Thought Picnic: Of feet on seats, a challenge to my objectivity

An annoyance

The bugbear of feet on seats, today had me questioning my impartiality and objectivity as the man sat opposite me chose to put his feet on the seat next to mine.

I have in times past asked people to put their feet down because I consider it rude and disrespectful to have your feet on public transport seats next to another passenger.

This is beside the fact that it is against the rules and just bad manners. I have before today tolerated this particular passenger's bad habit knowing he will have to make way for other passengers at the next station.

Prompted to act

However, today, I was presented with an opportunity I did well not to miss. When he saw the ticket conductor walking down the aisle to check our tickets, he took his feet off the seat, signifying he knew it was wrong to soil the seats with footwear and also preventing the situation of being told off by an authority figure.

The moment the conductor left us, his feet were back on the seat. At which point, I motioned to him and asked why he took his feet off the seat when the conductor came by and then put them back on as the conductor left us.

Not too shocked

Then I upbraided him for behaving badly before I returned to reading my newspaper, not too pleased with myself for waiting to act with civic responsibility.

We then got off at the same station and then I realised we worked at the same place. I was appalled, but not surprised. Alas! Gentlemanliness and the test of such a virtue is not a prerequisite for working at a bank.

To all feet big and long

The matter of size

I was in no ape suit nor was I traipsing around some out back, a request revealed that I needed size 46 slippers and there I was under threat of probing analysis.

Jokes and laughter followed as I was told the National Geographic will be called to take me away - I could only wonder why.

There is no saying that there is some sensitivity attached to feet being big rather than long and I do protest almost too vehemently that my feet are long rather than big.

Somehow, people cannot resist the urge to say Bigfoot, thankfully no one has yet said Sasquatch or else it might well be my “big” foot in their mouths and worse.

The little-endian part of this big-endian story is that each of my feet is exactly a foot long leading one to aver that I do really have 2 feet in every truth you can muster apart from the stability such feet give me for my average height of 6 feet or 1.83 meters.

That is not to say those with feet short of feet do not have two feet but stumps, I suppose if you can twiddle your toes you are standing on something and adaptation or evolution allows for the stability you have.

Foot in back

I will not be found foot loose on this matter where I have to do much foot work to ensure my foot does not end in my mouth just because someone somewhere has acquired a foot fetish from knowing my foot size.

Rather than have my foot the butt of silly jokes, I should really put my foot in the backside of the joker and ensure the boot is studded.

The question then is what are long feet good for, if you cannot swim? Answers on a foot stool – Thanks!

Brunch with Florence Nightingale in Paris

Don’t be late for brunch

A morning in Paris is not complete without brunch at the Café Beaubourg adjacent to the Georges Pompidou Centre – usually, I take a window seat on the first floor and watch the world go by as I tuck into the amalgam of English/Continental breakfast.

Well, it is tea, coffee or chocolate, freshly pressed orange or grapefruit juice, toast, scrambled eggs, hash browns, fried ham looking like bacon, sausages, butter, jams, a salad and still water.

You crown that with a fruit salad or a selection of cheeses, somehow this time the waiter brought coffee instead of the chocolate, I ordered, that was changed, but I did not ask for the fruit salad to be exchanged for the cheese – well, sometime the staff are just not up to it.

The main thing is to get to the café before 11:00AM when things start to change to another kind of menu, so, as the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, I did wonder to myself as I looked at my watch – “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!”

I just never seem to make it for breakfast in hotels though the quality of choice can be lacking in hotel buffets.

My big toe – Ouch! Ouch!

So, I left the hotel with just 45 minutes to spare and got out at Les Halles metro stop, just as I was cresting ground-level on the escalator, there was a misstep and I bruised my toe.

It is summer and temperature are in touching distance of 30 Celsius, so we are all in shorts and sandals, but unlike the Dutch, I never wear socks in my sandals, probably leaving ones toes unprotected if one stumbles.

Protecting size 46 – European/12 – UK feet can be an ordeal, not that my feet are big, they are just long and really each foot is exactly a foot (imperial measure) long – so I do have 2 feet in every sense of the word.

Thankfully, my feet were already size 45/11 at 15 and they have not grown in that proportion, shopping for good shoes is some arduous task.

Anyway, I thought, it was just a bruise then noticed it was really bleeding, so I had to look for a chemist to get a dressing and treatment if necessary, so I hobbled about looking for a green neon sign in the shape pf a cross – the sign for pharmacies in Europe in general – I found one and walked in, queued up to be served.

Only Florence Nightingale could do better

A lady comes round and now my foot is something of a mess, she gets sterile pads and so on, and here I am thinking I have to find a bench to sort this thing out.

Then come the sterile gloves and disinfectant, swabs and all that nursey stuff, she gets me to sit down and sets to work on my bloodied big toe, nothing overly serious 4 lint pads later and a plaster.

Then she cleans the blood off my sandals too and after that, says I can go. I can go? No charge for the service? She would not take anything and you really cannot tip for this kind of service.

Anyway, I put a healthy currency note on the counter and insist, that is a thank you for what she had done.

Just in time for brunch at the café but for the first time I have to have it on the terrace rather than my favourite window seat.

If only the waiters in some restaurants in Paris could be as good as the lady at the apothecary.