The Transit of the Mobile Phone Ignoramus

Blessed was I to pay another visit to the township of the new today after my rambles of the previous week. The reason? A chance to meet some accomplished affiliates of the blogosphere. But, it so nearly wasn't so.

To one stumbling accidentally upon this blog and not quick enough to strike the "back" option in their browser after realising their blunder, the author's primary mode of transport would seem obvious. But obvious it was not today, instead it was what fellow Vespa riders would refer to as "being a bitch of a thing" and not cooperating with forward propulsion on command. My relationship with my Vespa is similar to a mad dictator with his subjects and disobedience is not tolerated. Undeterred, I hoofed it down to my local train station, only to find the connection to my destination not being serviced by said transport, instead resulting in a jarring and sometimes dangerous bus ride to get me to my desired terminus.

I had arrived and felt confident the hurdles had been leaped, and a dive into conversation and iced coffee (hold the cream) would soon be underway. Alas, through poor planning and dare I say an arrogant attitude as to my knowledge of the area, I found myself located where the arranged meeting place was not. Clueless, I weighed up the options which consisted of throwing myself to the ground and bursting into tears or calling one of the affiliates. A cool head prevailed, and I took the tearless option. With a friendly "look across the road (git!)" I spotted the waving confederates.

The iced coffee was delicious, the company enjoyable. I made valuable contributions to the meeting by demonstrating my ridiculous inability use my mobile phone skillfully, the plight of Greek accordian music at 2:30 in the morning, and how to drink iced coffee without spilling it down the front of oneself (miracle!).

In an extraordinary display of forward planning (by my substandards anyway) I have already decided that next weekend I shall be visiting the Museum of Contemporary Art on the harbour and giving another one of my rambles about the experience. Perhaps if I take my laptop, and write the ramble while inside the MCA I may personally qualify as a piece of performance art. Surely this has been done before, and I will have learned types referring to me as "derivative". I've been called worse!