(this entry follows on from the last one, as so many do. Which makes it kinda irritating that Blogger will place them the other way around, but at the same time I’d hate to have it any other way)
Sitting on the train, a family come to occupy the 3 seats nearby. They ask the fellow already occupying the 4th seat whether he minds if they don’t smoke, and he says of course not, as long as they don’t mind if he does. Or (once they produce snacks), if they don’t mind his passive eating.
It appears that they are returning from a party in London. There are, as I said, 3 of them. Father and mother are probably in their mid-40s, daughter mid-teens. And she has obviously appeared in some TV production, which the party was in celebration of. Big names were there. Not so big that I would know them, but nonetheless big.
I am touched when a phone rings. The ring tone is Eminem… can’t pretend to be with it enough to know the name of the tune. "I am whatever you say I am". That one, less accessible than the more accessible ones (duh!). Whatever. The reason I’m touched is that, after 5 or 6 rings, the mid-40s father realises that it is his phone. Cool! Cool dad. I was reading the other day about "silver texters" (and have seen something of this phenomenon lately), but it’s always so nice seeing older, family-type (the 16-ish daughter is, I gather from conversation overheard, his youngest), people defying stereotypes in this way.
Erm, there’s more…. whatever. Again… shit…. I’m pissed. It’s that bottle I bought from Oddbin’s (along with the cigar). It’s eating away at me in the nicest and yet most belt-loosening way. Shouldn’t type more. Besides which, I’ve got a book to review. Must go.
PS. The wine was Burgans Albarino (wiggly accent on the N, but I’m fucked if I’m gonna work out how to code that in my current state)