Apologies to anyone who might actually be reading this blog. I meant, by now, to have posted photos, video clips and tantalizing tales of the Glade Music Festival I took in last weekend, but London has been on a proper melter all week so I've been shunning my computer for hot fun in the summer sun. First rainy day, however, and that festival is getting blogged.
I'm house sitting in Anna's flat while she's away which is a real treat. Dan Payne's just arrived back in London again and is minutes away from ringing the bell. Cold beers on the balcony it is!
Friday, July 21, 2006
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Leaving Lymm
Yesterday morning I awoke at 7am - a full 40 minutes ahead of my alarm - to find two pidgeons at the foot of my bed. I think they were trying to tell me something.
Many years ago this tower was derelect and a home to many a roosting pigeon. When the tower was acquired and repurposed as a far-out, funky, modernist/minimilst family home, the birds were exiled. The theory goes that pigeons, or perhaps specifically homing pigeons, will try to return to the place that was once their or their ancestor's home. Apparantly these pigeons, aware that today is my last day in the tower, were letting me know in advance that the room was once again theirs.
Needless to say, I got out of bed and, in a sleeping stupor, shooed the birds back out the open window they'd used to come in through. Needless to say, it was weird.
Many years ago this tower was derelect and a home to many a roosting pigeon. When the tower was acquired and repurposed as a far-out, funky, modernist/minimilst family home, the birds were exiled. The theory goes that pigeons, or perhaps specifically homing pigeons, will try to return to the place that was once their or their ancestor's home. Apparantly these pigeons, aware that today is my last day in the tower, were letting me know in advance that the room was once again theirs.
Needless to say, I got out of bed and, in a sleeping stupor, shooed the birds back out the open window they'd used to come in through. Needless to say, it was weird.
Monday, July 03, 2006
I Hardly Knew Ye
Molly the dog was put to sleep this Monday morning. I've never really known anyone who lost a close pet, let alone someone I've worked for and lodged with, like I do with Russell, Jannette, James and Sophie. I felt a bit like Nick Guest from The Line of Beauty at parts throughout the day. Not the gayness so much as the boy living in a privilaged family's world and awkwardly orbiting around the cusp of one of their small yet private tragedies. I felt out of place, and then guilty for harboring such a selfish concern in the midst of the suffering from which I felt the alienation. So I made them some tea.
Molly was very old. As long as I'd known her, which was for about two months, she'd been blind, deaf, and barely supporting herself on four very rickety legs. And she slept a lot. But she seemed entirely content and befriended me quickly when one night, early on in my stay, I slipped her some chicken from my chair at the dining room table. In fact, most of my memories with her involve secret people-food feedings of one kind or another. Eventually all it would take was for me to open the fridge door to summon the slow but steady click-clack click-clack of her paws along the smooth white flooring.
What a lonely thing it will be to open the fridge door tomorow.
Molly was very old. As long as I'd known her, which was for about two months, she'd been blind, deaf, and barely supporting herself on four very rickety legs. And she slept a lot. But she seemed entirely content and befriended me quickly when one night, early on in my stay, I slipped her some chicken from my chair at the dining room table. In fact, most of my memories with her involve secret people-food feedings of one kind or another. Eventually all it would take was for me to open the fridge door to summon the slow but steady click-clack click-clack of her paws along the smooth white flooring.
What a lonely thing it will be to open the fridge door tomorow.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Try Crying
A friend of mine... I'll call her Meave (everyone else does)... has a nifty little trick that I've taken to admiring, if not downright envying. She cries. Regularly. This is one of the happiest people you'll ever meet, and as far as I know she's not in any sort of peril. She just cries a lot. Chances are, its got a lot to do with what makes her such a happy and charming person to be around. Unlike most of us, she has a a readily available outlet, a way to purge those small but nasty feelings that inconspicously drag down our mood, frustrate our thoughts or just hold us back from being our best.
I wish I could cry like that.
Coming up on the end of a week like this, a few hardy sobs could only do me some good. Without going into too much boring detail (I'll try for none if I can), getting 7 different foreign languages to work as subtitles in the DVD we're producing is proving to be an absolute nightmare. I've been going from morning to midnight all week and we're about halfway there. The finished product is due tomorrow. Oh yeah, and I've got a cold.
The weekend's coming, but having to spend it evacuating my flat isn't much to look forward to. But then just the other day it was pointed out to me that Saturday is Canada Day! After much group e-mail/reply-alling I've managed to coherse a friend into hosting a BBQ on his roof - despite the fact that he'll be off trying to snog young maids at a wedding that very evening.
So regardless of how tough things are here at work or how difficult it will be to say goodbye to my flat, grilled meat, cold beer, and culturally insensitive love-in-disguise barbs from close mates is always a horizon worth looking forward to. It could even bring a tear to my eye.
I wish I could cry like that.
Coming up on the end of a week like this, a few hardy sobs could only do me some good. Without going into too much boring detail (I'll try for none if I can), getting 7 different foreign languages to work as subtitles in the DVD we're producing is proving to be an absolute nightmare. I've been going from morning to midnight all week and we're about halfway there. The finished product is due tomorrow. Oh yeah, and I've got a cold.
The weekend's coming, but having to spend it evacuating my flat isn't much to look forward to. But then just the other day it was pointed out to me that Saturday is Canada Day! After much group e-mail/reply-alling I've managed to coherse a friend into hosting a BBQ on his roof - despite the fact that he'll be off trying to snog young maids at a wedding that very evening.
So regardless of how tough things are here at work or how difficult it will be to say goodbye to my flat, grilled meat, cold beer, and culturally insensitive love-in-disguise barbs from close mates is always a horizon worth looking forward to. It could even bring a tear to my eye.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Journey v. Destination
When I first started this blog, I wanted the inaugural post to really usher the blog in. So I wrote a steaming pile of wank.
Now I've deleted that original post, and I feel a lot better about myself.
I've kept the original title of the post because it more or less says what I tried to describe in the first place, when I wrote all that wank.
Screw posterity. Just this once.
Now I've deleted that original post, and I feel a lot better about myself.
I've kept the original title of the post because it more or less says what I tried to describe in the first place, when I wrote all that wank.
Screw posterity. Just this once.
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