Party on the Circle Line !

Today is the end of an era. From tomorrow there will be no more drinking alcohol on the tube. No more bottles of alcopops on your way to a club no more cans of beer on you way to the football. Nadda, nil, nich, zero. LT staff have been ordered to eject from buses and tube trains anyone consuming alcohol. Thank you Boris. So to commiserate this momentous event the party animals of London organised several Circle Line Parties. They all had the same general plan. Be on a Central line train after 9pm on Saturday the 31st May and drink some booze. Some planned sophisticated cocktail swarays, some planned piss ups, but all were united in their plan for the mass consumption of booze on the tube.

I arrived on the clockwise circle line platform at Victoria Station shortly before 7pm. I was tired and not really up for a party and intending to surreptitiously sip Gin and Tonic from a can in my own private protest in the last carriage. Someone had already been partying in this particular carriage. The floor was littered with empty beer cans and the air was ripe with the smell of spilt beer. the party had started early ! While waiting for the train to move off I eagerly scanned the carriage for party people, but alas they all seemed to have left. I resigned myself to a party of one until an almighty roar when up as the train pulled into Sloan Square. Almost instantly the half empty carriage was filled to capacity with drunken revellers. "PARTY ON THE TUBE !!!!!!" yelled the South African ring leader yelled while dispensing cheap red wine from a box under his arm. "Is this some sort of anti-Boris protest?" Asked the girl sitting next to me. "No way! I love Boris, 'cos he's got a Russian name and my mate's Russian! That's as political as I get. Party on the Tube! Would you like some red wine?" Saffa then spent the ride to the next station coaxing the girl into drinking half a plastic cup of cheap French wine. This evidently got her into the party mood as she joined in with the other revelers cheering and yelling Party on the tube! each time we pulled into a station. South Kensington generated the biggest cheer of all when the Crowd spotted the 2 uniformed policemen on the station. "Party on the tube!" "Hey look that chick was going to get on and then changed her mind when she saw this carriage! PARTY ON THE TUBE!!!"

I cracked open a can of G&T so I wouldn't look out of place. "We need some music. Someone sing a song!" Saffa decreed. "Fuck Off Boris" the carriage chanted. "Oggy, Oggy, Oggy!" a new addition yelled as he shoved his way on at Notting Hill Gate. Some one popps open a bottle of Champagne and a greasy metal head in a fringed leather jacket almost lands in my lap trying to escape the spray form the bottle. The cheering and chanting is getting louder and is accompanied by banging on the walls and ceiling. A metal head with long hair is trying to unscrew the Circle Line map from above the door. I alight at Baker Street, as much as I was enjoying it, it was just going to be more of the same and the metal heads were getting a bit to aggressive in their fun for my liking.

I wait for the next train. I'm curious to see if there are any more early parties going on. The train pulls up and a bloke in a shirt, trousers and very bad blond wig runs to the end of the train and jumps into the carriage. Curious, I follow and find a half full carriage consisting of fairly posh blokes in shirts and bad blond wigs and girls in dresses. 'Ah! it's the sophisticated circle line drinks party, and they've all come in fancy dress as boris!'



It's quite a change of pace from the full-on hardcore party of the previous train. This lot don't seem to mind though. They seem to be having a great time and even have a bag full of nibbles. I feel like a gatecrasher at this party decided I've had enough at Euston Square and I head home.

What's love got to do with ticket prices?

in the summer of 2000 I saw Tinan turner play live in the last Concert before the old Wembley Stadium was torn down. I still have the souveneer binoculars to prove it.

I was very excited to see the advert proclaiming Tinas return to London in March 2009. I was put right off by the ticket prices. £75 !

Surely times aren't that hard Tina? As much as I love you and your music, I'm just not solvent enough to justify £75 on a concert ticket - no matter how much I want one.

BTW: Did I mention that it's my birthday soon ? I wonder if anyone loves me enough to buy me a ticket to see Tina Turner . . .

Doris

Doris is my counsellor.

She's a rumpled and overweight and wonderful. She listened without judgement and told me to take deep breaths when I was crying so hard I couldn't speak.

I cried though most of the session.

Afterwards, I felt better, drained, shaken.

Mrs Beetons Old English Toffee Ice Cream

WHY would anyone in their right mind put hazel nuts in toffee ice cream ?

If it's not called Toffee & Hazel Nut Ice Cream it shouldn't have vile evil Hazel Nuts in it.

Bastards.

Pepe le Pew

The girl who sits at the desk next to mine in our open plan office has a problem. She smells. She smells really bad. She smells like she hasn't washed in a month.

You can literally smell her before you see her.

Now that the weather has warmed up, she has taken to fanning herself with pieces of paper - wafting even more of her stink in my direction.

Everyone is too polite to say anything. We don't even bitch about it behind her back. It is simply not mentioned.

Bo-Jo the Mayor

I am feeling much happier thanks to happy tea therapy. In fact it has worked so well that I am not even upset that Boris the buffon is now mayor of London.

However, I would like it on record that I did not vote for him. I voted for Brian Paddick.

Boris is a tosspot. And he will undoubtedly do things that I don't like which will probably only benifit the Rich and Middle Classes. However, with the Tory party desperate to win at the next election I believe they will be keeping a tight reign on his antics for fear of looking bad.

We can only wait and see.

feeling shitter than ever

Just before Christmas I went to see my GP to ask for counselling. He told me he would make an appointment for me. He'd be in touch. I waited.

My mother - sick of my depression, made enquiries yesterday only to be told that they had forgotten all about me. I now have an appointment later this month, five months after I asked for help. Logically I know that it's probably just a symptom of an overburdened NHS. Emotionally I know that it's because nobody gives a shit about me and if I died tomorrow no one would care.

It wasn't easy to ask for help. I burst into tears while doing it.

I constantly sabotage my life. I need help to stop.

My life is the way it is because I made it so.

I could have been successful. I should have been successful. I want to be successful.

I punish myself, because I hate myself. I have never felt loved, I have felt like I belonged.

I remember feeling like an outsider at the age of 3.

Sometimes I think about disappearing and wonder if anyone would notice. But, at least here I can take some small comfort in the familiar.