16 January 2004

I am currently being given the most intense "I'm cute, love me" stare. I can feel the eyes burning into the back of my neck as I type. Is it someone new, sexy and mysterious? Is it the woman of my dreams? No. It's the cat. I don't know why he's staring at me so intently. He's not my cat, and it's not me that forgot to buy food for him. But he's so beautiful. I don't know how anyone could resist that face. Bless his cottons.

The other day I was on a bus and I noticed a man staring at me. I accepted it, because, being the true freak of nature that I am, I get stared at on a regular basis. And not just by beings wanting to be fed.

Then, he came up to me and spoke.

"Were you at the Royal Free today?" he asked.


"Oh, I saw a woman who looked like the spitting image of you at the Royal Free today!"


And then he alighted the bus.

But this made me think. Even if I had been at the hospital that afternoon, what kind of conversation was he hoping to elicit? With hindsight my response should've been:

"Yes, I was. But it was good news, the gynaecologist said I'm recovering nicely following the vaginal prolapse."

I'd also be very surprised if this woman who was supposedly the spitting image of me actually looked anything like me. When I was in my teens, because there was only one wheelchair accessible secondary school in South Cambridgeshire, I did know pretty much every wheelchair user under the age of 20 in the area, thus, I knew everyone I was getting confused for.

I was once waiting for the lift in Addenbrookes, and someone came out of the lift and shouted "Sam!" at me. I just gave her a questioning and slightly evil look. But she persisted "Sam King!"

"I know her, but I'm not her."


"I said... I know her, I went to school with her. But I'm not her."

This woman just gave me a look which suggested that she strongly suspected that I didn't even know my own name or who I was and walked off. The only similarities between Sam and I are that we're both wheelchair using brunettes.

People often think I'm someone else. I recently had someone come up to me outside Kings Cross Station and tell (not 'ask' but 'tell') me that I went to Stirling University. Still. It's not as worrying as the woman that came up to me at a pelican crossing outside Kings Cross Station and offered me a tissue. This obviously made me paranoid enough to check that I didn't have snot streaming down my face in some childlike fashion. I didn't, and then I worried even more about what this woman thought I might of been doing in the Kings Cross area that I might need a tissue to clean up after.

But, I've strayed from the point. What kind of conversation would an elderly man hope to get out of a twenty-something on a bus, by using "Were you at the hospital?" as an opener? What kind of conversation would anyone expect to get from that?

"Yes, but, once I've applied the cream, my skin should really clear up. I'd stand further away if I were you sir."

"No. I figured I stood a better chance of a cure if I went to church instead."

"Yes, and I'm now on my way home to insert the pessary."

And, on the subject of yeast... I've decided I'm going to bake my own bread. I bought strong flour, yeast and a loaf baking tin thingy. I am however lacking a recipe. If anyone knows a good bread recipe or can point me in the direction of one on the web, then please Email me.

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