Well it's another Kaplan day meaning a crack of dawn start which wasn't too attractive considering my three a.m. entrance to bed this morning. Made progress with the train though managing to catch the 7.50 which is slightly over-keen considering my lessons don't begin until 9.30 but the prospect of creeping in late for a second time was more than I could bear.
Whilst waiting at the Station, I played one of my favourite games, namely People-Watching. Second only in my list of pleasures to the equally engaging 'Earwigging on Strangers Private Conversations'. I noted the many commuters stood on the platform casually perusing the 'Metro' or supping Starbucks Style Cafe Latte's, and generally looking relaxed. Next I gazed upon the pretty young students giggling in response to some witty comment from their male counterparts and wondered quite how this picture of bliss could so easily transform to the impending savagery which was coming. At the very moment the squeal of the train's brakes could be heard, the change in atmosphere was tangible. Heckles raised, shoulders thrust back, each passenger launches towards the foreboding yellow line of danger, desperately attempting to estimate where the train will stop and the approximate situation of the doors. It is at this point that I comprehend the consequence of the Women's Liberation Movement and how it has stripped our males of any and all chivalrous behaviour. As every man for himself clambers on to the train, pushing, shoving and strictly avoiding all eye contact I decide that personally I would far sooner revert to the good old days. Where a man was a real man who held the door open for a woman, albeit fondling her backside as she walked past.
I managed to find one of the few remaining seats, having elbowed several pensioners out of my way - well when in Rome as they say. But fate, like I have told you before, has a way of immediately punishing my bad behaviour. The seat was beside a man who appeared to be relatively clean smelling and sane, qualities which are both valuable and rare on that particular route, but in fact turned out to be a big fat snot sniffer. Nose full and throat coated in phlegm and continually snuffing it up. Why oh why does everyone I come in to contact with seem to have major sinus issues? and no hankerchief. Thus I sat all the way to New Street Station with buttocks clenched and trying to control my gag reflex. The up side is it was very beneficial for my pelvic floor.
I did witness something truly beautiful on the train though. The gentleman seated opposite me, on seeing a lady stood at his side, got up and offered her his seat. It took him three attempts to pursuade her to accept the gift - perhaps she was confused because it was such an alien experience, perhaps she felt there had to be a catch, or maybe she was just so deeply committed to bra-burning she couldn't bear to appear as one of the weaker sex, I'm not sure. In the end he stopped asking and actually told her to sit down, so she conceded. Just seconds before he had been merely a fifty-something-nobody whom I had barely noticed, but now he was my hero....having restored my faith in gentlemanly conduct. And I told him so. Which really reminded me of the kind of thing my mum would do and say, itself sending me in to a state of turmoil! I am literally becoming my mother. I might just add incidentally that I am only referring to us being the weaker sex in physical terms. I am fully aware that in all other respects we are entirely supreme. And if there are any of you who would like to refute the strength issue I'll let you have an arm wrestle with my husband. Although he may ask you to dress in a bikini and smother yourself in chocolate first.
I am now part way through the day of study, listening to and supposedly learning about further audit principles. The tutor is a lovely man though slightly deranged, proven by his earlier comment on the topic of extrapolation: "and that's why I think audit is sexy". What the hell?. However it's handy to know how low his benchmark is. I am now considering whether, instead of revising, I might fare better if I just strap a calculator to my head and tell him he can have a fiddle for a pass grade.
Happily though when I leave here I am homeward bound then off to GAY PAREE (Paris to you commoners) for our few days in Disneyland. I am so so so excited and cannot wait to wander amongst the characters of my childhood fantasies. I have my autograph book all ready, although I really would like to get a bit more out of Prince Charming than just a signature. One of my very synical friends has informed me that the 'actor' who plays him is in fact gay. What nonsense - an actor pretending to be Prince Charming, as if anyone would do such a thing. Next she'll be telling me that Santa is just an old man off the estate with a penchant for dressing up and having small children sit on his knee. Sicko.
So until next week mon cherie, cher, whatever, wish me a BON VOYAGE - I shall be back on here by Monday. Oh and I will try to be good, and not eat and run a hundred miles and stuff.
P.S. Many thanks for getting me past the 1000 mark on my counter
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