Back to surreality

5 Feb
Living concurrently in three cities with, to all intents and purposes, three jobs, has made me rather neglect this little haven. But I’m here tonight.
A number of strange things have happened to me in the last few days, which is always somehow comforting. Taking my place amongst the commuters on the morning train to Reading is fairly strange in its own right… They type away on their laptops, or talk on their phones, or pour over their files, whilst I am either reading the Bible or trying to recapture the slumber from which I was so unwillingly torn at about 6:45 that morning; my head drumming against the train window or veering dangerously towards the shoulder of the sharp-suited commuter next to me.
Stranger things have happened, though. On Friday, I was sitting on the slower-than-walking-pace bus through Reading after work, heading for my sister’s place, when suddenly, out of nowhere, I thought to myself with absolute conviction: "I really fancy some boeuf bourguignon."
Now, maybe this has happened to you in the past, but personally, I can’t remember a single instance in my twenty-four years on this planet in which I have really, really fancied some boeuf bourguignon. Neither could I remember the last time I had had that particular dish. It was never a family favourite. But I was quite certain that that was what I really felt like. When I got to Tamsyn’s, she told me what we were going to cook for dinner, and I jokingly mentioned that for some reason I had a sudden craving for boeuf bourguignon. What was her reply?
"Well that’s just as well, because Mum and Dad are bringing that up tomorrow night."
No. Way. What are the chances?
Which just goes to show our family motto is quite correct – Mummy Knows.
The other weird thing happened today, where I spent part of my working morning dressed as an Andean lady in the company of three of my colleagues, as a ridiculously-dressed pancake-race relay team. We had to process through Reading behind the mayor, and then compete against teams dressed as giant dogs or in hospital scrubs for the coveted (apparently) Oracle trophie. We were slightly stunned to get through the first heat, not least because one of our team had a doll wrapped in a blanket slung over her back, which was arguably a slight handicap. We were then knocked out by the reigning champions though (I have to admit, my tossing the pancake onto the floor may have cost us the race), and were also disappointingly robbed of the fancy dress prize by a bunch of pirates. Appropriate, in some ways.
So that was a normal day at the office. I have long suspected that that is basically what goes on all the time at Latin Link. I mean, they have a dressing-up box, and until today I didn’t even know there was going to be a fancy dress prize and just assumed we were going to dress up for the comedy factor – which honestly would not have been at all out of character. They tell me that they do honestly spend most of their working hours dressed normally and sitting at desks, but I’ll believe that when I’ve gone another six months without running around the streets dressed in a poncho.
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