December
Always feels strange when the calendar ticks round to December. Is the year really 11/12ths through? Can I survive another couple of weeks at work before collapsing with exhaustion into a brandy-filled yuletide in Cranleigh?And then the panic: oh no, Christmas cards to write, presents to buy…except not this year. No cards, save paper and send folks an e-mail. And a present embargo except Clive and co in cranleigh so that’s manageable.
Apparently it’s a myth that London taxi drivers get more fares in the pouring rain. Well they aren’t well-known for having an optimistic outlook on life; though the lovely guy who helped me from camden to Waterloo via Covent Garden said in his best cockney: “It’s a myth (pronounced miff), mate.What’s the good of pouring rain? all the punters stay in; if they do go out, they go local. naah. Best day is a warm sunny day, get them all out in shorts and t-shirts, then the mother of a storm which soaks them to the skin. Then we’re quids in’.
I like talking to London taxi drivers in the main. This one was impressed that I was aware of North Gower St, and knew the roads around Bloombsbury. Then I owned up to living there, dear old Gower Mews mansions, in another life getting on for 20 years ago.
