Oh No, the reason everything was blurred is because last night I forgot to take out my contact lenses.
Saturday 10 April 2010
Eyes wide shut
Last night we girls were celebrating the last one of us to reach their 40th birthday. Our conversations are no longer about boys and parties - instead hot flushes and wrinkles. We have known each other for over 15 years, from the days when the city was actually a really fun place to work. Reminiscing about the good old days of singledom I have to mention one particular work do.
Anne had been flirting with a guy in the office for some time. This night, after several gin and tonics she had got him in her sights. There she was, sitting on his lap and snogging him in the middle of the nightclub in full view of everyone else.
The next day at the office she really couldn't understand how it was that she was the main topic of conversation. "I didnt think anyone could see me" she said, "I had my eyes shut"!
Anne had been flirting with a guy in the office for some time. This night, after several gin and tonics she had got him in her sights. There she was, sitting on his lap and snogging him in the middle of the nightclub in full view of everyone else.
The next day at the office she really couldn't understand how it was that she was the main topic of conversation. "I didnt think anyone could see me" she said, "I had my eyes shut"!
Travellers Tales - more about India
Last night I met up with Helen and reminded her of our trip to India. She remembered that I was very ill most of the time. In fact, wherever we stopped, her first mission was to hail a rickshaw and set off into the twilight searching for a doctor, a chemist or someone/something to keep me alive a little longer. It has prompted me to write what I remember of the rest of that holiday....
I think it was in Udaipur that I first got sick. Before then I had been in my element eating curry for breakfast dinner and tea. We had got into the habit of venturing out to do some sightseeing in the mornings and then getting so worn down by the hustle and hassle of India that by lunchtime we would escape into the peaceful grounds of the nearest plush hotel. We were having a meal in a posh restaurant but from the kitchen I could hear sounds of coughing and plegmy clearing of throats and from that moment on I lost my appetite completely. We were booked on an overnight train and I can honestly say that it was probably the worst journey of my life. You could smell the toilet, a hole in the ground, long before you got there and so not only did I have chronic diarrhoea but acute gagging and sickness. Eventually we got to our destination, the Kipling camp, a beautiful haven in the middle of nowhere and I began to feel better. The Kipling camp had its very own pet elephant, a famous one called Tara, and we spent a lovely afternoon bathing and swimming with her in a muddy watering hole. There we were also able to go on a safari aboard some elephants in search of tigers. A few days before had been one of the worst days of my life and now this was to be one of the best. Sitting on top of an elephant observing tigers only a few feet away was brilliant, although I have to say a little scary. The tiger has always been my favourite animal and here I was close enough to be mauled by one!
I don't remember much more about that holiday except that at the Taj Mahal, I was more concerned with finding a toilet than marvelling at this wonder of the world. Similarly in Goa I don't think I left my room for more than a few minutes. I remember taking a taxi somewhere, I think we had a train to catch and were in a hurry. The driver was a maniac and as we drove around some steep cliff edges, afraid for our lives we were torn between telling him to hurry up and to slow down.
Finally, we arrived home and found that out luggage had not arrived with us. This turned out to be good news as the airline would deliver it for us the next day and we wouldn't have to lug it across London with us. Tired, sunburnt and about a stone lighter I'm still not sure if this was the best or the worst holiday of my life!
I think it was in Udaipur that I first got sick. Before then I had been in my element eating curry for breakfast dinner and tea. We had got into the habit of venturing out to do some sightseeing in the mornings and then getting so worn down by the hustle and hassle of India that by lunchtime we would escape into the peaceful grounds of the nearest plush hotel. We were having a meal in a posh restaurant but from the kitchen I could hear sounds of coughing and plegmy clearing of throats and from that moment on I lost my appetite completely. We were booked on an overnight train and I can honestly say that it was probably the worst journey of my life. You could smell the toilet, a hole in the ground, long before you got there and so not only did I have chronic diarrhoea but acute gagging and sickness. Eventually we got to our destination, the Kipling camp, a beautiful haven in the middle of nowhere and I began to feel better. The Kipling camp had its very own pet elephant, a famous one called Tara, and we spent a lovely afternoon bathing and swimming with her in a muddy watering hole. There we were also able to go on a safari aboard some elephants in search of tigers. A few days before had been one of the worst days of my life and now this was to be one of the best. Sitting on top of an elephant observing tigers only a few feet away was brilliant, although I have to say a little scary. The tiger has always been my favourite animal and here I was close enough to be mauled by one!
I don't remember much more about that holiday except that at the Taj Mahal, I was more concerned with finding a toilet than marvelling at this wonder of the world. Similarly in Goa I don't think I left my room for more than a few minutes. I remember taking a taxi somewhere, I think we had a train to catch and were in a hurry. The driver was a maniac and as we drove around some steep cliff edges, afraid for our lives we were torn between telling him to hurry up and to slow down.
Finally, we arrived home and found that out luggage had not arrived with us. This turned out to be good news as the airline would deliver it for us the next day and we wouldn't have to lug it across London with us. Tired, sunburnt and about a stone lighter I'm still not sure if this was the best or the worst holiday of my life!
Monday 5 April 2010
Travellers tales - Delhi
Watching masterchef tonight reminded me of my own trip to India about 15 years ago. Apart from the first 24 hours and a severe case of dysentry I had an excellent time. Here is what I wrote about Delhi back then....
We had been warned about the dangers of arriving in Delhi in the middle of the night, but we were experienced independent travellers and we knew how to take care of ourselves. Feeling smug we made our way to a desk at the airport and booked into a reasonably priced hotel for the night. Having heard a few horror stories about taking taxis from the airport, we climbed into a pre-paid taxi and set off into the mayhem that is Delhi.
At first the taxi driver was very friendly, asking us where we were from and whether it was our first visit to India. Without thinking, I told him that it was the first time I had ever been to Delhi. Immediately realising my mistake my companion, Helen, quickly explained that she, however, had been to Delhi many times. Before long we came to a road block. The taxi driver told us that all the roads leading to our hotel had been cordoned off because there was a “military rally” due to take place in the morning. “Big Hindu-Muslim problem here” he said. Our guide books had warned us that this is a scam used by many of the taxi drivers. They have many devious ways of persuading their passengers to go to a different hotel than the one that they have booked, these hotels will pay the driver a commission for bringing in new guests. We told the taxi driver that we didn’t believe him and could he please try to find another route to our hotel. After that we drove around for about an hour, occasionally coming across another road block (or was it the same one?). Each time we stopped, the taxi driver would suggest that he take us to a good hotel he knows “velly cheap”.
By now we were feeling frustrated and angry and a little bit frightened. We started to argue with the driver and he stopped the car, indicating that we should get out. Not keen on the idea of being left by the roadside in the dark, we refused to get out of the car. Eventually after more arguments with a driver who had suddenly forgotten how to speak English, we persuaded him to take us to a tourist office.
We arrived at a small office that looked nothing like any tourist office I have ever seen, and one that was open in the early hours of the morning. Dubiously, Helen followed the driver inside while I guarded our luggage in the taxi. The man in the office telephoned our hotel (or so he said) and was informed that there were no bookings in our name. However, he could recommend another very good hotel, “velly cheap”. Tired and irritable and ready to pay anything to get some sleep, we told the driver to please just take us to the nearest reasonably priced hotel. Of course the hotel he took us to was dark and dingy. The reception desk was covered in grime and there was a nauseating smell of cabbages. For the pleasure of sleeping here they wanted to charge us $60 which was far too much for our budget. Fortunately, across the road we spotted a four star hotel. We had already paid for the taxi but the driver still wanted more money. We picked up our bags and marched across the road to the sound of the taxi driver’s shouted insults, hoping and praying that we wouldn‘t be turned away. The hotel was able to give us a room for $18, still expensive by Indian standards, but we no longer cared. At least there was hot water and a proper toilet. Exhausted we fell into our beds.
After a restless night on hard mattresses we decided our first priority was to go and find a better hotel. We studied our map and realised we had no idea where we were in relation to the centre of Delhi. We couldn’t find our hotel, the Royal Palace, on the map but we did find a nearby hotel, it was called the Yatri. We decided to use this as our landmark in case we got lost. Feeling much happier, we hailed an auto-rickshaw and instructed him to take us to the main bazaar. Still tired we half heartedly looked at a few run down hotels amidst the noisy bustle of the market and decided that perhaps we ought to remain at the Royal Palace after all. We were still very tired and after a while the endless hassle of the market traders wanting us to buy something from them became too much to bear and we hailed a rickshaw to take us back to the Yatri Hotel. We travelled for quite a while, enjoying the sights until finally we stopped at a the Yatri Hotel, only it was a different one to the one we had left earlier. With sinking hearts we realised that we didn’t know how to find our hotel and our luggage. Feeling foolish, we took another rickshaw to the main tourist office in New Delhi. At least it was a proper tourist office this time and surely they would help us. The man on duty found our hotel, the Royal Palace, on the map and telephoned them. They told him that yes indeed we were registered with them and it was with great relief that we piled into another rickshaw and were on our way. Our happiness was very short lived because when we got to the hotel we saw that it wasn’t our Royal Palace either. By now we were really beginning to panic. We went into the hotel and the staff must have taken pity on us because they were very helpful, even though they found the whole episode highly amusing. They managed to find four other hotels in Delhi called the Royal Palace. They rang each of them for us and fortunately the second one they called was able to give the receptionist our names so at last we knew we had found the right one. Eternally grateful, we waved goodbye and made our way to what must have been the poorest part of Delhi. There was the hotel Yatri, and then at last THE Royal Palace. We collected our luggage and set off to the railway station, intent on getting the first train out of this horrible place.
Once we had booked ourselves onto the overnight train to Pushkar and left our luggage in a locker we began to relax at last. We would spend the afternoon sightseeing, surely nothing else could happen to us today - could it? We went to visit the Red Fort and had a lovely, peaceful afternoon walking around the old town, and were beginning to enjoy our first day in this fascinating country.
On the way back to the station, we decided to catch a cycle-rickshaw. We sat on the seat at the back and let the old man with the missing teeth do all the hard work. It was interesting, moving slowly through the back streets, observing the Indian population going about their daily chores. All of a sudden we bumped into the cycle in front, forcing me to cut my knee on the jagged saddle frame, while Helen fell forward into the road. Amused, we settled back into the uncomfortable seat to continue our journey. The two cyclists had by this time engaged in a very heated argument. Suddenly the other cyclist reached over and punched our man. After a few more obscenities, the other cyclist stopped his bike in the middle of the road and came over to us. A vicious street brawl began., our driver at a disadvantage because he was still sat astride his bicycle. Fortunately a burly man stepped in to break it up before any blood was spilled, but I can certainly understand now why our driver had a few teeth missing. We realised we had drawn quite an audience which quickly dispersed when it became clear the show was over.
Shortly afterwards we turned out of the narrow side street and into a very busy one-way system, only we were going in the wrong direction. All kinds of transport was suddenly bearing down on us, cars, rickshaws, bicycles, camels, cows, buses and people pushing carts, all tooting and shouting and making rude gestures at us. To this day I still cannot believe we weren’t killed. At last a policeman called us to the side of the road and another argument ensued. This resulted in the policemen producing a large stick and beating our driver with it severely. Unbelievably, throughout everything, we sat in the back looking on in amazement.
Eventually we arrived back at the railway station in one piece, our luggage had not been stolen and we waited impatiently for the train to take us away from Delhi, looking back and laughing now that the danger had passed.
We had been warned about the dangers of arriving in Delhi in the middle of the night, but we were experienced independent travellers and we knew how to take care of ourselves. Feeling smug we made our way to a desk at the airport and booked into a reasonably priced hotel for the night. Having heard a few horror stories about taking taxis from the airport, we climbed into a pre-paid taxi and set off into the mayhem that is Delhi.
At first the taxi driver was very friendly, asking us where we were from and whether it was our first visit to India. Without thinking, I told him that it was the first time I had ever been to Delhi. Immediately realising my mistake my companion, Helen, quickly explained that she, however, had been to Delhi many times. Before long we came to a road block. The taxi driver told us that all the roads leading to our hotel had been cordoned off because there was a “military rally” due to take place in the morning. “Big Hindu-Muslim problem here” he said. Our guide books had warned us that this is a scam used by many of the taxi drivers. They have many devious ways of persuading their passengers to go to a different hotel than the one that they have booked, these hotels will pay the driver a commission for bringing in new guests. We told the taxi driver that we didn’t believe him and could he please try to find another route to our hotel. After that we drove around for about an hour, occasionally coming across another road block (or was it the same one?). Each time we stopped, the taxi driver would suggest that he take us to a good hotel he knows “velly cheap”.
By now we were feeling frustrated and angry and a little bit frightened. We started to argue with the driver and he stopped the car, indicating that we should get out. Not keen on the idea of being left by the roadside in the dark, we refused to get out of the car. Eventually after more arguments with a driver who had suddenly forgotten how to speak English, we persuaded him to take us to a tourist office.
We arrived at a small office that looked nothing like any tourist office I have ever seen, and one that was open in the early hours of the morning. Dubiously, Helen followed the driver inside while I guarded our luggage in the taxi. The man in the office telephoned our hotel (or so he said) and was informed that there were no bookings in our name. However, he could recommend another very good hotel, “velly cheap”. Tired and irritable and ready to pay anything to get some sleep, we told the driver to please just take us to the nearest reasonably priced hotel. Of course the hotel he took us to was dark and dingy. The reception desk was covered in grime and there was a nauseating smell of cabbages. For the pleasure of sleeping here they wanted to charge us $60 which was far too much for our budget. Fortunately, across the road we spotted a four star hotel. We had already paid for the taxi but the driver still wanted more money. We picked up our bags and marched across the road to the sound of the taxi driver’s shouted insults, hoping and praying that we wouldn‘t be turned away. The hotel was able to give us a room for $18, still expensive by Indian standards, but we no longer cared. At least there was hot water and a proper toilet. Exhausted we fell into our beds.
After a restless night on hard mattresses we decided our first priority was to go and find a better hotel. We studied our map and realised we had no idea where we were in relation to the centre of Delhi. We couldn’t find our hotel, the Royal Palace, on the map but we did find a nearby hotel, it was called the Yatri. We decided to use this as our landmark in case we got lost. Feeling much happier, we hailed an auto-rickshaw and instructed him to take us to the main bazaar. Still tired we half heartedly looked at a few run down hotels amidst the noisy bustle of the market and decided that perhaps we ought to remain at the Royal Palace after all. We were still very tired and after a while the endless hassle of the market traders wanting us to buy something from them became too much to bear and we hailed a rickshaw to take us back to the Yatri Hotel. We travelled for quite a while, enjoying the sights until finally we stopped at a the Yatri Hotel, only it was a different one to the one we had left earlier. With sinking hearts we realised that we didn’t know how to find our hotel and our luggage. Feeling foolish, we took another rickshaw to the main tourist office in New Delhi. At least it was a proper tourist office this time and surely they would help us. The man on duty found our hotel, the Royal Palace, on the map and telephoned them. They told him that yes indeed we were registered with them and it was with great relief that we piled into another rickshaw and were on our way. Our happiness was very short lived because when we got to the hotel we saw that it wasn’t our Royal Palace either. By now we were really beginning to panic. We went into the hotel and the staff must have taken pity on us because they were very helpful, even though they found the whole episode highly amusing. They managed to find four other hotels in Delhi called the Royal Palace. They rang each of them for us and fortunately the second one they called was able to give the receptionist our names so at last we knew we had found the right one. Eternally grateful, we waved goodbye and made our way to what must have been the poorest part of Delhi. There was the hotel Yatri, and then at last THE Royal Palace. We collected our luggage and set off to the railway station, intent on getting the first train out of this horrible place.
Once we had booked ourselves onto the overnight train to Pushkar and left our luggage in a locker we began to relax at last. We would spend the afternoon sightseeing, surely nothing else could happen to us today - could it? We went to visit the Red Fort and had a lovely, peaceful afternoon walking around the old town, and were beginning to enjoy our first day in this fascinating country.
On the way back to the station, we decided to catch a cycle-rickshaw. We sat on the seat at the back and let the old man with the missing teeth do all the hard work. It was interesting, moving slowly through the back streets, observing the Indian population going about their daily chores. All of a sudden we bumped into the cycle in front, forcing me to cut my knee on the jagged saddle frame, while Helen fell forward into the road. Amused, we settled back into the uncomfortable seat to continue our journey. The two cyclists had by this time engaged in a very heated argument. Suddenly the other cyclist reached over and punched our man. After a few more obscenities, the other cyclist stopped his bike in the middle of the road and came over to us. A vicious street brawl began., our driver at a disadvantage because he was still sat astride his bicycle. Fortunately a burly man stepped in to break it up before any blood was spilled, but I can certainly understand now why our driver had a few teeth missing. We realised we had drawn quite an audience which quickly dispersed when it became clear the show was over.
Shortly afterwards we turned out of the narrow side street and into a very busy one-way system, only we were going in the wrong direction. All kinds of transport was suddenly bearing down on us, cars, rickshaws, bicycles, camels, cows, buses and people pushing carts, all tooting and shouting and making rude gestures at us. To this day I still cannot believe we weren’t killed. At last a policeman called us to the side of the road and another argument ensued. This resulted in the policemen producing a large stick and beating our driver with it severely. Unbelievably, throughout everything, we sat in the back looking on in amazement.
Eventually we arrived back at the railway station in one piece, our luggage had not been stolen and we waited impatiently for the train to take us away from Delhi, looking back and laughing now that the danger had passed.
Poker face
I never thought it would be so hard to find something interesting or funny to write about on a regular basis. Has my life become that middle-aged and boring? I've had a brilliant break over Easter but all I really did was watch DVDs whilst lounging around in my pyjamas and stuffing my face with cheese and drambuie. Heaven. I really am going to start a new diet soon, otherwise I'll have to get my "fat" clothes back down from the loft.
On Saturday night we held a poker night and as the only woman there I gave a very good account of myself and managed to win about £20. My poker face is quite simple - I just look like a dumb blonde who is 3 sheets to the wind - works every time!
Back to the shit-hole tomorrow unless (please please) the train strike is still going ahead. We are still a man down whilst trying to cope with the extra work that has been piled on us lately and at the busiest time of the year. We are doing our best but the workload keeps on piling higher and higher. We have voiced our concerns to management but they are all deaf so I don't suppose anything will be done until the first customer complaint comes in. Then I guess some heads will roll and I don't particularly care if one of them is mine!
On Saturday night we held a poker night and as the only woman there I gave a very good account of myself and managed to win about £20. My poker face is quite simple - I just look like a dumb blonde who is 3 sheets to the wind - works every time!
Back to the shit-hole tomorrow unless (please please) the train strike is still going ahead. We are still a man down whilst trying to cope with the extra work that has been piled on us lately and at the busiest time of the year. We are doing our best but the workload keeps on piling higher and higher. We have voiced our concerns to management but they are all deaf so I don't suppose anything will be done until the first customer complaint comes in. Then I guess some heads will roll and I don't particularly care if one of them is mine!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
