Dog Hairs, Cambridge Photos and Another Weird Dream...
I wouldn't mind dog hairs if I didn't have to go to work covered in them. When I slept at Jason's yesterday I left all my stuff on the couch downstairs... and Roxy the collie has a habit of sleeping all over my stuff.
I picked up the three lots of photos from the Cambridge Rock Festival I put in for development yesterday, and I must say, the results weren't actually as bad as I'd expected. The Caravan ones were understandably blurry, being shot in a dark tent between 8.30 and 10pm, but I still captured some golden moments like Geoffrey Richardson on the spoons - and I got at least one good shot of each band member excluding Mark Walker, who was hidden behind Jan Schelhaas from where I stood.
The photos taken on the way to Cambridge were quite good due to favourable lighting, but in the hotel I definitely should have used the flash. The infamous boxers photo didn't make it, which is a shame - it would have been an amusing memento indeed!
So, Jason's yesterday (and this morning). The fly problem didn't actually seem to be too bad this time round, because he and Jamie have been spraying the house top-to-bottom on a regular basis, swatting the buggers at every opportunity. After having tea, we had more tea, watched Anchorman (which was, as Jason had promised, hilarious), then Family Guy, then bed. I drifted in and out of sleep all night due to my own restlessness, Jason snoring and then Toby barking at nothing in the middle of the night, and had a rather strange dream.
I can't remember exactly where we were but it looked like the American midwest, all patchy and scrubby grass, a palette of yellows, reds, oranges and green. Dramatic rock formations in the distance. Jason and I were in the back of a car - a black, glossy, businesslike sort of thing - perhaps an Audi or a BMW - being driven back to my place. Only it wasn't my place when we got there - it was this weird hybrid between my house and a tall, crooked wooden shack. I could have likened it to the Weasley house from Harry Potter.
I was dressed in a smart grey waistcoat and matching trousers, with a blazer, white shirt and an orange chiffon scarf. Next to me, Jason was asleep, snoring. Our driver commented on it, and then I woke him up.
From the upstairs window, my bedroom, the sound of a clarinet playing jazz improv. My clarinet. I got out of the car and into the house, ran upstairs alonebut there was nobody in. I looked around frantically but my clarinet was gone. Most of my other stuff, too - in fact, it looked like the house had been deserted for decades after being trashed - but all I cared about was my clarinet.
And that was my dream. Heck yes.
Anyway, I shall write later. There's work to be done!
I picked up the three lots of photos from the Cambridge Rock Festival I put in for development yesterday, and I must say, the results weren't actually as bad as I'd expected. The Caravan ones were understandably blurry, being shot in a dark tent between 8.30 and 10pm, but I still captured some golden moments like Geoffrey Richardson on the spoons - and I got at least one good shot of each band member excluding Mark Walker, who was hidden behind Jan Schelhaas from where I stood.
The photos taken on the way to Cambridge were quite good due to favourable lighting, but in the hotel I definitely should have used the flash. The infamous boxers photo didn't make it, which is a shame - it would have been an amusing memento indeed!
So, Jason's yesterday (and this morning). The fly problem didn't actually seem to be too bad this time round, because he and Jamie have been spraying the house top-to-bottom on a regular basis, swatting the buggers at every opportunity. After having tea, we had more tea, watched Anchorman (which was, as Jason had promised, hilarious), then Family Guy, then bed. I drifted in and out of sleep all night due to my own restlessness, Jason snoring and then Toby barking at nothing in the middle of the night, and had a rather strange dream.
I can't remember exactly where we were but it looked like the American midwest, all patchy and scrubby grass, a palette of yellows, reds, oranges and green. Dramatic rock formations in the distance. Jason and I were in the back of a car - a black, glossy, businesslike sort of thing - perhaps an Audi or a BMW - being driven back to my place. Only it wasn't my place when we got there - it was this weird hybrid between my house and a tall, crooked wooden shack. I could have likened it to the Weasley house from Harry Potter.
I was dressed in a smart grey waistcoat and matching trousers, with a blazer, white shirt and an orange chiffon scarf. Next to me, Jason was asleep, snoring. Our driver commented on it, and then I woke him up.
From the upstairs window, my bedroom, the sound of a clarinet playing jazz improv. My clarinet. I got out of the car and into the house, ran upstairs alonebut there was nobody in. I looked around frantically but my clarinet was gone. Most of my other stuff, too - in fact, it looked like the house had been deserted for decades after being trashed - but all I cared about was my clarinet.
And that was my dream. Heck yes.
Anyway, I shall write later. There's work to be done!