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: (Head)
Poor journal. How I have mistreated you these past few years. What was supposed to be an outlet for reviewing events, sharing opinions and keeping in touch with friends has become a vehicle for lame humour and attention whoring. Lack of time and feeling intimidated by others' superior talents have kept me from posting much besides disposable polls and trivial one-liners for too long. My LJ was never going to be a blogger's answer to The Ritz but that needn't have meant it descending to the level of some ghastly East End WMC where people trade scandal and swear words over their pork scratchings while some brassy, fat old barmaid flashes her stretch marks in a sagging market stall boob tube.

I wouldn't be seen dead in a boob tube, and I don't want to be that barmaid any more.

A comment [livejournal.com profile] kirstenlj made at lunch time on Saturday and, pretentiously enough, a play we went to see that evening made me think I was missing an opportunity, and that I should take more time to document thoughts, memories and photographs, not for the entertainment of other people but because they are important to me. The bad news we heard later that night made it all the more relevant. As I'm sure you've noticed, I'm not religious. For me, life is about experiencing as much as possible and gathering mental souvenirs, knowing people and being known, seeking immortality in the minds of friends and loved ones, not saving Nectar Points for Paradise. I know it sounds wanky and I wish I could think of a better way to express it, but the way we are remembered is our best chance to make a mark on the world. Just because, for most of us, it's more likely to be a gentle scratch rather than the deeply gouged initials we may all secretly hope for is no reason not to record our experiences. To that end, I am resolving to update this journal with proper content at least once a week from now on.

Self indulgent, you say? Yes, I suppose it is. I'm not asking you to read it. In fact, I'm more likely to ask you not to. I would like to reduce the size of my friends list, and I've gathered a number of people over the years on communities or friends' journals with whom I've turned out to have little in common and little to say to. I'm sure the feeling is mutual. If we never speak or see one another, you're here out of habit or politeness and you would like to unfriend me without fear of offense, then please go ahead and I will do the same. I'll probably have a bit of a trim in the next few days anyway.

Meanwhile, in the spirit of good intentions, this is What I Did at the Weekend. )
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