Wednesday, 8 April 2009

Modulated elastocompression

Close encounters on the 92, an occasional series

We might need a whole new label, 'Tram encounters'. No, don't get too excited, this one was merely ridiculous.

I am on tram, reading a book that is making me laugh, but also feel bitterly jealous as the author is only 26, the bastard, and his book is funny and clever and rude. A man sits down next to me. He is moderately cute. Black, late twenties, nice face. No, I told you, don't get excited. He is a sleazy chancer.

Opposite me a pretty girl in her late teens is doing Sudoku puzzles. He leans over to her.

"Euh, excusez moi?"

She looks up, half apprehensive, half stabby. I wonder if she is English.

"What is that, you're doing?"

She holds up her Sudoku book questioningly.

"This? Sudoku."

"But, what is it? Because, I'm doing a finance course, but I'm not very good at numbers. I wondered if this would help"

She explains, kindly, patiently the principle of Sudoku. Not English then. He asks lots of imbecile questions (do I add them up, where do I get it, is there only one answer, where do I get it, will it help my maths). He is still going strong when we get to my stop, so I squeeze past. It transpires he's getting off too. He looks at me. I am carrying a motorcycle helmet.

"Oh! I thought it was a baby!"

"No. It would have had to be a very tiny baby" (he is worse than our neighbour who thinks Fingers is a girl, and my rollerblades are a dog).

I head off down the road, past the kebaborama shop and the bars d'ecureuils.

"Euuuh, mademoiselle?"

Uh oh.

"Are you a styliste?"

Eh? What makes you think that baby helmet Sudoku man? The stylish way my hem is coming down? The coffee stain on my jacket? Or the gaping hole in my shoe? I try not to laugh too openly.

"No. I'm a lawyer". I find this is usually quite off-putting. Sadly, not here.

"Aha! You can defend me!"

Urgh. "No. I can't. I am trying to give up being a lawyer for Lent".

"Are you French?"


"You don't have a Belgian accent"

Thank Nathan for that. "I'm English"

"Ah! Une anglaise!" he looks disturbingly animated.

"I am going this way". I point to one of the 800 pharmacies on the street "For my diseases. Byee"

"Can I have your number?"

Aaaah! Flee, flee the crazy optimist!

Continued adventures in cellulite

I have just composed the most ridiculous email of my life in an attempt to blag free cellulite pants, as showcased, apparently, by Lorraine Kelly. The pants are the brain child of renowned and not even SLIGHTLY fictitious plastic surgeon Professore Marco Gasparotti. Their pseudo science is most pleasing. Check it out:

"At the best we can also suppose an effect on lipolysis of modulated elastocompression; it would be the consequence of a minor staunching of the interstitial liquids and so of an easier reaching of lipolitic hormones (thyroid-catecolamine…) from the vessel bed directly to the adipociti.
It follows that the sheath operates on the etiopatogenesis of the pannicolopatia fibroedematosclerotica, also called cellulites, that is nothing else but a "Modification of the adipose connective tissue due to a reduced lymphatic and venous microcirculation in the subcutaneous area, with oedema and consequent constriction of the adipociti for the increase of interstitial liquid of the intercellular fibrous septa

Is this not poetic? This hymn to hope and stupidity?

Also, one of the layers of the pants is called "3D Wave" and is made of silver ions and pixies. I want these pants like I have never wanted anything before. I want the loooong version that goes down to your ankles. I would never take them off. I guarantee, here, before all of you and Nathan, that I will do a full photo post if I can persuade Professor Gasparotti to send me some. Before and After. And During.

My email read:

"Dear Professor Gasparotti,

I have a weblog read by many women and having recently posted a piece on cellulite, your very interesting product was brought to my attention. I would be very keen to test the pants (ideally the long Elite model) and will give you an honest write up.

Do let me know if you are able to provide me with samples.



I will let you know if I ever hear back.

This is all I have for you today. I am still in my pyjamas and have had a crème caramel, a café liegois and a packet of mini eggs for breakfast/lunch (the distinction was a little fluid) and I have watched a baby panda sneeze (yeah, ok, I am very backwards, you all knew about the baby panda years ago) about eight hundred times. It is half past six in the evening. I think we can declare my home working day a resounding success. M would be proud.


sue said...

You have more front than Selfridges, I applaud thee. Am also still in pajamas and have eaten precisely crap all day long and haven't touched the organic green tea I so virtuously bought on Sunday, before I locked the keys in the car. 'He' is still barely speaking to me as a result of said incident, which is rather pleasant. I have a week off from the job of doom. I couldn't be happier.

Lulu LaBonne said...

I want the long pants too - will we have to wear our knickers over or under/ Will they make us fly?

Iheartfashion said...

I'm anxiously awaiting the cellulite pants photo shoot!
And I vote for "Tram Encounters" being a regular series.

Roshni Mitra Chintalapati said...

that guy must be really lonely and really crazy!

Fabhat said...

That 92 tram is a hotbed of lust isn't it? Do all passengers have to drop their keys into a bowl on mounting the tram?
Like the girl opp look being described as slightly stabby. That's exactly how I feel when people, generally men interrupt one's reading time on public transport. I mean - I'm reading, smiling to myself and deep in thought. why do I want to have "hilarious" conversation with you instead? Also in same category as men who disturb you, mid conversation with the best friend you haven't seen alone for oooh a year, in pubs. "Hello how are you girls? am I disturbing you?" "yes actually you are. Please leave us alone as we have a lot to talk about" "Oh well can I sit down and introduce myself anyway?" What part of go away wasn't clear in that? Grrr.
Anyway - sorry about that - haven't even mentioned the scary pants, but I will salute you if you get some for free - or even make you a celebration cake (no blue jelly). Ask for blog discount for the rest of us as well while you're at it - the great Doctor will be so flattered he won't be able to resist surely?

M. said...

There must be something in the number 92. It must be channeling the essence of disaffected youths from the 92 department. Essonne, recognize!

Also lay off the pants-mocking, or we will never get our free pairs. And Nathan knows I need them.

Top Bird @ Wee Birdy said...

I love that you pointedly told him you were visiting a chemist for your diseases. Excellent.

BTW, I've only ever spent a brief couple of hours in a Belgium chemist, trying in vain to request a tube of Canestan for *internal* use. Had to resort to using fingers to mime necessary explanatory actions. Just thought I'd share that with you.

Also? It's 6.30pm and I am in my PJs and am eyeing off the remnants of the easter package from sister in Australia. xx

Jaywalker said...

Sue - I take that entirely as a compliment. I am usually too shy to ask for anything. I am so happy you are having a good week.

Lulu - oooh hello! Long time no see, insect lady. I think they should. They are very expensive if you buy them, and 3D waves sound very promising.

Iheart - that is in the hands of the 92. But if the encounters happen, I shall relate them.

Roshni - or both. Or merely weirdly gregarious.

Fabhat - well this is my thought. We need giant pants. they look warm for homeworkers too. Do you like 'that must be a good book?' Yeah, ass. Better than you.

M - I am trying to namecheck him! It's viral marketing innit.

WeeBirdy - I have a Belgian canesten story too. They want you to explain EVERYTHING, those bastards. They enjoy it. I feel we did well today, no?

KSV Woolfoot said...

My husband told me about an economist he knew once, in the dark ages, the early 70s I think, who used to stand around outside major public buildings in Washington, D.C. and just directly proposition one woman passerby after the other. I.e., "Do you want to go screw?" It worked sometimes, enough to keep him at it until (and probably after) he picked up then-novel venereal diseases. At least the guy on the tram was trying (if failing) to charm you and Ms. Soduko.

Liberty London Girl said...

I, too, wld be in my PJs if it wasn't for the fact I was MADE to get up. The only drawback to hostel living is that they evict you at 11am to supposedly go wander the hills, and breathe in nature. I, of course, head straight to the Wi-Fi enabled library for my fix thus completely ignoring the philosophy behind hostelling...LLGxx

So Lovely said...

Sadly I have scoffed all my Creme eggs but will be heading off to the British shop to replenish supply. Maybe you have an "open face" like I have been told I have, and thats why these "people" have no qualms about chatting.
Its almost 1pm, still in my PJ's.

livesbythewoods said...

Guaranteed cellulite cure: walk bloody miles through London three days a week.

I didn't have a lot to begin with, despite the huge arse, and now I have NONE!

Still have a huge arse, but at least it's not dimply.


Verification word: irestru - sounds like something a policeman would say.

Maternal Tales said...

I too have eaten a whole packet of mini eggs. But I am not in my pyjamas and it is late. I shall go. But before I do I just want to say that I think Encounters on the 92 Tram would make a great novel. I would buy it.pence

Juci said...

I want one of them pants too. Oh wait, I think I'm pregnant. Maybe next year. But the science sounds so... sound.
I can't decide if it's good or bad that the word 'fibroedematosclEROTICA' sort of jumped out at me.

Juci said...

Ha ha. WV is 'uprear'. Relevant as ever.

Wife in Hong Kong said...

Hurray for the sneezing panda! I bet his mum has cellulite issues too. Bothered? Pass the bamboo.

Mud in the City said...

I will use your diseases brush off the next time I am accosted by a random nutter on the tube.

WV is 'bstroton' - also sounds like something you can declare to said dodgy person, before sweeping majestically out in cellulite busting pants. That'll teach 'em

Mrs C said...

The diseases line was a brilliant finish. Bravo!

Hope you hear back for the cellulite pants.

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