Dammit, I've broken all my rules and failed to post here for ages. Blame the builders, blame the work, blame LCS calling... but put it this way: I'm currently sitting in the office, surrounded by bags containing essentials of laptop, 3 different kinds of charger, knickers, eyeliner, assorted papers and (randomly) some brandy glasses.
This is someone lacking a home at the moment... It's made me realise that about-town-ness is predicated on having a base to come back to, a frontline to retreat from, somewhere to rest a weary head without it getting covered in dust and paint fumes...
So. In the meantime. I'm off on an adventure tonight, heading to Nunhead (emphasis on the second syllable please) in my quest for a bed. I'm going to go via the Rye Hotel where I've decided to have a large solo drink whilst waiting for M to return and chaperone me through the wild streets of south east London.
Normal transmission back soon. In the meantime expect sporadic rants from bag lady here.
NB - the picture is more or less unrelated, other than making me laugh out loud after it popped up when searching for 'builders' in google images...
This week has officially been the most dull week I've had for *ages*. Thanks to the building site formerly known as my flat I've been indulging in a rather too intimate relationship with M&S ready meals; and thanks to silly amounts of work I haven't got out a lot. In fact, possibly the highlight of my week (and let's face it the only night out I've had is with a bunch of old school local government chief execs, mmm lovely) was the train ride home tonight with E and a bottle of wine that fell into our hands, as if by magic.
On that note. I like drinking on trains. It feels naughty. I remember when I was little going up to see my grandparents on the train and being completely fascinated by the hardcore Glaswegians getting more and more rowdy as the empties piled up around them. Ma disapproved. I stared. And they fell about laughing as we played 'I spy' and my bro went for 'something beginning with L'*. Anyway. More recently, the hilarious 'work' trip to Cornwall with S&P - and G&Ts - is one to remember. Ditto the endless and beery journey with L & A on our way to see A in southern Italy, where we nearly ended up in Paris rather than Bari thanks to my Italian pronunciation. I never thought I'd have much in common with tough Scottish men but, looking back, maybe I'm wrong...
* the answer? 'Lectricity'. yep, begins with L, and he could see it. Clearly.
So one good thing about going back to work is that I get to experience that uniquely warm and reassuring feeling of letting yourself in at the end of a long day, pouring a glass of wine, changing your clothes and luxuriating in how much you like your home. I'm happy tonight. Not least because yet again I've shunned the bloody cookery programmes all over the place at the moment, and have invented what turned out to be a delicious supper of ham (baked myself, mais oui), new potatoes and - innovation alert - pan fried salad. sounds grim; tastes divine. I think it's all about the dressing. So now I'm full, warm, comfortable (Maslow would be having a field day here) and about to embark on reading slash daydreaming to the tunes of the new Radiohead album, which, like everyone else I know, I think is amazing. Turns out Monday's not so bad after all.
It's biting me on the ass. I'm watching Notting Hill. I should not be doing this, esp on a Saturday night. For reference, it's as bad as I remember it. And I'm not even at the dinner party scene yet...
* a new concept introduced by L... thanks...
When I bought my place, I promised myself that I would not become one of those unacceptably tedious people who talk about sub-prime mortgages, obsess endlessly about home improvements, and make decisions about decor on the basis of the selling value. BUT. Today, I visited Lassco, a convenient two minute skip from my house, and where I spent a good hour and a half breaking my own promise.
God, that place is like a treasure trove. It barely feels like a shop: more, like an old house you've stumbled across, where you're the trespasser who has clambered over brambles and 'NO ENTRY' notices to find another world. It's full of things you'd only ever be able to buy if you (a) owned a hugmungous (sp???) pile in the English countryside and (b) you had more money than the public sector is ever going to give me. Oversized fireplaces, copper baths, the world's biggest dining tables. Not exactly suitable for my flat, but man, I fantasised. I'm not going to say 'one day' now, but it's entirely possible I did whilst there...
Either way, it's made me look forward to my weekend in a couple of weeks where I'll be vacating London, and visiting Oxfordshire's antique showrooms with T. Should be fun. But please someone remind me that I live in a London highrise, not a castle.
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.
Dammit, I've broken all my rules and failed to post here for ages. Blame the builders, blame the work, blame LCS calling... but put it this way: I'm currently sitting in the office, surrounded by bags containing essentials of laptop, 3 different kinds of charger, knickers, eyeliner, assorted papers and (randomly) some brandy glasses.
