London And Drums

There are days in the locale of West London on which I feel as if life is mighty fine, mostly because it is.

It started at 8 this morning when I was woken up by an East European cable engineer. Not under the circumstances you're thinking, this was a Polish chap that had been dispatched by the Indian call centre to fix my broadband. He arrived at 8 AM, which gave me an early start. The broadband was fixed and I rose with the lark, well the Saturday morning lark.

I showered and then strolled down to my little shopping parade at the end of my road. It's not actually my shopping parade, other people use it too, but it feels like mine. That greasy cafe was my chosen destination. I ambled past the flower shop, the one with the slightly sexy, slightly old and slightly rough lady (that's all in the one person, not 3 women). I said "good morning" to her, putting on my most charming smile. I can tell she wants me from the way she feigns total disinterest in me. It's obvious.

A quick stop at the Indian open all hours shop to buy a tabloid and then I was in the Turkish cafe ordering a full English breakfast. Reading the bad news and the sexy news in the tabloid as I ate my eggs, bacon, sausages, beans and bread and watched the world outside come to life made me feel as happy and sparkling, like a big glass of Diet Coke with ice.

I debated with myself on the merits of an English breakfast against a Sri Lankan breakfast. Which would I never eat again if I was forced to make a choice? The perfect Sri Lankan breakfast for is white string hoppers, chicken curry, pol sambol and some white potato curry. The perfect English breakfast is eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms and white bread. The two couldn't be more different and yet I can devour either with the gusto of a Sri Lankan traffic cop picking up the 500 Rs note you accidentally dropped when stopped for speeding.

The answer to my breakfast question is still to come. Luckily, as C pointed out to me, I don't have to decide. Do I like rhetorical questions?

Some practice this afternoon and then I'll be off to Reading for the Mimosa gig tonight. Thurday's rehearsal was the dog's. Tight, funky, sexy and slick. The rest of the band were pretty good too.

My excitement about the gig is tinged with sadness. It will be my second last one with them, but enjoying it and floating in that feeling will be my objective. I know I'll do it.

There isn't much more to tell you really. If I could have had Colombo and the girls in my day it would have been perfect. I'll tell you more about the gig as soon as I know.

Which breakfast would you sacrifice?