TALES OF THE RIVERBANK
So somehow or other, here I am in my (latest) new flat. It’s all been a bit of a whirl, since it’s my third time of moving house in six weeks. But then, I’m nothing if not the Wandering Jewish Menopausal Fairy Minstrel.
And (just starting the sentence with ‘and’ to piss off the annoying young woman I’ve never met who told me off a few months ago on Facebook for starting a sentence with that word. Not that Ms Know-All reads my blogs, ‘cos she hasn’t slapped my wrists about any other of my grammatical foibles. But don’t you start feeling sorry for her, she’s on FB, she must have friends – mustn’t she? – even though she hasn’t yet worked out how to start a sentence with a capital letter. Bitter??? Moi???). Anyway, thanks for distracting me, where was I?
Oh yes. And this is the nicest place I’ve lived in for, oh, days.
Had to wave goodbye to the Formula 1 Racing Fridge, but luckily I’ve swapped it for the elevator that sounds like a sound FX from Dr Who. Which is Very Bad News Indeed, because this means the Daleks no longer have any problem getting up the stairs. (Hard to see how they managed to rule the world for eons from the ground floor, but that’s evilness for you, I suppose).
And (HAHAHAHAHA – I have the power!) I’ll let you into a little secret: the Invisible Man lives in my apartment block.
Not that I’ve seen him myself (what???) but I know because he uses the lift quite a bit. You see, you’ll be standing in the foyer minding other people’s business, when the elevator suddenly arrives at the ground floor and flings its doors wide open. And in (or out, who can tell?) gets the Invisible Man. (Should use the stairs, mate, it’s healthier for your invisible heart).
And (EX-TER-MIN-ATE, EX-TER-MIN-ATE) I’ve never lived on a river before. Hadn’t realized how busy it is. Or how noisy.
They teach people to row (not row, row) down this stretch of the Thames. So you get men with megaphones (why are men sooo hung up on size??? Why don’t they just have phones like the rest of us???) calling out NUMBER 3! PUT YOUR LEGS TOGETHER! GET INTO RHYTHYM! KEEP YOUR RIGHT HAND CLOSER TO YOUR BODY!
POINT OF ORDER We’re talking about rowing here. If you’re going to lower the tone and snigger you can remove yourself to another post and come back when you’ve erased all smutty thoughts from your head. Thank you.
Then there are the boats and the cruisers, and the quacky moorhens and the graceful swans (who are silent. But they’re owned by the Queen, and you can’t argue with breeding now, can you?)
Talking of breeding, there’s a mother swan nesting up river (or is it down river? Or is that down duvet?) with her family of fluffly grey signets. I was lucky enough to catch them leaping off the bank to land splashily in the water for a swim the other day. (Still not enough to endear the royals to me. Even though they do a fine job with the swans. Despite looking like horses themselves.)
How far removed all this is from my life in Nice. AND (how many fingers am I holding up???) I keep getting chatted up! Not a scenario that often happens with French men. (But then, the guys in the South of France are so short, I kept treading on them before I noticed there was anyone there, and Merde! Au secours! isn’t that romantic an opener, is it?) Even one of the removal men (young, plump yet agile, attractive in a Danny Baker kind of a way) kept coming over to chat, and when they departed he took my hand and kissed it, whilst looking deep into my eyes…Do you know the piano’s standing on my foot? he didn’t ask. (Nice of you to think that. Very flattering. There’s life in the old fairy yet, I’ll have you know. STICKS TONGUE OUT)
Anyway, here I am, and here I hope to stay for a while. At least until I’ve unpacked my old jokes and the young men find out what exactly they should be doing with their right hands.