About a bench...

I was rushing through my favourite bit of London the other day--the stunning `square mile`. Here, magnificent historic, architectural gems like St Paul`s Cathedral rub broad, stone shoulders with gleaming new kids on the block--full of bankers, lawyers, movers, shakers. And at lunchtime, some escape their sparkling towers,time-travelling two blocks and a couple of centuries to squares like the little hideaway off St Dunstan`s Hill.

You can see them heading for the benches with their sandwiches, lingering over lattes...longing for a few moments` peace and respite from office pressures, for some thinking time alone. There are lunchtime lovers, too; touching, whispering; earnest and certain that their city bench, for just a few moments, makes them invisible. It`s their space; their little `table for two` in the cosiest spot any maitre d`could muster.

If it`s you on the bench, you can just watch the world go by. I still try and stop in Trafalgar Square en route to Charing Cross; watching tourists getting ticked off for trying to tame the lions, or leaning too close to the still-icy fountain water on scorching summer days. I remember standing, as a four year old, covered with pigeons; their tiny claws digging into my head; beaks pecking at the bought seed in my hand-- I didn`t really enjoy it, but mum had paid for the stuff from the bloke on the corner-- it`s what you did on a day out. In New York, we sat munching hot dogs on a bench in Central Park, feeling as much a part of the Big Apple as Carrie; then joined the throngs in Times Square, watching the snaking queues at the ticket booths; each tourist already part of their own Broadway show.

In most cities around the world, a bench can be the only place you have to sleep--one step up from the street; and every person rushing past with somewhere to go is a cruel reminder that you`ve hit rock bottom. In Shropshire, Jim Hawkins uses the simplest of devices...sitting on a bench in a different location each week..to collect and record stories from anyone who cares to stop and share theirs. It`s uncomplicated, brilliant radio.

So that`s it really. You can`t beat watching the world go by from a well placed bench and wondering about all the secrets it keeps. And it doesn`t cost a dime.

Kick ass? Don`t mind if I do....

Life`s good.

But sometimes; don`t you just want to put a rocket up someone`s arse?

Here are today`s nominations. Feel free to add yours:

1) Hospital sends me an appointment. Call them to say I`m away; can`t make it. OK, they say, we`ll send you another one in the post. Hang on, I tell them. I`m on the phone, now, with my diary. Shall we do it right now...*just in case* the next date you send me is a bit dodgy, too? Can`t do that, they say. The diary`s in the other department. Give me the dates you`re free and we`ll call you back.

I wait a week.

No call.

I call again today. They`ve allocated me a date, which... I can`t make. I suggest, with open diary, that we try again for the following week? Can`t do that, she says.I`ve got the diary here, but `they` haven`t written in any of the appointments for those days yet.

They`ll call me.

Yeh.

Moral of that story? Don`t ever say you`ll ring me, then don`t. It`s not professional. And it`s not nice.

2) It`s 11.50, at a riverside eaterie in London. View of Tower Bridge, Gherkin; etc.

I haven`t eaten, so would like one of their breakfasts. No gherkins, though, ta. Available till 12, see. But daughter`s ready for lunch. Served *from* 12. Slightly different menu. I order my scrambled eggs on toast, with juice, and coffee. (It`s now 11.53).

Daughter attempts to order snack from lunch menu. We`re told she `can`t do that`...because it`s not 12 o` clock yet. Ah yes, we observe. But it will be, in six minutes. Lady behind bar shakes her head, and asks us to pop back at 12.We should`ve legged it. But hungry, and short of time, and loving the view, we do it. Bonkers.

Moral of that story? Don`t be so sodding stupid. Bend your rules. Be welcoming. Nothing bad will happen.

3) Later that day.....standing in Trafalgar Square, in the sunshine: remembering the time, aged four, I had my picture taken with pigeons on my head, because my mum had bought me a tin of bird food from the pigeon man; and that`s what you did. Pose, quickly, before *anything happened* But it`s London 2012, early evening. Get approached by three lovely students from Westminster University. Hello, we`re doing something about the Olympics, and can we please film a little chat, they ask, about your thoughts?

Fabulous.I know what it`s like to be `out on a vox pop`...I have time to kill, lots of thoughts about the Olympics, and am happy to help. They start setting up their tripod thing and suddenly....three officious, uniformed security men approach them, and tell them they can`t film in the square. They explain it`s a Uni project, that they`ve already done some filming, and just need one more interview.They`re told that they don`t have the  right kind of permission,and so will have to leave.

Moral of that story? It would have taken four minutes.They weren`t in anyone`s way. It wasn`t going on Sky, ITV or the BBC. It was a *University Project* . Get that? Turn a blind eye. Go and watch the world go by. If you treat local students like that, how welcoming are you going to be to this summer`s army of tourists? And ps. Hope a pigeon poops on your peaked cap. All three of you. Just saying.

There. Sorry about that but it`s off my chest now.

Have a nice day.