London reconnoitre ...

Currently, yours truly is int' big city and I always feel reet Yorkshire when I'm down 'ere!

Neither am I (well at least I hope I'm not) a Yorkshire zealot: one of those ex-pats that bore the pants of the locals, by seizing every opportunity to ram Yorkshire superiority down the throats of all those unfortunate enough to have been born elsewhere.  Many times have I been on the receiving end of this tedious characteristic, which seems to afflict certain individuals regardless of race, creed or culture.

So why am I suddenly Yorkshire aware, when I never give it a thought day to day?  I think it's because London is so cosmopolitan and huge, with that surging energy particular to great capital cities that I only ever  feel as if I 'sort of' know what I'm doing or how to do it, which produces a vague anxiety.  On the other hand, I know exactly how Harrogate works and the geography of the county.  In Yorkshire, I'm well adapted, but not quite so to London.

I've had to have lessons on the Oyster Card: a magic little card which allows you to pre-pay and zip on and off buses and tubes avoiding queues for tickets.  It's brilliant, but there is much to learn: how to top it up; where to top it up; entry and exit techniques. After much dithering during my training period, I am now pleased to say that I think I could pass as a local and am developing techniques for seamless travel on public transport.  Now, as I approach the barriers on the Underground, I am already eyeing them up in advance for the green exit arrows and no queues.  Card at the ready, now neatly tucked in my wallet (not clutched in sweaty hand), I glide to the barrier, slap the card on the reader with panache and exit with a nonchalant air.  A far cry from the embarrassed and timid novice, wedged at the barrier by a tutting and growing queue, when my gentle tap on the reader did not open sesame.  Thank God for the Underground Knight who released me.

Back home tonight, I called in to see Johnny, looking very dapper in an orange and yellow Chinese silk quilted jacket. I thought he must be on the mend.  'How are you?' I enquired.
'Could be better - as well as shingles, I've cracked a rib.'
'What have you been doing?'
'Well, I was feeling wonky, but I had to deliver some drawings to Stephen Neal's at the end of last week - they were only smallish and I had one under each arm.  I was going up the stairs when I slipped, twisted somehow and the painting became wedged edge-on between my ribs and my arm and crushed into my side as I lost balance.' He paused and I was sympathetic.

'Paul's just been round - he's doing my shopping.  He hadn't told Marta that I was ill.  She came round the other afternoon.  I was asleep - I'm having to nap when I can because I can't sleep for long with the discomfort.  Anyway, she tapped me.  I started awake, with a grunt - that made me scream with pain - Marta jumped back in shock - Paul stood in the doorway, smiling in sympathy - he knows what it feels like.

'Anyway, the Doctor says it'll take about ten days before I'm feeling a bit more comfortable.  I'm doing some work though - we've finished the video of the drawing.  I'm not sure how good it will be, given the state I've been in - but I think it will be OK.'