Thursday 19th of April, 2001
Sitting is more of a sleep-by-other-means today.
Ironing followed by calling Jacky at Walkers about the Nick cover - I agree to drop it off tomorrow on the way to the supermarket.
Do some Primaries (I've slacked off my NST playing somewhat, and should try to get it back up to speed). The cut on the edge of the finger kind of works as a pointed stick to keep it upright in relation to the string. Kind of. Then a bit of nylon-string practise.
The door-buzzer goes. I "hello" into the intercom, but there's no answer. Because it could be a package (even though I'm not expecting one), I go down to the front door. It turns out to be two African missionaries, with a list of every flat in the street. I just say "not interested" and close the door on them (not too abruptly, I hope). I'm seething, though - why do missionaries and other proselytisers make me so angry? No - I'm not suppressing faith.
In the afternoon, I spend some time compiling film titles with added words for a Corpses post -
Dog Day Afternoon Tea
Flash Gordon the Gopher
Dirty Harry Corbett
Peeping Tom and Jerry
Zabriskie Point-to-point
Once Upon a Time in the West Midlands
Mad Max Wall
Royal Hunt of the Sunglasses
The Jazz Singer Sewing Machine
Witchfinder General Post Office
The Crying Game Pie
Risky Business Development Loan
All About Eve Pollard
Romeo and Juliet Bravo
The Seventh Performing Seal
A couple of them are funny, at least.
(Once Upon a Time in the West Midlands is given an honourable mention on the list, but I prefer Risky Business Development Loan at least).
Dash off to Virgin on Oxford Street to buy Laura a birthday present. I get her TNT by Tortoise (on account of our going to see them last weeek), and then get myself Regeneration by the Divine Comedy, Choices Under Pressure by Peter Blegvad and Magma's entire Theusz Hamtaahk trilogy live - a 3 CD box set, including individual sleeves for the different movements, a booklet and a lyric book. While it's useful to know that the first lines of Theusz Hamtaahk are "Mamama ritsoh üdi dëhnsi dënsaï / Hël Hël Hël" it might just encourage a regrettable tendency to sing along. Singing along with Magma is possibly a stopping-off point on the road to madness beyond all turning back.
All together now:
"Ïmah süri Dondaï ïmah süri
Dondaï
Ïmah süri Dondaï
Süri Dondaï
Ïmah süri Dondaï ïmah süri Dondaï
Ïmah süri Dondaï
Süri Dondaï
Wï"
I almost buy the English Settlement remaster. Perhaps I should have, because I think I should avoid shops for a few weeks.
Darn. I am an absurdity.
I probably ought not buy another version of Mëkanïk Dëstruktïv Kömmandöh for a while, anyway. I now have at least four.
Thence to the new All Bar One next to the London Eye (pursuant to actually going up it) There seems to be some unwritten law:
And Lo! Wherever there shalt be an All Bar One
(Even unto the middle of the Sahara Desert or the Jungles of Borneo
Or places unknown to man and inaccessable e'en by Yak)
There shall come forth a great multitude of people in suits just out of work
Where there had been none before
And there shall be a great confusion of Shouting, and much drinking of bitter wines
And affixing of handbags to the clips under the table
Provided for your protection
And it shall be impossible to carry on a conversation because of the Shouting
And yea! Ye shall thyself shout unto hoarseness
And smoke a whole packet of cigarettes
And drink almost unto unconsciousness
Before catching the train home
In a paralytic stupor at half-past eight
And this shall be called Great Fun
And Socialising
And A Way to Relax After A Hard Day at the Office
For reasons not known even to God himself
And then a party of us go up the London Eye to celebrate Laura's birthday. Firstly, the whole British Airways metaphor thing - you have Boarding Passes, you have to Check In before Take Off, and then after you've been round you Land.
I wouldn't be surprised if they call the café the Departure Lounge, although there was not apparant sign of it.
That is going to get very old, very quickly.
The experience is extraordinary, though. My body (or possibly the bit at the back of my brain that I inherited from lizards and small mammals) was telling me that being up there was very bad and so there was a debate in my head as to whether I should be afraid or not, with the Rational Part plumping for "not", obviously. it was 8:30 when we went up so it was getting dark, but in a way this added to the experience - seeing all those lights stretching off into the distance reminds one how huge London actually is. In fact the scariest thing (apart from standing at the edge of the platform, particularly near the door) is not so much looking out at the view as in at the wheel itself - it's unusual to be such a tiny part of such a gigantic thing. If you see what I mean.
You can see all the way to ... ooh ... over there somewhere.
Afterwards to the Café Gerard around the corner. Minor consternation that the Vegetarian Option seems to be chips. Della asks the waitress whether there are any other vegetarian dishes - on being brought the a la carte menu, she discovers that the main Veggie dish is not available, a second is a Fricassee (and nobody knows what one of those is, least of all the restaurant staff), her with a mushroom pie sort of thing.
I have a mixed salad. And chips. It's the first time that this stuff has been in any way difficult.
(I suspect that a Fricassee is a sort of stew, but then I might be confusing it with a ragout, since theonly time I encountered either of those words was in Swift's A Modest Proposal.)
Home & unconscious late again.