Wednesday 14th July 2004

For some strange reason, I have had the urge to drink original Lucozade for the past few weeks. At a young age, the strange bright orange liquid was always seen as some magic potion. Maybe because I only ever remember my Dad buying it to take for our grandmother when she was in hospital. I never regarded it as a everyday beverage, like Coca Cola. In the mid 90s, I realised after many years of naive ignorance, that it was actually a soft drink. From 1998, when Lucozade expanded their range to include additional flavours, I was hooked on blackcurrant and then orange. Orange, to this day, has been my favourite. Yesterday it was a case of ‘back to the classics’, I purchased a can of the original stuff with my lunch and enjoyed the taste once again, while watching the casual parade of tourists walk by me. A year seven trip of school children arrived and with them each a list of notes to be made. How I remember, those days. That was over ten years ago, since I was ten, turning eleven. Am I glad to be older (and wiser?) Of course, but there is something so forgiving about being that age and very much having the rest of your life to live for. These children, around thirty in all were making their way in between the groups of tourists. A group of Americans on a guided walk, stopping to admire the view of Sir Christopher Wren’s greatest achievement. It was only a matter of time for the following scenario to unfold itself upon me. I was finishing my lunch on Tuesday last week, eagerly looking at my watch. My hour was almost up, and I wanted to get a chance to check my personal mail accounts. A lady of Mediterranean appearance, in her early thirties, approached me, digital camera clasped in hand. All she said was photograph and please. I understood. I took some photos. Not very good ones in my humble opinion, as only the bottom half of the cathedral was visible in the background. I was thanked for my time and I wished the tourist a good day. It was 12.43pm, I headed back to the office.

Fiat Punto

As a child of the 1980s, I am not a fan of any of the cultural icons from the 1970s. That was very much the era of my parents and older cousins. Very few of the shows appeal to me, apart from a few my Dad watched. Repeats on Granada Plus, which have in recent months, completed died out. I did not see the re-make movie, released earlier this year. Although I have mentioned the leading actors on this site before. Hopefully, I will get the chance to watch, Starsky & Hutch very soon. Will it bring on an urge for me to catch the television series? I don’t think so. It is not like car manufacturers to miss out on any potential money-making spin-offs when a new movie, video game or any other major entertainment event comes around. Fiat is no exception. Forget the Ford Grand Torino and try the Fiat Grand Puntino on for size!

There was so much I wanted to write in this entry, as I tried to make mental notes, on the train, tube, bus and casual walks over the past few days. I really need to keep a small notepad, to keep all these blog bubbles recorded. Hopefully, in my next entry, at the weekend a few of the missing pieces can be filled. Meanwhile, I will continue to try and observe, think, reflect and contemplate. It is getting late, and although I have the leisure of starting two hours later than usual at work tomorrow, the reality is, I still have to be up by 6am. No rest for the wicked, as the saying goes.

My sister has worked for hotels most of her adult life. She started off at our local Forte Hotel. This was soon taken over by Holiday Inn. She then moved to Crowne Plaza, with the opening of their new hotel in Marlow. She has worked there for nearly two years, working the unpleasantly early breakfast shift, from 5.30am until midday. She has come to serve many celebrities in her time. (Mainly of the B-class variety) but this week, she had the Portsmouth football team staying for some pre-season team building before the big kick-off in August. On explaining with great enthusiasm, who she had served coffee to Harry Redknapp and Jim Smith, I asked her to get his autograph for me. Would she deliver, or had the opportunity gone forever? Well just like the Portsmouth team that defied the odds and lived to fight another day in the Premiership. My sister, with a beaming smile, handed me a bill, as soon as I returned home from work.

Harry Redknapp Autograph

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