Parliamentary Pondering

Well, day 1 is accomplished and I am enjoying an evening and a morning to myself before I waste the little bit of free time that I have been awarded this week on another day in London... Sometimes I go nowhere near the city for weeks on end and then, suddenly, I find I am there each and every day.

It all went well- I agonised over the wiring of fax machines and the filing of various constituency records and the making of teas and coffees in impossibly cramped, cupboard conditions. Although their office has both expanded and moved to the modern adjunct thing over (and under) the road, the numbers of people in it have also grown and space is at a premium. If ever a Tory government considered cutting office space as a tax relief initiative, the nation would grind to a halt...

One of the notable features of the day was when I mused about writing a story set in an old, gothic palace with a modern extension... but what would such a story be about? And how long before it got rejected (AGAIN!)? Dear readers, please note that, although I do not write about it so much, my creative work is still being turned down right, left and centre! Oh look, a political pun...

In the evening I began feeling like a proper twenty-something as I went out for cocktails in Covent Garden or somesuch (well one and a half plus a beer - Mother!) with my recently graduated friends. It is the second day of such mingling, as a subtly different selection of people, along with the core of my 'group' came out yesterday; strangely, there were a fair few Fins on both days!

Unfortunately, unlike my time in London in general, last night was the last of such meetings and- it's funny- I didn't expect to feel so sad when they were over! It was that specific variety of bittersweet melancholy reserved for the ends of holidays or your 'leaving do', when you realise how much you enjoy the company of people who, gradually, are slipping away from you. Although there are vague promptings from the Dylan Thomas inside, to rage against the dying of the light, usually, or, at least, in my case- you can never find the appropriate time for such an outburst. In my opinion, situations are often a lot more subtle than the poets give them credt for!

Two more things: as I was crossing Charing Cross road yet again, the old Dr. Johnson adage came into my mind: 'The man who is tired of London... yada yada yada'. Well, I already am, perhaps prematurely, and, for the record, I am a little tired of life, too... He obviously knew what he was talking about!

... Thinking about it, not really life- just life in and around these dirty Southern towns and cities (and London in particular). I better have another think about LSE- not that they'll accept me- before I commit myself to yet more urban drudgery...

Oh and the second thing was some half-remembered anecdote from the previous afternoon, about an oriental lady who would not give my friend a roll with his soup... but that has faded now and would probably have come across as mildly racist, anyway. She was a sweet person and I made her laugh a lot when I went up for my own bowl and she asked, mildly fearful: 'You wa- bread, too??' to which I indicated that I thought my friend was mental and that I had never heard of this bizarre custom!

Well, that's all for now...