Was sitting contemplating my life on a park bench at Alexandra Palace, flask of camomile tea for company, when my phone rang. It was Miss P. Miss P is easily one of the best women I've ever met. Although we've only known each other since I moved to London, our friendship has become one of my most valued, usually only reserved for folks I've known for donkeys (cautious type, me). She's a very talented art buyer at my favourite ad agency, and we click on so many things, work and life related. Mammoth chat ensued (life, work, men, family), and I was just lamenting how quiet I'd been workwise, when I had another caller trying to come in. Told Miss P I'd call her back. It was a styling job for Vodafone/Man Utd/Champions League - wahey! Tried calling Miss P back - engaged. Eventually, she called me back...weirdly, whilst I was off the line, she'd had a call from a producer friend asking if she knew any good producers who might want to start a new production company up...oooh, could this be Moon The Loon fixing stuff up for me?
Finished the styling job. Everyone's thrilled, as I managed to source all the things the clients were panicking about (leave it to the professionals), so I am loved by all on the job. My pal Sue (überstylist and top woman) had something I needed to borrow, so I popped in for a cuppa. I asked her if she was feeling a bit mental at the moment..."YES!!! I am off my trolley!" she shrieked. I told her about the Moon stuff...Sue is a Scorpio too, so she was thrilled to hear she had an excuse to act like a nutter. Her husband Howard says she doesn't need an excuse, but did confirm she had been extra-freakish for the last few days.
Went to the supermarket on the way back, as Smiff is coming for tea before we head out to a birthday party. I was at the checkout. In front of me was a small, very old man, at least in his 80s. When paying for his stuff, he got out a small carrier bag. It just wasn't big enough for the things he'd bought. Checkout lady said 'do you need another bag?' but then proceeded to only look for the thin bags and she didn't have any left. So then she suggested he look in the carrier recycling box, which I did on his behalf - empty. I could feel his embarassment, as he said, 'I'll just carry them in my arm'. This old dear was using a stick, for fuck's sake. I went to grab one of the 'pay-10p-cos-it's better-quality' bags and told her I'd pay for it.
What is this country coming to? I'm all for recycling, but when did it start being OK to make some sweet old pensioner struggle with his shopping cos he'd inadvertantly not brought a big enough shopping bag? Fucking carrier bag police and smug middle class 'my shopper is made from recycled angel tears and old tyres'. I think I was more sensitive because he'd bought a massive box of Tetley, a McVitie Manor House fruit cake (my Dad liked that) and a big box of Kit-E-Kat. So now I'm thinking of him sitting at home, all on his own, with a nice cuppa and a slice of cake, whilst Tiddles cleans herself after a lovely bowl of Rabbit 'n' Chicken in aspic. I can barely speak to checkout lady, I am so cross. Not sure I can blame my fury on lunar activity...
Off to the party. The party is the "I'm 29 for the next 5 years" party for the German Blonde. GB is a lovely creature. We've known her for a few years, but in the last couple of years, she has blossomed. She is the girlfriend of my very dear friend Hands Randall. Hands was ladyless for a long time, and we used to discuss waiting for the right person to come along. And finally she did. They are unbearably cute together, and oh-so-very much in love (you can actually feel it between them, I kid you not):
She dressed in this gorgeous 40's outfit, her hair was stunning, she looked wonderful. It was a brilliant party - like a family wedding, saw loads of people I haven't seen for ages. Midnight arrives. Wandered home by the light of that enormous moon. I've had a good long stare at it and concluded that there might be something magical in it after all...
