This Desirable Feeling

Ria is now home from hospital, and sounds weak on the phone, but she's going back to college tomorrow. I have this strange feeling in my body, like the bursting out of the skin from sheer boredom. I want something, hot, sweet and crunchy. Crispy duck pancake. That I want to fly to New York, live like a caffiene ridden writer and buy all of Gior's fashionhouse clothes. That sort of feeling.

Yesterday I had one my memorable journeys into London. The South-West train to Waterloo wasn't too incidental, though I laugh at loud reading my fourth Murakami book, The Great Sheep Chase. It's hil-ar-rious. You must surely buy it. Yeah, so when I got to the Northern Line section, I was just by the platform when a policeman came and started to evacuate the platform. Something about a "suspect package". I grabbed a peek and saw an arab man shouting and raving at a few policeman. I can't help it, I felt a little anxious, but then I also was annoyed because I was going to be late for a thing again. When I got out of King's Cross and waited at the bus stop, I could see the legs of this homeless guy protruding from a doorstop, which didn't twitch, and I started to worry if he was dead or something. He proved his liveliness by getting up, pulling down his trousers, and peeing right in front of me. Oh Lordy, all I could was turn around, it was so embarrassing. Then at the meeting of CE one of the adult members, Sharon was leaving to become a high school teacher, and refused to change her mind so we held a surprise party for her and gave her THREE bouquets of gorgeous flowers.

In the evening me and Dad went to our old neighbours for a dinner party. Sort of. They're a really sweet couple: Ed, who's Portuguese but not speaking to his mother at the moment, and Sophie who's French, but has lived in Pakistan, Egypt and somewhere else in Africa. She also makes the best lasagne in the world. It had mushrooms and olives which I usually hate, but they were absolutely perfect. Then we had cake and ice cream and I couldn't move. Did I mention that they have the cutest, most perfect baby in the world? Her name's Natasha, she's 4 and a half months old and she's so content, with this gorgeous smile, and she's almost big enough to actually walk in her walker. She loves to gurgle and her hair sticks up at the back, so Sophie calls her Tintin. She hardly ever cries, or has a tantrum and is really friendly. She's in love with my Dad, they have long conversations about transport (Natasha's dad is a bus driver.) But oh, would it shame me if I said I've never held a baby before? I get too nervous, in case I hold them wrong, or they start crying, or I drop them and ruin their lives before they get a chance! Natasha is all gorgeous, all the same. All in all a lovely evening.

Today was another idyllic Sunday. It should have been all bitter and cold, but from inside the car with warming on, its a perfect summer day. The sunshine rays were strong, the sky a booming blue. Two boys were setting up cricket stumps under an oak tree. It was that perfect. And now, here I am, wishing I was baby, or having lots of hot loving on my black leather sofa as Led Zepplin plays. This is my 187th post. How far have I come? How much have I changed? I shall deliberate.

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, well you might find
You get what you need

(Rolling Stones, You Can't Always Get What You Want)