JAM.
Saturday:
(A lot of my friends went to protest marches and I'm really proud of them all)
Gym'd mightily. The new running pattern is too long and I have to add more time to the treadmill to do it and that's fiddly and annoying, this is meant to be FITNESS not A FUCKING MATHS TEST.
Then I went to be tattooed for several hours, to finish reading The Devil's Paintbrush (there's a sort of inevitability to the ending which I am finding in a lot of Jake Arnott's work now but it was satisfying in its predictability) and start reading The London Monster (which, for all that it's real life, is hysterically funny and quite awful at the same time), in between playing 2048 (I won twice) and reading The Mint (which gave me a craving for jam sandwiches) and being forced to watch FLAT EARTHER CONSPIRACY VIDEOS until I'd shouted myself horse in angry rationalist protest, and then rewarded with Ren & Stimpy (which is funnier and less disturbing now that I'm an adult).
A progress shot of the tattoo will be forthcoming at some point.
Sunday:
THE DAY OF REST/SELF-CARE. I did not gym. I also satisfied my JAM CRAVING with brunch: JAM. Then FINALLY got to go to the conservatory at the Barbican Centre (and also have several arguments with Lindsay, although we did also bond over a video of Richard Spencer being PUNCHED IN THE HEAD). Conservatory here, here, here, here, here, here (contained taro roots and two women bitching about what a boring film La La Land is), here (I must go for afternoon tea sometime? It's only open on Sunday), also contained lots of people doing small-scale fashion-shoots and illustration practice.
IT was sunny. and freezing. The only point of the lake that wasn't frozen was the bit directly under the fountains. Madness. It's not been this cold in at least four or five years. A selection of London Gods I couldn't leave offerings for because my boyfriend makes fun of me. (Saint Sepulchure's, the Holborn dragons, the Fleet, and some river gods).
We popped into an exhibition of SEAsian shadow puppets here, here, and here at the British Museum, but a combination of being tired and hungry and the bad Wifi on the top floor made me too irritated to concentrate, so we adjourned for late lunch/early dinner:
At Hiba Express, a Lesbanese/Palestinian place which is staffed by GRANNIES in the kitchen. The smoothie is called a Pimlico (they're all named after parts of London), also there's a Hiba Kalaj and whatever the grill of the day was (there was mutabal, that's broadly all I care about).
I took us to Laduree, where Lindsay proceeded to sulk off after a short fight - he later explained he was ill and wanted to be at home but instead of MENTIONING THIS AT THE TIME just decided to be disagreeable. So I went by myself. It was great. I sat on the balcony over Covent Garden and watched the remainder of the sunset, dipping mini viennoiseries into hot chocolate and eating that pink confection there, which contained raspberries and custard cream in the bottom and rose cream in the top.
Went to look at the Chinatown decorations ahead of CNY this weekend, and finished up in Tsujiri, where they were nice enough to bring me over my matcha latte with a bear in it!.
(Other places visited, in passing, include Postman's Park and the Memorial to Heroic Self-Sacrifice, which I am using as a divination device - today's is "Died of exhaustion after saving many lives" - and Thomas Farthing, where I failed to find a single hat that fits because I am a medium in every single aspect except ME DICK WHICH IS TINY, and they only had a large [59] or a small [55], and later Prowler, where I discovered that they only have the specific Daddy Issues t-shirt in large, please see previous complaint, and for £30 I am not buying a t-shirt which ain't fit).
Speaking of which, my trousers seem to be getting bigger again. One in the eye for the "you won't lose weight doing cardio" naysayers, I feel.
(A lot of my friends went to protest marches and I'm really proud of them all)
Gym'd mightily. The new running pattern is too long and I have to add more time to the treadmill to do it and that's fiddly and annoying, this is meant to be FITNESS not A FUCKING MATHS TEST.
Then I went to be tattooed for several hours, to finish reading The Devil's Paintbrush (there's a sort of inevitability to the ending which I am finding in a lot of Jake Arnott's work now but it was satisfying in its predictability) and start reading The London Monster (which, for all that it's real life, is hysterically funny and quite awful at the same time), in between playing 2048 (I won twice) and reading The Mint (which gave me a craving for jam sandwiches) and being forced to watch FLAT EARTHER CONSPIRACY VIDEOS until I'd shouted myself horse in angry rationalist protest, and then rewarded with Ren & Stimpy (which is funnier and less disturbing now that I'm an adult).
A progress shot of the tattoo will be forthcoming at some point.
Sunday:
THE DAY OF REST/SELF-CARE. I did not gym. I also satisfied my JAM CRAVING with brunch: JAM. Then FINALLY got to go to the conservatory at the Barbican Centre (and also have several arguments with Lindsay, although we did also bond over a video of Richard Spencer being PUNCHED IN THE HEAD). Conservatory here, here, here, here, here, here (contained taro roots and two women bitching about what a boring film La La Land is), here (I must go for afternoon tea sometime? It's only open on Sunday), also contained lots of people doing small-scale fashion-shoots and illustration practice.
IT was sunny. and freezing. The only point of the lake that wasn't frozen was the bit directly under the fountains. Madness. It's not been this cold in at least four or five years. A selection of London Gods I couldn't leave offerings for because my boyfriend makes fun of me. (Saint Sepulchure's, the Holborn dragons, the Fleet, and some river gods).
We popped into an exhibition of SEAsian shadow puppets here, here, and here at the British Museum, but a combination of being tired and hungry and the bad Wifi on the top floor made me too irritated to concentrate, so we adjourned for late lunch/early dinner:
At Hiba Express, a Lesbanese/Palestinian place which is staffed by GRANNIES in the kitchen. The smoothie is called a Pimlico (they're all named after parts of London), also there's a Hiba Kalaj and whatever the grill of the day was (there was mutabal, that's broadly all I care about).
I took us to Laduree, where Lindsay proceeded to sulk off after a short fight - he later explained he was ill and wanted to be at home but instead of MENTIONING THIS AT THE TIME just decided to be disagreeable. So I went by myself. It was great. I sat on the balcony over Covent Garden and watched the remainder of the sunset, dipping mini viennoiseries into hot chocolate and eating that pink confection there, which contained raspberries and custard cream in the bottom and rose cream in the top.
Went to look at the Chinatown decorations ahead of CNY this weekend, and finished up in Tsujiri, where they were nice enough to bring me over my matcha latte with a bear in it!.
(Other places visited, in passing, include Postman's Park and the Memorial to Heroic Self-Sacrifice, which I am using as a divination device - today's is "Died of exhaustion after saving many lives" - and Thomas Farthing, where I failed to find a single hat that fits because I am a medium in every single aspect except ME DICK WHICH IS TINY, and they only had a large [59] or a small [55], and later Prowler, where I discovered that they only have the specific Daddy Issues t-shirt in large, please see previous complaint, and for £30 I am not buying a t-shirt which ain't fit).
Speaking of which, my trousers seem to be getting bigger again. One in the eye for the "you won't lose weight doing cardio" naysayers, I feel.