Seemingly dissed by the blind

Hello! I didn't quite manage to write about my weekend, did I? And now another one is nearly upon us, and the previous one is zooming out of memory already. It all seemed so important at the time. In short: Kingston chinese buffet, watching people shop, second hand sherlock holmes outfits, being mildly confused by a friend moving to New Malden, twee gig with xylophones, 2am chat about everything (forgotten), brief sofa sleep, autopilot work, jerk chicken, winningly over-enthusiastic restaurant owner, all student teachers looking exactly the same, T.S. Eliot prize poetry evening, people eating crisps too loudly, chagrin.

It seems like I will never fully get back into this whole blogging lark. I find it hard to write at work, because my mind gets all dazed and anaethetised by staring at the blue and white screens of the interweb all day long; when I get home, I just want to read or sit in the bath and think about cheese, rather than submit my eyes to another dose of the computer, which is probably giving me head cancer or something in any case. So blogging, and emailing, and writing of the high-tech variety in general, doesn't tend to happen as much as it did. Which saddens me, a bit. I want to write but I never quite feel able to.

The internet makes me dulled and empty - I think it's time I got a different job, like penguin feeder (not, as in, someone who feeds penguins until they get really fat for twisted sexual kicks - just someone who feeds penguins) or tree vanquisher. Something nice and outdoors, anyway.

Changing the subject slightly, I've just remembered something mildly memorable that happened to me this morning. Getting off my train at Oxford Circus, I headed towards the exit with everyone else in that mad flowing mass of humanity stylee. But there was one person with a dog stuck on the platform, hesitantly turning one way then another, and generally getting in the way of the impatient Londoners heading off to their important meetings and lunches and filofaxes full of sinister hieroglyphics.

Then I realised he was blind, and felt a brief flush of pompous indignation that no-one was bothering to stop and give him a hand. So I headed over...

"You alright mate? Where are you headed?"

No response. He was grinning, though. A wise guy, eh?

"Where are you trying to get to?"

No response. I looked at his dog, which was wearing a coat that said 'hearing dog'. Well, fine, then. I'll leave him and his dog to it. Stupid dog with stupid flashy coat.

It was only while I was heading up the escalators that I mulled things over. It's quite unusual for a guide dog to wear a coat with 'hearing dog' written on it, I thought..

Oh. Right. Gotcha.

Hopefully he got out of there eventually.