Mercury transits
Aren’t we enormously lucky to have this weather - even if it all ends today - a gorgeous weekend in which almost nothing happened but I got a lot done.
I felt most queer straight after work on Friday - I had to turn down Kitson tickets, catching up with an out of town friend and drinks and patio lolling with Rosamicula. I am not even sure what I did - oh - I lay down in the dark and quietly watched Rick Stein in Berlin - which was fascinating as he was staying in the hotel next to the one I stayed in when I was there last year - my hotel was better but much more oligarch-y and less hipster ridiculous than Stein’s. The problem with doing a food programme about Berlin is the food in Berlin - and Ricky hit that issue - he spent a lot of time scrabbling about carparks and crematoria looking for the latest hipster supper club and ate the same thing about three times everywhere else (in my queasy state I couldn’t quite deal with watching him eat roast or boiled pork knuckle or Currywurst) - Berlin is fabulous but other than the unabashedly Austrian beer hall and the oldest restaurant in Berlin everywhere he went was trying so hard in a way that contrasted so starkly with the Bordeaux programme a couple of weeks back where the food is just transcendently good without any mucking about.
Despite being crashingly tired I didn’t sleep til late because I just needed to know that for once I had actually voted for our Mayor and woke up at my usual early hour. I was shattered but I had to get to the bank to do some boring money wrangling with actual cash - gosh Canary Wharf has changed - that newish crossrail bit is monolithic - also the Natwest is open all weekend. And so so quiet! I hopped on the bus to East India - the place where we did Such Stuff and already the crazy landlord has painted the front of our building with angular jarring London 2012 acid brights. We were only there because it is all about to change - I feel a little sad about this because although East India was trapped in the 80s/90s Canary Wharf as Venice timewarp and it’s strange location almost neighbours with but definitely absolutely not Canary Wharf with its one newsagent, strange café, Travel Lodge and Bar Salento (which is decked out like a Julie’s Pantry circa 1994 with plastic tablecloths with ‘cappuccino’ ‘latte’ ‘coffee’ printed on them). It had to change - only BCM sites and data centres with their lack of actual people working in them from 9-5 and Tower Hamlets Council mean that place has an eerie quality and the price per square foot was not commensurate with London - the shiny new Aberfeldy flats on the reclaimed brownfields are going up like a dose of the salts and they’ve about to obliterate one of the shabbier estates next door so shiny Shoreditch style retail is moving in and they are hoping to create a new Silicon Roundabout (or, rather, Silicon Crescent just off a Roundabout)
Of course part of me suspects that this part of London at the gaping maw of the Blackwall Tunnel with no local character other than its obscure East London eeriness (which I have always had a bit of a thing for, I love the Beckton branch of the DLR - it’s like a Dadaist nightmare of failed investments and where shit architecture of the sort that you see plonked on the outskirts of almost every major European City goes to die) will always be an armpit.
I was back at East India to start ripping out the set - after a few hours the lush drapes and artful dead branches that it took me and shewho and several other people a weekend to put up were down and a tiny little witch’s workshop I had created was stripped down and packed away. My feet wouldn’t stand for much more standing so I headed home, had a solitary pint of rather nice Perry in what was once the Noble and went to bed. At around 6pm. (I know)
Awake relatively early to start doing boring domestic things - and then up to Highgate for a spot of breakfast. Nothing to note there apart from the fact that at one point I found myself drinking 4 drinks at once and the waiter and I had fits of giggles about it. My breakfast came with a juice and a coffee, I fancied a mimosa as I am not drinking for the next 12 weeks (from today) and that particular restaurant chain always plonks a carafe of water and a glass down for you. I am in good company though - I read an interview where Helena Bonham-Carter had a similar set up and she claimed it was all the rage (I very often triple drink as I like water, coffee (which I always have black) and something sugary or fruity)
During the breakfast I suddenly thought it might be a good idea to catch up with R - formerly of this LJ Parish and made the relevant arrangements by phone and text like it was 2004 again. R has just been in an election and had done rather well. In all of the fussing about the press about the elections, the Greens are now the third party in a lot of places and in rural Southern towns of the kingmaking type are really starting to make massive headway. Good to see that the Lib Dems are building up strength in the South West again - I hold out a lot of hope that their desolation in their heartland was nothing more than a protest vote. After a lot more spring cleaning I met with R for a coffee and we talked about why we had both been too busy to see one another since Christmas and it was rather pleasing. A jolly afternoon. As I am attempting to eat more sensibly in line with the not drinking regime I had a last perfect supper of a pile of proper chip butties. It was rather fun but left me feeling listless. I returned to the spring clean and remembered that Radiohead were about to launch an album and 6 Music were playing it live from the point of release. It is beautiful - but I rather wish that it hadn’t been interrupted by Tom Robinson reading out the tweets of over-effusive millennials eg - ‘selfietwat97 just tweeted, ‘Wow…words fail me’’ added nothing to the experience. I love every single track on the album - three were spellbinding and the final one - which I thought was a cruel joke turned out to be a studio recording of one of their most beautiful songs.
Dusk settled - I finished tidying - ran my third lot of laundry and then collapsed into bed. I had been using Netflix to get me to sleep for the last 3 years so I have decided to start weaning myself off that. As a result I didn’t get to sleep til 1am and had to watch one episode of one thing to get me drowsy enough to do that. It may be a slow process.
I felt most queer straight after work on Friday - I had to turn down Kitson tickets, catching up with an out of town friend and drinks and patio lolling with Rosamicula. I am not even sure what I did - oh - I lay down in the dark and quietly watched Rick Stein in Berlin - which was fascinating as he was staying in the hotel next to the one I stayed in when I was there last year - my hotel was better but much more oligarch-y and less hipster ridiculous than Stein’s. The problem with doing a food programme about Berlin is the food in Berlin - and Ricky hit that issue - he spent a lot of time scrabbling about carparks and crematoria looking for the latest hipster supper club and ate the same thing about three times everywhere else (in my queasy state I couldn’t quite deal with watching him eat roast or boiled pork knuckle or Currywurst) - Berlin is fabulous but other than the unabashedly Austrian beer hall and the oldest restaurant in Berlin everywhere he went was trying so hard in a way that contrasted so starkly with the Bordeaux programme a couple of weeks back where the food is just transcendently good without any mucking about.
Despite being crashingly tired I didn’t sleep til late because I just needed to know that for once I had actually voted for our Mayor and woke up at my usual early hour. I was shattered but I had to get to the bank to do some boring money wrangling with actual cash - gosh Canary Wharf has changed - that newish crossrail bit is monolithic - also the Natwest is open all weekend. And so so quiet! I hopped on the bus to East India - the place where we did Such Stuff and already the crazy landlord has painted the front of our building with angular jarring London 2012 acid brights. We were only there because it is all about to change - I feel a little sad about this because although East India was trapped in the 80s/90s Canary Wharf as Venice timewarp and it’s strange location almost neighbours with but definitely absolutely not Canary Wharf with its one newsagent, strange café, Travel Lodge and Bar Salento (which is decked out like a Julie’s Pantry circa 1994 with plastic tablecloths with ‘cappuccino’ ‘latte’ ‘coffee’ printed on them). It had to change - only BCM sites and data centres with their lack of actual people working in them from 9-5 and Tower Hamlets Council mean that place has an eerie quality and the price per square foot was not commensurate with London - the shiny new Aberfeldy flats on the reclaimed brownfields are going up like a dose of the salts and they’ve about to obliterate one of the shabbier estates next door so shiny Shoreditch style retail is moving in and they are hoping to create a new Silicon Roundabout (or, rather, Silicon Crescent just off a Roundabout)
Of course part of me suspects that this part of London at the gaping maw of the Blackwall Tunnel with no local character other than its obscure East London eeriness (which I have always had a bit of a thing for, I love the Beckton branch of the DLR - it’s like a Dadaist nightmare of failed investments and where shit architecture of the sort that you see plonked on the outskirts of almost every major European City goes to die) will always be an armpit.
I was back at East India to start ripping out the set - after a few hours the lush drapes and artful dead branches that it took me and shewho and several other people a weekend to put up were down and a tiny little witch’s workshop I had created was stripped down and packed away. My feet wouldn’t stand for much more standing so I headed home, had a solitary pint of rather nice Perry in what was once the Noble and went to bed. At around 6pm. (I know)
Awake relatively early to start doing boring domestic things - and then up to Highgate for a spot of breakfast. Nothing to note there apart from the fact that at one point I found myself drinking 4 drinks at once and the waiter and I had fits of giggles about it. My breakfast came with a juice and a coffee, I fancied a mimosa as I am not drinking for the next 12 weeks (from today) and that particular restaurant chain always plonks a carafe of water and a glass down for you. I am in good company though - I read an interview where Helena Bonham-Carter had a similar set up and she claimed it was all the rage (I very often triple drink as I like water, coffee (which I always have black) and something sugary or fruity)
During the breakfast I suddenly thought it might be a good idea to catch up with R - formerly of this LJ Parish and made the relevant arrangements by phone and text like it was 2004 again. R has just been in an election and had done rather well. In all of the fussing about the press about the elections, the Greens are now the third party in a lot of places and in rural Southern towns of the kingmaking type are really starting to make massive headway. Good to see that the Lib Dems are building up strength in the South West again - I hold out a lot of hope that their desolation in their heartland was nothing more than a protest vote. After a lot more spring cleaning I met with R for a coffee and we talked about why we had both been too busy to see one another since Christmas and it was rather pleasing. A jolly afternoon. As I am attempting to eat more sensibly in line with the not drinking regime I had a last perfect supper of a pile of proper chip butties. It was rather fun but left me feeling listless. I returned to the spring clean and remembered that Radiohead were about to launch an album and 6 Music were playing it live from the point of release. It is beautiful - but I rather wish that it hadn’t been interrupted by Tom Robinson reading out the tweets of over-effusive millennials eg - ‘selfietwat97 just tweeted, ‘Wow…words fail me’’ added nothing to the experience. I love every single track on the album - three were spellbinding and the final one - which I thought was a cruel joke turned out to be a studio recording of one of their most beautiful songs.
Dusk settled - I finished tidying - ran my third lot of laundry and then collapsed into bed. I had been using Netflix to get me to sleep for the last 3 years so I have decided to start weaning myself off that. As a result I didn’t get to sleep til 1am and had to watch one episode of one thing to get me drowsy enough to do that. It may be a slow process.