From everyone I know who has used the 3 network, including myself, it's a pile of wank. Twice in Cambridge I dialled a number pre-programmed into my phonebook and got put through to someone completely random. But today, I think I may have experienced a telecommunications first. I'm waiting for a friend in the street and my phone rings.

Me: "Hello?"
Him: Hello? Who's this?"
"Ashley. Who are you?"
"Gareth... erm, Is David there?"
"Er, no, I think you have the wrong number."
"What do you mean? You called me."
"Er, no I didn't, I'm in Paris and you just called me."
"No, my phone just rang."
"Err, so did mine. Are you on the 3 network by any chance?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, they have a habit of playing tricks like this."
"Oh, okay. Well, see you."
"Bye."

Is 3 remarketing itself as a matchmaking service?

Le Fuck You

I think being from London has generally set me up well for the world. It's so expensive that just about anywhere I go, even Japan, seems cheaper. The weather is so unpredictable that other countries always appear to have a better deal: Paris basks in the autumn sun like the Grande Madame of Europe. And customer service in London is usually so average that the politeness and friendliness of waiters elsewhere in the world, especially in the US and Japan, has astounded me.

Not in Paris, however. No, French waiters can take pride in the fact that they excel themselves par excellence for such unwarranted, unsolicited rudeness.

Biggin' it up in da hood

I was walking to Forest Hill station at around 4pm when the local schools unleash their masses of semi-feral, shrieking pupils onto the streets. I was walking behind a group of them thinking that while they may scream like a choir of up-and-coming Big Brother contestants competing for the limelight, at least I didn't feel physically threatened by this particular bunch. As I'm walking past them, I hear a girl call out "excuse me" but I pretended not to hear, afraid of getting another verbal mugging from a 14 year-old girl (yes, this has actually happened). But then she comes round and taps me on the shoulder and wants to know where I got my bag from. She was visibly disappointed when I said I got it in San Francisco, but said she thought it was really cool. Awww! The younger generation has given me its approval!

Foiled again

I went to see Saara at her bookshop today and witnessed for myself some of the stupid questions that she has to put up with from people. She was working on the front desk today so she bore the brunt of all the lazy cunts who come in but can't be arsed to look beyond the lobby for what they want.

"Excuse me, do you have a film and cinema section?"

What the fuck kind of question is that? Every bookshop has a film/cinema section: the bigger the bookshop, the bigger the section. Presumably if you're looking for a book that means you can read, so read the floor guide and go find it yourself!

And that, from the stories Saara has told me, was nothing. You can read about it all on her blog, here.

Hurricane Bin-Laden

Of the many ridiculous things my mother has said in recent memory, I think that last night, over dinner, she topped them all: that maybe the reason Bush stayed away from New Orleans for five days after the hurricane was because he thought it was a terrorist attack.

And no, I checked, it was not a joke.

We have touchdown, straight into a puddle.

So, as sure as the sun was shining in New York at the moment I landed at Heathrow yesterday, the weather in England was grey and drizzly. From three weeks of perfect weather in the US... back to this.