Tuesday night is Secret Film Society night. It is supposed to be every Tuesday, but it happens some Tuesdays. There are only two members of the Society. One is me, and the other is A Secret Other Member. Every Tuesday (or some Tuesdays), the Secret Other Member chooses a fillum and puts it on the special Secret Film Society screen, which is as big as my entire flat, and we take a bit of the L-shaped sofa each (it can sit 123 people comfortably), flick pistachio nut shells at each other and buy food down the phone from a person we have never met, who will supposedly deliver it to us by walking up fourteen flights of stairs.
The Secret Other Member lives in a bit of London so fashionable that I do not understand it, despite having lived in London all my life (apart from when I lived in Paris and York). And neither, it seems, do the delivery peoples of Basilico (Islington Branch). We were admiring Jack Nicholson when the phone rang.
"OzymandiaskingofkingschichithepandaPIZZADELIVERYala
recherchedutempsperduLOSTbutros-butrosgaliWHEREYOU?"
We give directions, slowly, repeating the words "parallel with Old Street" and "look it up on your A-Z" over and over, endlessly and without cease.
"OKIsee. Fiveminute."
Time passes. Nicholson raises his eyebrow. I look at the Secret Other Member's arm, and wonder what it would be like grilled with ketchup. I catch him looking at my arm, and sit on it. Of the Bolivian delivery man, there is no sign. The phone rings.
"Ioutside. Ringing bell."
We run to the balcony and lean over. The road is empty, apart from a single Halloween pumpkin and a sweet wrapper.
I phone the pizza shop. I phone the pizza shop again. I have a conversation I do not fully understand with a woman, but everything is to be sent again, this time "with driver more experienced". It is now 10.30pm.
The phone rings, and the Secret Other Member pauses the fillum again, this time on Nicholson's arse.
"WHERE YOU?"
Again, we repeat the words "parallel with Old Street" and "look it up on your A-Z". The Secret Other Member takes the phone and is heard to say: "No. No. Listen, stop talking and listen to me. LISTEN TO ME. NOW." By now, it is nearly 11. In the film, it is snowing, but we are not watching The Shining. (I know this because there is no blood gushing from the lift Nicholson has just opened and also I am watching the fillum. If it were The Shining I would not be watching it, for I am Very Scared of horror films and avoid them.)
Twenty minutes later, the door buzzes. Secret Other Member falls off the sofa in shock, weakened by food deprivation. He crawls to the door and lifts the intercom phone reception handpiece equipment.
"YOU COME GET. I NOT LEAVE BIKE. CHILDREN STEAL."
I hear a gasp as Secret Other Member shoots to his feet, draws a sharp breath, and bellows:
"NO-ONE WILL STEAL YOUR BIKE. YOU WILL START WALKING UP THE STAIRS IMMEDIATELY. I will meet you halfway."
Secret Other Member does indeed meet him halfway, only to be berated by the delivery man for making him leave his bike. I hear a scuffle and a crash; a distant door slams, and a tiny motorbike starts up. Secret Other Member reappears with boxes, stumbling weakly towards the kitchen.
I barely bother with the salad I have ordered (the salad that cancels out cheese. If you don't know this tip, is Splendid. Like food eaten in cars and when travelling, which has no calories, if you order a salad with a pizza the pizza will contain no calories). We eat our pizza. (Not bad, as it goes.)
No other sound can then be heard other than the mechanical squeak of Nicholson's eyebrow, and the solemn chomp-chomp of the Secret Film Society.
13 comments:
You established that the pizza delivery bod was in possesion of an A-Z?
Must be some market for a Moped based interactive GPS system -
"Track your Pizza" or something
I have been ordering Curry from the same place for over 6 years - they practically know my vital statistics and yet STILL can't drive to my house without getting lost along the way.
PS Been rather busy with a Gentleman Caller recently - hence absence....fun catching up on reading this though, always guarentees a chuckle - thanks luv.
M xx
All the house numbers on our street are out of order because the houses were all built at different times, odds and evens on both sides etc. When we order a pizza and tell them where we live you can almost hear the whimper in the background of the unlucky sod that will have to come out with the food. I do tip those chaps rather well as I fully understand how frustrating it is. One old chap appeared nearly in tears once as it had taken him 90 minutes to find us and all his other orders were cold too. When I told him that he'd forgotten the side order of sliced tomatoes he drove to the local Safeway and bought some fresh for us... bless him.
Phillip actually a very good idea I think. Mind if I steal it? UPS and that do it don't they.
M, this does not surprise me. But more importantly, what's this with being 'busy' with a Gentleman Caller? I am AGOG.
Tim - oh God not an old lost man, they always make me cry. Question though: what were you doing ordering a side order of tomatoes? I am slightly teary at the thought of him going to Safeway. Did you tip him Royally?
That looks like a Domino's vegi max
Oh, it's not a "guess the pizza" competition then?
When I lived in London, my boyfriend had to shout very loudly at a Sainsbury's man who couldn't be arsed to bring the shopping up to our second floor flat. Ocado, on the other hand, were very good - they wanted to come into the kitchen and unload it!
I felt so bad for being annoyed that my stupid pizza was late and that he had been so nice that I think I tipped him almost the cost of the pizza. Never saw him again though, I'm guessing that being a Pizza Courier wasn't his passion.
Yes: Great pizza moped men are born not made. It is a vocation much as the priesthood or the SS once were.
Not such a good uniform as either of those though.
And Anxious: I am glad that you share my devotion to the Cult of Ocado. Some of the elderly gents who come huffing and puffing up my stairs with a crateful of wonders seem determined to come in and cook it all for me. Eat it too, I wouldn't wonder.
Wouldn't a side order of tomatoes have the same effect as the salad & cancel out the pizza calories?
I would be teary at the thought of anyone having to go to safeway, never mind a lost old man.
Ocado live in my garden in little huts. When I go out they come in and tidy things away for me. Sadly, I have no excuse not to go to the supermarket with my own legs and hands, what with having nothing else to do, an' all. In fact, it is a Positive Highlight of my week.
Tim - YOU didn't make me tear up. It was the idea of the Old Man. It may well be that you killed him with your relentless demands for tomatoes.
Mikey -you OK to write my blog for the rest of the week? Will buy you a pint at the Pub I Mentioned in return. Cheers, man.
Beth - Fair point. Especially about Safeway. Aren't they Morrissons now? Even worse.
Oh! I was about to ask you the same question. I'm felling as puffed out as an old ocado man and was planning a bit of a lie down.....
BlogSwap! (9pm, Channel 4)
Lively reality TV show wherein two champion bloggers at the top of their game undertake a cultural exchange demonstrating that they are very much one trick ponies, can only write the one type of thing and not only have feet of clay but that all that clay underpinning is leading to a sort of philosophical subsidence
'champion bloggers at the top of their game"? Ooh! Hark at you! I can write about cake. Bet you didn't know that.
A technical term like 'parallel' is a bit much isn't it? Can't you think of a way to describe it to a five-year-old and then simplify a bit?
Z, stop it. Now.
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