[London] These are a few of my favorite things.
At Andy's suggestion, I christened a new method of shopping today. Taking a camera into the dressing room must be the most fantastic way to assess clothing. Apparently other people think so as well, because I heard the girl in the room next to me at Oasis taking pictures, too.
I spent four hours shopping, partly in a quest to purchase a dress I've loved for a whole year now. I tried it on last year with Ann but couldn't afford it then, so I had to let it go. This year, however, they've revived it in a much better color scheme (cream, black, and gold instead of cream, green, and pink), and I most certainly can afford it. I think it's worth it to spend 140 bucks in order to feel like a million. Anyway, I checked four Oasis stores for it (I have the shopping landscape down cold, apparently) but could only find a few of the dresses in one store. I found it in the morning, asked for opinions from Andy and my mother, and then ran out to buy it late this afternoon. A woman in front of me managed to snatch one up, but I was right behind her. When I checked out, an employee asked me, "Are you the one who called about this this morning?" I most certainly wasn't, so it would seem that I wasn't the only one trying desperately to get my hands on one. "This is the nicest dress here," she continued. "They keep making it in different colors." Perhaps that means I'll be able to buy one next year, too. Pat has adopted a saying from one of her friends: "When you buy something new, make sure to wear it for the first time on a special occasion." While I'm not intentionally adhering to this advice, I still think I'll wear it first at the Royal Opera House or at a nice dinner with Andy in August. We'll have an anniversary here, and I'm already trying to think up something special to do then.
When I was trying to get on the very crowded Victoria line tube on the way home, a grumpy man with a comb moustache shoved me out of the way to climb aboard. He pried the doors back open as they were closing and growled an irritated "fuck," as if to say, "I'll be damned if I'm waiting another two minutes for a train." He then coolly turned to the older woman beside me and said, "Are you gettin' on?" She chose not to argue and squeezed through the doors before he let them snap shut.
On a bench by the wallabies on Sunday, I watched a little girl approach a wooden wallaby statue just about as tall as she was. "Hello, nice to meet you," she said quietly. The sweet moment was swiftly shattered when she reached up and began shaking the wallaby violently by the ears until her father called her away. A few minutes later, a little boy ran towards a series of other animal statues. "Can I say hello to the bear?" he asked his mother. "Of course you can!" He took off for the statues, crying: "Helloooo, bear! Helloooo! Oh, here's the tiger! How are you today?" I must admit that I felt tempted to have a conversation with the wooden wallaby myself, but I think it would have seemed a little odd. I remember being a little girl at Kew, so sometimes I miss crawling around underneath drooping trees and bushes, collecting twigs and seeds, imagining that it was all my own secret garden.
I saw Market Boy at the NT on Monday, a play that was commissioned by the NT and apparently developed in workshops for the past four or five years. The first fifteen minutes of the comedy, set to a series of 80s pop songs, were some of the funniest I've ever seen in a play, and the whole audience was practically doubled over laughing. Margaret Thatcher made several appearances, from the rude to the raunchy to the absurd, and the older women on either side of me shrieked with laughter. A group of teenage girls in the circle must have fallen for the main lead, because periodically they would collectively sigh and a wave of "awww!" from the back of the theatre would float to the front. Once I noticed that the actor almost cracked up as the girls cried out. In any case, it was brilliantly funny. I've booked tickets to see it again with Andy in August. The National Theatre produces so many remarkable plays that it's really rather amazing.
On my way out the door this morning, I picked up an envelope from Andy that had come in the mail. I opened it as I walked along the side of Highbury Fields, underneath the avenue of trees, on my way to the station. It was a perfect little moment. In my entire life, I've never been as happy as I've been this year. The words apply, even if Celia had something rather different in mind: My relationship is wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all hooping.
I spent four hours shopping, partly in a quest to purchase a dress I've loved for a whole year now. I tried it on last year with Ann but couldn't afford it then, so I had to let it go. This year, however, they've revived it in a much better color scheme (cream, black, and gold instead of cream, green, and pink), and I most certainly can afford it. I think it's worth it to spend 140 bucks in order to feel like a million. Anyway, I checked four Oasis stores for it (I have the shopping landscape down cold, apparently) but could only find a few of the dresses in one store. I found it in the morning, asked for opinions from Andy and my mother, and then ran out to buy it late this afternoon. A woman in front of me managed to snatch one up, but I was right behind her. When I checked out, an employee asked me, "Are you the one who called about this this morning?" I most certainly wasn't, so it would seem that I wasn't the only one trying desperately to get my hands on one. "This is the nicest dress here," she continued. "They keep making it in different colors." Perhaps that means I'll be able to buy one next year, too. Pat has adopted a saying from one of her friends: "When you buy something new, make sure to wear it for the first time on a special occasion." While I'm not intentionally adhering to this advice, I still think I'll wear it first at the Royal Opera House or at a nice dinner with Andy in August. We'll have an anniversary here, and I'm already trying to think up something special to do then.
When I was trying to get on the very crowded Victoria line tube on the way home, a grumpy man with a comb moustache shoved me out of the way to climb aboard. He pried the doors back open as they were closing and growled an irritated "fuck," as if to say, "I'll be damned if I'm waiting another two minutes for a train." He then coolly turned to the older woman beside me and said, "Are you gettin' on?" She chose not to argue and squeezed through the doors before he let them snap shut.
On a bench by the wallabies on Sunday, I watched a little girl approach a wooden wallaby statue just about as tall as she was. "Hello, nice to meet you," she said quietly. The sweet moment was swiftly shattered when she reached up and began shaking the wallaby violently by the ears until her father called her away. A few minutes later, a little boy ran towards a series of other animal statues. "Can I say hello to the bear?" he asked his mother. "Of course you can!" He took off for the statues, crying: "Helloooo, bear! Helloooo! Oh, here's the tiger! How are you today?" I must admit that I felt tempted to have a conversation with the wooden wallaby myself, but I think it would have seemed a little odd. I remember being a little girl at Kew, so sometimes I miss crawling around underneath drooping trees and bushes, collecting twigs and seeds, imagining that it was all my own secret garden.
I saw Market Boy at the NT on Monday, a play that was commissioned by the NT and apparently developed in workshops for the past four or five years. The first fifteen minutes of the comedy, set to a series of 80s pop songs, were some of the funniest I've ever seen in a play, and the whole audience was practically doubled over laughing. Margaret Thatcher made several appearances, from the rude to the raunchy to the absurd, and the older women on either side of me shrieked with laughter. A group of teenage girls in the circle must have fallen for the main lead, because periodically they would collectively sigh and a wave of "awww!" from the back of the theatre would float to the front. Once I noticed that the actor almost cracked up as the girls cried out. In any case, it was brilliantly funny. I've booked tickets to see it again with Andy in August. The National Theatre produces so many remarkable plays that it's really rather amazing.
On my way out the door this morning, I picked up an envelope from Andy that had come in the mail. I opened it as I walked along the side of Highbury Fields, underneath the avenue of trees, on my way to the station. It was a perfect little moment. In my entire life, I've never been as happy as I've been this year. The words apply, even if Celia had something rather different in mind: My relationship is wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all hooping.