Shears? Really?

Garden shears aren't exactly the first thing that springs to mind in association with Priapus.



(A sickle is probably the second thing.)

Insert eye rolling here

Inevitably, there's now a (whole lot of) Christian bus ads to respond to the "atheist" (more agnostic, really) bus ads responding to the original, perhaps overly aggressive Christian bus ads.

Interesting to note that the Advertising Standards Authority had received hundreds of complaints that the (frankly rather sweet) "atheist" ad was "offensive to Christians" and, most puzzlingly, the "no God" claim could not be substantiated.

Hm. What was that slogan again exactly?


And people really thought they could argue with the "facts" of a fuzzy little statement like "probably no God"? But presumably these complainers have no objection to the Christian ads, eg "There is DEFINITELY a God, BELIEVE"? I suspect the ASA is in for quite a headache...

PS For a much more lovable Christian response, see here.

How to drive in London

It is of course easy enough to convert your foreign licence to a UK licence, and if you're coming from South Africa, where we also drive on the left, you might think you're all set. However, besides the rules of the road, every country and every region has its own driving etiquette. Driving in London requires understanding and adoption of its own particular set of habits. Thus:

1. London is a busy and overwhelming city. Drivers here are vulnerable to informational overload and a multitude of environmental stress factors. Be careful not to exacerbate this situation. Flashing lights will only distract other drivers, so avoid using your indicators. If you absolutely must, be sure to turn them on only as you are actually turning the corner - any earlier would be grossly inconsiderate.

2. Space in London is at a premium, on the streets as much as in the property market. Therefore, you should avail yourself of all possible parking opportunities. Leaving corners empty to improve visibility for approaching traffic is all very well in less bustling metropolises, but here it simply won't do. Don't just park up right to the end of the street - park on the corner itself. That's what it's there for.

3. This is a fast-paced city. Combine that with the aforementioned lack of parking space, and you know what you have to do: grab spots where you see them, when you see them. Should a bay be available on the opposite side of the road, don't waste time turning around - you'll lose your spot, and more embarrassingly, reveal yourself as an outsider. Just cross the road and park immediately. Don't worry about the fact that you'll have to pull out into oncoming traffic; this will simply add a much-needed fillip to an otherwise boring journey for the other drivers on the road.

Oh yes. Of course they do.

For no particular reason, yesterday morning I was thinking about talking to strangers, and how (it seemed to me) these conversations can be divided into roughly two camps.

On one hand, there is the bonding conversation, in which you focus on what you have in common. ("You like chocolate? ME TOO!") These chats may be shallow (of course they aren't always) but they serve a valuable purpose in establishing a warm fuzzy feeling towards each other, and allowing a potential friendship to develop.

On the other hand, there is the mind-broadening conversation, in which you explore how different you are. ("You don't like chocolate? How fascinating, I didn't know that was possible. Please, explain.") This can be a bit harder than the bonding conversation, because you need to exercise more imagination and empathy to keep things moving forward, rather than just shutting down with "I don't understand you At All." But it can also be more rewarding, as it gives you new ways to think about things.

What had not occurred to me, though, in my idle ponderings, was what happens when an apparent bonding conversation goes suddenly a bit off the rails. I suppose there's really no reason it can't, properly managed, become a successful mind-broadening conversation; but the dislocation is jarring. This happened last night, at a Christmas party. I was exchanging desultory small talk with a chap, and we touched on the perennial favourite of how hard it is to maintain your social life in London, because seeing people requires hours and hours of travel.

"I mean it was all right when I was younger," he said. "At around 20, 21, I could just walk over to most of my friends, because everybody lives in Kensington & Chelsea."

I just nodded.

A SAD state of affairs

Y'know, I thought I was basically done with getting worn down by the miserable English winters, but apparently not. It's just so dark. And gloomy. And cold. And really there's nothing to be done in weather like this but hide under the duvet, right? Right. So it's not so much that I'm depressed, as just moochy, and struggling to get anything done. It does seem to be worse this year than usual... I blame hormones. Am so very jealous of everyone heading south for the winter. (Although when that results in Milo slabs for me, well, it's not so bad.)

London, being a large and diverse city that rather fancies itself, is frequently home to unique and surprising events. But this one takes the trifle.

Observe the list of attractions: "Late bar. Booming sound. Entasis. Jelly wrestling. Theory."

And, dear lord, performers in jelly costumes.

(Picture by Greta Ilieva, stolen from the festival website.)

Miss manners

I do, that is. Miss people simply being nice to each other. It's not just a London thing, and it's not just a modern life thing (said the crone), but natheless I fondly hark back to times when I'm sure I didn't see quite so many scowls around me all the time, and I definitely didn't see people literally kicking or hitting out at each other over who got in whose way on the street/pavement, as I do, from time to unfortunately frequent time.

Anyway. I try to be just a little bit nice to everyone I encounter every day, as much as possible, on the principle that little things really do make a difference, and if I can make someone smile then maybe they can go on to make someone else smile and so on... well at any rate, it feels good, and it doesn't hurt.

So I love this. That's a manifesto I can sign up to.

Christmas lights are rubbish

Seen behind the Royal Festival Hall, a couple of weeks ago. Around the corner:


It's not terribly easy to see, but those are all coloured plastic bottles. Clever!

And then there is this:


This space is normally used for public sculpture of some sort - recently, a collection of fountains, all of which were human forms spewing water from somewhere unpleasantly anatomical. So presumably these bits and pieces are being used in the making of a new exhibit, but then again they could actually be the latest exhibit. I honestly have no idea.

Anybody remember the story, a few years ago, of some German janitors working in an art museum, who had to be sent on an "art appreciation" course after accidentally throwing away one of the installations (a pile of rubbish on the floor)? The best bit of that story was the comment I heard from, er, I forget: "If a pile of rubbish is a valid piece of art, then clearing it away is a valid piece of art criticism."

The Problem with London*

So my Saturday plans included an Evil Dead fest** on the other side of town. Not that much the other side, mind. An hour's journey — hell, everywhere's an hour's journey for me.

Part the first:

I get on the tube in the middle of the day; I resurface in the middle of the night. Wrong on so many levels.

Part the second:

I leave shortly after 11pm; I get home at 1am. And that's without recourse to night bus or similar evil. That's a perfectly respectable tube journey (only briefly interrupted by failed attempt to catch a train). That's riDICulous.

Conclusion: London is a myth. It's an illusion to think that I live in the same city as my friends. It's a lie that I live in a town where there's all this stuff going on. I have access to this exciting cosmopolitan centre, yes, but live in it? No. Few of us do. We live in what used to be villages sort of close to the capital, and now are considered part of it, but they're not. It would be fairer to say that Pretoria, Johannesburg and Germiston are the same city.

_____
* No 1 of a potentially infinite series.
Not that I'm a whiner or anything.
** Also a ludicrously excessive sugarfest. And, surprisingly enough, a knitfest. I don't think I could ask for a more perfect social gathering. Muchas gracias, chaps!