THE LAST PERSON OFF THE TRAIN
All journeys can be enjoyable, even the commute. The way to nullify pain and multiply pleasure with any given form of travel is to let everybody else leave the train, bus, plane, car, tram or camel first. In other words, be the last one off your given mode of transport. This turns the journey into a form of destination and can lower your heart rate by 37% before you hot-foot off to wherever you’re meant to be next, which is never quite as much of a hurry as you assume. If rush hour had pedestrian speed limits and we were all wired up to a giant pacemaker, the hour itself would only last 52 minutes, leaving 8 minutes to put your immediate world to rights. Some may think this idealist, and they’d be right. But if idealism took root, as everyone would deeply love it to, we’d end up upset as we’d have nothing to whinge about. Now I’m confused.
Help.
EYJAFJALLAJOKULL RECALL
This is a press release to all editors on behalf of the celebrity volcano in Iceland. If you are among the 92% of Europe’s media who reported the incident and published photographs, we regret to inform you that you have violated the image rights of Eyjafjallajokull. By Icelandic law each trademarked image bears a retrospective charge of $40,000. If you do not repay the country within 48 hours, a pandemic of equivalent eruptions will be triggered as part of a geological pact, thus grounding all flights indefinitely.
MAISON BERTAUX’S ALMOND CROISSANT
If you only had one meal left with the world at your mercy, what would you eat? Don’t rush, I’d hate for you to get indigestion just thinking about it. If you’re stuck for direction, head for Maison Bertaux at 28 Greek Street, Soho. This cinematic cafe-come-institution is run by two sisters who ooze warmth, wit and the sexy swagger of 60’s Paris - catch them together on the same day and you’ll melt. On the street outside, each table has a half pint glass as a vase with two pence pieces to weigh it down. Noel Fielding and Sigur Ros show their art here. Writers write here. Dancers rest here. Old ladies help clear tables here. You can sit for hours and discuss just about anything if they’re in the mood. The place is cut into slithers as inviting as any cake on earth. And this is why i come here. Cake. One cake in particular. The almond croissant. It deserves its own novel. Muscular, dense, twisted with a thousand stories to tell if you listen real hard. It spans a good seven inches and must weigh a third of a kilo. It belongs half way up Everest and is almost too much for one grown man. So starve yourself. Go in hungry and early, they sell out.
GROWING CONCRETE
The Shard at London Bridge is a force of man against nature. 300 metres up, with a keen eye, on a clearish day, you’ll see the sea. Not bad for a debut building by a young Italian architect who ate his greens. As it shoots up this spring, trees are also hitting their main growth spurt. Every bud within 58 miles of London must look on and say, ‘fucking cheat’. With a crew of over a hundred men bolting on twig after twig of steel, the Shard is a supermodel in the make-up room compared to the hard-grafting trees wooing the sunshine and air. Not that this is bad. By heck, no. The Shard, in its slender beanstalk manner, shall whistle to the trees and egg them on to greater heights and spans. By 2012, when the last pane of glass takes its seat at the summit, we will be blessed with 40 more leafage and therefore less carbon floating around the city. If you have a balcony nearby, turn the plant to face the shard and see it rocket.
If you’re the not the tallest of people and you’d like to put on a few inches yourself, go stare at The Shard. For every hour you watch, you’ll grow a mm.
STAIR SITTING
Next time you’re looking for a seat, stoop a little lower. Before you hit the ground, hit a step, or a stair, or even a one-off lonely plinth. Sit here and think. You will be amazed at what emerges. Should you sit long enough, you may solve big things, like bees do. The key to this simple intellectual happiness is the 1/4up:3/4down ratio. Low slung chairs and sofas don’t count. They are premeditated. Stairs and steps are not. Their primary purpose is for your feet. They’re not used to buttocks. They not used to stationary buttocks. If you go up or down stairs on your arse (ie: bouncing buttocks) you probably need to see a doctor.
SNOWSFIELDS NEWS, SE1
There is a small local store on Snowsfields, London Bridge run by a wonderful man called Mr Pandit. He has a soft spot for Spurs and his wife has a great laugh. I’m sure he won’t mind me saying, but the shop itself ain’t up to much - his heart isn’t in it after all these years. It doesn’t help that it’s under threat from developers and usual supermarket mob. So pop in and buy something, anything, a paper, bin liners, milk, ciggies, some Monster Munch or maybe a lottery ticket. You see, he’s lucky. You have a 17% better chance of winning. Ask any bookie.