some-ness

A day of some-ness – some tidying, some web business, some money matters, some lounging – no major progress, but then no obvioius egress either. Something that Maude said the other day reminded me that I have a bread machine and set me off making a loaf of bread, which I’m currently stuffed with. I find it very difficult to ration myself to just a couple of pieces. Which is probably why I don’t make it as much as I used to. Fresh bread does seem to be able to override my self-control. How very rock and roll of me.

but only partly

There is a Jeays rehearsal at Dave’s, which is currently in a process of upheaval. I feel quite at home in upheaval. A combination of new songs, less new but revivified ones and old ones. My playing is rubbish, partly because of the cold, but only partly.

Back home I eat yesterday’s leftovers and in the evening check out the extras on the Young Ones and Ghost World DVDs that my father gave me for my birthday.

Some success. I am pleased.

I spend the morning tidying up the table and moving the computer around. Some success. I am pleased.

In the afternoon I meet up with Maude M and we go up the London Eye, just before sunset so the sky is spectacular. It’s extraordinary the amount of photography that takes place up there. I get a very strong sense of the owners efforts to extract their customers’ cash, though – the “guide”, the souvenir photograph, the plastic bag of bits. I still have the sense that the structure itself is more impressive (and intimidating) sometimes than the elevation or the view.

Then we stroll along to the Tate Modern to take in the Sun (I didn’t realise that that was what it was supposed to be when I wandered in there the other day), and the bowl of rotting fruit video and the case of Millbank/Bankside found objects (the drawers of which need repairing). Then, finding all the cafes closed we walk back to mine, picking up supplies on the way, and I make dinner. Something of an achievement. Lucky I cleared all that table space this morning. It’s very good to see Maude and to discuss all the Stuff that’s been happening. I realise that I’m planning up to a year (or more) ahaead, which I find to be quite scary.

chipping away at an iceberg with a butter knife

Some form of working gallery done and dispatched for approval, I dedicate the day to tidying. Great progress is made in the bathroom and the hallway. Some sort of progress is made in the living room, but it’s a bit like chipping away at an iceberg with a butter knife.

Practise done (interrupted and not wholly satisfactory but one must begin somewhere, eh) and a proper dinner (spicy chickpeas) cooked.

Jazz jam. I’m playing very badly or at least out of time. One or two good solos, which suggests that I have missed the point of bass playing (hint: it’s not the solos).

As I degenerate into wretchedness the bass amp dies, or at least starts to make a hideous squawking, distorted noise. Trace Eliot, it’s been as solid as a rock and is currently approximately as useful as one. Not a mood enhancer.

varying types, resolutions and vintages

I manage to get up at 7:00. Some kind of minor miracle. Perhaps a major one, I’m not sure.

I walk up to Borough Market, intending to buy stuff, but instead I marvel at the clustering bourgeoisie. I wish I’d brought my camera with me, and then see all the people who remembered – a lot of cameras of varying types, resolutions and vintages are being clutched. I wonder what kind of a picture of the world could be built up out of all those photographs.

I then wander upstream to the Tate Modern and have a look around the new hang (new to me, anyway) – the exhibit in the main gallery is suitably spectacular – and then walk home.

In the afternoon, apart from a brief interruption, I beaver away at getting a menu to “stick”. And into the evening for that matter. And up to bedtime.

a private-detective-o-gram

More of the same, really. I don’t get the diary updated (I suppose you could see that for yourselves), but do continue my work with the pictures and programming the gallery. I go to bed very late after getting it to sort of work. That sort of thing’s quite important.

First thing in the morning (8:00 – my body’s not quite adapted. The alarm went off at 7:00 and I ignored it), the front door buzzer goes. It’s a private detective, looking for one of the other residents. If fact he’s so cliched a private detective (trenchcoat, moustache, a manner that’s a bit too jolly for that time in the morning) that I wonder whether he’s a private-detective-o-gram. No joy for him in his quest, anyway. I commence my sitting. Ten minutes later the front door buzzer goes, with a package from my mother. So.

Later I go to the supermarket and get a phone call from Vinka in Chile, which gave me a bit of a surprise (you don’t expect that sort of thing when you’re coming home from Tesco’s). Nice lng chat when I get home.

my stupid body

I get up at 11:00, which my stupid body thinks is very early in the morning. Sadly, one cannot reason with one’s body. One cannot even talk to it, at least in public, as people think one is strange. People who know me know that this latter is the least of my worries, but it’s best to be warned about such things.

I spend the day retouching the photos from Mendoza, scaling them down to a web-friendly 640×480 pixels. I do not finish this job, as there are a lot of pictures.

A lot of pictures.

No really.

I’m also looking at the best way to put them into the public arena. Something soon, I promise.

As it is currently 1:00am, and I don’t want to turn back into a student, I’ll go to bed now.