Monday Morning Blues

Had to go to Birmingham yesterday for a meeting. I decided to let the train take the strain - even though it meant getting up BEFORE 7.00!!! For some strange reason I got it into my head that my train was leaving at 7.47. I knew this wasn't quite right but I think the earliness of the hour and the pleasing symmetry of the time stopped me from checking whether it was right.

Being EARLY in the morning I couldn't seem to decide what to wear. In the end I sprinted out of the house and drove as fast as was legal to the station - in time to miss my train by 3 minutes! I would have caught the 7.47 but my train was 7.41.

I then had the prospect of over an hour sitting in the station waiting for the next train - extra time to think of a reasonable excuse for being late to my meeting. Sitting for so long in a station waiting room is a very strange thing to do. There was a story in the local paper about a person who lived in the station waiting room and as time dragged on I realised the people coming in and out were looking at me like I might be that person (not such a good clothes choice then!)

Eventually my train came along. I really needed to go to the toilet before boarding but somehow despite having an hour to kill I didn't seem to get round to going until I didn't have time. The buffet trolley came along and I told myself - no - coffee was not a good idea in view of bladder issue and also fact that I usually fail to deal with boiling hot coffee on a bumpy train. So why did I find myself saying - yes - coffee would be lovely. Only after Mickey the "Train Host" had left me with my boiling brown liquid did I realise my seat tray was at an angle that was designed to deliver liquid onto lap rather than to rest it on. I then spent the next half hour holding this boiling brew whilst trying to anticipate the next bump, so spillage was kept to a minimum.

After 2 hours of listening to the delightful beat of at least 5 ipods and the remarkable message alert of the person sat next to me - remarkable for the volume, length and general annoyingness (new word) - we rolled into Birmingham station. Frankly I am no athelete but I could have run some sections of that journey faster than the train moved. I put my running skills to the test in the mad dash from the station, but I got to my meeeting just in time - to look forward to the prospect of the return journey...

I came across some-one at work called Mr Weighty. As soon as I heard his name I conjured up a none too flattering picture of what he might look like. I haven't met him yet and hope I don't, as if he is fat or thin I'll probably laugh.

It made me think about the influence our names have on us. I'm reading Gentleman and Players by Joanne Harris, and the main character describes some of his collegues by his view of their character - so there's a Mr Meek, a Mr Keane etc. In reality I think that if you had a name like that you would strive to be neither it nor the exact opposite. Mr Cash wouldn't want to be flash with his money or accused of being mean. Mrs Cross would try to avoid arguements. Mr Christmas would avoid growing a bushy beard and laughing. Mrs Sadd would try and keep smiling (but not too much)

Think this may be the answer to my diet problems - going to change my name by deed poll to Mrs Lardy.

I saw the most fascinating programme on BBC Three the other night. Called My Small Breasts and I it followed the story of 3 women who had a real issue with their size and showed the impact it had on their lives. As I often find with this sort of programme your sympathies vary with each person they follow.

One person, Sharon, followed a 12 week course of applying suction pumps to her breasts - which she slept in/with every night. She also took a huge quantity of herbal pills - designed to somehow prompt breast growth. Needless to say you can't pop pills in such quantities without some ill effect - and she became moody - mind you I'd be moody if I slept every night with two great suction pumps on my chest.

The second, Laura, was a lovely young girl who was going to have plastic surgery, paid for - wait for it - by random men, who agree to pay on the understanding that she posted some pictures of herself on a website. The way it seemed to work was you post your picture - say what you want and how much and men start making donations. How bizarre is that!! In the end she decided not to go through with it. Thankfully. I could not believe that she was genuinely thinking of doing this. I did try to find the site (purely in the interest of research you understand) but luckily I couldn't!

The third woman, Kate, had a really low opinion of her image - to the degree that she was virtually house-bound. She went to New York and had Photo-therapy.This was really interesting - a technique used by a NY based photographer (forget her name) to basically help people who have image problems - manifesting in anorexia, bulimia, agrophobia, or resulting from abuse - to see a different side to their image. It seemed to be a mixture of counselling and brilliant photography to get the person to see themselves in a new light. She built up Kate's confidence, to let her see what a beautiful woman she was. Programme finished with her taking her two young children swimming - something she said she could never have done before.

All together it made fascinating watching. One of those programmes where you go through a range of emotions - from shock and disbelief to real sympathy. Have to say Kate's story was really touching and uplifting. (no pun intended)