sprezzatura: (Filthy Look)
Today feels like Sunday. I suppose that is because I've had most of my weekend already.

It was all a bit last minute really, though it shouldn't have been. [livejournal.com profile] margotmetroland had got the tickets for last night's acoustic Oysterband gig at the Union Chapel a couple of months ago and I had planned to drive down in the morning, leave the car at Metroland, get the tube into town and wander around for a bit before going to meet Moz and [livejournal.com profile] drpete before the show. Then, earlier this week, my car developed a Suspicious Rattleā„¢ that, due to cancellations and rearrangements of various appointments, I did not have time to have dealt with, so the London plan was abandoned. It was only at about 11am yesterday morning that the train suddenly became a practical option, so I bought tickets, had a quick lunch with my mum on the way to the station and off I went.

[livejournal.com profile] drpete met me at Kings Cross and we made our way to Islington, discussing trad goth bands and Young Persons' Music while we waited for [livejournal.com profile] margotmetroland in the pub. She arrived in time for a quick glass of wine, and then we followed the growing trickle of people in Oysters T-shirts to the Union Chapel. The gig was all kinds of excellent: the venue, the support act ( Dan Mangan, who was a jolly nice chap) and obviously the Oysters themselves. This year, I did not cry over any crap Welsh seaside towns, which I'm sure came as a huge relief to Moz and Pete. After a traditional last chorus of Put Out The Lights, they, er, turned some of the lights back on and it was time to go home.

Unlike usual, Moz and I managed not to stay up for the entire night putting the world to rights and we went to bed at a relatively respectable 1.30am. Just as well, because in order to get a train that did not take three and a half hours to complete the two hour journey, I had to be at Kings Cross at 10am.

The journey home turned out to be an exercise in reminding of everything I hate about public transport. The train was packed leaving London, and although it looked like things were going to get more peaceful at the first stop, the man who sat down opposite me seemed utterly determined to engage me in conversation. I am rarely interested in making small talk with random strangers on trains, especially not when I would prefer to be asleep, and especially especially not when they are carrying copies of the Daily Fail. Things got even worse after the train stopped a second time, and filled up with race-goers in cheap suits and obnoxious perfume. I was very, very glad to get off the train half an hour later, and into Ed's car, where Tia greeted me as though I had been away for decades.

After we had collected K from my mum's, I finally got chance to watch last night's one off TV drama The Song of Lunch. In case you missed it, it was basically 50 minutes of Alan Rickman reading a poem on a voice-over, while acting it out alongside Emma Thompson. It was all lingering looks over Italian food and dwelling on past regrets. I can't imagine a more perfect piece of television, or at least, not one that could be shown on a mainstream channel before the watershed. Hopefully there will be news of a DVD release soon, or I will not get anything done at all this week as I will be forced to keep watching it until it is removed from iPlayer.

I had vague intentions of going to Darklands tonight but I'm tired and I'm saving my corsets for Whitby, so we're watching Doctor Who repeats instead. Not sure what the plan is for tomorrow but I suspect we may end up heading back to Swinsty Reservoir to give Tia another swimming lesson.
sprezzatura: (Default)
Suppose one of your favourite musicians, who because of his age is unlikely to be performing for too much longer, was not coming to your home country on his current tour. Suppose the closest he was going to get was a city in a neighbouring country, not too far away from the home of a very good friend of yours, and suppose the date of this particular show happened to coincide with your birthday. You'd pull out all the stops to go no matter what the cost, wouldn't you?

We did... )

Photos on Facebook.
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