Catch-Up With Lolly

Earlier in the week, Lolly and I had arranged to meet up for a beverage, Lolly insisting that she pay this time, because apparently I paid for the last one (really?? It must be one of the few times I have). When I told her about the job, she said she would definitely be buying, as a mini celebration for my incredible leap up the career ladder (or slow limp three desks down). I was actually feeling pretty perky because of the new gadget I had been able to get without spending any money and just generally because it was sunny yesterday and things weren’t feeling so terrible.

I made my way to meet her after work, fighting my way on to a packed tube for the privilege of standing face-first for 10 minutes towards someone’s armpit. Oh yeah, that’s what my annual gold card gets me. We met at our usual place and were cracking up in a matter of seconds, me randomly miming arranging biscuits with my face in order to illustrate a point and getting (justifiably) odd looks from a passer-by. We then laughed at a pigeon with noisy feet that sounded like it was wearing high heels (probably shouldn’t have laughed, I think it had mangled toes) and then an Evening Standard distributor who, instead of holding out the papers to give to passers-by as is his job, was seemingly holding them artistically against his body, as if he had been unexpectedly caught in the nude and using the newspapers to protect his modesty. “Er…you’re meant to give out the papers, not hold them seductively against yourself!”

“We’re going to get a beverage and then we’re going to get dinner,” Lolly told me, authoritatively. I didn’t argue, I’m not really in a position to refuse food. Our usual coffee place was unusually packed, so after Lolly announced to my confusion and amusement that she was “not in the mood to be disobeyed,” I took her lead and we went to another branch instead. We waited in line and played at arguing over who should pay, referring to our earlier email conversation in which I said I would love to object to her generous offer to pick up the tab, but couldn’t because I really had no money. I could, however, still pretend I did, by doing the usual song and dance (which is possibly a cultural thing) of fighting over the shared expenses. “I’ll get these,” I said, robotically, which made Lolly giggle. “No, really, it’s my turn.” “No, let me pay this time,” Lolly replied, equally robotically. “No,” I said, pausing, before replying in clipped monotone, “Ow. Stop twisting my arm so hard. Well, if you will insist. I don’t want to insult you.” We continued to giggle at our silliness until they took Lolly’s order and I went to get us a table, while making faces at her from across the room. What’s that you say? Immature? How very dare you!

We sat down with our respective beverages (hot chocolate with cream and a chai tea latte) and I was a little overwhelmed when Lolly unexpectedly presented me with a lovely cheer-up-oh-you-already-did-because-you-got-a-new-job-so-congratulations card, a choice between two leopard-print bags (rarrrr) as a gift from HK and a much-appreciated supply of contact lenses because we have the same prescription and she has an excess of lenses. We chatted for ages over our drinks, me taking about 40 minutes to explain what should have probably been a 2-minute story. After about an hour, Lolly cracked me up by asking if I was ready to go to the restaurant, explaining that she was, because I was starting to look like a meatball. We made our way over, got a table upstairs and ordered our usual, which was apparently a new and improved recipe. We caught up, her telling me about her escapades in HK [her Auntie trying to match-make her; the pathetic excuse for a sofa-bed that she had to sleep on which sounded pretty much like just the hardboard base of the sofa; her new purchases; the evil mosquito bites she was subjected to], how her new job is going [dragony and not-so-dragony colleagues; her boss’s sense of humour; what the charity she works for actually does in greater detail], her love-life updates [men you go on one date with and realise they are not for you, but who still ask you what the problem is after you have already explained it to them and try to keep in touch with you several months later in a way that makes you cringe; ex-boyfriends – the bane of our lives (no explanation necessary); men who you were in email contact with for an insignificant amount of time who stopped contacting you and then inexplicably appear months later asking what happened to you; blokes who arrogantly assume that you have really missed them and that you deciding to answer your phone when they call is tantamount to a come-on on your part] and general other bits and pieces about life in general.

I felt conscious that I had talked way too much about me, so it was nice to hear good stuff that Lolly had been getting up to. I made a pathetic attempt at my penne and meatballs, but we did share a dessert of profiteroles, having to choose that as an alternative to the ‘chocolate nemesis’ we had originally ordered but which had run out, feeling a little disappointed that we wouldn’t find out if the dessert lived up to its over-dramatic name.

By the end of the evening, we were both feeling exhausted, Lolly from jet-lag and post-holiday tiredness, me from train-lag (lol) and just general lack of energy due to my low mood. Throughout the evening, we kept up the running joke of me paying, with me telling Lolly to “order whatever you want, I’m getting this,” and “thanks for letting me pay,” even though I admitted a tiny part of me died with shame at my lack of fundage each time I joked. We walked to the station, had a big hug and promised to text each other when we got home.

I ran for my train, baulking at the unnaturally bright fluorescent lights and marvelling at how busy the train was even thought it was late, while feeling compelled to stare at a man who had his female companion’s de-shoed feet on his lap and proceeded to pretty much give her a foot rub for most of the journey. Their train ride was about 20 minutes long. Couldn’t that have waited till you got home, bro?? I arrived home, feeling shattered, said hello and goodnight to Big Sis and Bro-in-Law and then got in bed, half-watching Scream 2 while editing blog posts. Despite my exhaustion, I couldn’t seem to sleep and lay wide-eyed even after I had switched the lights off and laid down. That’s when the afore-mentioned helicopter incident happened. If it’s not my tendency to brood that is keeping me awake, it’s crazy foxes, noisy neighbours, police chases (with real sirens this time) or caffeine. OK, that last one is my fault. Either way, aside from my inability to sleep when I most need to, it was a lovely evening spent with one of my favourite people.