PART 2
Monday blues were as blue can be....blue skies once again-sorry did someone say London had bad weather?Perfect day....hot n sweaty. Apparently this is a rarity, either that or Londoners all suffer from a disease that makes one intolerable to any temperatures above 21 degrees....but I'll get back to my diagnosis and how it came about shortly.
So I've heard time and time again about this Primark phenomenon and thought I must give it a jolly good go, but no one warned me that it would very closely resemble Victoria Street Market(DBN) on pay day....thanks peeps, you left me unprepared both mentally and physically for what I was about to encounter. Walking into that triple story mountain of clothes was everything but a shoppers dream. Yes, there are many items to choose from. Great. Yes, they are cheap. Great. No, I do not want my personal space to be invaded, and yes I would like more than half a square meter to move around in, thank you for asking. Fail. Aren't there laws that prevent more than 10 000 people from being in a building with only 2 exits (yes I checked out my fire escape routes on entering)?
There were literally people stripping in front of any mirror or reflective glass they could find.Literally. The line to the change rooms was half way around oxford street, its like a shoplifters paradise. After grabbing a few items....and joining the masses in the reflective glass make-shift change rooms-Yes, I did that- I just wanted to get the heck out of there. Grabbing+rushing to get the heck out of there = Definitely walking out with the wrong something.Which I did. I am still trying to muster up the courage to go back and change it, what if there really is a fire this time?
Following my shopping ordeal I made my way to Oxford Circus Station where I thought I could sit on the train ride home and talk myself through my post-traumatic stress, oh did I mention that by this time it was rush hour in tube nation? Giant Fail. Now I was faced with what I would consider to be a life changing decision at this point, I came to a cross road in my life and decided that a decision needed to be made and that me, being very decisive under pressure(Hello future employee reading my blog, look forward to hearing from you), could make it-To go all the way to Brixton station and change trains there (and risk being hustled by a pimp and his pimp hussies-is that the right lingo?) or stop at Victoria(Before Brixton) and change to a nice train. So I make the life changing decision and FAIL FAIL FAIL!
I decided to get of at Victoria and swap trains there, joining the rest of London in one cabin. The incoming train was delayed due to signal problems at Herne Hill(where I was going), so that should have hit the warning bells, not these ones, no no no, I carried on waiting. The train arrives 15 minutes late and I hop on, expecting to be home in 15 minutes.....lovely, its been a long day and I'm hungry, thirsty and tired. All is going as planned on my routine journey home until after we've stopped at Brixton and are half way between 2 stations(one of them being my destination) the train comes to a halt. "Apologies ladies and gentlemen, there are still signalling problems at Herne Hill and there are trains waiting to come through from all directions so I'm not sure how long we'll be in the queue"....Really? Now keep in mind that it is rush hour-you are standing rubbing up against all kinds of people ( I mean, I'm usually reasonably selective, but in rush hour you have no choice), there are no doors and only tiny little silly excuses for windows by the roof and it is the hottest day in British history ( well, since I've been there). Enter diagnosis 'Britons have heat disability disorder'. Every train I'd been on that day had issued warnings about the heat, asking passengers to please ensure they had water with them at all times which I thought to be a bit melodramatic considering humans can live without water for something like 3 days. So anyway, the train is stopped, people are dripping sweat all over me, I am thirsty because humans can live without water so I ignored the warnings AND I am at high risk for catching TB considering I was basically breathing in someone Else's lung material-that's the closeness I'm talking. OK so TB encounter No.1. Then after 40mins of being at a dead stop in an airless, conversation-less (I had to save my energy in case we were there for days-hence not starting random conversations or group songs) cabin that jolly conductor comes over the intercom and starts singing "The wheels on the bus...", no that's a lie, he didn't. He came on to tell us that some tool in another cabin who obviously had heat disability disorder pulled the emergency lever on the doors and opened them, which meant that the power supply to the rails had to be shut down in case the retard slipped on sweat and fell out onto the rails. This resulted in the train being stopped for a further 45minutes!
Summary: I sat on a train for an hour and a half in the heat, with no air, at rush hour and nearly died.
Skip to Wednesday, my interview was set for 8:45, so I thought I'd pre-empt any further train drama's and arrive an hour early. I can now safely tell you that there is not much to do in the early hours of the morning on Great Portland Street. More importantly, on that early morning train ride I was sitting in close proximity to an oldish woman; she was facing me and clutching a handful of tissues. So, I thought shame, she must be very sad or very sick. Wrong on both accounts. This woman broke out into about 40 coughing fits and after each one checked the tissue. Now I am on high alert. TB alarms going off everywhere. I covered my mouth with my scarf and tried not to breathe the rest of the way. Mom, if you're reading this, could you check with Doc how likely it is that I could get TB on the train?
Following my interview, I had my corporate kit on, glasses, dress, stockings the works...oh did I mention the heels?let me illustrate.
Exhibit A.
So I met Karene on Oxford Street to De-stress with a cuppa at a little side walk cafe, which just so happened to be opposite Liberty. Have you ever, cos I've never? I was blown away. 5 floors of sheer class and perfection in the form of designer scarves, hats, shoes, clothes, vintage dress-up, bridal couture, haberdashery, furniture and personal care products. I may have squealed upon entry....do yourself a favor, browse this little number http://www.liberty.co.uk/ . Crying.
So 5 floors browsed in heels, I'm fine, thank you for asking.....next stop; The opposite end of Oxford Street-Selfridges. at this point my high heel etiquette starts getting stroppy, back starts curving, bum sticks out....start doing the stork walk, you girls(and one or two boys) know how it is. Selfridges is a wonder room(5 floors again) of designer everything....I mean every brand you could ever think to imagine in the history of lavish brands is housed in that vault. It is basically a museum of the best designer wear ever. By the time we walked out of there I wanted to take my shoes off and walk on my stockings....don't talk to me about pain until you've walked Oxford Street in my shoes people.
Now that I am partly disabled, a brand whore and probably have TB, think its time for a small weekend on the town.....Who's ready?
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