The sky, overcast and grey, threatened more rain. Rain bounced off the road and ran into the already flooded gulleys where road meets pavement, or ‘pedestrian walkway’ as the traffic warden described it when he warned me not to park my motorbike on it. A roadsweeper walked by, pushing his cart. He is Irish and always has something to say about the weather. Today it was “It is going to be wet today.” I agreed with him. I discovered some time ago that he works seven days a week out of choice. I am pretty sure he knows everyone on his territory.
George brought me an espresso. It was just after 7.00 in the morning. I started to look at the cover of The Observer Woman magazine. The spray of water almost hit my table, a few spatters of spray hitting the table. I looked up. A BWM 4 x 4 was at the traffic lights, waiting to turn left. “F***pig”, whispered one of the voices inside my mind. I couldn’t even be bothered to flick the driver a ‘V’ sign, in the unlikely event he was looking into his wing mirror. My motorbike, parked on the pavement in front of the Cafe, had taken most of the spray.
Christa D’Souza, an attractive woman, pictured on The Observer Woman mag cover, in a mini skirt, pink top and curious cork soled sandles stood on the right hand side of the page beside the script ” I do yoga 3 times a week. I wear denim minis and wedges. I shop in Topshop. I am a mother of 2 but I want the body I had at 30. I will be 50 in 3 years time. I am obsessed by age. But admit it, aren’t you too?”
I lit a Silk Cut, waved at George, who was fiddling about inside the cafe, to signal for another coffee. I use the ‘Out’ signal used in cricket by umpires. It looks like a ‘One’ (for: another one, please) and saves me having to trudge inside to ask at the counter.
Botox would do me no good. I have no desire to take up tantric sex, so I can see little point in doing yoga. I used to do Kendo and Karate at a reasonably high level and still get my Katana out late at night on a Friday or Saturday evening before settling down to a bit of blogging (which is probably not wise) and run through a few moves for fifteen minutes or so. I have only cut one of the curtains once, when I misjudged distance – a clean cut, so I am reasonably safe in the privacy of my own living room. My days of throwing pineapples into the air and cutting them in half at dinner parties are long gone. I stopped when I reflected on the fact that a samurai sword master would probably have cut the entire pineapple into precise slices before it hit the ground.
No… I don’t want to be 30 again. Not obsessed by age and while it is true that I enjoy the company of younger women… I am all for equal opportunities … I wish all those who want to look like Thunderbird puppets, after using Botox and enduring plastic surgery, well.
In a few days time Charon will be 54. Age may have taken a toll. He is certainly not wiser. In fact, he has agreed to be the keynote speaker at the first UK Law Bloggers Conference on the day after his birthday – which proves the point. Charon will be bringing his own bottle of Rioja to drink while he delivers his keynote speech – and if Geeklawyer feels that I should be let at the Rioja early – Charon will then have two bottles to drink which should see him through the serious talks which follow.