Who burnt the pie?

It could only happen in the English public sector.

Two days ago, while enjoying my early morning cup of coffee while getting down to the day’s business, the building fire alarm began to sound. Skulling the rest of my drink – oh that sweet caffeine goodness, so necessary in the morning – and grumbling at having to do so, I was forced to don coat, scarf, gloves and bag (always an elogated ritual at the best of times) and evacuate along with my colleagues into the midst of grey, overcast fogbound, bloody freezing London. Our breath wreathing around us like smoke, we milled around for about 15 minutes, before being allowed back in.

The smell of burning greeted our nostrils as we made our way back to our floor. The culprit? A mince pie, apparently microwaved for an overly long time, had been reduced to a smoking, shrivelled, curranty and calcified pastry mess. Which had set off the alarm and sent us into the freezing chill.

Thank you very much to the Microwave Ignoramus inhabiting our building.

And a Cool Yule to all.

Superb (Overheard) Conversation

Standing in line to enter Château Versailles on our second visit (more on why later), it became evident that terrorism’s arm had stretched far enough to permeate even this touristey outing to the Sun King’s domain on an overcast, muggy September Sunday afternoon. My idle musings on various means and methods of annihilating all who stood before me in the ever-increasing queue was interrupted by a piercing (American) female voice.

American Lady 1: Why does Osama hate us so much?

American Lady 2: Well, honey, you have to understand – he’s an extremist. Oh by the way, that’s a lovely jumper you have on.

Fact – more comical than fiction, non?

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside

A 48 hour hiatus from 19 days straight and 53 matches of the World Cup means withdrawal shakes and a chance to catch up blog-wise with what I’ve been up to.

London turned on a warm one last Sunday as we headed down to Brighton for Dylan Moran, Terre a Terre and a coma-inducing 90 minutes or so in a crowded pub watching England bore Ecuador into submission. The only amusing incident involved little old Granny, in usual Granny uniform of pale hair, floral dress, grey cardigan and sturdy shoes, jump into the pub, shout out “Eng-er-land!” and do a little shimmy before exiting as abruptly. Bless.

Best Heckle Ever?

Apparently, during 2004, some wit spotted David Hasselhoff at an event in London. On recognising the Baywatch and the sometime popstar, the quipster shouted: “You – you are nothing without your talking car! Remember that! Nothing!”

Fab. I almost choked on my porridge.