K gets home from work armed with wine designed to see off an up-and-down week with style. My contribution is to sort out some home made potato wedges covered in far more cayenne pepper than is medically advisable to go with our equally spicy pizza. The food goes down well and we make sure to eat it far away from the pristine new sofa - though luckily no such restriction is extended to the wine (we got a red sofa for a reason).
K does a bit of sewing while I sit in the living room and make decent progress with some writing and photo editing I've been meaning to do for a while. Eventually she comes to join me in time for Never Mind the Buzzcocks - which seems to be doing well in these post-Amstell days of HIGNFY-style guest presenters. The only downside is the presence of some-sort-of-singer Paloma Faith, who has that irritating habit some women do of talking like a baby to get away with saying things that would otherwise just be stupid. She's probably so used to boys finding her adorable that she wouldn't be able to stop now if she tried.
Later on we watch Something's Gotta Give, which comes on ITV1 - an enjoyable chick flick starring a still-loveable Diane Keaton playing a character who could plausibly be a grown-up Annie Hall. Jack Nicholson is also very good as the ageing playboy coming to terms with his age and working through the conflict of finding himself attracted to a woman nearer his age. It goes on very late though, and K eventually convinces me to give up on it (I have seen it before) and go to bed before it gets to silly o'clock.
Friday 26 November 2010
Wednesday 24th November
As promised, I get a call from DFS at around lunchtime informing me that their delivery driver will be at my house within the next hour. Pleased that the delivery has matched up well with my lunch break at work, I walk home and eat lunch there - which is a nice novelty in itself.
I put the news on and entertain myself by watching the breaking coverage of the latest round of student protests in London. They're protesting the cuts to university and college funding, as well as (mostly) the fact that university fees could reach up to £9000 - a debt repayable after you graduate and are earning over £21,000. I'm usually with students on issues like this, but I can't help but feel that a lot of the protestors don't know that it's basically an extension of the student loan, which should go into improving the universities they're attending - and that they don't have to pay it up front. I also can't shake the feeling that, like the violent protests of two weeks ago, a lot of these kids are just there for fun; to shout at the police, smash stuff and dance around fires. It's tedious and stupid after a while, the fun only coming with the most hilariously out-of-touch and "boo hoo diddums" placard I've ever seen: "We'd Like To Teach The World To Sing But We Can't Afford Our Music Degree". What a sad state of affairs it is when such a socially vital degree as music goes unstudied.
An hour passes, then 90 minutes. I give DFS a call moaning that I have to get back to work - but they tell me to sit tight. Another hour passes and by now I really, really should be back at my desk. Eventually the delivery men arrive at 3.15 and proceed to wedge the sofa in our narrow downstairs corridor. There's no way the thing is fitting through the door frame, even after the men have stripped all the packaging away. Around this time, I see the driver run out of the corridor and down the street, shouting. It seems some kid has jumped on the back of the lorry and is trying to steal one of his drills. The kid is chased away - but my sofa is still nowhere near being in my living room.
We then hit on the collective brainwave of seeing how far we can open the living room window - which turns out to be surprisingly far. After one of the delivery men has climbed up on the radiator and taken parts of the window frame apart, we somehow manage to slide the bulky sofa through the gap. Relieved that I'm not going to be sending it back for a refund, I thank the delivery guys and run back to work - eventually getting there for 4.30 and spending a frankly useless last hour of the day trying to catch up.
I put the news on and entertain myself by watching the breaking coverage of the latest round of student protests in London. They're protesting the cuts to university and college funding, as well as (mostly) the fact that university fees could reach up to £9000 - a debt repayable after you graduate and are earning over £21,000. I'm usually with students on issues like this, but I can't help but feel that a lot of the protestors don't know that it's basically an extension of the student loan, which should go into improving the universities they're attending - and that they don't have to pay it up front. I also can't shake the feeling that, like the violent protests of two weeks ago, a lot of these kids are just there for fun; to shout at the police, smash stuff and dance around fires. It's tedious and stupid after a while, the fun only coming with the most hilariously out-of-touch and "boo hoo diddums" placard I've ever seen: "We'd Like To Teach The World To Sing But We Can't Afford Our Music Degree". What a sad state of affairs it is when such a socially vital degree as music goes unstudied.
An hour passes, then 90 minutes. I give DFS a call moaning that I have to get back to work - but they tell me to sit tight. Another hour passes and by now I really, really should be back at my desk. Eventually the delivery men arrive at 3.15 and proceed to wedge the sofa in our narrow downstairs corridor. There's no way the thing is fitting through the door frame, even after the men have stripped all the packaging away. Around this time, I see the driver run out of the corridor and down the street, shouting. It seems some kid has jumped on the back of the lorry and is trying to steal one of his drills. The kid is chased away - but my sofa is still nowhere near being in my living room.
We then hit on the collective brainwave of seeing how far we can open the living room window - which turns out to be surprisingly far. After one of the delivery men has climbed up on the radiator and taken parts of the window frame apart, we somehow manage to slide the bulky sofa through the gap. Relieved that I'm not going to be sending it back for a refund, I thank the delivery guys and run back to work - eventually getting there for 4.30 and spending a frankly useless last hour of the day trying to catch up.
Thursday 25 November 2010
Tuesday 23rd November
There is some pleasant and surprising news today as I get a call from how-many-sales-can-one-store-have sofa specialists DFS to advise me that the sofa we ordered back in October will be delivered tomorrow. This is some three week ahead of when they said it would be available, so needless to say we're extremely excited about being able to sit on our ludicrous red beast of a couch sooner than we expected.
Back at home, I busy myself getting dinner ready before K gets home and then we set about moving our existing sofa into the dining room to make space - could this blog get any more thrilling? I find it hard to imagine. This leaves us with a big space in one room and a big clutter in the other, so we get to cleaning the flat, preparing the place as if we were having a special guest to stay.
I hoover and tidy and actually sit down to do some writing while K watches the inane but plausibly research-justified reality show Four Weddings, which follows four women as they attend each other's ceremonies before passing judgment on things like the dress, the food and the entertainment. I can't think of anything worse - but K is glued to it and I'm horrified that she might actually end up applying for it. That said, if you win you get an all expenses paid exotic honeymoon, so maybe it's worth inviting three moaning strangers and a camera crew into your party. Then again, maybe not. I'm not sure me, dancing on an electric light-up dancefloor in a kilt, is the sort of thing that should go out on television.
Back at home, I busy myself getting dinner ready before K gets home and then we set about moving our existing sofa into the dining room to make space - could this blog get any more thrilling? I find it hard to imagine. This leaves us with a big space in one room and a big clutter in the other, so we get to cleaning the flat, preparing the place as if we were having a special guest to stay.
I hoover and tidy and actually sit down to do some writing while K watches the inane but plausibly research-justified reality show Four Weddings, which follows four women as they attend each other's ceremonies before passing judgment on things like the dress, the food and the entertainment. I can't think of anything worse - but K is glued to it and I'm horrified that she might actually end up applying for it. That said, if you win you get an all expenses paid exotic honeymoon, so maybe it's worth inviting three moaning strangers and a camera crew into your party. Then again, maybe not. I'm not sure me, dancing on an electric light-up dancefloor in a kilt, is the sort of thing that should go out on television.
Monday 22nd November
Another night of promising to write and not quite achieving the volume I'm hoping for falls apart early on when I get home from work in a less-than-brilliant mood and cheer myself up by jumping around the kitched to Refused's seminal album The Shape of Punk to Come. The album offers the exact right mix of catharsis and nostalgia to see me through to a dinner of leftover cottage pie from last night (delicious) and University Challenge coming on TV.
I get by OK with my score again - occasionally surprising myself with the sort of thing I can pull from my head under pressure - and make detailed notes on my progress for reasons I'm slowly beginning to lose sight of. The idea, as I've mentioned, is to build up a record of my personal score on University Challenge to see if I'm learning anything over time - but again I fail to find the time to bother typing it up. This plan will come to something, though, and it's actually a little fun not to know quite what it is yet.
K comes home later and we sit and watch The Trip on iPlayer. The Coogan/Brydon improvised comedy continues to intrigue - but more than anything it makes me long to go on a trip driving around the countryside. Perhaps K and I will drive around Scotland sometime soon.
I get by OK with my score again - occasionally surprising myself with the sort of thing I can pull from my head under pressure - and make detailed notes on my progress for reasons I'm slowly beginning to lose sight of. The idea, as I've mentioned, is to build up a record of my personal score on University Challenge to see if I'm learning anything over time - but again I fail to find the time to bother typing it up. This plan will come to something, though, and it's actually a little fun not to know quite what it is yet.
K comes home later and we sit and watch The Trip on iPlayer. The Coogan/Brydon improvised comedy continues to intrigue - but more than anything it makes me long to go on a trip driving around the countryside. Perhaps K and I will drive around Scotland sometime soon.
Sunday 21st November
I surprise myself by waking up at a reasonable hour and feeling completely fine this morning. K, on the other hand, is rough as a cat's tongue - and so I spend much of the morning hiding in the living room catching up on cosy quiz shows like QI and Have I Got News For You while she naps it off.
By about lunchtime K seems to be back in the land of the living and so we head out of the house. This, despite being still mid-November, is my last chance to get any Christmas shopping done for my family, so the plan is to head into town to trawl Covent Garden for decent presents. On the way, though, we stop off at Euston to visit the new exhibition at the Wellcome Collection. The Wellcome is one of my favourite museums, mostly for the way that it mixes art with science so splendidly - but also because it's adjacent to Euston station and doesn't involve trekking to South Kensington or the like. The exhibition - based on the history of drugs and their effects on the human body - is very new and as such the gallery is as busy as I've ever seen it, but it's still enjoyable to wander around before we get down to the business of shopping.
We walk down through Russell Square towards the West End, stopping at any shops and department stores that take our fancy. We eat a quick lunch at M&S on Tottenham Court Road to fuel the next couple of hours of shopping, which we complete with surprising ease. Certain members of my family are easier to shop for than others, but when we're heading back on the tube later I feel a sense of a job well done.
By about lunchtime K seems to be back in the land of the living and so we head out of the house. This, despite being still mid-November, is my last chance to get any Christmas shopping done for my family, so the plan is to head into town to trawl Covent Garden for decent presents. On the way, though, we stop off at Euston to visit the new exhibition at the Wellcome Collection. The Wellcome is one of my favourite museums, mostly for the way that it mixes art with science so splendidly - but also because it's adjacent to Euston station and doesn't involve trekking to South Kensington or the like. The exhibition - based on the history of drugs and their effects on the human body - is very new and as such the gallery is as busy as I've ever seen it, but it's still enjoyable to wander around before we get down to the business of shopping.
We walk down through Russell Square towards the West End, stopping at any shops and department stores that take our fancy. We eat a quick lunch at M&S on Tottenham Court Road to fuel the next couple of hours of shopping, which we complete with surprising ease. Certain members of my family are easier to shop for than others, but when we're heading back on the tube later I feel a sense of a job well done.
Saturday 20th November
Last night, halfway to being out of our heads on fine wine, K and I decided that it might be fun to get a kitten at some point in the near future. Suspending all reason for a while, we decide to spend this morning going to the Cat's Protection League adoption centre in Archway. There's no plan to actually get a cat today, of course, but it seems like a good idea to find out exactly what is involved.
We get the bus to Archway and walk down Junction Road to the adoption centre. A nice lady meets us and takes us down to where the kittens are kept. This is a big mistake - I instantly fall for a pair of grey tabby cats who, after having been held by me for a minute or two, seem to have fallen for me as well. We are shown another, older pair of cats, but I can't take my eyes off the needy, mewling pair in the first cage. At this point, I can't imagine leaving without them. As such it makes sense for us to get out of there as soon as possible, so after having a quick chat about the adoption process and home visits and the like, we make our excuses and head off. We probably shouldn't be doing impulsive things like getting pets while we're trying to save for a wedding and whatnot - but it's a nice idea and a cute way to spend the morning.
We walk down from Archway to Holloway Road, then along Seven Sisters Road to Stroud Green Road, where we potter around the shops for a bit before walking through Finsbury Park to Sainsbury's. The big shop is duly done and we're back at the flat for lunch and a bit of afternoon pottering before we head out for the evening.
Tonight is Kelli's birthday party in Muswell Hill, so we get in the mood with a couple of beers at home before getting the bus up the steep, steep hill and walking through the Broadway towards The Alexandra. It's really cold tonight and it feels like one of those winter evenings where you want to hide away in a cosy pub. The Alexandra doesn't disappoint as it's small and warm - and as people begin to file in we share the cupcakes K has made and enjoy cake and champagne with the birthday girl.
A bit later, I find myself playing some sort of "higher or lower" drinking game with an oversize pack of cards. The majority of the rest of the evening is a blur - suffice to say K and I make it back to Muswell Hill Broadway in time to get the bus home. It feels like the first Winter weekend of the season and it's fun to be reminded that good nights out can be had in the absence of warm beer gardens.
We get the bus to Archway and walk down Junction Road to the adoption centre. A nice lady meets us and takes us down to where the kittens are kept. This is a big mistake - I instantly fall for a pair of grey tabby cats who, after having been held by me for a minute or two, seem to have fallen for me as well. We are shown another, older pair of cats, but I can't take my eyes off the needy, mewling pair in the first cage. At this point, I can't imagine leaving without them. As such it makes sense for us to get out of there as soon as possible, so after having a quick chat about the adoption process and home visits and the like, we make our excuses and head off. We probably shouldn't be doing impulsive things like getting pets while we're trying to save for a wedding and whatnot - but it's a nice idea and a cute way to spend the morning.
We walk down from Archway to Holloway Road, then along Seven Sisters Road to Stroud Green Road, where we potter around the shops for a bit before walking through Finsbury Park to Sainsbury's. The big shop is duly done and we're back at the flat for lunch and a bit of afternoon pottering before we head out for the evening.
Tonight is Kelli's birthday party in Muswell Hill, so we get in the mood with a couple of beers at home before getting the bus up the steep, steep hill and walking through the Broadway towards The Alexandra. It's really cold tonight and it feels like one of those winter evenings where you want to hide away in a cosy pub. The Alexandra doesn't disappoint as it's small and warm - and as people begin to file in we share the cupcakes K has made and enjoy cake and champagne with the birthday girl.
A bit later, I find myself playing some sort of "higher or lower" drinking game with an oversize pack of cards. The majority of the rest of the evening is a blur - suffice to say K and I make it back to Muswell Hill Broadway in time to get the bus home. It feels like the first Winter weekend of the season and it's fun to be reminded that good nights out can be had in the absence of warm beer gardens.
Friday 19th November
With a busy weekend in store, K and I have a quiet night in planned. I thought it'd be nice to get some stuff for dinner that'd be a bit of a surprise for her, so after work I walk the old route (last year's route) through the tunnel to New River Village and up to Crouch End.
It's odd to do this again having done it every day once upon a time and it's good to have the time to catch up with the various podcasts backing up on my phone. The plan is to head to M&S's "Simply Food" Crouch Ender-magnet to check out their eat-in-for-£10 deal, but when I get there it seems that it doesn't actually exist - or at least not any more. Therefore I'm forced down a rung on Crouch End's hierarchy of posh mini-supermarkets (M&S > Waitrose > Budgens > Tesco) to Waitrose.
I spend a long time considering their fancy-looking ready meals, trying to balance the desire to buy something I can be relied upon to cook unassisted and the need to get something a bit different. I eventually settle on a delicious-looking chicken and leek pie and some potato rosti to go with whatever frozen veg we happen to have in the freezer - and of course plenty of posh (i.e. "from Waitrose rather than the corner shop") red wine.
K gets home and I refuse to let her in the kitchen while I struggle manfully with heating peas in the microwave and delicately arranging oven-cooked rosti on the plate. Thankfully, this all seems to go down well and I'm way up on fiance points for the evening. After dinner we settle in front of the TV for an evening of assorted nonsense programming while K gets her knit on. What a nice Friday.
It's odd to do this again having done it every day once upon a time and it's good to have the time to catch up with the various podcasts backing up on my phone. The plan is to head to M&S's "Simply Food" Crouch Ender-magnet to check out their eat-in-for-£10 deal, but when I get there it seems that it doesn't actually exist - or at least not any more. Therefore I'm forced down a rung on Crouch End's hierarchy of posh mini-supermarkets (M&S > Waitrose > Budgens > Tesco) to Waitrose.
I spend a long time considering their fancy-looking ready meals, trying to balance the desire to buy something I can be relied upon to cook unassisted and the need to get something a bit different. I eventually settle on a delicious-looking chicken and leek pie and some potato rosti to go with whatever frozen veg we happen to have in the freezer - and of course plenty of posh (i.e. "from Waitrose rather than the corner shop") red wine.
K gets home and I refuse to let her in the kitchen while I struggle manfully with heating peas in the microwave and delicately arranging oven-cooked rosti on the plate. Thankfully, this all seems to go down well and I'm way up on fiance points for the evening. After dinner we settle in front of the TV for an evening of assorted nonsense programming while K gets her knit on. What a nice Friday.
Tuesday 23 November 2010
Thursday 18th November
With K out at a gig again tonight, I try hard to sit down and get some writing done. My main problem here is trying to do so in front of the TV. There are various things to catch up with on iPlayer and downloaded new episodes of US comedies like 30 Rock, Community and South Park which are all going strong at the moment. I also need to eat and do various chores about the flat, and all of a sudden the evening is drifting away. Finding the discipline to write is difficult - which is hard to take when I like to think of myself as something of a natural writer. I know if I had a deadline that wasn't self-imposed things would be different. As it is I know that there won't be any real consequences if I write nothing tonight - other than my own disappointment.
While talking to mum on Monday she suggested that next time I'm up in Scotland I should have a look at my Grandad's diaries. I hadn't known previously, but apparently he wrote in his diary every day from sometime in the early 1980s until just before his death a few years ago. He apparently wrote about what was going on in the world at the time as well as what was going on in his life. It would be nice to see them - and I'm sure he'd be pleased to see me trying to do the same. The diaries certainly sound inspiring, though right now I'm sure it's discipline rather than inspiration that I need.
While talking to mum on Monday she suggested that next time I'm up in Scotland I should have a look at my Grandad's diaries. I hadn't known previously, but apparently he wrote in his diary every day from sometime in the early 1980s until just before his death a few years ago. He apparently wrote about what was going on in the world at the time as well as what was going on in his life. It would be nice to see them - and I'm sure he'd be pleased to see me trying to do the same. The diaries certainly sound inspiring, though right now I'm sure it's discipline rather than inspiration that I need.
Wednesday 17th November
Tonight K and I are off to see Deftones at Brixton Academy (despite the fact that I swore never to return after that MF Doom gig last month) - but then Deftones are no ordinary band. They've been one of my favourites since I was around 14, and indeed the first time I ever saw them live was at this very venue in June 2000, when I was only 15. They're also probably the only "metal" band I still have time for these days, especially since they were so brilliant at the Kentish Town Forum last Summer.
Another nice thing about tonight's gig is that Faye has managed to wangle us free tickets - and free VIP tickets no less. This means entrance through the stage door, and access to the VIP bar. Fancy.
I meet Faye and K in The Beehive and the place is absolutely heaving. I manage to get a pint eventually and we hang around long enough to get a table at the expense of getting to the gig in time to see Coheed and Cambria. No great loss there, but eventually we head over to venue and go up to the VIP bar. The drinks are mighty expensive in here but we do get a nice view (through glass) across the crowd and to the stage. Deftones come on and we watch a couple of songs from this strange vantage point but soon head downstairs for the better sound.
We end up leaving at around 10.15 as it's Ant's birthday drinks in Crouch End's brand spanking new Wetherspoon's, so we jump on the Victoria Line and race back to Finsbury Park to catch the bus and last orders. The pub is indeed brand spanking new, and very recognisably a Wetherspoon's. The lights are too bright but the beer is nice and cheap - and the toilets are definitely the cleanest I've ever seen in a pub (by virtue of having been installed about a week ago).
Another nice thing about tonight's gig is that Faye has managed to wangle us free tickets - and free VIP tickets no less. This means entrance through the stage door, and access to the VIP bar. Fancy.
I meet Faye and K in The Beehive and the place is absolutely heaving. I manage to get a pint eventually and we hang around long enough to get a table at the expense of getting to the gig in time to see Coheed and Cambria. No great loss there, but eventually we head over to venue and go up to the VIP bar. The drinks are mighty expensive in here but we do get a nice view (through glass) across the crowd and to the stage. Deftones come on and we watch a couple of songs from this strange vantage point but soon head downstairs for the better sound.
We end up leaving at around 10.15 as it's Ant's birthday drinks in Crouch End's brand spanking new Wetherspoon's, so we jump on the Victoria Line and race back to Finsbury Park to catch the bus and last orders. The pub is indeed brand spanking new, and very recognisably a Wetherspoon's. The lights are too bright but the beer is nice and cheap - and the toilets are definitely the cleanest I've ever seen in a pub (by virtue of having been installed about a week ago).
Monday 22 November 2010
Tuesday 16th November
There is a little excitement in the office today as Spurs and Argentina legend Ricky Villa pops in to sign some copies of his autobiography in our warehouse. It's undoubtedly one of the least glamorous places he's ever set foot - but the fact that our office is based in Wood Green ensures that we have tons of Tottenham fans in and around the place, all of whom rush down to where he's signing (donning high-vis jackets for the trip, naturally) to get their copies signed. I'm initially reluctant to bother - very much not being a Spurs fan - but eventually reason that it'd be silly to miss the opportunity to say hello to a successful international footballer.
It's not every day you get to meet someone who was in the 1978 World Cup winning Argentina squad, nor someone who has scored a famous winning goal in the FA Cup Final. I venture down to the warehouse and shake the old man's hand, also making sure to get a photo for the work Twitter account. His English isn't great (which is handy as I can't really think of much to say to him at the time) so I shuffle off to leave him to his tireless scribbling in book covers.
It's not every day you get to meet someone who was in the 1978 World Cup winning Argentina squad, nor someone who has scored a famous winning goal in the FA Cup Final. I venture down to the warehouse and shake the old man's hand, also making sure to get a photo for the work Twitter account. His English isn't great (which is handy as I can't really think of much to say to him at the time) so I shuffle off to leave him to his tireless scribbling in book covers.
Monday 15th November
With K out at her course, tonight is supposed to be a night of getting on with writing - but as usual I manage to find ways of procrastinating. I have dinner, read technology blogs like Engadget and Gizmodo obsessively and even start listening to the nerdtastic (but actually quite enjoyable) Engadget podcast, picking up knowledge for my self-education based 'other' blog. But it's still not writing.
Just before University Challenge starts, mum calls and we chat for a while about Christmas plans and various other things meaning that I need to watch the show on iPlayer at 9. It's good being able to pause it while I record the answers I've got correct, but having more to write up just leads to more procrastination and I don't get round to typing anything more before K eventually gets home. She's had a fairly horrendous tube ride back from East Finchley and so we chill out in front of the TV for the rest of the evening. It's frustrating to know that I haven't got anything done when I've actually put aside time to do so - but I'm a firm believer in the fact that creativity can't be forced and that if the mood's not there it's just not there. Successful writers would probably tell me that it can in fact be forced - and must be. Must try harder.
Just before University Challenge starts, mum calls and we chat for a while about Christmas plans and various other things meaning that I need to watch the show on iPlayer at 9. It's good being able to pause it while I record the answers I've got correct, but having more to write up just leads to more procrastination and I don't get round to typing anything more before K eventually gets home. She's had a fairly horrendous tube ride back from East Finchley and so we chill out in front of the TV for the rest of the evening. It's frustrating to know that I haven't got anything done when I've actually put aside time to do so - but I'm a firm believer in the fact that creativity can't be forced and that if the mood's not there it's just not there. Successful writers would probably tell me that it can in fact be forced - and must be. Must try harder.
Sunday 14th November
In on my own again this afternoon, I stick the Grand Prix on and have some lunch. Around halfway through, Alex pops round and we rig up the laptop to watch the Arsenal game at the same time. Watching two sports on two screen simultaneously is tricky, and confusing, especially when the commentary for the football is in Romanian and soundtracked by the wails of Formula One cars. At one point, I'm certain that Alex Song is the favourite for the driver's championship and Fernando Alonso swings in a decent cross on lap 43.
What actually happens is that Sebastien Vettel leads from the start and takes advantage of Alonso getting bogged down in traffic to win the driver's championship - meaning a maiden title for Red Bull and a double title at that. It's not the most dramatic result, but it's better than Alonso winning man I just can't bring myself to like.
While we fiddle around with the computer again to try and get a feed for Chelsea v Sunderland, Alex and I get to work baking a ginger cake for when the others return. In the end I'm glad my attention is elsewhere, as Sunderland manage the unthinkable and win 3-0 at Stamford Bridge to thoroughly ruin my afternoon. No matter - defeats happen - and my mood is soon lifted when K begins working on dinner, a Mexican feast fit for several Mexican kings.
K, Ellie, Alex and I get stuck into the fajitas while watching The X Factor (damn it, I'm hooked til the end now) and drinking some really very nice red wine from Tesco. Football results aside, it's been a pretty lovely Sunday by bedtime.
What actually happens is that Sebastien Vettel leads from the start and takes advantage of Alonso getting bogged down in traffic to win the driver's championship - meaning a maiden title for Red Bull and a double title at that. It's not the most dramatic result, but it's better than Alonso winning man I just can't bring myself to like.
While we fiddle around with the computer again to try and get a feed for Chelsea v Sunderland, Alex and I get to work baking a ginger cake for when the others return. In the end I'm glad my attention is elsewhere, as Sunderland manage the unthinkable and win 3-0 at Stamford Bridge to thoroughly ruin my afternoon. No matter - defeats happen - and my mood is soon lifted when K begins working on dinner, a Mexican feast fit for several Mexican kings.
K, Ellie, Alex and I get stuck into the fajitas while watching The X Factor (damn it, I'm hooked til the end now) and drinking some really very nice red wine from Tesco. Football results aside, it's been a pretty lovely Sunday by bedtime.
Saturday 13th November
The girls head out early and I take the opportunity to spend a good portion of the day mooching. It's a solo activity and one that takes virtually no effort - so perfectly suited to me really. I watch the Grand Prix qualifying; it's the last race of the season and one in which four drivers can potentially win the title. It's also in Abu Dhabi, meaning a spectacular day/night race against the backdrop of a desert flooded with money. The seven star hotel that straddles the race track is stunning and lends itself to repeated flyovers by the TV cameras as the sun sets. There was literally nothing there in 2007 - now it's a Monaco for the Middle East and everyone's beaming face during Martin Brundle's amusing pit lane interviews reeks of cash. Or possibly ca$h.
I move from mooching to pottering after Sebastien Vettel is confirmed as the pole-sitter, and do some washing up and general chores before K and Ellie get back. After a suitable period has passed we deem it time to go to the pub, so we walk up through the posh shops of Crouch End towards the Kings Head, where various others are waiting for us. It's a very sports-heavy weekend, and while I have lots of fun chatting to Rich, Tim and the others I am conscious that tonight is the David Haye v Audley Harrison fight (or Ordinary Harrison, as the sign outside the Hornsey Tavern perhaps unfairly dubs him). Aware I probably won't be able to watch it (I'm in a minority of casual boxing fans tonight), I follow it with one eye my phone even as we head to Big Red.
The pub is busy but we find a space - and some of the assembled folks play table football while I follow a laughable third-round TKO by David Haye, and probably the end of Harrison's career. Boxing can be cruel - and I suspect that's how Harrison will remember it.
I move from mooching to pottering after Sebastien Vettel is confirmed as the pole-sitter, and do some washing up and general chores before K and Ellie get back. After a suitable period has passed we deem it time to go to the pub, so we walk up through the posh shops of Crouch End towards the Kings Head, where various others are waiting for us. It's a very sports-heavy weekend, and while I have lots of fun chatting to Rich, Tim and the others I am conscious that tonight is the David Haye v Audley Harrison fight (or Ordinary Harrison, as the sign outside the Hornsey Tavern perhaps unfairly dubs him). Aware I probably won't be able to watch it (I'm in a minority of casual boxing fans tonight), I follow it with one eye my phone even as we head to Big Red.
The pub is busy but we find a space - and some of the assembled folks play table football while I follow a laughable third-round TKO by David Haye, and probably the end of Harrison's career. Boxing can be cruel - and I suspect that's how Harrison will remember it.
Thursday 18 November 2010
Friday 12th November
Our wonderful friend Ellie arrives from the bitter mists of Cornwall this evening, so when I finish work I head to Turnpike Lane station to meet her and escort her safely back to our flat. I stand outside the nearest exit to the flat for a full 15 minutes before it occurs to me that she might be inside the station. Sure enough she appears up the stairs - and it turns out she's been there for around the same amount of time. Doh.
Foolish standing over, we drop Ellie's stuff off then head back out to the tube to make our way into to town to meet K and the others at The Cock. It's been a while since we've had a proper Sam Smith's night, and while the pub is as busy as usual, K has managed to snag a decent table upstairs and we take our seats to wait for reinforcements. I manage to get into a row with two people - one who refuses to wait for me to climb the narrow stairs before starting their descent, and another who accuses me of rudeness while overhearing something I'm saying to someone else. I can't win in this stupid world. Isn't it in fact more rude to loudly, and falsely, accuse someone else of rudeness in public?
Needless to say our friends find my incredulity very funny - and I soon calm down and get on with a couple more drinks. Unusually, we end up staying at The Cock for the entire evening - and we celebrate getting home later by calling the venerable Pizza Go-Go in Hornsey for express meat feast pizzas. Yum.
Foolish standing over, we drop Ellie's stuff off then head back out to the tube to make our way into to town to meet K and the others at The Cock. It's been a while since we've had a proper Sam Smith's night, and while the pub is as busy as usual, K has managed to snag a decent table upstairs and we take our seats to wait for reinforcements. I manage to get into a row with two people - one who refuses to wait for me to climb the narrow stairs before starting their descent, and another who accuses me of rudeness while overhearing something I'm saying to someone else. I can't win in this stupid world. Isn't it in fact more rude to loudly, and falsely, accuse someone else of rudeness in public?
Needless to say our friends find my incredulity very funny - and I soon calm down and get on with a couple more drinks. Unusually, we end up staying at The Cock for the entire evening - and we celebrate getting home later by calling the venerable Pizza Go-Go in Hornsey for express meat feast pizzas. Yum.
Thursday 11th November
It's been long enough since we've made any advance with it, so tonight has been set aside for K and I to get cracking on some wedding planning. One thing that's been niggling lately is the need to get some 'Save the Date' cards made - since they're ever so popular these days and, I suppose, quite a nice pre-invitation thing to send out to get everyone up to speed. We're aware that there will soon be people thinking about their summer holidays for 2011 so we need to preempt the people we want to be there booking something that will keep them away. Having said that, anyone who would dare to book a holiday and miss our wedding isn't worthy of our time anyway - let alone the price of a postcard and a first class stamp.
We have a look around online for companies who specialise in printing these sort of things, leading to a lot of ugly, business-focused websites trying to hawk cheesy business cards by the thousand. Eventually we find a printer with a surprisingly versatile little tool for designing the card and entering the text we want - only to find that their delivery charges are really where they get you. We crack open a bottle of red to deal with the stress of this setback and end up getting too irate to be bothered any more, ordering some nice-looking cards from a website that doesn't look too dodgy.
Later on we relax by watching The Apprentice on iPlayer - during which the clueless contestants wind me up even more by creating two products, named completely wrongly but for amusingly similar reasons. Tasked with coming up with a new brand of cleaning product, the first team try to mix the words "germ" and "terminator" to create: Germ-O-Nator. Where did the O come from?! Germinator would surely have been the obvious choice.
Then, to make matters worse, the second team create an octopus-themed cleaner (don't ask why) and manage to name it Octikleen. WITH AN I! The daft woman who ends up presenting it even pronounces "octopus" as "octipus". If they'd just swapped each other's middle letters around I could have avoided a full hour of shouting at the telly and driving K batty. How did no one tell them to sort this out!??? It's almost like reality TV is deliberately designed to wind people up. Oh.
We have a look around online for companies who specialise in printing these sort of things, leading to a lot of ugly, business-focused websites trying to hawk cheesy business cards by the thousand. Eventually we find a printer with a surprisingly versatile little tool for designing the card and entering the text we want - only to find that their delivery charges are really where they get you. We crack open a bottle of red to deal with the stress of this setback and end up getting too irate to be bothered any more, ordering some nice-looking cards from a website that doesn't look too dodgy.
Later on we relax by watching The Apprentice on iPlayer - during which the clueless contestants wind me up even more by creating two products, named completely wrongly but for amusingly similar reasons. Tasked with coming up with a new brand of cleaning product, the first team try to mix the words "germ" and "terminator" to create: Germ-O-Nator. Where did the O come from?! Germinator would surely have been the obvious choice.
Then, to make matters worse, the second team create an octopus-themed cleaner (don't ask why) and manage to name it Octikleen. WITH AN I! The daft woman who ends up presenting it even pronounces "octopus" as "octipus". If they'd just swapped each other's middle letters around I could have avoided a full hour of shouting at the telly and driving K batty. How did no one tell them to sort this out!??? It's almost like reality TV is deliberately designed to wind people up. Oh.
Thursday 11 November 2010
Wednesday 10th November
I know it's not cool to blog about one's blog - but the fact is that this evening is mostly spent catching up with Along Presently posts. Keeping to a daily blog is tricky - and I've spent much of the last month at least a week behind. There have been times when I've considered drawing a line under it and concentrating on other things, particularly when I have a few days to catch up on, which then takes up all the time I have for writing. I've kept going though, mostly because it's a lot of fun to look back on - and I can't help but think of the landmarks. If I stopped now I'd have done a daily blog for 242 days of my life. What's that? That's meaningless. A year is much more impressive - though that means carrying on well into next March. I'd also quite like to have the blog cover all the build-up to the wedding, since it covered the engagement. The wedding is 282 days away, which would take the blog to an impressive (yet still maddeningly non-rounded) 524 days. So I'm not stopping quite yet.
Tonight is productive, at least in terms of this blog, as I get 9 days-worth written down before K gets back from her gig, bringing me up to date for the first time in ages.
I also find time to rig up a dodgy online feed to watch the Chelsea v Fulham game - managing to tune into Fox Soccer Channel live from the US. The commentators are, thankfully, British, but the half-time report is full of amusing pronuciation of names and peculiar American soccer slang. The voice-over refers to the post as something funny, but I forget now what it is. As far as the game goes, Chelsea overcome Fulham 1-0 (as they are expected to do) but do it without ever really playing any scintillating football. The dominance is total in the first half, but later on in the game Fulham seem to grow in confidence and the last ten minutes look very dodgy indeed. Still, it's 3 points on a night when Man United and Man City play out a tedious 0-0 draw at Eastlands, meaning Chelsea have a four-point cushion with just under a third of the season played. The real tests though, are very much still to come.
Tonight is productive, at least in terms of this blog, as I get 9 days-worth written down before K gets back from her gig, bringing me up to date for the first time in ages.
I also find time to rig up a dodgy online feed to watch the Chelsea v Fulham game - managing to tune into Fox Soccer Channel live from the US. The commentators are, thankfully, British, but the half-time report is full of amusing pronuciation of names and peculiar American soccer slang. The voice-over refers to the post as something funny, but I forget now what it is. As far as the game goes, Chelsea overcome Fulham 1-0 (as they are expected to do) but do it without ever really playing any scintillating football. The dominance is total in the first half, but later on in the game Fulham seem to grow in confidence and the last ten minutes look very dodgy indeed. Still, it's 3 points on a night when Man United and Man City play out a tedious 0-0 draw at Eastlands, meaning Chelsea have a four-point cushion with just under a third of the season played. The real tests though, are very much still to come.
Wednesday 10 November 2010
Tuesday 9th November
Now here's a rare event - I'm actually going out to a gig with K tonight. She has tickets to see Broken Records at the Borderline, and I've agreed to come along based on the fact that I had enjoyed Broken Records when they supported The National at the Royal Festival Hall a while back, and that I like The Borderline as a venue very much. She has also promised to get me a burrito from Chipotle (at which I will have to banish memories of the Chipotle-based South Park episode from last season).
I meet K in Leicester Square just after seven and we head to Chipotle on Charing Cross Road. The burritos we get are very tasty and, predicatbly, very quickly polished off. With a little while to go before the band come on stage, we walk up to The Angel for a couple of pints where we indulge in some overdue wedding-talk, making plans to make plans later in the week. Sometimes it feels like we're putting things off - but I can't think of any other way to plan something that seems so far in the future.
We head to The Borderline just after nine, annoying lots of punters by pushing through the tightly-packed audience just after the band have taken the stage. We take up position at the back, by the bar, and get a drink on board. The band are accomplished and the sound in the venue is great - especially when compared to the reprehensible sludge displayed by Brixton Academy at the last gig I went to.
I meet K in Leicester Square just after seven and we head to Chipotle on Charing Cross Road. The burritos we get are very tasty and, predicatbly, very quickly polished off. With a little while to go before the band come on stage, we walk up to The Angel for a couple of pints where we indulge in some overdue wedding-talk, making plans to make plans later in the week. Sometimes it feels like we're putting things off - but I can't think of any other way to plan something that seems so far in the future.
We head to The Borderline just after nine, annoying lots of punters by pushing through the tightly-packed audience just after the band have taken the stage. We take up position at the back, by the bar, and get a drink on board. The band are accomplished and the sound in the venue is great - especially when compared to the reprehensible sludge displayed by Brixton Academy at the last gig I went to.
Monday 8th November
Back at work we're into the beginning of yet another monthly cycle, the last one having finished just last Thursday. It never ends - but it never gets less gruelling. Maybe gruelling is extreme - but it can feel that way on a freezing cold, wet Monday morning in November. Pity me, won't you?
In the evening I carry on working on my latest, foolish internet project - a tech/geek blog I have called Nerdmirer. Inspired by the science books I've been reading lately, along with my leisure time spent browsing sites like Gizmodo and Engadget, it's an attempt to resolve my inner nerd while aggregating all the cool tech stuff I keep spotting online. Ideally it will help me learn (and improve my University Challenge score) and I'm even considering asking people to contribute to it, helping out with the nerdy things I'm just no good at. The manifesto is up there, anyway.
Tonight's contribution is to write up my University Challenge, which one day might build into a chart of progress, learning and general geek triumph. We'll see. I'm not setting any deadlines for updates or regularity (which seems to be the death of many an earnestly-begun blog) so it'll be interesting to see how far this one gets, especially as in making it I am well out of my comfort zone.
In the evening I carry on working on my latest, foolish internet project - a tech/geek blog I have called Nerdmirer. Inspired by the science books I've been reading lately, along with my leisure time spent browsing sites like Gizmodo and Engadget, it's an attempt to resolve my inner nerd while aggregating all the cool tech stuff I keep spotting online. Ideally it will help me learn (and improve my University Challenge score) and I'm even considering asking people to contribute to it, helping out with the nerdy things I'm just no good at. The manifesto is up there, anyway.
Tonight's contribution is to write up my University Challenge, which one day might build into a chart of progress, learning and general geek triumph. We'll see. I'm not setting any deadlines for updates or regularity (which seems to be the death of many an earnestly-begun blog) so it'll be interesting to see how far this one gets, especially as in making it I am well out of my comfort zone.
Sunday 7th November
Dad's idea for a trip out today is to head to Greenwich - somewhere he hasn't been for a few years and somewhere K and I have avoided for reasons mainly due to distance and the unreliable Jubilee Line, despite it being a very lovely place to spend time. As he and Eve drive over from Hammersmith, K and I get there using a combination of the Piccadilly, Victoria and Jubliee lines, followed by the DLR from Canary Wharf. It takes an hour but is relatively painless - and we turn up at around 12.30 to meet the folks.
We walk up through the high street, stopping at a street market for a bit (where K and I pick up a rather nice looking chess set for a fiver) before heading for lunch at a slightly incongruous Cuban restaurant. Suitably fed we head to the park and walk up the steep hill to the observatory, taking the time to get the obligatory photo on the meridian line and marvel at the rather brilliant view. As is my custom these days I make sure to point out the under-construction London Shard, whose rise into the skyline I'm following with interest.
We walk around the exhibits in the Royal Observatory and the Planetarium, the stuff on display tying in nicely with the chapters I've been reading from Bill Bryson's excellent A Short History of Nearly Everything. Eventually we head back down the hill and towards the river, past the almost non-existent Cutty Sark and along to the Maritime Museum.
Dad and Eve give K and I a lift back to Turnpike Lane (during which time we amuse ourselves by playing two-player Fruit Ninja on Dad's iPad) and stop off for a cup of tea before making their way back up north. Later, K and I eat bangers and mash and (finally!) catch up on The Apprentice before bed - conscious that we have eaten incredibly well this weekend.
We walk up through the high street, stopping at a street market for a bit (where K and I pick up a rather nice looking chess set for a fiver) before heading for lunch at a slightly incongruous Cuban restaurant. Suitably fed we head to the park and walk up the steep hill to the observatory, taking the time to get the obligatory photo on the meridian line and marvel at the rather brilliant view. As is my custom these days I make sure to point out the under-construction London Shard, whose rise into the skyline I'm following with interest.
We walk around the exhibits in the Royal Observatory and the Planetarium, the stuff on display tying in nicely with the chapters I've been reading from Bill Bryson's excellent A Short History of Nearly Everything. Eventually we head back down the hill and towards the river, past the almost non-existent Cutty Sark and along to the Maritime Museum.
Dad and Eve give K and I a lift back to Turnpike Lane (during which time we amuse ourselves by playing two-player Fruit Ninja on Dad's iPad) and stop off for a cup of tea before making their way back up north. Later, K and I eat bangers and mash and (finally!) catch up on The Apprentice before bed - conscious that we have eaten incredibly well this weekend.
Saturday 6th November
Dad and Eve are down to visit this weekend, so this evening we head down to Hammersmith to meet them, Philip and his girlfriend Emma for dinner. Hammersmith is a full 19 stops on the Piccadilly Line so I'm glad to have my Kindle with my while K plays Angry Birds on my phone - plus the tube is terminating early so the train crawls between Barons Court and Hammersmith.
Never mind - we still get to this pleasant end of West London with plenty of time for our early dinner reservation, which is at a pub named by the Sunday Times as one of Britain's 10 best gastropubs (and, apparently, the only one in London). The place is busy in preparation for the nearby fireworks display at Ravenscourt Park (for which the weather is much better than it was last night), but we squeeze through and are seated at our table. I order the rib eye steak and a beer, and we sit and happily catch up over a tasty (and rather posh) meal.
We need to eat up quickly, though, as the fireworks start at 8pm. We walk through the maze-like streets near the pub to the park, where we join the few thousand other people waiting around for the show. The fireworks themselves are very impressive, and last longer than any of us were expecting. Emma buys everyone candy floss (which I don't think I've had for at least ten years) and we huddle together for warmth.
Later we walk back towards Philip and Emma's flat, stopping off for a quick beer at a nice pub before K and I need to shoot off to get the tube. The 19 stops back feel long again - but it's a been a nice, boozy, wintery evening.
Never mind - we still get to this pleasant end of West London with plenty of time for our early dinner reservation, which is at a pub named by the Sunday Times as one of Britain's 10 best gastropubs (and, apparently, the only one in London). The place is busy in preparation for the nearby fireworks display at Ravenscourt Park (for which the weather is much better than it was last night), but we squeeze through and are seated at our table. I order the rib eye steak and a beer, and we sit and happily catch up over a tasty (and rather posh) meal.
We need to eat up quickly, though, as the fireworks start at 8pm. We walk through the maze-like streets near the pub to the park, where we join the few thousand other people waiting around for the show. The fireworks themselves are very impressive, and last longer than any of us were expecting. Emma buys everyone candy floss (which I don't think I've had for at least ten years) and we huddle together for warmth.
Later we walk back towards Philip and Emma's flat, stopping off for a quick beer at a nice pub before K and I need to shoot off to get the tube. The 19 stops back feel long again - but it's a been a nice, boozy, wintery evening.
Friday 5th November
It's bonfire night - another 'holiday' which, like Halloween, I've never been particularly bothered about, ever since the years spent at The White Lion fireworks display in Rochdale where I'd invariably beg to be taken home after about five minutes. It's not that I don't like fireworks, more that, well, they're just bloody loud aren't they?
Tonight promises to be a bit different though, as K and I have been invited to a bonfire party at a strange community of houseboats, moored no more than 100 yards downriver of Tower Bridge. The boats are very much permanent, each with well-tended gardens on their roofs, and connected by a communal area with a stage, tables and chairs. We walk down the South Bank to try and find it - succeeding only when we see the huge bonfire at the back of one of the huge boats.
We head in with Ellie and meet her boyfriend Mike on his friend's boat. We say hello and sit on the floor with a beer, where the rocking of the boat momentarily confuses me into thinking I might be about to pass out. The odd feeling passes, though, and we enjoy a nice chat and learning a bit about what it's like to live on a houseboat in Zone 1.
The only problem with tonight is the weather - which makes the planned fireworks display a complete washout. It's not even nice enough to stand outside for long, so after K has had her fun with a Giant Sparkler we say our goodbyes and head back to London Bridge for the tube. Like the guy we met who lives on the houseboat says, it's not somewhere you could stay forever, but it's fun to say you've done it. And leaving home in the morning to the sight of Tower Bridge, the Gherkin and Canary Wharf must be pretty thrilling.
Tonight promises to be a bit different though, as K and I have been invited to a bonfire party at a strange community of houseboats, moored no more than 100 yards downriver of Tower Bridge. The boats are very much permanent, each with well-tended gardens on their roofs, and connected by a communal area with a stage, tables and chairs. We walk down the South Bank to try and find it - succeeding only when we see the huge bonfire at the back of one of the huge boats.
We head in with Ellie and meet her boyfriend Mike on his friend's boat. We say hello and sit on the floor with a beer, where the rocking of the boat momentarily confuses me into thinking I might be about to pass out. The odd feeling passes, though, and we enjoy a nice chat and learning a bit about what it's like to live on a houseboat in Zone 1.
The only problem with tonight is the weather - which makes the planned fireworks display a complete washout. It's not even nice enough to stand outside for long, so after K has had her fun with a Giant Sparkler we say our goodbyes and head back to London Bridge for the tube. Like the guy we met who lives on the houseboat says, it's not somewhere you could stay forever, but it's fun to say you've done it. And leaving home in the morning to the sight of Tower Bridge, the Gherkin and Canary Wharf must be pretty thrilling.
Thursday 4th November
The theatre students are really grating today. It's surprisingly warm this week, so we have the windows open in the office - the main drawback of which being the oblivious, abrasive kids "expressing themselves" at the top of their lungs across the road. If they're not endlessly (and tunelessly) rehearsing showtunes, they're screaming and hugging each other on the street - or walking along alone but singing at the top of their lungs, trying to get noticed. Today though they're just shouting. I'm sure this is some brilliant "acting" technique, like the Stanislavsky horseshit they briefly tried to teach us at uni. What it actually is, though, is noise pollution.
It's genuinely hard to work through the noise - and I post something caustic and unnecessary on Twitter to try and relieve some of the pressure building up in my skull. Amusingly, some appalling 18 year old self-satisfied grin machine sees it and tweets back, asking why I'm being so "harsh". I tell him that ignorant, extroverted drama students are basically everything that is wrong with the world. Then I block him and report him for spam. My anger management techniques may be crude, but they'll do for now.
It's genuinely hard to work through the noise - and I post something caustic and unnecessary on Twitter to try and relieve some of the pressure building up in my skull. Amusingly, some appalling 18 year old self-satisfied grin machine sees it and tweets back, asking why I'm being so "harsh". I tell him that ignorant, extroverted drama students are basically everything that is wrong with the world. Then I block him and report him for spam. My anger management techniques may be crude, but they'll do for now.
Wednesday 3rd November
It's another rip-roaring Champions League night, and as such Alex pops round after work to get in the mood. I take it upon myself to cook dinner for the two of us, and for K (who will be getting home later). Alex insists I've never cooked for her properly in the nearly four years we've been friends (I strenuously deny this, but who knows) so I manage to confound her expectations somewhat by cooking up some rather tasty bolognese.
At kick-off time we sit down to watch Chelsea taking on Spartak Moscow, which sees the Blues making what feels like a rare appearance on terrestrial TV. It's also rare that Alex and I are watching a team other than Arsenal these days. Chelsea make light work of Spartak, which is a little disappointing in terms of the contest but great in terms of the team's progression through the group stage.
Alex leaves after the football and K gets home, having a brief Skype chat with her sisters in Bolivia (technology, eh?) which I listen in on while faffing around in the kitchen, washing up.
At kick-off time we sit down to watch Chelsea taking on Spartak Moscow, which sees the Blues making what feels like a rare appearance on terrestrial TV. It's also rare that Alex and I are watching a team other than Arsenal these days. Chelsea make light work of Spartak, which is a little disappointing in terms of the contest but great in terms of the team's progression through the group stage.
Alex leaves after the football and K gets home, having a brief Skype chat with her sisters in Bolivia (technology, eh?) which I listen in on while faffing around in the kitchen, washing up.
Tuesday 2nd November
My alarm goes off at 7am and I immediately surprise myself by actually getting out of bed. I get dressed in shorts and yesterday's t-shirt (no need to put anything clean on just to slog up to Crouch End) and head out of the door at 7.15. It's weird being up and about at this time of day, while people jog and walk their dogs - and the unluckiest fools are already on their way to work. I get to the pool at around 7.40 and head in for a swim, only to find that the pool is busier than I had hoped. As it turns out, the dreaded HBSC have a slot booked this morning too, meaning that I have one of two lanes to pick from. One of them is very busy, the other is very fast and full of aggressive nobheads who feel the need to overtake or just swim straight down the middle of the lanes. Ah well, it was worth a go, and there's a chance that I could try a different day of the week next time.
I head home and arrive back for a shower and breakfast at around the usual time I'd be getting up - it is actually quite surprising what you can get done before work. K treats me to a boiled egg and I head off to work feeling oddly refreshed, if a little chlorine-y.
This evening I have to head to the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Diseases to sell books at a lecture given by an eminent doctor (one of the few weird things I get to do in this job). I get there in good time and sell a few copies before the attendees head into the lecture theatre in this strange and compelling building near Russell Square. I sit outside reading for the hour they are inside, then shift a few more copies at the end. Unfortunately, this does leave me with 25-odd heavy hardbacks to lug back home, but I do eventually make it (albeit a bit tired and not in the best of moods).
All this exercise and working has knackered me out, and I head to bed really rather early.
I head home and arrive back for a shower and breakfast at around the usual time I'd be getting up - it is actually quite surprising what you can get done before work. K treats me to a boiled egg and I head off to work feeling oddly refreshed, if a little chlorine-y.
This evening I have to head to the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Diseases to sell books at a lecture given by an eminent doctor (one of the few weird things I get to do in this job). I get there in good time and sell a few copies before the attendees head into the lecture theatre in this strange and compelling building near Russell Square. I sit outside reading for the hour they are inside, then shift a few more copies at the end. Unfortunately, this does leave me with 25-odd heavy hardbacks to lug back home, but I do eventually make it (albeit a bit tired and not in the best of moods).
All this exercise and working has knackered me out, and I head to bed really rather early.
Monday 1st November
Alex calls me early in the morning to eulogise about how brilliant it is going swimming in the morning before work. She's aware of my issues with Haringey Council over their ridiculous Park Road scheduling and is calling to helpfully volunteer me to try out an AM swim tomorrow. I've heard worse ideas - I certainly know a lot of people who exercise in the morning, but I can't shake just how terrible I am on weekday mornings. There's nothing quite as cosy or comfortable as your bed at around 8am on a weekday, when you know you shouldn't be there. At the weekend I practically leap out of bed well before nine - but in the week I could easily stay there for hours longer than I do. The idea of not only being up but getting dressed, going out, exercising, then coming home again fills me with cold dread, especially at this cold, dreadful time of year.
Having said all this, I am keep to get back into swimming while Haringey flirts with idiocy (and it is rumoured that this timetable is just temporary) - so I foolishly commit to getting up at 7am tomorrow and giving it a go. Ugh.
K is out again this evening so I amuse myself in the normal Monday evening way: cooking, watching University Challenge and writing. I get a woeful 11 correct answers tonight - but part of me thinks I should start recording my scores and plotting them somewhere, seeing if I can force myself to improve over time. Maybe there's another blog in it.
Having said all this, I am keep to get back into swimming while Haringey flirts with idiocy (and it is rumoured that this timetable is just temporary) - so I foolishly commit to getting up at 7am tomorrow and giving it a go. Ugh.
K is out again this evening so I amuse myself in the normal Monday evening way: cooking, watching University Challenge and writing. I get a woeful 11 correct answers tonight - but part of me thinks I should start recording my scores and plotting them somewhere, seeing if I can force myself to improve over time. Maybe there's another blog in it.
Monday 8 November 2010
Sunday 31st October
Tonight K and I are off to the BFI to see the preview screening of the Halloween special episode of Psychoville - just four hours before it actually screens on TV but featuring an interview and Q&A with the cast and producers afterward. We had both really enjoyed the first series when it aired last year, capturing as it did the darkest moments of The League of Gentlemen along with the silly jokes and brilliant characters that made it so funny back in the 90s.
We arrive at the BFI just before six having wandered happily from Oxford Circus through Covent Garden and across the bridge to the South Bank - and collect our ticket while the likes of Dawn French (in the show) and Richard Bacon (conducting the interview) wander around us. We take our seats in NFT1 which seems to be completely packed out and the episode is introduced. It takes the form of an hour-long portmanteau story featuring Mr. Jelly, Joy, Mr. Lomax, Tealeaf et al - and while there are lots of good laughs in it, portions are genuinely bloody scary. This is amplified by watching it in the dark and on the big screen - but it has clearly been crafted by students of horror (a genre that I'm not too interested in) and students of comedy.
The interview portion is great fun too - with the likeable Reese Shearsmith slipping accidentally into certain characters and getting angry at internet trolls, among other things.
After the show, we're both very hungry - so we hit upon the idea of calling Jashan (Turnpike Lane's finest curry establishment) and placing a collection order before we get on the tube at Waterloo, meaning it's ready to pick up when we step off the Piccadilly Line 30 minutes later. We tuck into the curry at home, just in time to catch the Psychoville episode starting on TV! And I was right - it's not nearly as scary on telly (or, I suppose, for the second time in one evening).
We arrive at the BFI just before six having wandered happily from Oxford Circus through Covent Garden and across the bridge to the South Bank - and collect our ticket while the likes of Dawn French (in the show) and Richard Bacon (conducting the interview) wander around us. We take our seats in NFT1 which seems to be completely packed out and the episode is introduced. It takes the form of an hour-long portmanteau story featuring Mr. Jelly, Joy, Mr. Lomax, Tealeaf et al - and while there are lots of good laughs in it, portions are genuinely bloody scary. This is amplified by watching it in the dark and on the big screen - but it has clearly been crafted by students of horror (a genre that I'm not too interested in) and students of comedy.
The interview portion is great fun too - with the likeable Reese Shearsmith slipping accidentally into certain characters and getting angry at internet trolls, among other things.
After the show, we're both very hungry - so we hit upon the idea of calling Jashan (Turnpike Lane's finest curry establishment) and placing a collection order before we get on the tube at Waterloo, meaning it's ready to pick up when we step off the Piccadilly Line 30 minutes later. We tuck into the curry at home, just in time to catch the Psychoville episode starting on TV! And I was right - it's not nearly as scary on telly (or, I suppose, for the second time in one evening).
Sunday 7 November 2010
Saturday 30th October
I'm not usually one for fancy dress or being particularly bothered about Halloween, but tonight is a party at Tristan's pub in Stockwell with the charming theme 'fucked up'. This is good, in that it allows me to put in the minimum of effort and dress up as a man called Damian Abraham from a band called, luckily, Fucked Up (pictured here). I don't know any of their music, but it's pretty easy to make myself look like him. So before Mike, Tim, Jenny, Nick and Rick come round I stick on a pair of shorts, a white t-shirt customised by K and a baseball cap - and the illusion is more or less complete. While we sit around drinking cans before heading out, I liberally apply fake blood to my forehead to Halloween-up proceedings. K, rather brilliantly, dresses as the infamous Cat Bin Lady in an old lady's dress and kitten-in-bin-bag accessory.
We head out to Stockwell at about 8, getting a fair few looks on the tube and surreptitiously drinking disguised Jack Daniels in water bottles. The pub is quiet when we arrive, but soon the Halloween pub quiz starts and later we watch a couple of middling bands while getting more and more drunk and taking pictures alongside Rick's giant polystyrene skull.
We leave Stockwell in good time for the last tube, stopping off at Big Red on the way through Holloway, which is, predictably, in full All Hallow's swing. The place is absolutely rammed but a display of magic and fire eating create a fun, festive atmosphere to soak up before we finally head home on the 29. I don't really do Halloween - and I don't think I'll ever enjoy dressing up - but this has been a fun one.
We head out to Stockwell at about 8, getting a fair few looks on the tube and surreptitiously drinking disguised Jack Daniels in water bottles. The pub is quiet when we arrive, but soon the Halloween pub quiz starts and later we watch a couple of middling bands while getting more and more drunk and taking pictures alongside Rick's giant polystyrene skull.
We leave Stockwell in good time for the last tube, stopping off at Big Red on the way through Holloway, which is, predictably, in full All Hallow's swing. The place is absolutely rammed but a display of magic and fire eating create a fun, festive atmosphere to soak up before we finally head home on the 29. I don't really do Halloween - and I don't think I'll ever enjoy dressing up - but this has been a fun one.
Thursday 4 November 2010
Friday 29th October
Since Alex has started her PhD back at Royal Holloway (the university where we met), she has been invited to a drinks and nibbles evening for current media students and alumni in Russell Square this evening. Being an alumni, and not having much to do in the early part of tonight, I agree to come along.
We meet at The Tollgate for a cheeky quick one just after six, before hopping on the Piccadilly Line to Russell Square. The 'event' is at the Horse Hospital, a small art space near the station, so we wander over there and head down into the basement. We're greeted by a room full of typical Royal Holloway types and a table laden with cheapo crisps and chocolate - but we push past to the bar, where, we're promised, our first drink is free. No such luck, apparently - all the free drinks have gone - so we're forced to pay £3 for a dribble of red wine. No matter, let's mingle.
Before long we bump into a couple of people who did our undergrad course; people I haven't seen for over three years. Needless to say they're still ghastly, so we try and stay polite for a few minutes before moving on. One interesting fellow guest at this 'party' is none other than Lenny Henry, who has also just started his PhD at Royal Holloway. He chats politely with staff and alumni while keeping a low profile (difficult for such a large man) but soon we tire of even this vague novelty and head back to the tube.
Alex has dinner to cook and so do I, so we say goodbye on Turnpike Lane and I head home for wine and Scrabble with K. It's quite nice to be getting in with the night ahead of you - but a crappier party I don't think I've ever seen. Royal Holloway just can't really do 'being a university' right. I don't miss it at all.
We meet at The Tollgate for a cheeky quick one just after six, before hopping on the Piccadilly Line to Russell Square. The 'event' is at the Horse Hospital, a small art space near the station, so we wander over there and head down into the basement. We're greeted by a room full of typical Royal Holloway types and a table laden with cheapo crisps and chocolate - but we push past to the bar, where, we're promised, our first drink is free. No such luck, apparently - all the free drinks have gone - so we're forced to pay £3 for a dribble of red wine. No matter, let's mingle.
Before long we bump into a couple of people who did our undergrad course; people I haven't seen for over three years. Needless to say they're still ghastly, so we try and stay polite for a few minutes before moving on. One interesting fellow guest at this 'party' is none other than Lenny Henry, who has also just started his PhD at Royal Holloway. He chats politely with staff and alumni while keeping a low profile (difficult for such a large man) but soon we tire of even this vague novelty and head back to the tube.
Alex has dinner to cook and so do I, so we say goodbye on Turnpike Lane and I head home for wine and Scrabble with K. It's quite nice to be getting in with the night ahead of you - but a crappier party I don't think I've ever seen. Royal Holloway just can't really do 'being a university' right. I don't miss it at all.
Thursday 28th October
K is out this evening, as is becoming more and more usual, and I sit and finish Chuck Palahniuk's Pygmy on the Kindle. The plan when I bought the Kindle was to try and buy a new book each payday and have it finished by the following payday - a plan mostly born out of frustration with my slow reading rate. I envy K, and all other tube commuters, that hour or so of trapped time she has to sit and read every day - while I (though enjoying the fact that I live only a 10-minute walk from work) have to grab ten minutes here and there to slowly crawl through a book. For example, Richard Dawkins' The Greatest Show on Earth ended up taking me over a year to read, in between more manageable paperbacks.
Since having the Kindle though, I've now read The Fry Chronicles and Pygmy in under a month - and as we tick over to payday at midnight I'm on the Kindle store buying something new. I download a sample of The Accidental Billionaires, the book The Social Network is based on, but find the writing style not to my taste (I get annoyed with non-fiction books that try to read like novels, with imagined speech and dramatised locations) so decide not to buy it. However, my itchy trigger fingers flicks the select button and I end up buying the book by mistake. Nightmare!
I run through to the other room and quickly send off an email begging for a refund from Amazon. I'm pretty sure it'll get sorted fairly speedily - surely this sort of thing happens all the time? Sure enough, the book is soon gone from my machine and I can find something I really want to read. I settle on Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything - a layperson's guide to science that I've been keen on reading for a few years now. It's only £4.00 or so, and I'm reading it less than a minute later. This truly is the future, my friends.
Since having the Kindle though, I've now read The Fry Chronicles and Pygmy in under a month - and as we tick over to payday at midnight I'm on the Kindle store buying something new. I download a sample of The Accidental Billionaires, the book The Social Network is based on, but find the writing style not to my taste (I get annoyed with non-fiction books that try to read like novels, with imagined speech and dramatised locations) so decide not to buy it. However, my itchy trigger fingers flicks the select button and I end up buying the book by mistake. Nightmare!
I run through to the other room and quickly send off an email begging for a refund from Amazon. I'm pretty sure it'll get sorted fairly speedily - surely this sort of thing happens all the time? Sure enough, the book is soon gone from my machine and I can find something I really want to read. I settle on Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything - a layperson's guide to science that I've been keen on reading for a few years now. It's only £4.00 or so, and I'm reading it less than a minute later. This truly is the future, my friends.
Tuesday 2 November 2010
Wednesday 27th October
After work I sort out some dinner and head over to Crouch End. There's a meeting in The Queens about a somewhat Secret Project, so I arrive at around 8 intending to meet Mike, Nick and Ellie. A stranger grabs my arm on the way through the door and asks if I'm here to meet Nick. Unsure, I answer in the affirmative. The man turns out to be Nick's housemate, and he assures me we've met before. I attempt to style this out, trying to guess his name - but fail just as he says it anyway. Phew. I go inside, hoping that he won't follow me and force any uncomfortable, strange chat. Luckily he doesn't and Nick soon arrives to join me at the bar.
Mike is his customary 45 minutes late, but eventually all four of us are sat on the big sofa discussing the Secret Project. It's good fun and we all get overexcited - and, frankly, we have more beers than are strictly necessary for a proper meeting. I proselytise about The Social Network and hopefully convince some of them to go and see it - it's only sinking in now quite how inspiring I found it.
Eventually it becomes time to leave the pub, and while Mike heads to Domino's to have a row about extra pots of dip, I stick my headphones on and listen to loud hip hop all the way home.
Mike is his customary 45 minutes late, but eventually all four of us are sat on the big sofa discussing the Secret Project. It's good fun and we all get overexcited - and, frankly, we have more beers than are strictly necessary for a proper meeting. I proselytise about The Social Network and hopefully convince some of them to go and see it - it's only sinking in now quite how inspiring I found it.
Eventually it becomes time to leave the pub, and while Mike heads to Domino's to have a row about extra pots of dip, I stick my headphones on and listen to loud hip hop all the way home.
Monday 1 November 2010
Tuesday 26th October
In the spirit of making things up with K after being a bit rubbish on Sunday, I offer to take her out to the cinema this evening. I also cook a delicious chilli to eat quickly before we go out (I can totally do sucking up when I have to) and we head up to the Cineworld in Shopping City at around 8, to see The Social Network.
I've heard nothing but good things about the film so far, which tells the story of how Harvard student Mark Zuckerberg created Facebook - which is not something I had expected when I heard last year that there was to be a 'Facebook movie'. As it happens, the movie is one of the best dramatic films I've seen in a long time.
David Fincher's typically accomplished direction, Trent Reznor's atmospheric score and Aaron Sorkin's funny, clever dialogue make for a film that oozes class and confidence - and adds genuine excitement to a film that is basically just about guys sitting in front of computers. There's a lot of angry laptop lid slamming and a great deal of insight into the bizarre social and intellectual hierarchy at Harvard. Justin Timberlake is great as the Napster founder and one-time Facebook executive Sean Parker, and Jesse Eisenberg's performance as the odd, reclusive and not-particularly-likeable Zuckerberg is bang on.
The film leaves me feeling at once inspired - to create, to use my talents and to embrace the new - and sickened; mostly at the fact that Zuckerberg (now worth $25 billion) is only six months older than me. It's crazy to think that he came up with Facebook in his first year at uni in 2003; at exactly the same time I was in my first year at uni. I also joined Facebook in (I think) 2005, when you still had to be a student to sign up. It's a film for our times (and it could have been so awful) and it's a triumph of dramatic filmmaking.
I've heard nothing but good things about the film so far, which tells the story of how Harvard student Mark Zuckerberg created Facebook - which is not something I had expected when I heard last year that there was to be a 'Facebook movie'. As it happens, the movie is one of the best dramatic films I've seen in a long time.
David Fincher's typically accomplished direction, Trent Reznor's atmospheric score and Aaron Sorkin's funny, clever dialogue make for a film that oozes class and confidence - and adds genuine excitement to a film that is basically just about guys sitting in front of computers. There's a lot of angry laptop lid slamming and a great deal of insight into the bizarre social and intellectual hierarchy at Harvard. Justin Timberlake is great as the Napster founder and one-time Facebook executive Sean Parker, and Jesse Eisenberg's performance as the odd, reclusive and not-particularly-likeable Zuckerberg is bang on.
The film leaves me feeling at once inspired - to create, to use my talents and to embrace the new - and sickened; mostly at the fact that Zuckerberg (now worth $25 billion) is only six months older than me. It's crazy to think that he came up with Facebook in his first year at uni in 2003; at exactly the same time I was in my first year at uni. I also joined Facebook in (I think) 2005, when you still had to be a student to sign up. It's a film for our times (and it could have been so awful) and it's a triumph of dramatic filmmaking.
Monday 25th October
Last week I ordered a USB stick from Amazon - a cheapo 4GB one - partly because I've never actually bought one before (the 1GB I've used for the last few years was, inexplicably, a free one given out by a sales rep I met while working at Waterstone's, branded with the logo of the Financial Times) and they're such ubiquitous and useful things these days, but also so I can try out an Ubuntu Linux install on my netbook.
I've been enjoying the netbook a lot - but frankly, I hate having to use Windows. I use Windows at work and the last thing I want to do is keep wrangling with it when I get home. Friends have recommended trying out Ubuntu netbook, and I'm keen to try it if only for its alternative (and staggeringly nerdy) vibe. Also, of course, it's free.
So my USB stick arrives today and I head home to download the install file and boot it up. This involves fiddling with BIOS settings and partitioning the hard drive and basically doing the back-end PC stuff I was fascinated by when I was a kid. It's also the sort of stuff I used to destroy the first couple of PCs my parents bought in the mid-90s.
K is late home because someone was pushed on the tracks at Kings Cross tube station, so I have plenty of time to fiddle about with the quirkiness and awkward newness of the OS before she comes in for tea. I feel a bit like a first-time computer user, but I'm pleased to be away from the drudgery and endless, endless updates of Windows XP.
I've been enjoying the netbook a lot - but frankly, I hate having to use Windows. I use Windows at work and the last thing I want to do is keep wrangling with it when I get home. Friends have recommended trying out Ubuntu netbook, and I'm keen to try it if only for its alternative (and staggeringly nerdy) vibe. Also, of course, it's free.
So my USB stick arrives today and I head home to download the install file and boot it up. This involves fiddling with BIOS settings and partitioning the hard drive and basically doing the back-end PC stuff I was fascinated by when I was a kid. It's also the sort of stuff I used to destroy the first couple of PCs my parents bought in the mid-90s.
K is late home because someone was pushed on the tracks at Kings Cross tube station, so I have plenty of time to fiddle about with the quirkiness and awkward newness of the OS before she comes in for tea. I feel a bit like a first-time computer user, but I'm pleased to be away from the drudgery and endless, endless updates of Windows XP.
Sunday 24th October
We get the shopping done and K gets busy in the kitchen making a stew for tonight's dinner. I help out, a little, by making dumplings from flour, butter and herbs (a quite fun, tactile bit of cooking that is so embarrassingly simple that I get quite a lot of pleasure from not immediately cocking it up) and chucking them in the bubbling pot. Next, the doorbell goes and Alex is here - we're off to the Hope and Anchor to meet Will and watch the Man City v Arsenal game. I kiss K goodbye and promise to be back for dinner at a reasonable hour. The game kicks off at 4, so I make vague (but eminently keepable) nods at the idea of being home by 8, not pissed and ready for a nice Sunday night in.
We get to the pub and grab a comfy if unusual seat on the sofa at the back of the pub and wait for Will to arrive. It's been a while since I've seen the lanky one and it's fun to catch up while Arsenal (helped by an extremely early red card) run riot and beat City 3-0. After the game we play a bit of darts before getting involved in the winner-stays-on pool rotation. This is a bad idea, not just because this pub attracts some very, very good pool players on a Sunday night (I am told, at one point, that I'm playing against a former world number 57) - but because the night slips away from us just as fast as my phone battery.
When Alex and I are queuing up at Pizza Go-Go at 11pm, I know I'm probably in some trouble. I survive the killer look I get when I step in the door, heat up some stew and basically keep my head down until bedtime. I'm going to have to do some serious sucking up this week.
We get to the pub and grab a comfy if unusual seat on the sofa at the back of the pub and wait for Will to arrive. It's been a while since I've seen the lanky one and it's fun to catch up while Arsenal (helped by an extremely early red card) run riot and beat City 3-0. After the game we play a bit of darts before getting involved in the winner-stays-on pool rotation. This is a bad idea, not just because this pub attracts some very, very good pool players on a Sunday night (I am told, at one point, that I'm playing against a former world number 57) - but because the night slips away from us just as fast as my phone battery.
When Alex and I are queuing up at Pizza Go-Go at 11pm, I know I'm probably in some trouble. I survive the killer look I get when I step in the door, heat up some stew and basically keep my head down until bedtime. I'm going to have to do some serious sucking up this week.
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