As part of our ongoing mission to become as middle aged as possible as quickly as possible, K and I start this upsettingly hungover Saturday morning talking about our new sofa. We had planned to wait until the new year to improve our currently sub-standard sitting situation - but flicking idly through the DFS website we decide to take a ride and check out a few in the flesh. A postcode search reveals the unappetising fact that our nearest DFS store is at Brent Cross shopping centre, but we decide to go for the adventure and get the tube.
We emerge straight onto the noxious North Circular and make our way through the houses awaiting demolition, across the rickety foot bridges under the spaghetti structures of flyovers, towards the grim concrete edifice of Brent Cross. It's just a mall in the Lakeside, Bluewater style, but the place has a slightly run-down vibe about it and the pretzel-y stench of American malls I haven't smelt since trudging around one in Florida many years ago.
Undeterred, we look around John Lewis at their far-out-of-our-price-range sofas, and pop into the Apple store to ogle the improbably thin new Macbook Airs. It eventually dawns on us that DFS, being a big shop, must be in the retail park back across the main road, so we have a quick lunch in the busy food court and walk over another huge footbridge to find the seating superstore.
We find the sofa we'd had in mind and place an order for the comfy red beast - but with a seven-week delivery estimate we're going to have to contain our excitement for a while.
We head back via the tube and we're home by fiveish - just in time to have a bite to eat before walking over to Crouch End with some beers for a cheery evening in at Mike, Rick and Ellie's house. We natter away and watch bits and pieces of the classic Adam and Joe DVD - before eventually deciding to brave the outdoors and wander up to the Haringey Arms for one more drink before bed.
Thursday, 28 October 2010
Friday 22nd October
So after all the ridiculous media brinksmanship, today it is announced that Wayne Rooney has signed a new five year contract and will be staying at Man United. How boring. Still, it will be interesting to see how the United fans react to him - I can imagine it being hard to know how to feel. He hasn't made a lot of friends recently.
This evening I head into town to meet K at the Cock. I exit Oxford Circus tube to the now obligatory accompaniment of Orbital's track Satan (seriously, it sounds great when you're weaving through crowds of bovine tourists) and find myself at the busy pub first. I stand outside for a while before K turns up and we catch up on each other's days before heading off again. Lloyd and Ed are at the Cro-bar near Centre Point, so we wander down Oxford Street to meet them. I have a particular loathing for this bar (too small, too loud, too expensive) but unfortunately this antipathy is shared by none of my friends. We have one drink and I moan enough that we soon move on to meet Mike at the Star and Garter in Soho.
We head upstairs and find a few other friends dotted about, so we join them for a pint or two and share stories (mostly about Mike, mostly involving unconscionable drunken ruin) and giggle for a while. It's soon time to move on once more though, so we all walk back up to Oxford Circus and hop on a packed tube towards Holloway Road, where the Big Red lies in wait.
By this point I've had my fill of drink and merriment, but we stick around anyway, talking shit and watching the amusing rock and roll kiddies go by. Eventually I manage to convince K that we should be heading for bed, so we head for the 29 (via the bakery, natch) and trundle on home.
This evening I head into town to meet K at the Cock. I exit Oxford Circus tube to the now obligatory accompaniment of Orbital's track Satan (seriously, it sounds great when you're weaving through crowds of bovine tourists) and find myself at the busy pub first. I stand outside for a while before K turns up and we catch up on each other's days before heading off again. Lloyd and Ed are at the Cro-bar near Centre Point, so we wander down Oxford Street to meet them. I have a particular loathing for this bar (too small, too loud, too expensive) but unfortunately this antipathy is shared by none of my friends. We have one drink and I moan enough that we soon move on to meet Mike at the Star and Garter in Soho.
We head upstairs and find a few other friends dotted about, so we join them for a pint or two and share stories (mostly about Mike, mostly involving unconscionable drunken ruin) and giggle for a while. It's soon time to move on once more though, so we all walk back up to Oxford Circus and hop on a packed tube towards Holloway Road, where the Big Red lies in wait.
By this point I've had my fill of drink and merriment, but we stick around anyway, talking shit and watching the amusing rock and roll kiddies go by. Eventually I manage to convince K that we should be heading for bed, so we head for the 29 (via the bakery, natch) and trundle on home.
Thursday 21st October
A horrible day at work starts early - with a shit-ton of work coming in inexcusably late from a client too important to ignore or chastise. I explain my point to the boss and get the impression that the work my department does is completely unappreciated and underestimated. Nevertheless, I grit my teeth, do some light to heavy swearing and crack on with it. A day like this comes around every so often at work (as I'm sure it does for absolutely everyone) but it makes it no more pleasurable to get through.
Another evening alone is spent watching large swathes of the latest US comedies I've been getting into, namely Community and Eastbound and Down. Community, which follows a disbarred lawyer attempting to requalify at a less-than-prestigious community college, is lots of fun and full of some very tight comedy writing - even though at times it wallows in the sort of pop culture reference-based humour that shows like Spaced made famous ten years ago. It does have that nice 23-minute 30 Rock appeal about it though, so I manage to watch seven or eight episodes around and beyond dinner. Eastbound and Down is about an egotistical former pro baseball player reduced to teaching gym at his old high school, and mixes HBO swearing, Will Ferrell-style "arrogant idiot" comedy and King of the Hill-style gritty Americana. It's pretty bleak in places but there are some brilliant lines here and there. I hope both of them make it to British TV soon.
Another evening alone is spent watching large swathes of the latest US comedies I've been getting into, namely Community and Eastbound and Down. Community, which follows a disbarred lawyer attempting to requalify at a less-than-prestigious community college, is lots of fun and full of some very tight comedy writing - even though at times it wallows in the sort of pop culture reference-based humour that shows like Spaced made famous ten years ago. It does have that nice 23-minute 30 Rock appeal about it though, so I manage to watch seven or eight episodes around and beyond dinner. Eastbound and Down is about an egotistical former pro baseball player reduced to teaching gym at his old high school, and mixes HBO swearing, Will Ferrell-style "arrogant idiot" comedy and King of the Hill-style gritty Americana. It's pretty bleak in places but there are some brilliant lines here and there. I hope both of them make it to British TV soon.
Wednesday 20th October
The Rooney story develops a little more today, with the player himself confirming that he does in fact intend to leave, citing United's lack of ambition as a reason. It's already starting to sound more like angling for an improved contract - but there's a definite sense that he's burning an awful lot of bridges here.
K is swimming tonight so I have another early-part-of-the-evening session spent in front of the telly and the laptop. Spurs are playing Inter at the San Siro, on ITV, so I stick this on in the background. Not planning to pay the game much attention, it soon grabs me as Tottenham find themselves 3-0, and a goalkeeper, down after only 15 minutes. This looks like being Spurs' rude, proper welcome to the Champions League - especially when the hosts make it 4-0 before half time. Properly dominated and out of their depth, not to mention down to ten men, the game looks like heading for a record thumping.
As it happens, though, Inter fail to score again - and in the final half an hour a heroic solo performance from Gareth Bale sees Spurs pull the score back to 4-3. A flattering scoreline, in terms of the abject first half display, but a thrilling end to a very enjoyable game.
I also watch the new series of Never Mind the Buzzcocks out of the corner of my eye - this week guest hosted by Mark Ronson, the transatlantic supposed "genius" music producer. The man has literally no charisma and the sight of him attempting to read jokes off an autocue is grating. I wouldn't mind if the music he produced was anything other than charmless, pretentious bollocks.
K is swimming tonight so I have another early-part-of-the-evening session spent in front of the telly and the laptop. Spurs are playing Inter at the San Siro, on ITV, so I stick this on in the background. Not planning to pay the game much attention, it soon grabs me as Tottenham find themselves 3-0, and a goalkeeper, down after only 15 minutes. This looks like being Spurs' rude, proper welcome to the Champions League - especially when the hosts make it 4-0 before half time. Properly dominated and out of their depth, not to mention down to ten men, the game looks like heading for a record thumping.
As it happens, though, Inter fail to score again - and in the final half an hour a heroic solo performance from Gareth Bale sees Spurs pull the score back to 4-3. A flattering scoreline, in terms of the abject first half display, but a thrilling end to a very enjoyable game.
I also watch the new series of Never Mind the Buzzcocks out of the corner of my eye - this week guest hosted by Mark Ronson, the transatlantic supposed "genius" music producer. The man has literally no charisma and the sight of him attempting to read jokes off an autocue is grating. I wouldn't mind if the music he produced was anything other than charmless, pretentious bollocks.
Tuesday 19th October
Alex Ferguson goes on TV and confirms the rumours that have been bouncing around for a while - that Wayne Rooney has refused to sign a new contract at Manchester United and that he wants to leave the club. It's big and fairly unbelievable news (in that he's always seemed like the sort of player who would stick around at United forever), but I allow myself to briefly fantasise about a player of his undoubted quality moving to Chelsea - if only because he would fit in rather well with Stamford Bridge's collection of assorted love rats and reprehensible scumbags. I won't be ordering the Rooney 10 shirt quite yet though.
Sticking with football, after work I head straight to the World's End to meet Alex and catch the end of the Spartak Moscow v Chelsea game which kicked off early. The pub is rammed with Emirates ticket holders getting boozed up before heading down the road to see Arsenal take on Shakhtar Donetsk, and more impressively there's a healthy contingent of orange-clad Ukrainian away fans making plenty of friendly noise in one corner. Around half an hour before kick-off, though, the pub empties out and Alex and I are able to grab a very comfy sofa in front of the big screen. There's an almost-full bottle of vodka under the table which the away fans have clearly been doing shots from, but we keep clear and stick to the lighter ales.
Arsenal win easily, running out 5-1 winners, and we stick around in the pub to watch the fans stream back in. We get talking to an effervescent Zambian man called Calvin, who insists on buying us a drink and talks loudly about his love of Liverpool FC and filmmaking. He's entertaining, but in that wearying "pub nutter" way where you realise that he's never actually going to go away. Alex and I finally make our excuses and head for the tube station, whereupon he follows us all the way to the platform, finally asking for our phone numbers. I'm a little ashamed to give him a fake number - but it gets rid of him and we're able to take the short journey back to TPL unmolested.
Sticking with football, after work I head straight to the World's End to meet Alex and catch the end of the Spartak Moscow v Chelsea game which kicked off early. The pub is rammed with Emirates ticket holders getting boozed up before heading down the road to see Arsenal take on Shakhtar Donetsk, and more impressively there's a healthy contingent of orange-clad Ukrainian away fans making plenty of friendly noise in one corner. Around half an hour before kick-off, though, the pub empties out and Alex and I are able to grab a very comfy sofa in front of the big screen. There's an almost-full bottle of vodka under the table which the away fans have clearly been doing shots from, but we keep clear and stick to the lighter ales.
Arsenal win easily, running out 5-1 winners, and we stick around in the pub to watch the fans stream back in. We get talking to an effervescent Zambian man called Calvin, who insists on buying us a drink and talks loudly about his love of Liverpool FC and filmmaking. He's entertaining, but in that wearying "pub nutter" way where you realise that he's never actually going to go away. Alex and I finally make our excuses and head for the tube station, whereupon he follows us all the way to the platform, finally asking for our phone numbers. I'm a little ashamed to give him a fake number - but it gets rid of him and we're able to take the short journey back to TPL unmolested.
Monday 18th October
I see the kids off in the morning and head to work. There's plenty to do as ever, but in a way it's nice to be getting on with getting things done. In the evening I find myself alone, as K is out at her dressmaking course again. I make a little dinner and plonk myself down in front of the television (as is my wont these days) and do a little catching up on the blog.
At eight University Challenge comes on and I busy myself with attempting to hit ten correct answers during the show. Amazingly I manage to get the first three in a row right (I don't remember all of them, but one was about Benjamin Zephaniah turning down a knighthood). On a roll now, I score a barely believable 20 correct answers during the half hour - something I'm sure no one contestant on there actually managed. If only I'd been in any way involved in academic student life during my time at Royal Holloway maybe I could have competed. Having said that, I don't think that a Media Arts student could have got anywhere near that team no matter how clearly genius-level his trivia-based intellect was.
Dad calls up afterwards and I regale him with stories of my televisual academic accomplishments. He is satisfyingly impressed.
At eight University Challenge comes on and I busy myself with attempting to hit ten correct answers during the show. Amazingly I manage to get the first three in a row right (I don't remember all of them, but one was about Benjamin Zephaniah turning down a knighthood). On a roll now, I score a barely believable 20 correct answers during the half hour - something I'm sure no one contestant on there actually managed. If only I'd been in any way involved in academic student life during my time at Royal Holloway maybe I could have competed. Having said that, I don't think that a Media Arts student could have got anywhere near that team no matter how clearly genius-level his trivia-based intellect was.
Dad calls up afterwards and I regale him with stories of my televisual academic accomplishments. He is satisfyingly impressed.
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
Sunday 17th October
We head back out in the morning to meet up with Jim and Steph again - this time at Sloane Square tube to go for a wander round the Saatchi Gallery. Neither K or I have been for a while so it's nice to have an excuse to make the kinda-out-of-the-way journey. Today is the last day of part one of the Newspeak show, and there are the usual range of impressive to uninspiring pieces throughout. By far the most exciting is a stack of 300 domestic stereo speakers in the corner of a large room, playing the distorted sound of a slowed-down pianola and computer-tweaked ambient noises. It makes for a haunting, unsettling installation that is at the same time peaceful and really quite wonderful. We walk around the speakers, careful not to knock anything, unsure of where the next sound will come from.
After the Saatchi we head to Waterloo to catch another free exhibition, Hell's Half Acre, a show put on by the Lazarides gallery in the tunnels under the station. We've pre-booked our tickets so after getting slightly lost looking for the well-hidden entrance we eventually arrive just after 1.30. The exhibition is in a series of darkened tunnels, each of the pieces dealing with the idea of hell, specifically that described in Dante's Inferno. The space is far more interesting than the work - atmospheric and creepy, dilapidated and with a very seedy vibe about it.
After leaving Waterloo we head back up north so that Jim and Steph can dump their heavy backpacks at our house. When we've all rested up a bit and K and I have got dinner for later on the go, we make our way out for a walk around Ally Pally and down through Crouch End. It's a beautiful day and our view is clear across the city. As usual I have fun pointing out the landmarks to our guests.
We have a quick couple of pints at the Queens before heading home with some wine to drink with dinner. We eat K's delicious home made lasagne and watch The X-Factor before playing a bit of Scrabble. Despite the copious amounts of wine it's a very civilised Sunday night in, and when I head to bed later (but, like last night, relatively early) I quickly fall into a contented slumber.
After the Saatchi we head to Waterloo to catch another free exhibition, Hell's Half Acre, a show put on by the Lazarides gallery in the tunnels under the station. We've pre-booked our tickets so after getting slightly lost looking for the well-hidden entrance we eventually arrive just after 1.30. The exhibition is in a series of darkened tunnels, each of the pieces dealing with the idea of hell, specifically that described in Dante's Inferno. The space is far more interesting than the work - atmospheric and creepy, dilapidated and with a very seedy vibe about it.
After leaving Waterloo we head back up north so that Jim and Steph can dump their heavy backpacks at our house. When we've all rested up a bit and K and I have got dinner for later on the go, we make our way out for a walk around Ally Pally and down through Crouch End. It's a beautiful day and our view is clear across the city. As usual I have fun pointing out the landmarks to our guests.
We have a quick couple of pints at the Queens before heading home with some wine to drink with dinner. We eat K's delicious home made lasagne and watch The X-Factor before playing a bit of Scrabble. Despite the copious amounts of wine it's a very civilised Sunday night in, and when I head to bed later (but, like last night, relatively early) I quickly fall into a contented slumber.
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