a sense of belonging to my people
My Oyster card is dying. It won't scan, and then it'll suddenly start working again for a little while, then it goes off again. On Thursday night it took me a good 30 seconds to scan it at Clapton- then at Liverpool Street the barrier man tried to scan it on his reader some 50 times. He said it was deleted because I'd put it beside a mirror, and I'd have to buy a £2.50 ticket from him to get out.
"Can I just go and try it at the barrier one more time, please?"
"There's no point! It won't work!"
It worked, and I then got on and off the tube, but on the way home it had died again. I'll have to get a new one but the annoying thing is that I've got £25 left on this one.
I'm recently returned from a long weekend in Belfast upon which I was thoroughly spolit by my folks. Last few visits, they've had a habit of making alarming revelations in a very off-handed, casual manner. Last year it was that my conception was an unplanned accident, this time it was much scarier still; shortly before they met, my dad's family had been all set to relocate to Craigavon and it only fell through at the 11th hour. Craigavon!
I'd been very much looking forward to seeing the Linfield-Glentoran derby with my dad, but it was called off at 2pm because of a waterlogged pitch. Bloody Oval, I'll have to try again on Boxing day. Had a few good nights out with Gareth and Ciaran, and was introduced to some very pleasing new pubs. Bittles was the only place on a Friday night without deafening amplified music, and with some concept of personal space. There was a fiddle and a bodhran, Sky Sports was on mute, and it was busy without being crowded. A tiny place crammed with Rock Dreams-style oil paintings of Yeats, Beckett, Joyce etc crowded round a bar in deep discussion while Wilde pulled pints of Guinness. At the end of our session a woman gave me a triple Bushmills ("Oh, you're drinking whisky! Take this- we're not trying to rape you, my husband bought it and he's not allowed to drink it"). This was a good thing and a bad thing.
On Saturday Gareth and I went to somewhere called Muriels. It's apparently a friend-o-lesbians but the smartly-attired crowd was 'mixed'. Nice decor; the downstairs had something of the French House about it- countless framed photos of 20s actresses, martini glasses above the bar and display cases filled with vintage hats. The upstairs is lovely old-fashioned sofas and armchairs. Belfast has changed a lot and I feel like a Ryanair tourist when Gareth shows me these places; which I suppose I am. Here we got the idea that we should get funding for a travel book called 'Right-Wing Football Clubs of Europe'. The research would entail us, er, going to lots of football matches and sampling the pubs and bars of Europe, and pretending that we were brave enough to talk to the Ultras. The itinerary would be something like; Linfield, Rangers, Cardiff, Millwall, Feyenoord, Anderlecht, Espanyol, Real Madrid, Sporting Lisbon, Inter, Lazio, Dinamo Zagreb, Hadjuk Split, Wisla Krakow.
Two gigs on Wednesday and Thursday. Wednesday was Cherry Red's anniversary party, it was invite-only with free drinks, we were half the age of everyone else in the venue, and (most of) The Monochrome Set played a one-off reunion, with a few SW star turns. They were absolutely blinding and it was very satisfying to hear all their classic tunes in succession; I hadn't realised quite what a formidable ouevre they had. A privilege to be there. Thursday was Martin & Danielle's karaoke circus, where a live band had learnt 20 songs and were providing backing. There's a very good reason why I don't sing in Vichy and I was dreading singing in front of people, but in the end I really enjoyed it. I did 'Copacabana' and Kate got roped into doing 'Beautiful'. The whole night was so much fun; my favourite was the 'blind date' section where a boy and girl who'd never met had to sing 'Especially For You'. As uncomfortable as any moment in The Office.
"Can I just go and try it at the barrier one more time, please?"
"There's no point! It won't work!"
It worked, and I then got on and off the tube, but on the way home it had died again. I'll have to get a new one but the annoying thing is that I've got £25 left on this one.
I'm recently returned from a long weekend in Belfast upon which I was thoroughly spolit by my folks. Last few visits, they've had a habit of making alarming revelations in a very off-handed, casual manner. Last year it was that my conception was an unplanned accident, this time it was much scarier still; shortly before they met, my dad's family had been all set to relocate to Craigavon and it only fell through at the 11th hour. Craigavon!
I'd been very much looking forward to seeing the Linfield-Glentoran derby with my dad, but it was called off at 2pm because of a waterlogged pitch. Bloody Oval, I'll have to try again on Boxing day. Had a few good nights out with Gareth and Ciaran, and was introduced to some very pleasing new pubs. Bittles was the only place on a Friday night without deafening amplified music, and with some concept of personal space. There was a fiddle and a bodhran, Sky Sports was on mute, and it was busy without being crowded. A tiny place crammed with Rock Dreams-style oil paintings of Yeats, Beckett, Joyce etc crowded round a bar in deep discussion while Wilde pulled pints of Guinness. At the end of our session a woman gave me a triple Bushmills ("Oh, you're drinking whisky! Take this- we're not trying to rape you, my husband bought it and he's not allowed to drink it"). This was a good thing and a bad thing.
On Saturday Gareth and I went to somewhere called Muriels. It's apparently a friend-o-lesbians but the smartly-attired crowd was 'mixed'. Nice decor; the downstairs had something of the French House about it- countless framed photos of 20s actresses, martini glasses above the bar and display cases filled with vintage hats. The upstairs is lovely old-fashioned sofas and armchairs. Belfast has changed a lot and I feel like a Ryanair tourist when Gareth shows me these places; which I suppose I am. Here we got the idea that we should get funding for a travel book called 'Right-Wing Football Clubs of Europe'. The research would entail us, er, going to lots of football matches and sampling the pubs and bars of Europe, and pretending that we were brave enough to talk to the Ultras. The itinerary would be something like; Linfield, Rangers, Cardiff, Millwall, Feyenoord, Anderlecht, Espanyol, Real Madrid, Sporting Lisbon, Inter, Lazio, Dinamo Zagreb, Hadjuk Split, Wisla Krakow.
Two gigs on Wednesday and Thursday. Wednesday was Cherry Red's anniversary party, it was invite-only with free drinks, we were half the age of everyone else in the venue, and (most of) The Monochrome Set played a one-off reunion, with a few SW star turns. They were absolutely blinding and it was very satisfying to hear all their classic tunes in succession; I hadn't realised quite what a formidable ouevre they had. A privilege to be there. Thursday was Martin & Danielle's karaoke circus, where a live band had learnt 20 songs and were providing backing. There's a very good reason why I don't sing in Vichy and I was dreading singing in front of people, but in the end I really enjoyed it. I did 'Copacabana' and Kate got roped into doing 'Beautiful'. The whole night was so much fun; my favourite was the 'blind date' section where a boy and girl who'd never met had to sing 'Especially For You'. As uncomfortable as any moment in The Office.