Tuesday, 13 September 2011

Meet Me At The Clocktower

Some amusing things have been happening this week, my pretty little reader-minions. I'm not even sure where to start - I feel like a kid in a candy store, or perhaps an otter in a river full of juicy trout. Perhaps I should mention that I'm due for a hair cut later today, and thus will inevitably be found complaining about it on Twitter later (I promise that unless something really out of the ordinary happens, I won't blog about my complaints.. this time) so I may as well enjoy my good mood while it lasts. In the spirit of goodnatured joking, I hope you enjoy the following video by the Biebershop Quartet. Incidentally, on a music-related note, I suggested the other day on Twitter that I would be up for forming a gay tribute band called Bi Jovi, if anyone is interested.

One of my colleagues approached me yesterday with the opening sentence "I overheard something really weird and I knew you'd appreciate it". She wasn't wrong. Here the following conversation is between two young adult males of European descent, and was, I'm assured, held with completely serious tones.

Guy 1: Mate. Mate. I just don't get it.

Guy 2: What?

Guy 1: Why do gay people have so many friends?

Guy 2: (without missing a beat) Because they're spies.

Picking this tangled mess of thoughts apart is a task far beyond my mental endurance, much like a politically-incorrect Krypton Factor. The points I could make are all immediately obvious so I won't patronise you by pointing them out, and will instead settle for spluttering in indignation and amusement. In addition, the thought did occur to me that if some of my friends were in fact spies, firstly they've been hiding that damn well, and secondly, I've not been utilising them in the most effective way. Clearly, 2012 is going to be a very different kind of year.

The other amusing thing, which I am loathe to admit (for it makes me and my friend look like complete dillholes) but of course will, for the entertainment of those on the interwebz. I was supposed to meet my friend Sam for dinner last night. We arranged a time, we vaguely had restaurant ideas in mind, and then she text me with instructions to meet her at the clock in Tollcross. Now, for those of you who don't know Edinburgh, there is a large clock outside the Sheraton hotel in the Tollcross area. It is immediately visible as you walk up the hill, and as far as I knew, there was no way of mistaking it for anything else. I arrived a couple of minutes early despite the hurricane winds that threatened to float me Mary-Poppins style into the oncoming traffic and stood around awkwardly under the clock, waiting for Sam to arrive. A few minutes past our arranged meeting time, she rang me. Again, because of the wind, it was hard to hear her but I just about managed to make her words out.

Sam: Where are you?

Me: I'm here.

Sam: Wait...so am I. Are you at the clock?

Me: Yes?

Sam: Are you invisible?

Me: I don't think so....Okay, hang on, I'll walk around the clock.

I walked around the clock. There was no sign of her.

Me: Huh. Weird.

Sam: Wait, which clock are you at?

Me: The one in Tollcross, like you said.

Sam: Oh, I'm at the other one.

Me: What other one? The one on Princes Street?

The clock on Princes Street, I hasten to add, is only a 5 minute walk away, but is clearly on Princes Street itself and could not possibly have been mistaken for the Tollcross clock, especially not by someone who'd lived in the city for years like Sam has. I sighed, rolled my eyes and told her to walk towards me and to stay on the right side of the road. I began to trot towards Princes Street. About half way down, I started to get a sinking feeling in my stomach. I hadn't seen Sam yet and by my calculations she should have been visible walking up the hill. I'd been keeping an eye on both sides of the road, so I was sure I hadn't missed her. I rang her back:

Me: Dude. Where are you?

Sam: (giggling) I'm at the clock in Tollcross now. Did we miss each other?

Me: Okay, this is ridiculous. Where are you?

Sam: Okay, walk back and I'll meet you halfway.

I dutifully returned to the clock at Tollcross, only to find that Sam was nowhere to be seen. I rang her again.

Me: DUDE. SERIOUSLY. We are two adult women and we have now missed each other twice in an area about 600 yards long. How is this happening?

Sam: (now in complete giggling hysterics) I don't know! Let's try again, you walk towards me and I'll walk towards you.

We tried a third time and likewise failed. I called her back.

Me: (mystified and suspicious) Am I on Candid Camera?

Sam: Okay, I will come and get you. Stay where you are.

After another couple of minutes she turned up, still giggling. As if the whole debacle hadn't been bad enough already, we realised that in fact she had been talking about another clock in the Tollcross area entirely. We agreed that next time we'd just meet at the restaurant to save ourselves the 20 minutes of unnecessary exercise.

In conclusion, I am a complete idiot, there are too many damn clocks in Edinburgh, and if I had to guess which of my friends were spies, Sam would not be my first choice.

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