Even after sitting through the whole four hours and 48 minutes of the Nadal-Federer final at Wimbledon, with four people trying to explain the rules of the game, I could still not figure out why it was all taking so long. Didn't they tell me, about two hours into the game - right after the roast chicken - that it could all be over soon? OK, so the good food offered a diversion, and the company was good, but my God was it all so mind-numbingly boring. "Doesn't Gwen Stefani" - sat in the front row with her husband Gavin Rossdale, a Federer supporter - "look really bored?" was my only contribution to the conversation as heads moved up and down following the lime green dot on the screen. I did feel kind of sorry for her, poor love. Heavily pregnant, I'm sure that sitting there for all that time must have been very uncomfortable!
At least Nadal's victory, like Spain's at the Euro 2008 a couple of weeks ago, put a smile on Significant Other's face. We nearly started the day on a bad note thanks to the grey sky and rain combo. We had been out at the Pride celebrations in Soho the day before, and I was suffering from a slight hangover brought on by several glasses of champagne and more neat double vodkas than I'd downed in a long time. An online conversation with a friend who was setting off for a day at the beach did not make my mood any better, and I could feel a bit of a strop coming on. The invitation to lunch really did save the day for both of us.
The hangover - I should explain - was not brought about by form of debauchery, as would have been the case in previous years. In fact, in comparison to many Prides past, I was positively saintly: fast asleep in bed - alone, as SO was working - by 10 p.m., which is embarrassingly as far away from debauchery as one can get. Earlier in the day, I was on the phone to the Lesbians Up North - at whose home we used to kick off celebrations, when they lived in London - joking about how things have changed. "I've already fed the kids, taken them out for a walk and am on my way to do the week's shopping," one of them told me before passing on my goddaughter who is now approaching her third birthday! "I've been to the gym, made soup and am popping in to the office to do some work," said another friend when I phoned him to see what he was doing later. A few years ago, this same conversation would not have taken place. Oh yes, times have indeed changed!
It had been some time since I spoke to the LUN, and Pride was only one of the many topics of conversation. Others included the weather, how obscenely expensive everything has become, freelance work vs full-time employment, and how scary living in London has become.
This latter has become a bit of a sore point with me. So far, this year, there have been 18 teenage murders in this city, one of the more recent ones being about a five-minute walk away from my home. That's only teenagers killing each other. There's a lot more crime going on, with yellow boards appealing for witnesses now as commonplace on our streets as McDonalds. Last week, even the most desensitised of us could not help but be shocked at the news of two 23-year-old French students who were gagged, tied to chairs, stabbed a total of 243 times between them and then set on fire - all (according to the most recent reports) in order for the murderer to obtain the PIN numbers of bank cards which he is said to have stolen a few weeks before together with two games consoles.
For the first time in the 20-year span during which I have spent time here, I must admit to being more than a bit concerned - and I've never really been one to worry about these things. I've walked around in what are considered to be some of the city's dodgiest areas late at night without ever giving a thought to any possible danger. In fact, I can safely say that throughout my time here I have never been involved in any nasty incidents (note to reader: I've just got up and walked to the chair to touch wood).
In the last three years, there have been random murders on the street I have lived in, two when in my former flat, and one in this one. Whereas before I never used to take any notice of such things, I am now much more aware of the people around me. Oh yes, I repeat to myself, times have indeed changed!
At least Nadal's victory, like Spain's at the Euro 2008 a couple of weeks ago, put a smile on Significant Other's face. We nearly started the day on a bad note thanks to the grey sky and rain combo. We had been out at the Pride celebrations in Soho the day before, and I was suffering from a slight hangover brought on by several glasses of champagne and more neat double vodkas than I'd downed in a long time. An online conversation with a friend who was setting off for a day at the beach did not make my mood any better, and I could feel a bit of a strop coming on. The invitation to lunch really did save the day for both of us.
The hangover - I should explain - was not brought about by form of debauchery, as would have been the case in previous years. In fact, in comparison to many Prides past, I was positively saintly: fast asleep in bed - alone, as SO was working - by 10 p.m., which is embarrassingly as far away from debauchery as one can get. Earlier in the day, I was on the phone to the Lesbians Up North - at whose home we used to kick off celebrations, when they lived in London - joking about how things have changed. "I've already fed the kids, taken them out for a walk and am on my way to do the week's shopping," one of them told me before passing on my goddaughter who is now approaching her third birthday! "I've been to the gym, made soup and am popping in to the office to do some work," said another friend when I phoned him to see what he was doing later. A few years ago, this same conversation would not have taken place. Oh yes, times have indeed changed!
It had been some time since I spoke to the LUN, and Pride was only one of the many topics of conversation. Others included the weather, how obscenely expensive everything has become, freelance work vs full-time employment, and how scary living in London has become.
This latter has become a bit of a sore point with me. So far, this year, there have been 18 teenage murders in this city, one of the more recent ones being about a five-minute walk away from my home. That's only teenagers killing each other. There's a lot more crime going on, with yellow boards appealing for witnesses now as commonplace on our streets as McDonalds. Last week, even the most desensitised of us could not help but be shocked at the news of two 23-year-old French students who were gagged, tied to chairs, stabbed a total of 243 times between them and then set on fire - all (according to the most recent reports) in order for the murderer to obtain the PIN numbers of bank cards which he is said to have stolen a few weeks before together with two games consoles.
For the first time in the 20-year span during which I have spent time here, I must admit to being more than a bit concerned - and I've never really been one to worry about these things. I've walked around in what are considered to be some of the city's dodgiest areas late at night without ever giving a thought to any possible danger. In fact, I can safely say that throughout my time here I have never been involved in any nasty incidents (note to reader: I've just got up and walked to the chair to touch wood).
In the last three years, there have been random murders on the street I have lived in, two when in my former flat, and one in this one. Whereas before I never used to take any notice of such things, I am now much more aware of the people around me. Oh yes, I repeat to myself, times have indeed changed!