Galavanting at Notting Hill

Well.

Sorry I haven't been saying much of late. I've been working on the new website (trying and failing to turn all the links PURPLE goddarnit - harder than it sounds I promise you).

Went to the museum of brands in Notting Hill today. On the way there I saw a pound store!! That made me happy. So long as there's a pound store around, you know you're not near Harrods, which makes me very happy indeed. Those Harrod Homies scare me no end...who has £3,000 to spend on a handbag? Well, most rich people, that's who. Don't get me wrong, I love a good handbag as much as the next female; practical pockets, comfortable straps and indestructible zips; but yeah, I don't really want to pay a heck of a lot extra just to have some logo on it that makes everybody know I spent a heck of a lot extra to get my good handbag. What a waste. That money coulda gone to the orphans, man.

Anyway. The brand museum. Pretty cool actually! You may disagree when I tell you it would be a good place to take your Gran. But, when I say that, I mean, that I wished that I had been there with an older person, who could tell me more about the everyday products from their childhood. Anyway. Vintage is so IN right now. I was definitely more Vintage than any of you today which, officially, makes my opinion more valuable than yours. Therefore, henceforth, I decree: taketh your grandmothers and grandfathers to the museum of brands at Notting Hill for much merriment to be had by all. You may even have a worthwhile conversation or two. (Note to self: is it only me who consistently has these weird circular conversations with my grandparents, generally revolving around tea and cake and tea and cake and tea...?)

I probably ought to mention here, that I actually wasn't skiving off work today (much as I might desire the leisurely lifestyle of the unemployed). This was our work outing to inspire our marketing planning for next year, or something. Anyway. It was definitely the totally legit, getting-paid-to-do-this, not-lying-to-the boss kind of skiving. Muahaha. Anyway, after the outing, we went to Tom's café.

"Psst! Guys!! There's a famous person here!! " a fellow colleague nudges me in the ribs. I suddenly feel awkward; I'm pretty sure whispering, nudging, staring and head-pointing are not necessary, and indeed, not very polite, ways to behave towards another human being (famous or otherwise). Nevertheless, a couple of heads and a lot of eyes swivel round. It's Sally Phillips - probably best known for her roles in Smack the Pony, Bridget Jone's Diary and - my personal favourite - Green Wing. Yes, a celebrity, in some sense of that word; a recognisable face. She actually came past us and sat a little to the left of my line of vision, so perhaps I was lucky in that I didn't have the temptation to swivel, as she was in my line of view...nevertheless, I hope I wouldn't have done anyway.

Anyway, after the initial entrance, everybody seemed to settle down a bit, only doing the occasional eye swivel here and there. Our table got back to talking about the usual things. And then, my boss remembered! We had filled in some quizzes at the marketing museum (aimed at higher education students). We must discuss them!

So, we all got our papers out like obedient schoolgirls after our school day out. Cringe. The colleague opposite me starts: "Well, um, the first question on my sheet was about which brands have remained consistent in their packaging techniques over the past 100 years..." she proceeds to explain her answer. Her voice seems louder than usual, but that might just have been my imagination emphasising her words during my intense embarassment at the fact we are FULLY GROWN ADULTS DISCUSSING QUESTIONS DESIGNED FOR SCHOOLKIDS IN A NOTTING HILL CAFE. Now it's Sally's turn to swivel. A little incredulous, she turns around slightly, listening to my colleagues speech, staring at our sheets of paper, and then, as the only table occupant in her line of vision, she looks at me, a slight, odd little smile on her face. I smile back, trying simultaneously to communicate that a) I would not be doing this given the choice b) we are not higher education students and c) I find the whole situation as absurd as she - all the while trying to make sure I am not alerting my boss to the fact I am trying to communicate this to our observer. So, clearly, that probably came across as a tangled mess of facial expressions which made me look like as though I was out on a special day trip from the local mental asylum.

Fabulous. Well, I'll just go crawl into a hole and die then. Guess I'm as star struck as the next person, except I like to think we're all equals, except in our recognisability to the general public. Gah. I'm scared I might watch a new episode of Smack the Pony one day and find this scene as a sketch - the main laughing stock being the arrogant crazy girl at the other table thinking she can communicate 5 different thoughts with one facial expression; hopelessly bogged down in The System, never to resurface, and too dumb to see it, thinking she's better than that - and that, where so many have failed, she will, somehow, find a way out.

Argh. Self reflection is always worse when there's another person looking.