Same old, same old. Get up, it’s freezing. Get on the tube – it’s stinkin’ hot from dozens of people crammed into a cigar tube. Get out the other end, it’s freezing. Get to work – and it’s freezing. I’ve finally got a desk which I can kind of call my own – and it’s even a corner office. Of a sort. I’ve been thrown into a meeting room – but it is in the corner of the building – and I’ve got windows. Can look out across the bland faces of 1970’s cheap housing blocks – and an in-the-process-of-being-built student accommodation. But – the air-conditioning is stuffed – and it’s several degrees colder than elsewhere in the building.
Work is getting rather busy – as things are being rushed through before everybody involved goes bankrupt. Then – catch the tube back home. And stop off at the local for a couple of pints. Of course, sometimes this turns into more than a couple. I usually sit down, read a couple of newspapers, and then go home for some dinner. Last Wednesday, however, I suddenly discovered the doors were being locked, and ashtrays brought out. Finding myself in a shut-in on a Wednesday night wasn’t so good. I scarpered home pretty quick smart. Well, fairly quick – and not so smart. I’ve also got to the point at the local where the barman, and a couple of regulars – buy me a pint once in a while. On Saturday – a guy who sometimes sits at the bar, and is very quiet – spoke to me. Asked if I was English. I said no, and he said Ahh – I didn’t think so, you’re very tranquillo. Tranquillo being calm, of course, in spanish amp; portuguese. Turns out this guy was Portuguese – and we chatted for a while about how the Inglis are all loco. And, of course, the Inglis obliged by proving our point. Just so happened that that night, the normally very quiet pub was transformed by the presence of a dozen drunk ladies for a birthday or hen’s night or something. Not so tranquillo. When one of them hit the other, because she’d said something about her mother – the portuguese chap and myself shared knowing glances. Locas. And then some drunk pole started trying to order drinks for everybody – and trying to throw a 40 or 50 pound tip to the barman – who wouldn’t have a bar of it. Eventually I went home – and did an hour or two more of work.
This weekend, however – looks like there won’t be any work for me to do. Hurrah. So – not sure what I’ll be doing. I do have about 6 kilos of yerba mate to get through though – and I’ve been drinking a fair bit of that on the weekends. Sit around, and pretend I’m back in Argentina/Uruguay. Haven’t cooked a roast for a while either (well – one just for myself on Sunday) – so should maybe contact a few people about that. Strangely – I’ve got no problem with buying, preparing, cooking, and serving the roast – but am too lazy to just send out an email or call people to invite them. But – if anybody actually reads this anymore, and would like a roast (lamb, beef, chicken, pork) from all market-sourced ingredients – get in touch.