boom boom boom

I have decided to drive us to the movies. Most outings where I am behind the wheel have an inevitable episode where Fox feels the necessity to raise his voice in a moment of sheer terror but this has already occurred on this trip so I feel I am through the worst.
On arrival, I pull up to one of those ridiculous stay-in-your-car-while-the-machine-spits-a-ticket-at-you contraptions where you never quite judge the distance appropriately and end up dislocating your shoulder in an attempt to reach far enough. However, having survived that, it is the moments post-ticket retrieval that prove tricky. As the boom lifts I begin to stress because I am in neutral with the handbrake up and I’m aware that pulling off requires my full concentration. In my stress I manage to pull forward just enough so that I am directly underneath the boom…and stall. Yes, I have stalled in the perfect position for the boom to come down and crush our (but mostly Fox’s) car. Extreme panic now sets in and I glance over at Fox who very helpfully has his face in his hands and has shirked all responsibility as an instructor. I try to take a deep breathe and forget that any moment now our car will require serious repair work and attempt to restart the engine. Unfortunately, I have now put the car into third gear and forgotten about the handbrake. I stall. Again. The anxiety now begins to overwhelm me and I start to shake like a leaf and mistakenly glance in my rear-view mirror to catch a glimpse of an Indian family in the car behind me all gesturing wildly with arms everywhere. A faint mumble about first gear and handbrake ensues from Fox who has started to return from the dead.
What feels like two hours later and purely by miracle, after my fourth attempt, I manage to roll forward and the engine finally kicks in. Oh the relief, so pure that I can almost taste it.
Fox has now come out of his tortoiseshell and instructs me to pull into one of the ten disabled bays where he will take over. Very helpful at this stage, thank you.
In case anyone is wondering, the booms do, in fact, have sensors and will not come down on your car while you are still under them. And anyone who said that learning to drive is fun has clearly never stalled under one of them.

metaphorical friday

Right now I’m supposed to be formulating an answer to explain the problems with a common-sense assumption that language reflects reality. You can see why I would rather be blogging.
Instead, I’m sitting on the couch, contemplating what to have for diner while staring out the window at sheets of London rain (did you even spot the metaphor there? Probably not because this is a Metaphor We Live By). That being said, I’m really loving my studies, despite how my procrastination might not reflect that. At times it feels like my brain might explode, at others I simply lose myself in the narrative of a classic. As I’m sure you can gather, I’m still working on the self-discipline aspect but that will come eventually. Either that or I’m going to do a lot more blogging.
Anyway, I should make an attempt at understanding the social implications of syntax and the systematicity of metaphorical concepts before the day is out.
As a reward for the days efforts I get to enjoy, not only, the satisfaction of knowing that I have grasped something new but also dinner and a movie with my wonderful husband.
Did I mention that I was listening to John Mayer? Fridays are like a mouthful of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food where you get a bit of the marshmallow and a chocolate fish. Bliss.

date to diarise

It’s reached that time of they year again when I start booking things into my schedule for next year but find myself at a loose end because I have nowhere to write them. While still reeling from the shock that it is almost time, once again, to see the year out with fireworks and a rendition of Auld Lang Syne, I marched myself off to WH Smith to pick out my 2010 diary.
Before me was an overwhelming array of colours and sizes and I started to feel daunted, aware that this is a very important decision. As my husband quite rightly pointed out, once you’ve chosen a diary you’re locked into a year long commitment. Oh, the pressure!
I was forced into deciding by process of elimination. The day-to-a-page A5 diaries are so appealing yet I know full well that they are totally impractical for my already, unnecessarily full handbag. The teeny little pocket diaries too are impractical unless you simply never go out or see anyone. I like to see my entire week at a glance so that is easy but I also need enough space to cross out and write lists if necessary. Naturally, it must be pretty but not too girly as a diary says a lot about a person and I like to keep an air of sophistication about myself (sorry Winnie the Pooh diary…you know I’d have chosen you if I never had to take you out in public). I like a slimline diary and almost opted for simply buying the same one I had this year but there is probably some truth in variety and spice etc. The extras are rather important too – place for notes, addresses, a tube map, important dates, personal details (although I have been warned not to fill in this section due to recent increases in identity fraud – be warned!).
In the end, I went down the functional route and opted for a thin little mauve number with a handy pink elastic and all the essentials. Its extra features are limited but, understandably, you can’t have it all in a handbag diary. It’s not outrageously gorgeous, but nice enough to look at for a year.
And the first date that’s going into it? “Buy diary for next year”