Staying in
I used to be something of a winter person - I looked forward to dark evenings, sat at home all warm and cosy on the sofa, eating stodgy food and watching TV. Now I've grown to loathe it. I crave sunlight, above all, feel guilty if I spend too long sat on my backside and am under doctor's orders to eat less rubbish. If anyone has any brilliant ideas about how I might engineer a long-term move to California, I'd love to hear them.
I am, largely thanks to the weather, but also possibly because of lunatic turnaround at work, sat at home for the second day running with a stinking cold, only a month after I got over my last one. This sucks.
Anyway, I had a great weekend despite the cold weather. First, I saw the mighty perfectlyvague in Ubu Rex at the Landor theatre in Clapham - in the company of shewho, no less. It was a fine way to spend a Saturday afternoon.
I had no knowledge of Ubu Rex beforehand, but it is fascinating and very, very silly in equal measure. Vague's performance was not the only thing that beefed up the production - she had also provided some puppet choruses, and choreographed a v. entertaining shadow puppet chase sequence. As promised, it did feature the entire Polish army. But it also featured the entire Russian army, which I would have thought was more of a draw.
I dashed off from the Landor to the Fox and Hounds in Battersea to meet a host of Livejournal favourites to gather round a large round table, eat pasta, drink beer, engage in loud discussions about Orlando the Marmalade Cat (sorry folks, I was right about this one) and interject with cliches from American courtroom dramas - "I'll allow this, but show me where you're going with it, counsellor."
When I got home, I'd locked myself out. This should be close to impossible. I cannot lock my front door behind me without my keys, and I cannot get out of my property without unlocking the iron gate that leads to it. The key to the gate is on the same ring as my house key. However - a recent burglary upstairs had led them to issue new keys to the main entrance (which I use to collect post). So I'd transferred my keys to a new ring with the new upstairs ones on. But, I hear you cry - if you've actually managed to make it this far - you still can't get out without a key because of the iron gate. Except the iron gate had been left open for some workmen building an extension to the flat behind mine. So I breezed out, sans key to that gate, and didn't realise until I was stood before it some nine hours later, cold and needing a wee.
Fortunately, Dan and Elliot - the guys who live in the flat above mine - were in, and lent me a stepladder. Unfortunately, I am a clumsy, unco-ordinated fool, and in trying to use it to scale the gates, I somehow lost my footing and fell. I was sat on top of the gates at one point, which felt like quite an achievement, but had absolutely no idea what to do next. I can't remember what I did do, but it resulted in me falling and - for some stupid reason, as I wasn't very far off the ground - trying to hold on to the top of the gate with my hand. I think - I'm not sure; I'm not a doctor - that I pulled all the muscles in the palm of my hand. Or possibly I sprained it. It f*cking hurt anyway.
Fortunately, Elliot emerged at this point. He took charge, wondering aloud whether he "might be more athletic than me" - not difficult, I assured him, between winces of pain - and deftly ascended the ladder and slipped over the gates. From then on, it was all plain sailing. Hand is healing nicely now, so no harm done.
Sunday I spent in Aylesbury with Amy, looking at lovely, Tove Jansson style art and checking out a variety of stuffed animals in the zoological museum in Tring, (looking for the stars of this Cracked article I saw a mongoose, which I was particularly pleased about.) It was lovely to get out of town for the day again (after my visit to flaneurette the week before) and the trip down was all pale winter sunshine. This didn't last long though and the trip home was shrouded in freezing fog.
And so here I am, stuck indoors with Christmas on the horizon. Haven't even started cards yet. Hope I'm all better by the weekend.
I also forgot to mention that I saw a very excellent BBC4 documentary on Krautrock on the weekend, and if it's still on iPlayer, I recommend it highly. It was inspiring, in an odd sort of way - how artists could just start with a cultural blank sheet of paper and create such beautiful and striking music.
I am, largely thanks to the weather, but also possibly because of lunatic turnaround at work, sat at home for the second day running with a stinking cold, only a month after I got over my last one. This sucks.
Anyway, I had a great weekend despite the cold weather. First, I saw the mighty perfectlyvague in Ubu Rex at the Landor theatre in Clapham - in the company of shewho, no less. It was a fine way to spend a Saturday afternoon.
I had no knowledge of Ubu Rex beforehand, but it is fascinating and very, very silly in equal measure. Vague's performance was not the only thing that beefed up the production - she had also provided some puppet choruses, and choreographed a v. entertaining shadow puppet chase sequence. As promised, it did feature the entire Polish army. But it also featured the entire Russian army, which I would have thought was more of a draw.
I dashed off from the Landor to the Fox and Hounds in Battersea to meet a host of Livejournal favourites to gather round a large round table, eat pasta, drink beer, engage in loud discussions about Orlando the Marmalade Cat (sorry folks, I was right about this one) and interject with cliches from American courtroom dramas - "I'll allow this, but show me where you're going with it, counsellor."
When I got home, I'd locked myself out. This should be close to impossible. I cannot lock my front door behind me without my keys, and I cannot get out of my property without unlocking the iron gate that leads to it. The key to the gate is on the same ring as my house key. However - a recent burglary upstairs had led them to issue new keys to the main entrance (which I use to collect post). So I'd transferred my keys to a new ring with the new upstairs ones on. But, I hear you cry - if you've actually managed to make it this far - you still can't get out without a key because of the iron gate. Except the iron gate had been left open for some workmen building an extension to the flat behind mine. So I breezed out, sans key to that gate, and didn't realise until I was stood before it some nine hours later, cold and needing a wee.
Fortunately, Dan and Elliot - the guys who live in the flat above mine - were in, and lent me a stepladder. Unfortunately, I am a clumsy, unco-ordinated fool, and in trying to use it to scale the gates, I somehow lost my footing and fell. I was sat on top of the gates at one point, which felt like quite an achievement, but had absolutely no idea what to do next. I can't remember what I did do, but it resulted in me falling and - for some stupid reason, as I wasn't very far off the ground - trying to hold on to the top of the gate with my hand. I think - I'm not sure; I'm not a doctor - that I pulled all the muscles in the palm of my hand. Or possibly I sprained it. It f*cking hurt anyway.
Fortunately, Elliot emerged at this point. He took charge, wondering aloud whether he "might be more athletic than me" - not difficult, I assured him, between winces of pain - and deftly ascended the ladder and slipped over the gates. From then on, it was all plain sailing. Hand is healing nicely now, so no harm done.
Sunday I spent in Aylesbury with Amy, looking at lovely, Tove Jansson style art and checking out a variety of stuffed animals in the zoological museum in Tring, (looking for the stars of this Cracked article I saw a mongoose, which I was particularly pleased about.) It was lovely to get out of town for the day again (after my visit to flaneurette the week before) and the trip down was all pale winter sunshine. This didn't last long though and the trip home was shrouded in freezing fog.
And so here I am, stuck indoors with Christmas on the horizon. Haven't even started cards yet. Hope I'm all better by the weekend.
I also forgot to mention that I saw a very excellent BBC4 documentary on Krautrock on the weekend, and if it's still on iPlayer, I recommend it highly. It was inspiring, in an odd sort of way - how artists could just start with a cultural blank sheet of paper and create such beautiful and striking music.