Tuesday, October 05, 2004

Blame Katie

This is Katie's fault. It came from this site.

You say "the city" and expect everyone to know which one. (Is there another that matters?)

You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Shepherds Bush to Elephant & Castle at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can't find Dorset on a map. (I can find it. Just. And Shepherd's Bush to Elephant is easy peasy)

You step over people who collapse on the tube. (Generally. Especially if a can of Special Brew is being clutched)

You've considered stabbing someone. (not lately. After Tom, stabbing is a tad more real. It's usually beating people with my laptop)

Your door has more than three locks. (Yes)

You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression. (Hell yes! You do not look at people on the Tube)

You call an 8' x 10' plot of patchy grass a garden. (it's all I have, dammit!)

You know where Karl Marx is buried. (Highgate Cemetary, and very pretty it is too)

You consider Essex the "countryside" (That is where we are moving in 13 days time. Very countryside.)

You think Hyde Park is "nature." (Well, what else could you call it?)

Shopping in suburban supermarkets and shopping malls gives you a severe attack of agoraphobia. (K-mart was just plain scary. Way too big, with way too much unnecessary crap. How much choice does a person really need?)

You've been to Tooting twice and got hopelessly lost both times. (I used to work there, and got lost frequently. Icky place, but it is south of the river)

You pay £3 without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28p. (Blinking isn't going to bring the price down, and I am not going on a beer diet)

You have 27 different menus next to your telephone. (Yes. I have a folder for them all)

The UK west of Heathrow is still theoretical to you. (I suspect it is theoretical to the bods in charge of the roadworks on the M25 coming up to Heathrow too)

You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you. (Too weird)

Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes. (Alas, but is it just a dream?)

£50 worth of groceries fit in one paper bag. (Sadly, this isn't exclusive to London)

You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories. (All involve alcohol, unsurprisingly)

You don't hear sirens anymore. (Except on football nights when it sounds like the end of the world)

You've mentally blocked out all thoughts of the city's air quality and what it's doing to your lungs. (But I don't get hayfever in the city. Works for me)

You say 'mate' constantly. (Guilty. Even the Boy has picked that up now)

Anyone not from London is a 'wanker'. (Except a few select people. My mum, for starters)

Anyone from outside London and north of the Watford Gap is a 'Northern Wanker'. (Again, except my Mum and a few others. But everyone from the city knows civilisation ends at the Watford Gap)

You have no idea where the North is. (Sadly I do, as I have been. I don't wish to again)

You see All Saints in the Met Bar (again) and find it hard to get excited about it. (I haven't seen them. Here, we see Posh and Becks (lucky us) a lot. No-one cares)

Somebody speaks to you on the tube and you freak out thinking they are a stalker. (You don't talk, unless you are drunk, or walk into someone. General chitchat is weird, and marks you as a desperate perv. Or a tourist. I'm not saying which is worst)




posted by DMouse007 @ 10/05/2004 08:29:00 AM