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What a difference a week makes
Jul. 11th, 2005 09:58 pmWhen I arrived at work last Thursday morning I was in a huge stress because, due to a senior manager failing to properly check a timesheet, we had accidentally paid a temp for two hours which she didn't work. By 10.30am four bombs had gone off in London. Suddenly, the wasting of £20 from the Student Services budget didn't seem so important. Once we had established that our friends and family were OK an eerie silence descended. Every so often someone came into the office and paniced about how they were going to get home but otherwise the day seemed to kind of stop happening. We all seemed to have resigned ourselves to the fact that London was going to be targeted by terrorists at some point. I thought it was just me.
My friend had planned her birthday celebrations for Friday night and in the circumstances I wasn't sure whether she would go ahead with it all but after a group exchange of emails through the day we decided to go ahead as normal. Although it was quiet in Central London it was as if nothing had happened. The tapas bar in Goodge Street was crammed and everyone was having a laugh. It wasn't until we went to the Nordic Bar, which is normally packed out on a Friday night, that it became noticable that something was wrong. I will always be able to say that I travelled a long way on a very deep tube line and went through Central London on a double decker bus the day after the London bombings.
The most noticable thing to me travelling to work on the bus on Friday morning was how unusually frightened the traditionally dressed Muslims looked. The borough I live in is very ethnically mixed and although my town is predominantly white I had Muslim, Sikh, Hindu and Buddist friends at school. I'm white and my family is extremely English. I can trace my family back three or four generations without finding anyone any further away then Derby! Even so, I always found that I got on better with the Asian people at school as they were the ones who, like me, were serious about their school work. I hate the fact that the actions of a few misguided people have made me feel scared when a guy wearing a salwar khemiz gets on my bus in the morning.
On a more positive note, I had a great time at the tapas bar. I'd never had tapas before and I approve! We had the set menu and the food just kept on coming. Sausage, deep friend aubergine, calamari, lamb on a skewer, Spanish omelette, lots of different types of potatoes in sauces etc. etc. We also had a big swiss roll type chocolate cake with candles on it and all sang happy birthday. The worst thing about the evening for me was that one of the birthday girl's school friends stole a water jug. It was a huge great earthenware thing too, I bet it was worth a few quid. I felt terrible as she hid it in the carrier bag I had bought my birthday present in.
Cariff bloke has now read my Livejournal. We have since had a falling out over The White Stripes. It all ended with him saying that my taste in music is whatever is being played in the nearest Ford Escort or Vauxhall Nova. This went down like a ton of bricks as my parent own, you've guessed it, a Ford Escort and a Vauxhall Nova. They are very proud of them both and the only sounds you're likely to hear blaring from them is trad jazz and sports commentries! Cardiff bloke then said I liked F**king Chav music. Cheers honey for degrading my social class and slating my taste in music all in one three word sentance fragment. So what if I do like garage and D & B. I can accept that not everyone shares my taste. All I said was that I didn't like The White Stripes. I didn't say that everyone who does like them is a bad person and isn't worth knowing.
Oh dear. The world is beset by serious problems and I'm obsessing over my taste in music, the fact that someone stole a jug and whether or not my new cellulite treatment is working. No wonder there are many people who detest Western society.
My friend had planned her birthday celebrations for Friday night and in the circumstances I wasn't sure whether she would go ahead with it all but after a group exchange of emails through the day we decided to go ahead as normal. Although it was quiet in Central London it was as if nothing had happened. The tapas bar in Goodge Street was crammed and everyone was having a laugh. It wasn't until we went to the Nordic Bar, which is normally packed out on a Friday night, that it became noticable that something was wrong. I will always be able to say that I travelled a long way on a very deep tube line and went through Central London on a double decker bus the day after the London bombings.
The most noticable thing to me travelling to work on the bus on Friday morning was how unusually frightened the traditionally dressed Muslims looked. The borough I live in is very ethnically mixed and although my town is predominantly white I had Muslim, Sikh, Hindu and Buddist friends at school. I'm white and my family is extremely English. I can trace my family back three or four generations without finding anyone any further away then Derby! Even so, I always found that I got on better with the Asian people at school as they were the ones who, like me, were serious about their school work. I hate the fact that the actions of a few misguided people have made me feel scared when a guy wearing a salwar khemiz gets on my bus in the morning.
On a more positive note, I had a great time at the tapas bar. I'd never had tapas before and I approve! We had the set menu and the food just kept on coming. Sausage, deep friend aubergine, calamari, lamb on a skewer, Spanish omelette, lots of different types of potatoes in sauces etc. etc. We also had a big swiss roll type chocolate cake with candles on it and all sang happy birthday. The worst thing about the evening for me was that one of the birthday girl's school friends stole a water jug. It was a huge great earthenware thing too, I bet it was worth a few quid. I felt terrible as she hid it in the carrier bag I had bought my birthday present in.
Cariff bloke has now read my Livejournal. We have since had a falling out over The White Stripes. It all ended with him saying that my taste in music is whatever is being played in the nearest Ford Escort or Vauxhall Nova. This went down like a ton of bricks as my parent own, you've guessed it, a Ford Escort and a Vauxhall Nova. They are very proud of them both and the only sounds you're likely to hear blaring from them is trad jazz and sports commentries! Cardiff bloke then said I liked F**king Chav music. Cheers honey for degrading my social class and slating my taste in music all in one three word sentance fragment. So what if I do like garage and D & B. I can accept that not everyone shares my taste. All I said was that I didn't like The White Stripes. I didn't say that everyone who does like them is a bad person and isn't worth knowing.
Oh dear. The world is beset by serious problems and I'm obsessing over my taste in music, the fact that someone stole a jug and whether or not my new cellulite treatment is working. No wonder there are many people who detest Western society.
