Lifesnaps # 64 - Christmas is on the way

Lifesnaps # 63 - headphones

Lifesnaps # 62 - mind the step when boarding..!

lifesnaps # 61 - Covent Garden Opera

Lifesnaps # 60 - more travel writing

Lifesnaps # 59 - Children in Need 2006

And the play is cast... just two days before rehearsals begin. Phew!

The whole process began weeks ago. Three weeks in fact.

I've been turned down left right and centre by a whole generation of actresses... (what's new?!) but finally I struck gold.

I've got four ladies of talent who are going to be attempting to make sense of my random words and waffled prose on a London theatre stage.

Rehearsals start Sunday... can't wait. I'm directing... I don't even know what I'm going to do, but hopefully it'll all come out in the wash.

Wish me luck, comrades.

Lifesnaps # 58 doing the good ol' ironing

I can't even get ironing right. Well, not at first, at least.

I got confused about why the iron wasn't working, even when I turned it up, until I realised that although I'd plugged it in, the plug wasn't turned on...

Still, all's well that ends well. After a few weeks of avoiding the ironing and wearing anything that looks half-neat in my wardrobe (and there ain't much of that) I finally got down to it last night.

There's a strange sense of satisfaction that comes with clearing a whole load of creased clothes. It's even better when your cheeks go slightly pink from the rising stream. You get a healthy glow to go with that self-satisfied grin.

When doing the RIGHT thing just goes plain WRONG. Or alternatively... how I ruined someone's day.

Sometimes my friend, you try and do the right thing.

Why?

You just do. There's something that feels good about knowing you made an effort.

So when a Momma with a huge pram and another couple of unruly toddlers get off a tube, you bust your back helping her get said pram up the stairs and towards the exit - smiling smugly to yourself as she says an overly grateful thanks while you saunter off back to your non-kid forsaken world.

In the middle of dirty sodden winter, when a poor pretty lady slips in a puddle in the rain, soaking her immaculate cream trouser suit in the process, what do you do?

Answer: You ask her if she's ok, and that's all.

Nothing more than that.

Why? Well, firstly you don't want to get your own hand wet (!) or be accused of an indecent assault. Or to add to her shame by being overly concerned. She can get herself back up. Yes, she can.

So: you speak only to show her that London's not that impersonal, and how someone feels a little sympathy for her plight (even if you silently sniggered as she took the fall...)

It's nice. It feels good.

But then...

...sometimes it goes wrong.

Take yesterday for example.

I'm on the tube. Pregant lady gets on. She's got a cute little bump growing.

I think to myself 'I love sitting and reading the Guardian of a morning, but I can't let a lady with unborn sprog ready to pop stand all the way to Hammersmith, can I?'

So...

...I get up.

"Would you like to sit down?" I ask.

I smile, looking at her.

She says nothing, and looks perplexed.

I maintain the question with a quizzical expression on my face.

"Would you-"

"Er, sure," she says. Then she says "why?"

I look down at her bump. With quizzical look maintained on face.

She pauses. And blushes. Red.

Then awkwardly sits down in my spot.

Silence.

I blush. Red.

The train takes an age to reach Hammersmith.

I stand with my back to her, folding the Guardian as the train rocks. People look at me.

I blush even more. Purple.

I hope no-one from work's on this train.

I know. They know. She knows. That I've messed up.

She's not pregnant.

'Why am I so dumb?' I ask myself.

No-one knows the answer to that one.

Horrible.

It stays with me all day. And her, too, presumably.

Put it this way...

...I'm never doing the right thing again.

not forgetting...

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