girlsdontcry's Diaryland Diary


In which the diarist admits to singing hymns in German with gusto

In a black cab yesterday, driving over Putney Bridge, running late for the same people for the second time in six hours, and the driver spotted an ambulance and a police car on the bridge, and told me someone had probably jumped, that people are always jumping off bridges in London ... still, after hundreds of years, trying to drown in the Thames.

And then he was telling me that South Kensington station was a popular place for suicides, and I started thinking about it and it's true, South Kensington is quite often closed. I wouldn't want to work there, I wouldn't want to see that. But I was wondering if people go there specifically to jump under a train, or if something about standing on the platform there just made people lose the will to live? Or are they just being considerate, because if they jump on the District line, the Piccadilly line can stay open, so maybe it won't be quite so disruptive.

Then, still in the taxi, we drove past Gipsy Lane, and the driver told me that was where Marc Bolan had died, where his Mini (I think?) had rolled down the bank. And I'd always thought that was in north London for some reason.

So he was Mister Cheerful, telling me how these houses in Richmond were once bomb sites, how they used to play on them when they were growing up.

The christening, in the end, like most dreaded events, wasn't so bad, it was really OK, although I don't know really what was going on because it was mostly in German and because I was too worried about my shoes to really pay attention to insignificant matters such as God and His Children. Thinking "wow, I'm really glad I'm not a godparent, because I wouldn't want to have to walk up the front in these shoes".

I was late, of course.

I sang hymns in German with gusto, because it amused me to do so. I don't know what I'm saying, but I can sort of say the words, I've heard it enough, I know the sounds, just not the meanings, and I do really like to sing hymns in church. Actually.

It's better when you don't understand the words, probably, because in the English hymn it was "thank you for giving me enemies to forgive", so I had to not sing that line.

But you know, christenings, blah, buying the gift is hard and made me resentful.

I went for breakfast before to Troubadour again, and I noticed that it was near a Starbucks, so I felt doubly triumphant because not only was I going to the cafe where Bob Dylan once played, I was also not going to a Starbucks.

That'll learn 'em.

But then I was trying to remember why going to Starbucks is bad. I'm pretty sure it's not to do with them employing child slave labour, cos the people who work in them don't look that young. I guess it's either to do with the money they pay the coffee growers, or the general globalisation thing.

Actually, I think it should be for making it acceptable to say "tall skinny latte with a shot of hazelnut". AND for spawning a generation of stand-up comedians who make jokes about ordering a "tall skinny latte with a shot of hazelnut".


Well, I think I can just about make it to Wednesday night with the family duties. They leave Thursday. I go to Paris Saturday. I'm dying to have my life back. I've just stopped seeing friends since they've been here, and I need to be around normal, poor, single, smart people. Not around all these smug couples, with women who pick out their husbands clothes. Yuck.

9:55 a.m. - 2003-06-15


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