I've heard there's this thing called 'the countryside', involving mud, narrow roads, and a lot of trees. So today R and I ventured out of town in a quest to find the New Forest. We failed on that front, but did however manage to land on the Devil's Punchbowl*, a mere hour from London. V cool. And *very* cold. A bracing walk marked the start of our inaugural SPARK awayday. Unfortunately R got a nasty dose of acid reflux on a particularly taxing hill, but apart from that, the day passed delightfully. Felt v uplifted by how beautiful the English countryside was on such a blue-skied, crisp day.
Still, such rural idyll is a bit of a disappointment on the opening hours front, as we discovered when we tried to get a much needed lunch at 2.15pm, only to find that all the pubs stop serving at 2pm, and fully close between 3 and 5pm, bar the Two-for-One somewhere near Greatham (found thanks to a combination of AQA and SatNav, hurrah). We hid in here until about 6.30pm, at which point the influx of local Christmas parties all got a bit too much and we scurried back to the Big Smoke, grateful for our urban existences and all that they bring.
* random facts about the Devil's Punchbowl. 1. It is owned by the national trust, which I must join, but not as much as English Heritage. 2. It's called that thanks to a myth about the devil hurling lots of mud at the god Thor, leaving a bloody big hole in the ground. 3. It is one of the BBC's seven man made wonders. fascinating.
Somehow, in the last 48 hours I have managed to watch two films involving Julia Roberts. Thankfully neither of them were Notting Hill, but all the same. I don't like Julia Roberts (in this, it appears I am not alone). Although I haven't seen Erin Brockovich, which I hear is excellent.
Anyway. Films what I watched. First up was Closer, which I enjoyed much more on second viewing, although I still don't understand why Jude's character falls for Anna (to be fair I never understand why anyone falls for Julia's characters). Dodgy storylines aside, I just love the scenes from London in it. I got very overexcited to see the Postman's Park featuring - a place I've mentioned before, and which I maintain is one of the more romantic corners of London. Had I know its significance in Closer, I *definitely* would have taken more care about who I went with...
If Closer is all about our endless capacity to screw up love, the second film I watched, this time tonight, over a tragic supper of old bread and broccoli soup (woe is me!), wants us to believe that true love wins through every time. Yep, it was My Best Friend's Wedding. Can't believe I chose it over an episode of Spooks... I must be feeling sorry for myself as I found myself just a tiny bit tired and emotional at the scene in the ladies' loos. Really must pull myself together. Or give in to the urge and re-watch Bridget Jones.
I am getting more and more excited about that fact that I am on holiday (Costa del Vauxhall, here we come) from 22nd December until 14th January. To that end I have spent this morning in a marathon Time Out session, finding things to do and places to go to keep me out of trouble. In no particular order...
Seeing is believing, on at the Bargehouse at the Oxo Tower. An exhibition which sounds like an about-time reminder of the shocking poverty that some people still live in - I'm relieved to see it as most of the time such living conditions are all but edited out of news and current affairs. On till 31st December, daily 11am-4pm.
The art of Lee Miller, at the V&A museum. If there was ever a multi-talented woman, she's it - model, photographer, journalist. Someone to admire and, in my ongoing quest for female icons, a brilliant counter to the current spice girls fever that's taken over london. Also on at the V&A is an exhibition of the 'golden age' of couture - a chance to bone up on the kind of look I'm going to need for K's birthday party in February. Both shows end on Jan 6th.
Dennis Severs' house in Spitalfields, which is rather like a permanent Punchdrunk production in a house. It's not open much, usually, but between now and 4th Jan, if you book you can go on 27th and 28th between 12 and 4pm, or Jan 2-4 between 6 and 9pm. Sounds magical.
The painting of modern life at the Hayward, until 30th Dec. I find the Hayward an odd gallery - fabulous space but often frustratingly used, and hopeless crowd control. But I do want to see this exhibition before it closes so I'd better get on with it.
War Horse, in rep at the National Theatre until Jan 12th. So many people have now told me that this show is brilliant, against all the odds, that I really must go.
The Potted Potter at the Trafalgar Studios. OK, so I got as far as book 3 and then struggled so Harry Potter has become another gap in my cultural knowledge, along with Star Wars and the Lord of the Rings. This show is just what I need. On till 5th Jan. May need to nick a kid so that I look less odd going...
Oh joy. I've just seen that Kneehigh are putting on a performance of Rapunzel at the QEH over Christmas. Review here. Booking here. Me banging on about last time I saw Kneehigh doing a fairy tale here. Bring. It. On.
On Thursday I pretended to be a lady of leisure, and met my lovely friend K for a late, boozy lunch at the Rex Whistler restaurant at Tate Britain. After a gentle meander around the Millais exhibition, I went down to the cafe and we were ushered into the beautiful room of the restaurant - murals all round, great food, and a very, very good way of wiling away the best part of an afternoon talking about boys (turns out we fancy the same ones, and emotional fuckwits generally. great...). I love hanging around with K. We followed it up with some shopping at the bizarre Army and Navy on Victoria St, whose only saving grace is the cafe at the top, which is good for hiding in. Still, shopping when a bit pissed is never that smart, and I now have a rather expensive jacket that B and J both agreed was 'overpriced and too many buttons'. hey ho. I'll just have to return it and buy something else...
The plan was to continue into the evening but for various reasons that didn't happen. So instead I headed off for more culture - this time a beautiful concert at St John's Smith Square (wicked) - carols and a bunch of Christmas music which was brilliant. All performed by Chantage, apparently the BBC Choir of the Year 2006, but to be honest even typing that makes me feel about 50. As my date put it - 'carol singing - karaoke for the middle classes'. Still, I sung my heart out, melted at the organ playing, and went home happy, and thinking I could get used to doing nothing very much with my time.
When I started writing this blog, I wasn't quite thirty, and I wasn't quite a homeowner, I didn't have a man and I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. Today has rather challenged the whole name of this blog, being my 30th birthday etc, but hey, it's all about a mindset, right? Oh and I suppose I've owned a flat for a few months too, but frankly the big questions that really matter are yet to be answered. Hunting for men and meaning look set to continue for some time yet.
But I'm really fine with that. I've had such a lovely day, full of love, affection, friendship and warmth that I feel quite overwhelmed by it all. I am incredibly lucky and today has been all about realising that and savouring the feeling. Which I did in various places, with various lovely people. Beyond the medium of text (oh to have a phone with some proper memory so I could store messages) and FB, these places included Leon, which, joy of joys, gives FREE wifi access. Now there's a place I'll buy coffee. In fact I'm due back there tomorrow morning, this time the Carnaby Street branch, with my mad and lovely mother at some unfeasibly early hour. Another feature of today was Joe Allen's, which I just love, especially seeing the pleasure in my father's face when he realised you really *can* order the hamburger, even though it's not on the menu... We'll perhaps gloss over the Thistle hotel in Victoria, where I spent two hours hatching plans. Despite the plotting, which was enormous fun, it's really not a place I can recommend.
Anyway. For those of you who have suggested the name of this blog is now out of date: I was thirty at 12.01pm today, and therefore (if I'm being pedantic) I remain notquitethirty... and besides, no one's yet come up with a better name...
It's a strange fact of my life that everyone always thinks I'm vegetarian. It's a mystery to me, but I'm pleased to declare that I am really rather fond of proper meat these days (although Macdonald's can still go to hell). So sometimes a girl's got to eat steak. Generally speaking, I do it with a glass of red wine in front of a good film on a Sunday night. But I think I may have found a place where I'd like to depart from this ritual. The Bountiful Cow in Holborn is a rare find: a really lovely, warm pub, serving various forms of MEAT (as in proper, hardcore meat - i mean they even had rillettes on the menu), decent sized tables, space. I like. I like a lot.
I haven't yet sampled their food, as I've only been for a drink there (and a strangely comforting and honest conversation with S), but I fully intend to return when it's time for my red meat hit.
Other places that I'd like to eat meat include St John (still not been, in truth I'm a little intimidated), and the Cheyne Walk brasserie, which is possibly one of the prettiest restaurants I've ever been to, and a great line in cooking your steak or whatever on the grill in the restaurant. It's been too long since I ate duck at Mon Plaisir; and one of these days I want to get to Roast in Borough Market.
Last night I went to my dear friend's father's memorial service. What an amazing man. There was an incredible turnout - as far as I could tell, most of London's psychiatrists, psychoanalysts and lawyers were all there to remember a man who had fought for human rights and justice all the way through his life. Although as S and I said to each other, it's kind of weird as we primarily saw him as our friend's father and, when we were little, a useful taxi service. G was beautiful and amazing as usual, and she and her brothers made us all laugh with their memories of their father.
The service was held at Conway Hall in Red Lion Square, which I've never been to before. It's a fabulous art deco hall, built in the 20s, with the ambition of being a place where "men and women of advanced thought could meet and enjoy the amenities of social discourse, with facilities for writing, rest and refreshment." So like the RSA then, but with a distinctly more radical heritage. What I loved most is that it's also the place that Jim and K got married, with K wearing green velvet, of course.
Conway Hall occassionally hosts some pretty interesting-looking discussions. Keep an eye out.
Tonight I found myself at possibly the most bizarre work party I've ever been to. It was at the bowling alley just opposite the Institute of Education, aka the not-cool bowling venue of Bloomsbury, as opposed to this (god, I don't even LIKE bowling, how can I know about two places in such a small part of London??). One of those parties where it was completely impossible to work out who the hell everyone was, or why they were there - clearly something everyone was feeling, given the amount of looking-over-shoulders going on.
So I beat a swift exit with Mr Innovation Guru D, only to find ourselves holed up in the equally dire bar of Bonnington's hotel. I learnt two things there: one, that 'NU' stands for Newcastle in football terms (1 all in penalties, gripping, obviously); and two, more interestingly, that the dreadful bar we were in is in fact a historical site, being the place that Wilson's 'Bonnington group' dreamt up a series of catchphrases including 'the white heat of technology'.
I, however, will remember it most for being the place that I finally decided that I'm done with local govt. Time to draft the resignation letter, I think. And to celebrate that I'm drinking far too much wine tonight, and planning to fail to get up tomorrow to get to work on time. Hah. Feel very excited and free.
Yesterday I finally made it to Kew (it's only taken me nearly three decades!). How magical to have such a beautiful space so close to Vauxhall - to my delight I found you can get there directly, when the trains aren't broken...Anyway. Went ice-skating with B. It was lovely.
On the cold, wet and miserable day that was Friday, J-J and I fought against the elements, and made it to the champagne bar at St Pancras, as noted in a previous post. What a station. I really loved it - everything from the beautiful blue girders, through to the considerate announcements over the tannoy about a couple who had left a pink bag in their taxi. OK, so the waiting staff were bordering on outrageously rude, but they had great uniforms and frankly nothing was going to get in the way of a J-J/SP night out.
We were remembering previous evenings of fun. Like the time we rocked up at the Met bar at the height of its popularity. Our chances of getting in looked pretty glum, until some considerate soul hurled a cupcake (?? - don't ask me why) out of a window high above us. It landed on my head, and in alarm, the doormen waved us in. Or the time we ended up at G-A-Y getting a little too friendly with some randoms. The less said about that one the better, I think. Endless nights out in the shitty pubs of Westminster village also feature heavily in our back catalogue, alongside a host of random unidentified injuries, embarrassing texts and gender-bending antics. Happy times, guaranteed carnage and a lot of laughter. Who wants to grow up and have dinner parties?
I've heard there's this thing called 'the countryside', involving mud, narrow roads, and a lot of trees. So today R and I ventured out of town in a quest to find the New Forest. We failed on that front, but did however manage to land on the Devil's Punchbowl*, a mere hour from London. V cool. And *very* cold. A bracing walk marked the start of our inaugural SPARK awayday. Unfortunately R got a nasty dose of acid reflux on a particularly taxing hill, but apart from that, the day passed delightfully. Felt v uplifted by how beautiful the English countryside was on such a blue-skied, crisp day.
