Amazing times in our beautiful capital city
So, we're flying again on Friday and I'm surprisingly relaxed about it. I've even just gone ahead and bought Greg a travel pillow, because I know he's going to fall asleep. When he sleeps on the plane his body goes all limp and floppy, and he just sort of lurches over me or the stranger next to him, and grunts and drools. It's quite embarrassing; I think people sometimes assume I'm his carer. Hopefully having a travel pillow to support his head will allow us both to retain a little bit of dignity.
We're going to Munich to this one day festival where we will see such bands as God Dethroned, Ahab and Disscura Thulcandra. We're flying back to London on Sunday because we're seeing Shining (the one that doesn't suck) and Enthroned at The Underworld on Monday. I would rather have stayed in Munich for another day, but the only Monday flight home would have got us in too late for the gig. Instead, we have all of Monday in London with nothing to do. It's not my worst nightmare, but it's certainly enough to cause me to wake up screaming, bathed in a cold sweat.
We decided, then, to get a plan together to keep us occupied while we're being suffocated by smog. Top of the list was the London Eye, until I realised that it's essentially death on spokes, panic in a pod, a full half-hour of projectile vomit. Greg explained to me that it's not a "ride", and it doesn't go "fast", but I care little for these facts; it's a trap and I'm not going to fall for it. Greg says it's too expensive anyway.
Next up on our alarmingly short list of potential things to do in London is the Ice Bar. It isn't the ice as such that appeals, nor the selection of cocktails (which is poor; the bar is sponsored by Absolut Vodka). What really entices me is they provide you with a thermal cape to wear while you're there. As I said to Greg, capes enable you to fly; I've always wanted to fly. And flying around the ice bar is the closest I'll ever come to being an albatross. He then tried to tell me that actually, wearing a cape doesn't make you fly. I pointed out his flawed logic by presenting him with the superhero example, to which he said, "Batman wears a cape, but he can't fly", knowing full well that Batman does not have any superpowers, and only desperates would describe him as a superhero. He's simply a regular hero, like John Smeaton, best known for kicking a man "who later died from his 90% burns". As Greg's nostrils began to flare in anger, I decided to throw a chair at him, and that's where it all got a bit Jerry Springer. Hair was pulled, teeth were knocked out, ears were bitten off. It was only the intervention of the neighbourhood watch lady, Bunty Widger, that prevented the whole house from being burned down. She told us that we can't let Batman be the third person in our relationship, and that she's seen too many Batman-related divorces. We listened to her kind words, and made up.
Undeterred, we will go to the Ice Bar on Sunday. I can't predict what will happen, but the odds are shortening on frostbite.
On Monday we will head out to Camden for a while, and then we're going on a Duck Tour. I'm not even going to try to explain how terrifying this is. I just don't have it in me any more. I can only hope that I won't have drowned before I see Enthroned.
I had a dream last night that Greg and I were in a plane that took a sharp nosedive while descending. I think it was so vivid because I'd indulged in a single Boots Sleepeaze sleeping tablet (the non herbal variety; I wanted it to work after all). I'd forgotten that those things make me twitch so much that I can't actually get to sleep. My entire existence is self-defeating.
Fifi's just brought a mouse in. Oops. Must go, need to panic!
We're going to Munich to this one day festival where we will see such bands as God Dethroned, Ahab and Disscura Thulcandra. We're flying back to London on Sunday because we're seeing Shining (the one that doesn't suck) and Enthroned at The Underworld on Monday. I would rather have stayed in Munich for another day, but the only Monday flight home would have got us in too late for the gig. Instead, we have all of Monday in London with nothing to do. It's not my worst nightmare, but it's certainly enough to cause me to wake up screaming, bathed in a cold sweat.
We decided, then, to get a plan together to keep us occupied while we're being suffocated by smog. Top of the list was the London Eye, until I realised that it's essentially death on spokes, panic in a pod, a full half-hour of projectile vomit. Greg explained to me that it's not a "ride", and it doesn't go "fast", but I care little for these facts; it's a trap and I'm not going to fall for it. Greg says it's too expensive anyway.
Next up on our alarmingly short list of potential things to do in London is the Ice Bar. It isn't the ice as such that appeals, nor the selection of cocktails (which is poor; the bar is sponsored by Absolut Vodka). What really entices me is they provide you with a thermal cape to wear while you're there. As I said to Greg, capes enable you to fly; I've always wanted to fly. And flying around the ice bar is the closest I'll ever come to being an albatross. He then tried to tell me that actually, wearing a cape doesn't make you fly. I pointed out his flawed logic by presenting him with the superhero example, to which he said, "Batman wears a cape, but he can't fly", knowing full well that Batman does not have any superpowers, and only desperates would describe him as a superhero. He's simply a regular hero, like John Smeaton, best known for kicking a man "who later died from his 90% burns". As Greg's nostrils began to flare in anger, I decided to throw a chair at him, and that's where it all got a bit Jerry Springer. Hair was pulled, teeth were knocked out, ears were bitten off. It was only the intervention of the neighbourhood watch lady, Bunty Widger, that prevented the whole house from being burned down. She told us that we can't let Batman be the third person in our relationship, and that she's seen too many Batman-related divorces. We listened to her kind words, and made up.
Undeterred, we will go to the Ice Bar on Sunday. I can't predict what will happen, but the odds are shortening on frostbite.
On Monday we will head out to Camden for a while, and then we're going on a Duck Tour. I'm not even going to try to explain how terrifying this is. I just don't have it in me any more. I can only hope that I won't have drowned before I see Enthroned.
I had a dream last night that Greg and I were in a plane that took a sharp nosedive while descending. I think it was so vivid because I'd indulged in a single Boots Sleepeaze sleeping tablet (the non herbal variety; I wanted it to work after all). I'd forgotten that those things make me twitch so much that I can't actually get to sleep. My entire existence is self-defeating.
Fifi's just brought a mouse in. Oops. Must go, need to panic!