More adventures delivering meals

Sunday being one of the hottest days of the year so far, it seemed an appropriate time for me to deliver meals in London again.

To be fair, I knew perfectly well what the weather would be like -- but the sick and needy of east London don't all suddenly get better because the weather is nice. So I set out in my car without air conditioning, and unable to roll my window down very far through fear of getting one sunburned arm. It wasn't pleasant, but the incredibly-awesome mix CD I had made the day before helped a great deal.

Each time, I hope secretly for a hottie for a navigator. Instead this time I got a guy named Andy, whom I've shared the route with on a number of other occasions. He's a very amiable sort of chap, he wants to be a teacher but works in factories from what I can gather -- when he is working at all. He's very bright, and knows a lot about science, but he struggles with telling left from right. It gets to the point where we now have a code between us; he says "turn left" and I have to ask "left-your-side or left-my-side?" -- it's quicker than him holding his hands up in front of him to check.

We had many interesting conversations, like the one about mirages in the desert. He remarked on noticing the heat haze -- like you get in the desert, he said -- and I wondered out loud if people in the desert see mirages of ice cream vans. I concluded that probably not everyone in the desert would, since I expect there are many people -- Bedouin and such like -- that have probably never seen an ice cream van. This prompted us to discuss what it would be like if you had hallucinations of things you had never seen before. I think perhaps we were a little delirious with the heat ourselves.

Another quirk of Andy's is that he has always just assumed I must be gay, perhaps because he is himself, or maybe because The Food Chain is a very gay-friendly charity. He was actually quite surprised -- first confused, then surprised -- when he found out this week I'm not. I told him that for the most part I don't much talk about these things as I don't think it's anyone else's business who I sleep with, but also that people can get a bit funny about it when they find out you're batting for both teams. Which is why most of my best friends don't know.

I wheeled out the old story of the girl in a gay bar telling me I just "hadn't met the right man yet", and how I wonder if I would have got out of there alive should I have suggested the same thing to her.

We went on to have a particular fascinating conversation about sexuality and pubs. We were slightly lost at one point -- as a navigator he's usually pretty good, but he has his poorer moments and doesn't do very well concentrating in warm weather -- and I asked him if he recognised any pubs. Usually, he comments on various pubs we pass, perhaps that they have amateur pole dancing competitions or if they're just places he knows. This time, no such luck -- he said he wasn't really familiar with "straight pubs".

Apparently, for some time he thought on Eastenders the Queen Vic pub was meant to be some kind of "theme" pub, perhaps in the style of some grotty, bygone age. Then he went to a straight pub and found that no, that's actually quite common an atmosphere. I laughed and said, yeah, I've been to pubs like that -- but there's lots of nice "straight" pubs, too. I also shared my opinion that of the gay venues I have visited, I am yet to find one with what I would call a decent jukebox. A good jukebox is very important to me -- the right selection of music can see me spending more on the tunes than on beer of an evening. He conceded that he does get sick of hearing "Dancing Queen" every over song. When I spent time with the LGB group at university it was the first time I'd ever been to gay pubs, but I wished we could meet in my favourite "straight" places where the music was good.

Despite taking longer than we would have liked -- due in part to my slightly concentration-impaired navigator -- the deliveries themselves went without a hitch, with all the "service users" being home and waiting for their meals. A word of warning though, to anyone driving in central London on a hot Sunday afternoon. Do not attempt to go anywhere near Columbia Road flower market.

I was going to end by saying that the next time I sign up for a shift, I am looking at who the navigators are first... but thinking back over navigators I have known, a disturbing number of them struggled with left and right, one had to be gently shown how best to hold a map, and one guy whom I have remained friends with had a very unfortunate stutter when trying to give directions... so maybe it's best to just take pot luck, and hope for a hottie. Or a benevolent and independently wealthy millionaire art collector...