The Attendant

Housebound for the next few days, I'm being held captive by my ankle- or what used to be my ankle and now resembles a rainbow Pufferfish minus the spikes.

Some rather eventful occurrences have taken place since I last checked in.

Firstly, and most importantly, my darling best friend Natty P has had her baby. Welcome to the world Maddox Benjamin McGregor! I am so very looking forward to meeting you beautiful boy. If I were face to face with you now I would say something like this to you.

“I promise to love you, lie for you and teach you all manner of things cheeky like good Aunty's should.” And then I'd follow it up with “Scout's honour” or some other equivalent as I'm not, nor have I ever been, a Scout. But you get the point.

Now when I heard this news, it was approximately 7pm and I had just spent a whole 5 hours basking in the warmth of the sun in the park (we call them “Commons” here) with some new friends. Drinking, eating a picnic lunch, napping and playing ball (the latter of which led to my right leg's demise) was definitely an ideal way to spend the afternoon.

So after a (mostly) idyllic afternoon, I received wonderful wonderful news and proceeded to sob with furiously happy tears all the way down the street.

And now the serious backdating begins....

Friday night we caught up with the Zanas crew and a few extras at an outrageously cool venue called Hootenannys in Brixton. As if the ska/reggae music with a live 11-piece band wasn't already painting my kind of atmosphere, the beer garden itself contained no less than 300 people from all walks of life just hanging out and intermingling.

I was in my element! This place was so in tune with culture that everyone was mixing- parking their bums beside a stranger for five minutes then wandering off to the next group for a chat. If this had been Australia, you'd have had Aussies in the blue corner, Lebs in the Red, Asians on their little piece of turf and Blacks staking a claim anywhere else.

There'd have been no idle conversation at the late night Taco Tent because each group would have insisted on their own private one.

Ok, I know this is a massive generalisation, but the point I am trying to make is that being here at this particular venue really highlighted to me the difference in attitude towards different cultures and races. I'm learning that racism here is still in existence, but I personally feel as if it's on a much smaller scale in comparison to Australia.

Maybe the fact that everyone was so chilled and open at this place had a little something to do with all the spliffs being passed around freely, but I was thoroughly enjoying the free love that night. More of it, I say.

Ooh! It was this eve also, that I came across another little interesting quirk about this side of the world. Inside the female bathrooms, there is an “Attendant”. That isn't their official title as far as I'm aware, but it's the closest thing I can think of to describe them.

Hairspray, Bobby Pins, Lipstick, Mascara and Snickers bars cover the bench area in front of the mirrors. There is a little tray with coins on it beside all this, and there in the midst of it all, The Attendant sits. You want a little touch up? You donate.

Upon exiting a cubicle and washing your hands, your glassy eyes search fervently for a blowdryer or paper towels. Just as their appears to be none, a wad of blue hand towels are thrust in your face by our friend, The Attendant, who is exclaiming “Make me happy, make me happy!”

Bewildered by such passion, you take the towel thankfully, and exit with a befuddled smile.

Once outside you may be approached by another patron who witnessed this exchange, who explains the rudeness in your actions. It is customary to tip. Yes, even for just accepting the wad of paper towel.

Ashamed by my naivety, I make a point to drop a pound in the saucer next time I visit the bathroom. When The Attendant jumps to her feet, a smile from London to Tassie brightening that beautiful face, and I'm enveloped in one of the genuinely warmest hugs I have ever been given, I know that I have made the right choice in embracing this tradition.

I'm going to sign off with a few points which I have noted throughout the week.

1. Pork here is cheaper than veggies and tastes simply divine.
2. Store bought crumbed fish gives my mouth half an orgasm.
3. London houses more tall people than I have EVER seen in my life. In an average day I will generally witness at least three, and when I say tall I mean over 2m.
4. Most of the tall people I have seen have been women. I'd like to call them Amazons except I cannot overlook the fact that these women are all stunning and slight of frame. Bloody European models...
5. Jeggings. There appears to be a huge obsession with them over here. They actually have big signs and shelves dedicated to the things. Taryn Ryan, eat your heart out.
6. I don't care how cute your butt is, tights are NOT an acceptable substitute for pants !