Dude, we can see you!

I spent this weekend in London, because its my aunt’s 60th birthday, for the celbration she’d booked a private double decker to take us on a day trip around various sites on a route she chose, which was cool as you got a mix of the usual tourist fare, as well as personal stuff like the church my great-grandparents got married in.

The weekend was fun, I drank too much on Saturday night but chatted and joked with my cousins and generally just enjoyed it. Even if for the second weekend running I went drinking at a family occasion and wound up at home well before midnight, its like I’m Cinderella or something.

I saw my uncle smoke a hookah like the caterpillar from Alice In Wonderland,

And chatted to a girl who reminded me of Gwyneth Paltrow, I didn’t tell her this, it would’ve sounded like a line. A line from 1999.

Gwyneth Paltrow- Still attractive, but not at the height of her powers where she could inspire a boy to name his tamagochi after her

And I discovered a new game- the Traffic Light Game. Essentially all you do is predict if you think the next traffic light is going to be red or green, the rules are simple- you can’t see the light when you make the pick and to count as a red you have to come to a complete stop at the light. Its pure luck, but you, or at least I, still got caught up in it. My cousin’s kid seemed to have a bizarre knack for the game and destroyed me 12-8 and then 40-19. Its like he has a special power, although that’d be at the shallow end of the mutation pool and probably wouldn’t have the Xavier Institute begging you to join.

I also learnt that I like Scotch and gin and tonic, although I doubt I’ll adopt G&Ts as to me there’ll always be associated with Audrey from Corrie.

But what I’m mainly going to focus on is this thing I observed:

There were two phoneboxes, you know, the conjoined ones that are back to back. In the one nearest where I sat I could see that it was plastered with dozens of little flyers for ladies of the night and their services.

This seems to be peculiar to London, and I had thought that in the advent of the internet and mobile phones this forum would’ve dwindled as phoneboxes are no longer in such demand.

However, just as I was about to turn to my mum and say “Surely nobody would ring one of them, inside the phonebox?  Its glass on three sides, you’d think the prostitution business would want to be more discreet?” when I noticed in the other half of the siamese phoneboxes was a middle aged gent who was blatantly eying up the flyers.

And not in a “Cor blimey, look at her” or a touristy “Well, this is just a little bit weird”, no this fella was actively shopping about. He had one hand on the reciever but hadn’t picked it up, because he was still weighing up all his options.

He was scanning the cards, reading them intently and clearly trying to decide where he would take his custom.

I could see him. Everyone could see him. But like people picking their noses at traffic lights or belting out a power ballad on the motorway, he seemed to have forgotten that one of glass’ key properties is that its transparent.

In a way his responsible shopping and lack of shame was admirable, in another way it was just plain weird.

For 3-5 minutes as we sat at a red light (I’d guessed green, of course) he stood there, waiting to see that one hooker he couldn’t resist and make the call, for all I know he’s still there trying to decide whether Naughty Nora or Kinky Kate offer the better deal.



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