Monday, 2 May 2016

Brent Cross

I went to Brent Cross this afternoon and instantly regretted my decision. The place was rammed to the rafters and it took half an hour and much wriggling, wiggling and impatient beeping to find a parking space. When I got into the shopping centre itself, I immediately found myself swamped by people who, how should I put this, weren't my tribe. There was a lot of aggression. One man walked straight into me. Like a true Brit I heard myself mumbling an apology, but his friend wanted more: "that's right" he shouted at me aggressively, "don't apologise." Off he swaggered with his hand stuffed down the front of his track suit trousers, the brim of his ludicrous Pratt hat pointing jauntily towards the shopping centre roof!

I was looking for the holy grail: a suit that isn't made of wool and isn't designed for a nineteen year-old lad who's made of nothing but skin and bone. Wool makes me panic. It clings to my legs and makes me sweat and itch. I like to look at fabric and imagine how many chemicals have died to make it so soft!

There was a very silly woman whom I had to deal with as I left the car park. I'd parked next to her and her husband and their oh-so-swanky sports car which was so low to the ground I couldn't see it in my wing mirror. We arrived back to our cars at the same time, so I suggested they leave first because I was reversing out of the space and couldn't tell how close I was to them. "But I need to get into my car first and there's no room for me to open the passenger seat door" she said, "well perhaps the driver could pull out of the space and then you'll be able to get in more easily?" I said. "No. You'll have to pull out first so that I can get in." "But if I pull out I'll hit your expensive car, which I'm sure we'd all like to avoid..." She sighed and spent the next five minutes squeezing herself into the tiny little space between our cars and then, like a pathetic contortionist in a cheap magic act, squeezed herself into her passenger seat. She stared at me as though to say "look what you've made me do." Silly tit.

I learned something horrifying today, namely that the organisers of Eurovision have banned certain "politically sensitive" flags from being taken into the Eurovision stadium. The list of flags includes the Welsh flag, which I find very insulting, particularly as one of the British performers is actually Welsh, and the Islamic State flag is on the same list! Can someone please tell me what this is all about?

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