Hill walking

Ah, the joys of the bank holiday weekend. Kicked it all off on Friday eve, when I met my oldest friend for drinks and a meal. This could have been something of a challenge as said friend has recently adopted a vigorously healthy lifestyle, with what I can only describe as religious zeal. No alcohol, no caffeine, no white rice/bread etc, no bread at all in fact and so on. Quite frankly, I would lose the will to live were our situations reversed, but she looks well off it, all vital and glowing with health, as she sipped a camomile tea whilst I nursed a (double) brandy (it had been a long day, ok?). So that was nice, and then indulged my hobbies on Saturday morning, chiefly sleeping and eating toast in bed. Perhaps spurred on by my encounter with the Supremely Healthy One, I forced myself to go swimming. I very much enjoyed this, apart from being accosted on my way to the pool by a mad old man. There must be something about me that suggests I have a sympathetic temperament, or something, as I have a higher ratio than anyone else I know for being stopped by nutters/clipboard brigaders/foreign tourists/etc. This guy was clearly bent on trying to make my day that little more surreal as he lunged towards me, asking if I had the correct time. Polite as ever, I replied no, I was not wearing a watch (having removed all jewellery in preparation for the swim). Then things got weird as he then produced a watch of his own…
Crazy Old Guy: Heh, heh, I have watch for you, young lady [steps closer into my personal space than most of my close personal friends would, lifts decidedly grimy- looking sleeve to reveal grimy-looking watch]
Me: [taking a step back] Oh-kay then.
Crazy Old Guy: [attempting to close the space between us yet again] It is Saddam Hussein watch, for you, lady
Me: [Thinking ‘what the fuck?’] I’m going away now [briskly turning away and stepping up the pace to march away at speed]
Crazy Old guy: [Incomprehensible gibberish]
Why me? And what was all that about? Anyhoo, I made it to the pool without further incident.

So, I felt all smug, as I always do after I exercise, and the got ready for evening out. Also a good night, though with decidedly more alcohol and less talk about nutrition. Rather too much alcohol, as it turned out, as somewhere at the back of my mind, I had filed away the knowledge that I had to get up early on Sunday morning to go meet my Dad, whose plane was arriving at the ungodly time of 5.30am…I know I wasn’t thinking about it when I got talked in to [read: suggested] doing tequila slammers, that’s for sure. However, considering all the factors here, it was quite superhuman of me to get out of bed at all on Sunday morning, and the fact that I was 2 hours late is neither here nor there.

But the title of this post is Hill walking, and that is because, if you have a hangover, and must walk from say Liverpool St Station to Columbia Road Flower Market, on the promise of a full English, only to find that the person taking you there has forgotten the exact location of the café, to then have to turn back and walk all the way back to Laapool St, then that is what it feels like you are doing. Hill walking, in the wrong shoes, on an empty stomach with no water. Just when I thought I would die, a trusty Ponti’s swung into view, and I wasted no time ordering and devouring eggs, bacon, double toast, the full mashings. Amazing the restorative effect this can have on a person. I did feel better, but not prepared for the marathon of walking the rest of the day entailed. Through sheer force of will, I managed to steer us to several cafes along the way, but the pace was relentless.

Walking turned out to be a feature of the weekend, as we come to the Monday itself. Most of the day was spent at leisure, the most energetic thing I did all day was to paint my toenails whilst sat in the garden. Then I was invited to go for an Indian in Brick Lane, which was great, but yet again, wearing the wrong (though distinctly glamorous) shoes, I had to walk all the way from Whitechapel and all the way up Brick Lane – I was naturally a bit thirsty when I finally met my friends. Another great night followed, and I seemed to forget about the getting up early the following morning thing again. I did force myself into the office, only to find that the effect of the elongated weekend seems to have had an effect on my brain. I feel as though I have been away for three weeks, rather than three days, and am suffering from a rather specific form of amnesia. I can’t remember anything about what I am supposed to be working on. But at least I made it in, and I look busy…