Work in progress

On Thursday I went in to work. Not a big deal for the average punter, but I hadn't seen the inside of the office since June. I had four months' worth of email to consider, and that shielded me from doing any actual work at all. That and the stream of visitors. I was shattered by the time I got home, which wasn't encouraging, and now, at near 10.30 on Sunday evening, I'm knackered again, after the trifling effort of walking the 200 yards between the 249 stop at Tooting Bec and Pooja, home of the samosas of the gods. I didn't even carry the samosas, or the Polish beer from up the road (the portering was all taken care of by Sachiko). Up till today I've been struck by how kind people have been when they've seen that I'm on sticks, and that was still holding true as I got on the bus back from Tooting. One girl held people back for me as I made my way from the bench in the bus shelter, and another jumped out of her seat to let me sit down once I'd hobbled my way on board. But sitting in the seat in front of the one she'd vacated was some scumbag stuffing crisps into his face. He'd seen that I was on crutches, and he was sitting in the "please get your arse up and out of here if you see someone elderly or otherwise hapless approaching" seats but he didn't move a muscle. And at this point my ingrained inverse racism kicked in, because crisp-muncher was white, while the two girls were black. I tried to balance the scales with the thought that since it was Sunday and they were smartly dressed, they'd probably been to church, but I couldn't make that count against them. They were good people, while Mr Crispy was obviously deserving of death.

Anyway, being inclined towards foolish optimism, I reckon I should be walking well enough by Friday to travel to Japan as scheduled. And there's always a possibility that I'll perk up so dramatically that I'll actually get back on those singlespeed bikes, and do something to justify this blog's title. And take pictures to prove it.