The Metropolitan Desert

Err....yes, that's desert, the big sandy or snowy place, not dessert, the big tasty yummy thing.

Had a weird experience last night. (You're gonna be sick of hearing that soon, aren't you?)
I was meeting a friend of mine called Wendy at Euston Station. She's only in town occasionally, being something of a brilliant techie-boffin and international jet-setter, so it was a chance to spend an hour and a half catching up with her while she waited for a train. And it was fab to hear what's new in her life, but the weird experience was...well, where we did it, really.

Normally, when Wend comes to town, there's nothing she wants more than a proper drink and to be somewhere convivial, like a friendly pub. And, perhaps understandably for an infrequent London visitor, to slap some people sideways. It's a metropolitan thing.

This time though, we stayed in the environs of Euston, and instead of seeking out alcohol and the buzz of city-boy wanker-banter, we went to what was basically a food court, and had coffee while we nattered. But there was just a moment when we'd had the coffee that I asked if she wanted anything else, or some food...and I looked up, and around me. And then I realised that my new perspex box was going to make my future of fast food really rather tricky. Because as I looked around, it was as though every frontage slammed big, loud, black iron bars and slid heavy locks of don't-even-think-about-it-punk into place.

Burger King - SLAM!
Harry Ramsden's Fish and Chip Shop - SLAM!
Pret - (Goddamn Mayo!!) - SLAM!
And so on, around the room. And it dawned on me that if I'm not going to crack a wall in this new, health-conscious perspex box, I'm going to have to think ahead of time, or become one of those awkward cusses who says "Oh no, I can't eat there...let's go here instead," messing up everybody else's evening for the sake of their own. So, just a quick message to my friends and family, and to everyone they know who has the misfortune to run across me in the next year:
I won't like doing it, I won't be comfortable about it, and I do realise it'll make you think I'm a precious, self-righteous, self-regarding, indeed self-revolving tosser.

But rest assured, I won't let that stop me.

Of course, actually being a precious, self-righteous, self-regarding, indeed self-revolving tosser probably helps in that regard...