Thursday, 17 September 2009
Scaling new heights
A woman at work who is about 5' 11" is always complaining about the lack of available tall men. She's 48. At her age holding off for a man the right height is a luxury she can't afford. Although she was interested to read in the London Paper today that the world's tallest man is in London this weekend in search of love. At 8'1" he more than meets her requirements. Alas, he won't be getting his size 23 feet under her table for it would appear that he too has specific criteria to be met. The article says he prefers blondes and her cover-all-grey shade of the moment is dark brown. Oh well, nothing that a bottle of peroxide can't put right. Personally I think she's being too particular - as I keep reminding her, we're all the same height laying down.
City sights - part 1
The City of London is full of little surprises. They are unseen by the top executives as they travel from meeting to meeting in their chauffeur-driven Mercedes. But for the lesser mortal like myself who spends many a working hour just gazing, there's many an event to amuse and baffle.
For instance, today I looked down from my 5th floor window to the public garden that fronts Lloyds TSB's offices. On an autumnal day like this I'd expect to see a dozen or so hardy souls sat on the benches around the edge of the small square. Swathed in macs and eating their sandwiches whilst struggling bravely to hold firm their Financial Times against the September winds. Today though they had to find somewhere else to take their lunch break as in one corner of the garden a ceremony of some kind was taking place.
Behind a cordon of red rope was a table upon which were bottles of wine and soft drinks. Next to the table was a small group of people with glasses in hand listening to a priest in robes who appeared to be delivering a sermon. Next to him an assistant, also robed, was swinging a chalice of incense back and forth. A photographer was recording the event. The priest made the sign of the cross - a blessing presumably, hand were shook and shortly after the crowd dispersed.
What the? I'll never know.
For instance, today I looked down from my 5th floor window to the public garden that fronts Lloyds TSB's offices. On an autumnal day like this I'd expect to see a dozen or so hardy souls sat on the benches around the edge of the small square. Swathed in macs and eating their sandwiches whilst struggling bravely to hold firm their Financial Times against the September winds. Today though they had to find somewhere else to take their lunch break as in one corner of the garden a ceremony of some kind was taking place.
Behind a cordon of red rope was a table upon which were bottles of wine and soft drinks. Next to the table was a small group of people with glasses in hand listening to a priest in robes who appeared to be delivering a sermon. Next to him an assistant, also robed, was swinging a chalice of incense back and forth. A photographer was recording the event. The priest made the sign of the cross - a blessing presumably, hand were shook and shortly after the crowd dispersed.
What the? I'll never know.
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