Lessons

There are certain aspects of our lives that we might assume we never have to question. We get up in the morning and get washed and dressed, which (for most) includes putting on underwear. It’s one of those things that you just do and then hopefully forget about for the rest of the day. So imagine your surprise when during the course of the day you find your bra is vibrating. Initially you ignore it thinking it might be your mobile phone (doesn’t that give you a whole load of new ideas about where you could store your phone if you don’t want to carry a handbag…), but then you decide this needs further investigation, at which point you find a small bat inside your bra. I imagine that would be quite unexpected for most people – and you also probably never would have expected the BBC to publish your bra size on the internet (which was of course an entirely necessary level of detail). At least it wasn’t a spider, which *clearly* would have been much worse.

But how do you actually end up with a bat in your bra? Seemingly drying your bra on the washing line is more risky than we realised. Also is a bat so small that it wouldn’t cross your mind that you look slightly deformed in certain areas of your personage? Well clearly not. I’m sure there is much mileage for inappropriate jokes, but I’m not that sort of girl*.

Just to add to the concerns you probably already have about me based on the details in yesterday’s post about some of the plans for my holiday, G has already given me two of my birthday presents. G is one of those people who is rubbish at keeping a surprise secret, but actually in this instance, I have been given them already as they will be useful for our holiday. The first present is a wind up torch. I have wanted one of those for years and so that is a great present. The second is a pedometer. It’s not just one of those ones with a pea like thing in it that basically measures every slight movement – which could just be you shaking the pedometer up and down to increase your number of steps. Instead this one is meant to take three different measurements and so only counts actual steps and be very accurate (although I think that it slightly undercounts sometimes). You’re meant to do about 10,000 steps a day and since I have had it, it seems that I am doing at least 12,500 steps a day, which is pretty good. I think G is fearful that I will be insisting we walk lots while we are away, which might have some truth in it… What’s the point in having these things if you don’t make use of them is what I say. Well, I’m going to have a fun holiday anyway, even if it means dragging G along behind me.

Oh and last night I went to another radio broadcast. It was called Miranda Hart’s Joke Shop and was quite funny. It will be on Radio 2 at the end of August. Anyway, it was at the BBC Radio Theatre at the top of Regent’s Street. I have now discovered that you should never try and exit Oxford Circus tube station during the evening rush hour in torrential rain. At some exits there seemed to be a standoff between the people trying to exit the station and the people trying to get in. We found another exit and went out that way with a lot less trouble. But trying to get past all the people trying to get into the station was practically impossible and there was just gridlock. As this was keeping from eating food in advance of the recording I valiantly fought my way through, but it was quite some task. Think oxford Street at Christmas with added rain and then double it and you might have some idea of how many people were in trying to get into the station.

On the way home things were somewhat calmer, but when I changed trains I was writing for the train to depart and a female member of staff said to a couple of lads who walked past her “have a safe journey home”. They then boarded the train, but a few seconds later one of them stuck his head out of the carriage and asked her if she wanted to go for a drink sometime. She declined saying she was much too old for him. Potential romance on the tube. How lovely.



*Actually I am that sort of girl but one likes to maintain at least a vaguely respectable public persona.