OK, I admit it, up at 8:30. I got up, then a part of me decided that I could do with a bit more sleep and…
I’m not proud about it.
Breakfast, then, shower and out to Walker.
A few hours of making large coloured swatches, then off to the dentist, where I’m descaled and have my teeth cleaned deeply. The hygienist makes gnomic statements that I don’t really follow.
Home, pick up some files, then back to Walker and do things with them.
On the way home, stop at the Posh Shop on Lower Marsh for cereal, yoghurt and (unexpectedly) parmesan. Home, then out to get milk so we can have tea.
Make pasta for dinner. That must be why I bought the parmesan.
Evening of nothing in particular, mostly generating nonsense with Yes, That Can Be My Next Tweet.
Up, sit, breakfast, shower.
Walk to the market in the sunshine, hurrah. I can’t work out whether I’m getting better at the market thing or not. A lot of the time I endeavour to work out whether the oranges (for example) that I’m buying are the sweet ones that will be nice to eat in several days’ time or the ones that will just sit in the bowl and rot to spite me, and I hope I’m getting better at it. I’m certainly beginning to see more variation between the stalls, but to be honest there’s nothing persistent. Some veg isn’t that nice, but some of it just needs to be washed to look good and most of it is fine.
Who knew vegetables could be mysterious?
Home, wash and sample fruit and veg, then out again. Spend a very long time waiting for a bus (12 or 453, either will do, as long as it doesn’t terminate at Whitehall – these are common as pebbles normally, so I don’t know why I needed to wait 20 minutes today) to take me to Regent Street, from where I walk to Old Compton Street to buy a beverage-related gift. On the way I stop of at Lina Stores on Brewer Street and get bread. I could and should have got more – it was very quiet in there, which is unusual for that shop.
Get on the 176 which was already at the stop, get off at Waterloo and go to the Posh Shop to get cheese, tomatoes, salami and jam, then home for a late lunch. The bread is very nice (Italian crusty bread – not sure what kind, should have made a note). One thing about going to the market and proper shops rather than the supermarket, as well as getting fruit and veg cheaper, I’ve noticed that nice bread or cheese from the posh shop (or Lina) for example isn’t that much more expensive than an equivalent from Tesco and the difference in niceness exceeds the difference in price. Being in a situation where I’m making decisions about everything (even if some of the decisions are wrong) rather than just filling up at the supermarket means that I’m deciding to get some things more cheaply, some less cheaply, it works out the same in the end, sort of, but I’m much more aware of the criteria for selecting one thing or another.
Anyway, the point is we eat rather a lot. The downside of nice food.
There are some more small corrections from Walker, so I do them.
In the evening to the Cello Factory (which is a venue, apparently, I thought it was an actual cello factory. Perhaps it also is), just up the road from Konditor and Cook, to see The Emperor of Atlantis, a short, small-company opera with a killer ending. I realise that this sort of thing is what a lot of people I like like.
Notice that there’s a production of Accidental Death of an Anarchist at the theatre down the road. Seems that there’s an upside to the area going upmarket.
On the way home, get chips. So not a health-food day, despite the abundance of fruit.
Run through songs I’ve begun recently. If I could only write lyrics for them I’d have a sets-worth here.
Up, sit, breakfast.
Inexplicably, as I’m trying to practise, another potential new piece emerges. This is getting slightly out of hand, not least because lyrics are needed and not forthcoming, so there’s a bit of a log-jam.
Plug the iSight into the desktop Mac, so that I can demo it so I don’t forget it, but the iSight mic isn’t selected, so they’re silent movies (and thus almost useless for that purpose), so I do a quick demo on the Macbook.
Still, it’s nice to have new material, I’m not complaining. It only looks like I’m complaining. From that angle. In this light.
Uploading and waiting for response day. Intended to go to the market, but didn’t. Did receive big packet of envelopes, which is kind of surrealist if you think about it (a parcel.. and in the parcel… ENVELOPES!) Or perhaps only if you think about it too hard, I don’t know.
Make too much food for dinner again, mainly to use up all the ingredients so I have to go shopping tomorrow.
It’s quite a nice new tune, I have to say.
Up at 6:30, sit, breakfast.
In the morning I do all sorts of things. As is usual on these occasions, I think I’ve been very productive until I realise what those things actually are – returning some too-small envelopes that I bought; Buying just-the-right-size replacements; blowing air into the ventilator on the video card in the desktop Mac because it tends to block with dust. That sort of thing. A bunch of invoices, which is a good thing.
I buy postage for the envelopes online, but need to go to the post office to send a letter to arrive tomorrow morning. The queue is moving very slowly – the person currently at the counter when I arrive is buying stamps for a very large pile of postcards for all sorts of different countries individually. The chap after him not only wants to pay his council tax bill but also wants large amounts of the form to be explained to him. Apparantly they’ve got rid of all the guaranteed delivery except Special Delivery, which is very expensive. The guy behind the counter also shows resistance to my putting my prepaid envelope on the pile of packages to be collected. I hope it gets there.
On the upside I get empanadas for lunch from the South American restaurant next door to the Post Office.
In the afternoon finally get the work I’ve been trying to finish, finished.
Make carrot soup for dinner, with more delicious bread from the posh shop that H goes out to buy.
In the evening I’d intended to see what the jam at the venue I passed yesterday was like, but when I get there I find it all a bit intimidating (and besides I only wanted to see what was happening tonight, I didn’t want a drink) – looks too much like a posh restaurant, which I suppose it is, and i couldn’t think of a justification for going in, so I walk home.
Not a day of great stuff happening, mostly (after I get up very late and we have breakfast) dithering, staring into the internet with a bit of playing guitar.
In the afternoon I walk down to East Street Market, but it’s already closed, with the stalls being wheeled up towards wherever they store them, so I walk past the Tibetan Buddhist Centre to see how long it takes to walk home, passing by a pub that’s become a restaurant/venue in Kennington. I read the sign outside, advertising tonight’s performer.
(It takes 18 minutes to get home.)
Then more dithering etc.
A search on something almost unrelated throws up the same restaurant/venue I walked past earlier, which I’d never thought about before.
We watch the Red Nose Day Doctor Whos (great fun), I make dinner (with enough for seconds and Haru’s lunch tomorrow, but as she doesn’t need lunch tomorrow, we call that further seconds), then a documentary about No. 10 Downing Street and another about ancient Athens.
Haru goes out to get breakfast today (delicious baguette that actually tastes like French bread, or the way it used to).
That said not much of an achieving day. I play guitar, trying to practise songs, ending up with the makings of another new one. Which is good, I’m glad for it, but equally I’d like to finish one some time.
H comes home with a Donna Wilson Cat Plate, which is a very fine thing.
For dinner I go and get pizza downstairs, which consolidates the self-indulgence of the day. Watch the Channel 4 Seven Ages of Britain, which I like a lot more than the BBC series of the same name. I wonder if they’ve been compared age for age. Do get the impression that British history is a process of veering between prosperity and catastrophe.
Walk up to the posh shop on Lower Marsh to get croissants. The lollipop man on Baylis Road ushers several grown-ups across the road. I don’t know why. Perhaps he’s diversifying. Perhaps he’s worried about justifying his job. Perhaps he’s not really a lollipop man at all, this is his strange obsessional hobby. I suppose if he’s still there on Saturday evening…
Get lots of breakfast, anyway, avoiding the lollipop man on the way back.
H goes out erranding, and I, eventually, get back to inspecting a picture in minute detail for stray pixels. Long story.
That takes all day, actually.
In the evening we go over to the V&A to see Peter Greenaway give a lecture. This is actually tremendous fun – he’s got a head-mounted radio mike and is running Keynote on his Macbook Pro on a podium, and he walks around giving instructions to whoever’s doing the mixing (“Turn the volume up” mostly, until the PA starts to crackle), and broadly dissing cinema and “boring text-based culture” in general. I’d really, really like to see one of his shows, but no one in this country will give him the commission to do one.
The work he’s been doing recently looks amazing, actually. I do wonder whether, given that ordinary cinema has effectively been democratized (which he speaks about at length), this is just something that’s technologically unattainable. Well, not just. And expensive. Sufficiently lavish budgeting is indistinguishable from magic.
Anyway, he does answer a couple of questions, but mostly talks and shows films for nearly two hours. The lectures are sometimes little more than an hour, so the ticket price seems a little luxurious. This was a bargain by comparison.
Home, fetching fish and chips on the way, then watch an evening of programmes dedicated to Top of the Pops. By way of contrast.