Normal

It’s amazing what a person can get used to. How soon things become normal if they happen often enough.

Drip, drip, drip.

I, for instance, now assume that if a Tory politician is talking, they are lying. It’s normal. I accept it. Perhaps they are unaware of the truth due to lack of actual knowledge. They might just be incompetent. They may be so privileged that they simply have no idea. They may not even realise they need a reality check.

They could, however, just be nasty effers. Protections for workers? Don’t upset our backers. Fair pay for nurses? Nah. Hungry children? Not our fault.

Repeated lockdowns have rendered me willing to hang around, quite literally, without fully uplifted bosoms. Slipping standards in politics and dress go hand in hand perhaps.

In the past, I have experienced the opposite. That is, it’s also easy to get used to the good life, dressing up, being spoiled, if that’s what’s on offer.

I went to China on a business trip one time. My hotel suite had its own foyer with a guest cloakroom and toilet. My bedroom was about the size of our entire London flat, I also had a lounge with three massive sofas, I received flowers at every meeting, I had to request more vases. Fashion shows, openings, theatre. On my return home it was hard to get used to the idea that I wasn’t Meryl Streep.

I love where I live, our lovely little flat, the beautiful streets, the park, the grime of the high street, the madness.

There’s a chance that I’ve normalised it all, not fully recognising the extent of the fabulousness or the horror of addicts shooting up on our doorstep occasionally.

I met up with GorJus for a walk in my manner over the holidays. It was that perfect time, winter, late afternoon, curtains open, lights on..

We walked along Park Village West, we wandered around the beautiful Park Village East, through the mews at the back of Cumberland Terrace, down Chester Terrace. I pointed out the house I’d like to live in, one with Corinthian pillars and a sunset view.

It was so quiet. People still had their decorations up. The Hollywood version of London, a set. It could all have been made of fibre glass moulds and polystyrene.

I took us in a circular route, to include what I imagined to be more normal streets. We passed a laundrette, it has chandeliers, it’s next to a grand piano shop.

I might need a bit of reality check too.

Pass me my tiara, I’m off to do the laundry.