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Wednesday 8 October 2008

Diary

Venetia Thompson contends with a broken Blackberry, teeth-whitening kits and cyclists

Last weekend I discovered what it is like to be a small furry animal in its burrow, when in an effort to catch up on some sleep and do some work, I had refused to go out and instead sat steadfast in my living-room. I was subsequently hissed at through the window and then smoked out when a tramp decided to set fire to himself and my rubbish under the building late one night while banging maniacally on my bedroom window. Whether it was that same mischievous Romanian tramp Sarah Standing was troubled by last week I do not know, but I wouldn’t be surprised as Ebury Street is well within staggering distance. Thankfully the Met Police’s response time was superman fast. When I questioned their speediness I was told that they were never far away and to call anytime. How reassuring.

I have been a bit of a closet fan of the Met ever since a few years ago, unable to find a black cab, I hailed a police van in a gin-soaked hysterical rage, following a lovers’ tiff on Regent Street at 4 a.m. I bundled myself into the back of the van to find six of London’s finest grinning at me. They kindly delivered me home, even checking that there was someone else in the flat in case I did anything silly. Surely if they can placate hysterical angry blondes, they can handle anything.

The following evening, my flatmate and I threw a dinner party for a few close friends. With only ten minutes before our guests were due to arrive, I was still fighting with two rotisserie chickens, hair soaking wet and wearing nothing but a towel. My flatmate chose this moment to emerge from her bedroom, shaking, having spent the last four hours on the phone to an astrologer who I can only assume had told her that the world was going to end. I wonder whether he stipulated that his services were ‘for entertainment only’ as the new law now demands that he must. I am not sure how entertaining it was, but her panic-stricken face certainly caused a bit of a stir over dinner.

Monday was largely occupied by the temporary demise of my BlackBerry. It slowly lost the ability to function until it finally flatlined; much like I did when I discovered that none of my emails were coming through. Whenever I finally master a gadget it generally lets me down. After months of continuously getting lost due to my total lack of sense of direction, someone taught me how to use the Google Maps application. And now it wouldn’t load and I was right back to being lost, walking around in circles, always late and missing some appointments all together. At around 4 p.m. it miraculously regained consciousness, but by then it was too late. I would never trust it again. And so my python Smythson diary has been resurrected, taking pride of place alongside a new A to Z.

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