The Lure Of Doing Everyday Things Wearing A Space Suit

It's not unusual for street entertainers to draw huge crowds in London. Often in Covent Garden I see tourists gathered around people juggling, standing still like a statue, or playing a tune. It seems you can do almost anything to get the attention of such an audience. This one however, I didn't understand. I saw an unusual amount of people standing together all staring appreciatively into the same area. My first thought was that there had been an accident and that the tourists were just enjoying the moment. I then realised that there was some kind of entertainment on show, but I still couldn't see what it was. To my surprise I discovered a man, centre of attention drinking a bottle of Lucozade. He was dressed as a spaceman, but only from the head down. He must be taking a break, I decided and stood there a little longer anticipating his next move.
Next he began to straighten his hair in a mirror. The crowd loved it! This went on for a while, then he reverted to drinking some more. How was this so entertaining? There were at least one hundred people watching this and loving every minute. I'm now certain that this was his act. Just doing everyday things near a London monument, dressed as a space man. Brilliant!

A Restaurateur And Some Crumbs

I was sitting in a restaurant waiting for my meal when I noticed that the waitress who'd shown me to my table, had crumbs around her mouth. At first I saw this as confirmation that the food was good. So good that even the staff ate here, but then my suspicious brain started to find fault with this theory.

Was this all for my benefit? Had the crumbs been worn to make me think this? I eventually decided that the woman's facial accompaniment was genuine, but could I be certain that these crumbs were from a meal in this restaurant? Only close analysis could answer this question, and I really didn't have the time. I needed to trust my instincts and accept that this was the case. Any remanent from breakfast, or the previous evening's dinner would surely have been washed off by now, or at least blown away on the journey to work.

No, these crumbs had to be fresh, but I still wasn't happy. There was the risk that some of these could find their way into my lunch. I found this worrying to the point of nearly cancelling my order. There was also the possibility that she was skimming off the top. Imagine the chef loading up the plates, satisfied that a hearty meal had been provided for the waiting customer, then the greedy woman eating half of it before it even gets to them.

I was finally served by the food thief to discover that they were in fact bread crumbs. I had no bread on my plate, so I was probably safe. But had there been when Chef handed the plate over?

I just couldn't trust this woman.

A Strange Expression

I've spent the day working with somebody relatively inexperienced telling me how to do my job. Some might say it was like teaching a grandmother to suck eggs. But not me.

In all my years of childhood memories I have no single recollection of my grandmother, or indeed anyone, sucking eggs. What would have been the purpose of such activity? Who would it have impressed? Would they have been cooked? If so, boiled, poached, or fried?

I'm sure someone out there knows what this saying means, but most of us don't. So why say it?


Eggs. Grandmothers. Sucking. It's all very strange.

Sorry I'm late...

Some days you walk down the street, a perfectly wide street with enough room for everyone. You see someone walking towards you, you're heading straight for each other. One of you needs to change course to avoid collision. You both move to the left. This is no good. You both move to the right. This is terrible. You've now had to stop. You move the same way once more, then the other. Finally you agree on a way forward, and continue your journey.

What do you call this? This happens all the time, yet I don't know of a name for it. How many people have been late for appointments, for work, for flights because of this very phenomenon?


It keeps me awake at night.

The Shopkeeper's Eyes

I had a different local shop experience today. I entered the shop and walked around it the same way I always do. I started down the left aisle, walked all the way to the back, then down the second aisle stopping halfway down to pick up my item. This has become a strange habit in any shop I frequent. I stick to the same route no matter what. Why didn't I head straight for aisle two and pick up the biscuits I came for?

I took them to the counter. The shopkeeper looked me in the eye, then smiled. He revealed the price, took my money, gave me my change, then looked me in the eye again thanking me for my custom.

I've never locked eyes with a shopkeeper before. A price is usually mumbled. I ask them to repeat, feeling awkward for interrupting their phone call. Still not understanding the second, slightly louder yet equally incoherent reply, I peer over at the cash register's display to determine how much I owe. A greedy, grubby hand is extended reaching for the money in mine like a robotic arm. The following silence signals the completion of our transaction.

There was something strangely hypnotic about that look. His eyes were telling me something. They were telling me I had made an excellent choice. I had picked the tastiest biscuits from his fine, exquisite, and frankly mouth-watering range. I'd been wise in choosing to shop at his fine emporium. I was welcome in his shop any time, and he extended his love to my family, my closest friends, and the reader of any literature relating to this joyous transaction. All was well. Peace and happiness to all!

To an outsider, my shopping trip could not be distinguished from any other. It was all about the eyes. The eyes.

I shall shop there again.