I’d vaguely heard some stuff about the P950i, which will not come just in time to save me from the tragedy of having a phone with a rubbish camera that turns itself off in my bag, but Hermione? What? I’m sure this has been pointed out a million times already but I feel that I have to as well. Given the size of the P910i I would have thought it would be more of a Hagrid, but Hermione’s probably a better name for a smartphone, though it doesn’t say much for its communication ability. I was going to also make some Harry/Snape gadget-mating jokes here, but then I realised that quite a lot of readers might not be aware of HP slash fiction and would just think I was a strange paedophile, so I’ll leave it for a more appropriate place.
It’s stupidly hot at the moment. If you’re in London and you’re thinking of leaving the house/office/other place out of the sun and perhaps incorporating air conditioning or at least fans, don’t. Wait for a couple of hours, it should be quite nice then. Going out now is like being hit with a big cartoon hammer.
If you read my Livejournal you might remember that I tend to have trouble getting black coffee. I’ve been having some success on this score recently, but this morning it all fell apart.
Me: That’s a bacon and egg croissant, and can I also have a black coffee please.
Woman At Counter: A black coffee?
Me: That’s right.
WAC: (to Man Making Coffee – at Pret A Manger there is a division of labour between those on the tills and those making the coffee:) Black coffee.
MMC: White coffee?
WAC: No, black coffee. (bags up croissant and takes my money)
(to me:) Your coffee will just be a moment.
MMC: (passes cup across) White coffee.
WAC: (takes cup, waves it around at various customers) White coffee? (No customers claim coffee, particularly the narrator, who takes a step backwards just to emphasise the fact that he did not order a white coffee. Eventually I am identified as the person who has been waiting the longest, and thus most likely to be the original orderer of said coffee, and WAC hopefully proffers cup.)
Me: No, that’s not mine, I ordered a black coffee.
WAC: (appears to remember, passes cup back to MMC who is joking about with co-coffee-making-people) Black coffee.
Me: (eventually gets another cup, thanks WAC and takes it round corner to sugar counter to surreptitiously open the lid inside the bag and check that black coffee is in fact contained within cup, resulting in minor coffee spillage and scalded fingertips)
What gets me is that while I have been there, and I have spent quite a bit of time in the retro brushed metal environment of Hammersmith Pret, nobody has ever ordered a white coffee. They order cappuccino, espresso and black coffee, in that order. It’s an example of the development of British society. In the past one was forced to neutralise one’s Nescafe with milk or risk public vomiting. Nowadays one faces that problem less often but the instinct for coffee with milk is still there, and cappuccinos are more well known than lattes, though the point of ordering a cappuccino to take away is a bit limited given that thirty seconds of walking around with it means the foam collapses completely and it’s just a light brown liquid with maybe a bit of chocolate floating on it.