I snuck off to the cinema during the day last week to see the new Mike Leigh film, Happy-Go-Lucky. Absolutely loved it from start to finish, although it was rather depressing that no one else seemed to be laughing apart from me in the cinema (ok there were only about 5 other people in there, but all the same... actually generally speaking I find daytime audiences are waaay too serious, but I digress...)
Poppy has stayed with me, and today I had the dawning realisation that she was possibly inside my head more than I'd realised. I've been thinking about what I've been up to this week and have so far:
- Bought some really bright and cheery clothes in a bid to liven up my wardrobe and escape the grey/black combos that seem to have defined my life for the last year or so
- Gone to Regents Park for a lovely sunny walk with J, and admired the boating lake whilst enjoying my first ice cream of 2008
- And finally, just to top it all off, today I bought a bike
Still, I'd rather that Poppy has inhabited my head than the scary driving instructor, I guess. And oh man I found the *best* ever shop to get my bike from. It's called ReCycling (geddit?) and can be found under the arches at the less-than-pleasant Elephant and Castle shopping centre. What a find. There I met Susan, the hungover 40 year old boss who was sweeping the floor and not happy about it, and Sarah, the 6.5 foot tall bike mechanic who was a craftswoman in the way Prof Sennett means it. Amazing. And in exchange for some crumpled notes rather than the usual chip-and-pin rigmarole, they let me have my beautiful little recycled bike for a mere £70. New brakes, cables and a basket chucked in too. Leaving them left me with a warm glow - not just from the slightly terrifying experience of cycling on London roads again after a two-year break...
Now let's just hope the little buggers in my block don't nick this one. And that I find a dress like the one Poppy wore to visit her dull sister by the seaside. C'mon Top Shop, you know you can do it.
So one of these days I'm going to stop writing this blog and start writing a book about the fun and games of being a single woman in London. Over the past 18 months I've had all manner of ridiculous slash depressing slash cringeworthy dates but what's just happened does, I think, surpass them all.
There I was on the hell that is Oxford Street on a Saturday afternoon when I got a completely random call from someone who I thought said his name was H. I *thought* he was the rather cute cameraman who came and filmed me a couple of weeks ago. So I smugged out all the way home, and decided to call him back... to my horror (and probably his, tenfold) it turns out I'd misheard his name on the voicemail and it was in fact C, the soundman from the very same filming fun and games. Cue a VERY awkward conversation where we had to go ahead and arrange a date anyway.
This is going to be one to remember. Let's see if he calls back first. Or, even better, he tells H that I'm keen on him, apparently, and therefore H calls me.... a girl's gotta hope...
Tonight I had a rather magical experience. There I was walking back from a lovely meal and political gossip with D, when I found myself on the Millennium Bridge, absolument tout seule, as if everyone else in London knew something I didn't, and were secretly all crammed into Gordon's wine bar or some other place that I don't like... a rare moment for reflection and contemplation, although I confess it was to no particular purpose other than to gawp at the beauty of London's bridges. The silence and the stillness would have been overwhelming had I not had a similar experience yesterday as I wandered back from meeting up with G via Green Park and St James Park and barely saw a car between waving her goodbye and hitting Vauxhall Bridge. Even more amazing given the huge demonstrations that had filled that whole part of London just hours before.
London's fullness is usually what excites me, which makes these moments all the more precious for their rareness.
...as I fortunately remembered after L and I ran away from the work thing we were supposed to be doing on Friday night... given we were in the vicinity of Befnal Green, we decided to rock up to Bistroteque, a brilliant venue tucked away in possibly the most unassuming building on the most unassuming street ever. I've not been there for ages but was reminded why I love it: the bar is a fabulous shade of gun metal, mixed with flea market chairs, chandeliers and beautiful people; upstairs the restuarant is simple, loud, and on saturday nights, host to some lip-syncing trannies. Still, if that's what I'm looking for I guess I don't need to travel so far... one of these days I am going to get to the Royal Vauxhall Tavern (original home to Lily Savage), which I used to walk past in envy most days for how much fun its crowd always seems to be having. You don't have to be gay... but I think it helps...
Most of this blog is all about the good stuff in London. But today has been what Anne of Green Gables* would have called a Jonah day** - ie rubbish, frankly - and not at all helped by the fact that my meetings schedule meant I was in need of my caffeine hits at moments when I found myself first, next to Pimlico Village, and second, next to Cafe Amore.
These cafes are hardly new to me. One I lived by for 3 years, another I worked by for 3 years, and I spent most of that time in utter wonderment at how they could be so bad, to the point of getting the giggles about it one time (the only other alternative was crying...). And herein lies the problem. I am so snotty about Starbucks coffee as an evil corporation - let's face it, it's not so hard when the coffee is so weak - and whinge about how Nero's quality has gone down so much since they expanded so fast - but man those independents need to learn about coffee and service first...
Meanwhile I will continue to dream about my own ideal version of a coffeeshop as I'd run it, which I confess has pretty much already been done by some wonderful person in the hip part of Stockholm. String rocks, as do most of the people who hang out in it (see picture) - as the review says, 'String offers you everything from pies to furniture to cup cakes'. What they don't say is that they serve ace coffee, brilliant DIY museli, and are rammed full morning to night with aspiring poets, film-makers and other such beautiful people... come on London, catch up, catch up...
* oh my god there's a fanclub. see you in three weeks.
** oh my god somone's put the whole set of books on the internet.
So tonight I found myself back at the Lav, an institution of old that used to be a much bigger feature of my life when I lived above it. Once I'd got over hyperventilating about the fact that *someone else lives in my old flat*, shock horror, I gave in to the rather comforting sense of being somewhere so familiar that the bar staff greeted me like an old friend (perhaps I did rely on them a little too much for limes and olives then) and where they 'forgot' to add things like a steak to our bill. Lovely.
We had the additional pleasure of being joined by a real life minister from HMG, which was fun, esp when the discussion turned to exactly who is the current minister for railways. Mr Minister got it as wrong as AQA, but at least he didn't charge a pound for the pleasure of giving us such misinformation.
On top of all this fun I have been asked to be a godmother tonight. I am even more convinced than ever by this request that I will die a mad woman who knits too much and mutters to herself. However my first task is to persuade the delightful parents-to-be to change their choice of name, so that I don't find myself dealing with a bullied child in 12 years' time.
I snuck off to the cinema during the day last week to see the new Mike Leigh film, Happy-Go-Lucky. Absolutely loved it from start to finish, although it was rather depressing that no one else seemed to be laughing apart from me in the cinema (ok there were only about 5 other people in there, but all the same... actually generally speaking I find daytime audiences are waaay too serious, but I digress...)
