London in the sun
Tuesday
Apart from the fact that it’s clearly criminal to spend five hours on a train on such a glorious day, the massive upside is that the coastal bit of the run is little short of spectacular (McGlashan was right – Scotland did invent the best countryside ever). The train was surprisingly empty so rather than hide with music on and wish everyone would go away, instead I kicked my shoes off and curled up to watch the beautiful green and blue trundle by.
But pity the guard. When the poor guy came round to check tickets, he got accosted by a man (50’s, bad shorts) who picked a fight. His point, if you can call it that, was that he’d been told in Glasgow that if he wanted to get the 12 noon train from Edinburgh, he needed to get the 11am train from Glasgow. Fair enough. If it’s running on time, it would give you a whole 12 minutes to change platform in Waverley. Personally, I wouldn’t leave it that tight, and would get an earlier train. Which is what this guy did. But his argument was that such information was irresponsible and what was the guard going to do about it?? The annoying man now said that his wife and he had been so confused by the irresponsibility of the (different) rail company that she had ended up missing the train that all this was happening on. By now the guard looked like he was about to retire 20 years early and go raise goats somewhere. But I couldn’t help thinking that it was kinda rude of this guy to bog off and leave his wife and have them both get to London hours apart, but also what a div. I mean, seriously. If you can’t work out how to join up two simple journeys then you are in danger of turning into a goat. To be raised by a twitching, strung-out ex-GNER ticket inspector….
The other weird thing on the whole journey was that in all that sunshine, when the schools are on holiday (they are, aren’t they?) there were no kids out playing anywhere along the whole route. Not one – not in the gardens or parks or streets or playing fields. Is that weird? It reminded me of the last time I was in Belfast (a very long time ago) when there were no kids out playing either, but then to be fair, the estate gardens were all bound by barbed wire and there were soldiers and razor wire and barriers and high fences all over the place, so obviously not an atmosphere or environment conducive to having kids running all over the place, but yesterday it was odd not to see any.
The best bit though was passing by Berwick where there’s a caravan park on a hilltop overlooking the ocean – all very pretty, and there was a guy out by his caravan, lounging in a deckchair, which all looked relaxing and summery except that he was sitting with his back to the ocean. Which meant he had a lovely view of a wall and the occasional GNER train. What a weirdo. Why would you park your huge static caravan on a picturesque hilltop with the glory of the ocean spread before you – particularly yesterday when it was all glittery and smooth and calming – and then stare at a wall?
Another goat-in-waiting if you ask me.
Getting into Kings Cross at rushhour is always such a giggle, and if I’d had any conniptions about going on the underground, they weren’t helped by getting swept along with thousands of people into one of the furthest, narrowest corners of the station as only the Metropolitan line is running from there. In Moorgate, with only one stop to go, I had to watch four trains come and go before there was any room on one, and it’s not overly fun being squooshed into a carriage with zillions of other people, all reading papers about the bombings and having extra security warnings broadcast at you every thirty seconds, just in case you’d forgotten to be vigilant. Or stressed. Everyone seemed twitchy, which is perfectly understandable, and it was good to get where I was going.
So, met the girls, did high-speed gossiping over rather good wine, then legged it over to Soho to meet Hugh and Mark, drink Mojitos and Perlitas, then stuff our faces in BaliBali (totally recommendable Indonesian place on Charing Cross Road – looks like tourist hell but is seriously fantastic) and then Hugh and I bogged off to Roadhouse (hahaha, how predictable was that?!) where we drank ludicrous cocktails and people-watched. It is the best place for people-watching. The girls are like those sardine-balls in Blue Planet, all swirling about in a dizzy panic, getting picked off one at a time by sharks in a feeding frenzy. A nice man called Anton and his two mad friends bought us a round, cos we were laughing at them (with them, at them, with them) as they danced like deranged muppets. They were having such a good time :)
I broke my shoe when I caught it on a step, so am going shopping today in my big black boots which I only brought for the gig, so I am gonna melt on Oxford St until I find cool shoes to wear. And tonight it’s the gig. I am a tad excited.
Time to go play. More tomorrow.
Thursday
New shoes. Mmmmmm new shoes. I shopped and shopped and shopped yesterday and apart from my shoes, bought nothing. Fashion is so horrible right now. If I’d wanted something jade green and randomly elasticated that should really only be used for straining cheese through, then I’d have been well happy but as it was, it was just a world of ugly.
Eventually it was too damn hot to do much, so I headed home to change before coming back out to meet Chris from Metal Hammer for a pint. On the way home, on the Northern line, there’s an announcement that we’ll delayed because of a security alert (there was a controlled explosion of a bus yesterday). I looked at the open doors and considered getting off the train but stayed. When we then got stopped halfway through the tunnel for 20 minutes, I was less than happy. I am claustrophobic but am quite good at not freaking out, but yesterday was no fun.
Anyway, got back uptown and met Chris and he introduced me to some of his colleagues who in turn introduced me to some other people and all sorts of random, fun and possibly productive project suggestions were made – as is always the way with these things, most of them will never happen but there’s a ton of potential there.
Then we all pootled off to Brixton where we found a bar with a beer garden which is when it started pissing down. I knew I was going to come *out* the gig soaked but to go in drenched was mince. At least the rain was warm :)
Once settled, I met up with Lara and Seth and went to see NIN. Who rocked. A lot. Scottish audiences, Lara noted, are bouncier, which I think is true, but Mr Reznor was blinding. I had such a blast. As I don’t know about such things, I’m not sure what the difference is, but there was some pounding bass that came up through the floor into my legs, and then there was some that made my throat pound, and some that just gave me goosebumps. It was LOUD and felt very, very good indeed :) I’ve wanted to see them live for so long and bounced all the way home. Brixton Academy is also very cool inside (tho not last night, what with 4000 NIN fans, but still…) – it looks like the exterior of a bunch of buildings with towers and turrets – with climbing ivy painted on and some things that looked like real trees in the upper reaches, but I guess were only models.....still, because the ceiling is so dark, it looks at first glance that the place is open to the sky. The thing I loved was that The Rez cast a HUGE shadow up one side of the proscenium arch and it was like seeing Peter Pan’s errant shadow having snuck out the bedroom in the middle of the night and gone clubbing :)
Afterwards I trundled home, ate strawberries and cream, watched a bit of telly, blethered to Chris and finally crawled into my bed at a sensible time.
Thanks to a random and surprising call yesterday, I am meeting up with a friend this afternoon before he heads off to Africa on Saturday, and I have lunch with Total Film (I think) then drinks with people from Fox later and then I’m gonna go meet Rob for a drink and a bite to eat and it just feels like it’s building up to be one of those gorgeous days full of interesting company.
And maybe just maybe my neck will forgive me for last night in time for me and Lara to go do it all again at the Rammstein gig on Saturday night. Huzzar!
Also, is the Radio 2 newsreader really called Fenella Fudge?! That's so cool. She should be a superhero....
Saturday
Ahem. Ok, so the London trip was supposed to finish at 3.30pm on Friday. Are you sitting comfortably? I did indeed meet my mate Andy for drinks in the afternoon after a very nice lunch with the editor of Total Film (at which I behaved and ate salad and drank water) but made up for it with Andy as we vegged outside the Fitzroy Tavern, watched the world go by and drank muchly. Though not too much. Afterwards, I headed down into Soho when he had to go, as I was meeting people from Fox, one of whom was running late, so more drinking there. After that, Rob turned up (YAY!!) and we ran off, first to a bar he was thinking off on New Oxford St which turned out not to be there anymore, and then back to the Fitzroy where we stayed until closing and were joined by one of his housemates and three of his friends for a while, who were all lovely, though I was a tad harsh with his mate Graham who thought Day After Tomorrow was a good film. What??!! Anyway, after closing (with the promise of a sofa to crash on), Rob stayed out and we went to the CroBar (of course) and stayed there till 3am then trundled up the road. We sat and drank tea and talked till it got light, then I went to bed. Ah well, you can't have everything, I guess, and then in the morning we had breakfast and headed uptown. Me, I had a publisher to meet for lunch and he had to get home at *some* point :) I called my friend Hugh as I got to Soho Square, as he works on the corner, and he came exploring down Dean St with me to find the place I was suppoed to meet Simon.
Now, the short version of this lunch is that by the time I had to leave, we were one huge steak and two very good bottles of red into the conversation and I was having too much fun to leave. I was promised an evening at the mercy of his friend, Attila Buddha (no kidding...) who is a wine merchant, and to be honest, it would have been shameful to pass up the opportunity :) So that's what happened - there was sublime company, silly amounts of fine wine, a very late night, a disgustingly early morning and I finally made it, still drunk, onto the 8am from Kings Cross. As I got off the train at 1 with visions of a shower and a great deal of sleep, my phone rang and it was my friend Sara reminding me we had a lunch date. Just what I need - two more bottles of wine and no kip. Sob. So although a lovely lunch was had, I was feeling pale and a bit jelly-legged and she packed me off home early. Just in time to get changed and go to Rammstein. Who, as I may have mentioned, ROCKED. Anyway, I had a thoroughly lazy Sunday which was made weird by going to see PUNISHMENT PARK, which you should see if you ever get the chance. Frightening anyway, but now so close to reality as to feel more and more like the news...
After that, I did random packing and was more than ready to get on a plane...
Apart from the fact that it’s clearly criminal to spend five hours on a train on such a glorious day, the massive upside is that the coastal bit of the run is little short of spectacular (McGlashan was right – Scotland did invent the best countryside ever). The train was surprisingly empty so rather than hide with music on and wish everyone would go away, instead I kicked my shoes off and curled up to watch the beautiful green and blue trundle by.
But pity the guard. When the poor guy came round to check tickets, he got accosted by a man (50’s, bad shorts) who picked a fight. His point, if you can call it that, was that he’d been told in Glasgow that if he wanted to get the 12 noon train from Edinburgh, he needed to get the 11am train from Glasgow. Fair enough. If it’s running on time, it would give you a whole 12 minutes to change platform in Waverley. Personally, I wouldn’t leave it that tight, and would get an earlier train. Which is what this guy did. But his argument was that such information was irresponsible and what was the guard going to do about it?? The annoying man now said that his wife and he had been so confused by the irresponsibility of the (different) rail company that she had ended up missing the train that all this was happening on. By now the guard looked like he was about to retire 20 years early and go raise goats somewhere. But I couldn’t help thinking that it was kinda rude of this guy to bog off and leave his wife and have them both get to London hours apart, but also what a div. I mean, seriously. If you can’t work out how to join up two simple journeys then you are in danger of turning into a goat. To be raised by a twitching, strung-out ex-GNER ticket inspector….
The other weird thing on the whole journey was that in all that sunshine, when the schools are on holiday (they are, aren’t they?) there were no kids out playing anywhere along the whole route. Not one – not in the gardens or parks or streets or playing fields. Is that weird? It reminded me of the last time I was in Belfast (a very long time ago) when there were no kids out playing either, but then to be fair, the estate gardens were all bound by barbed wire and there were soldiers and razor wire and barriers and high fences all over the place, so obviously not an atmosphere or environment conducive to having kids running all over the place, but yesterday it was odd not to see any.
The best bit though was passing by Berwick where there’s a caravan park on a hilltop overlooking the ocean – all very pretty, and there was a guy out by his caravan, lounging in a deckchair, which all looked relaxing and summery except that he was sitting with his back to the ocean. Which meant he had a lovely view of a wall and the occasional GNER train. What a weirdo. Why would you park your huge static caravan on a picturesque hilltop with the glory of the ocean spread before you – particularly yesterday when it was all glittery and smooth and calming – and then stare at a wall?
Another goat-in-waiting if you ask me.
Getting into Kings Cross at rushhour is always such a giggle, and if I’d had any conniptions about going on the underground, they weren’t helped by getting swept along with thousands of people into one of the furthest, narrowest corners of the station as only the Metropolitan line is running from there. In Moorgate, with only one stop to go, I had to watch four trains come and go before there was any room on one, and it’s not overly fun being squooshed into a carriage with zillions of other people, all reading papers about the bombings and having extra security warnings broadcast at you every thirty seconds, just in case you’d forgotten to be vigilant. Or stressed. Everyone seemed twitchy, which is perfectly understandable, and it was good to get where I was going.
So, met the girls, did high-speed gossiping over rather good wine, then legged it over to Soho to meet Hugh and Mark, drink Mojitos and Perlitas, then stuff our faces in BaliBali (totally recommendable Indonesian place on Charing Cross Road – looks like tourist hell but is seriously fantastic) and then Hugh and I bogged off to Roadhouse (hahaha, how predictable was that?!) where we drank ludicrous cocktails and people-watched. It is the best place for people-watching. The girls are like those sardine-balls in Blue Planet, all swirling about in a dizzy panic, getting picked off one at a time by sharks in a feeding frenzy. A nice man called Anton and his two mad friends bought us a round, cos we were laughing at them (with them, at them, with them) as they danced like deranged muppets. They were having such a good time :)
I broke my shoe when I caught it on a step, so am going shopping today in my big black boots which I only brought for the gig, so I am gonna melt on Oxford St until I find cool shoes to wear. And tonight it’s the gig. I am a tad excited.
Time to go play. More tomorrow.
Thursday
New shoes. Mmmmmm new shoes. I shopped and shopped and shopped yesterday and apart from my shoes, bought nothing. Fashion is so horrible right now. If I’d wanted something jade green and randomly elasticated that should really only be used for straining cheese through, then I’d have been well happy but as it was, it was just a world of ugly.
Eventually it was too damn hot to do much, so I headed home to change before coming back out to meet Chris from Metal Hammer for a pint. On the way home, on the Northern line, there’s an announcement that we’ll delayed because of a security alert (there was a controlled explosion of a bus yesterday). I looked at the open doors and considered getting off the train but stayed. When we then got stopped halfway through the tunnel for 20 minutes, I was less than happy. I am claustrophobic but am quite good at not freaking out, but yesterday was no fun.
Anyway, got back uptown and met Chris and he introduced me to some of his colleagues who in turn introduced me to some other people and all sorts of random, fun and possibly productive project suggestions were made – as is always the way with these things, most of them will never happen but there’s a ton of potential there.
Then we all pootled off to Brixton where we found a bar with a beer garden which is when it started pissing down. I knew I was going to come *out* the gig soaked but to go in drenched was mince. At least the rain was warm :)
Once settled, I met up with Lara and Seth and went to see NIN. Who rocked. A lot. Scottish audiences, Lara noted, are bouncier, which I think is true, but Mr Reznor was blinding. I had such a blast. As I don’t know about such things, I’m not sure what the difference is, but there was some pounding bass that came up through the floor into my legs, and then there was some that made my throat pound, and some that just gave me goosebumps. It was LOUD and felt very, very good indeed :) I’ve wanted to see them live for so long and bounced all the way home. Brixton Academy is also very cool inside (tho not last night, what with 4000 NIN fans, but still…) – it looks like the exterior of a bunch of buildings with towers and turrets – with climbing ivy painted on and some things that looked like real trees in the upper reaches, but I guess were only models.....still, because the ceiling is so dark, it looks at first glance that the place is open to the sky. The thing I loved was that The Rez cast a HUGE shadow up one side of the proscenium arch and it was like seeing Peter Pan’s errant shadow having snuck out the bedroom in the middle of the night and gone clubbing :)
Afterwards I trundled home, ate strawberries and cream, watched a bit of telly, blethered to Chris and finally crawled into my bed at a sensible time.
Thanks to a random and surprising call yesterday, I am meeting up with a friend this afternoon before he heads off to Africa on Saturday, and I have lunch with Total Film (I think) then drinks with people from Fox later and then I’m gonna go meet Rob for a drink and a bite to eat and it just feels like it’s building up to be one of those gorgeous days full of interesting company.
And maybe just maybe my neck will forgive me for last night in time for me and Lara to go do it all again at the Rammstein gig on Saturday night. Huzzar!
Also, is the Radio 2 newsreader really called Fenella Fudge?! That's so cool. She should be a superhero....
Saturday
Ahem. Ok, so the London trip was supposed to finish at 3.30pm on Friday. Are you sitting comfortably? I did indeed meet my mate Andy for drinks in the afternoon after a very nice lunch with the editor of Total Film (at which I behaved and ate salad and drank water) but made up for it with Andy as we vegged outside the Fitzroy Tavern, watched the world go by and drank muchly. Though not too much. Afterwards, I headed down into Soho when he had to go, as I was meeting people from Fox, one of whom was running late, so more drinking there. After that, Rob turned up (YAY!!) and we ran off, first to a bar he was thinking off on New Oxford St which turned out not to be there anymore, and then back to the Fitzroy where we stayed until closing and were joined by one of his housemates and three of his friends for a while, who were all lovely, though I was a tad harsh with his mate Graham who thought Day After Tomorrow was a good film. What??!! Anyway, after closing (with the promise of a sofa to crash on), Rob stayed out and we went to the CroBar (of course) and stayed there till 3am then trundled up the road. We sat and drank tea and talked till it got light, then I went to bed. Ah well, you can't have everything, I guess, and then in the morning we had breakfast and headed uptown. Me, I had a publisher to meet for lunch and he had to get home at *some* point :) I called my friend Hugh as I got to Soho Square, as he works on the corner, and he came exploring down Dean St with me to find the place I was suppoed to meet Simon.
Now, the short version of this lunch is that by the time I had to leave, we were one huge steak and two very good bottles of red into the conversation and I was having too much fun to leave. I was promised an evening at the mercy of his friend, Attila Buddha (no kidding...) who is a wine merchant, and to be honest, it would have been shameful to pass up the opportunity :) So that's what happened - there was sublime company, silly amounts of fine wine, a very late night, a disgustingly early morning and I finally made it, still drunk, onto the 8am from Kings Cross. As I got off the train at 1 with visions of a shower and a great deal of sleep, my phone rang and it was my friend Sara reminding me we had a lunch date. Just what I need - two more bottles of wine and no kip. Sob. So although a lovely lunch was had, I was feeling pale and a bit jelly-legged and she packed me off home early. Just in time to get changed and go to Rammstein. Who, as I may have mentioned, ROCKED. Anyway, I had a thoroughly lazy Sunday which was made weird by going to see PUNISHMENT PARK, which you should see if you ever get the chance. Frightening anyway, but now so close to reality as to feel more and more like the news...
After that, I did random packing and was more than ready to get on a plane...
posted by Adele at 8:29 am
2 Comments:
The English schools aren't on holiday until next week, though the Scottish ones should already be, I'd have thought.
I didn't know sardines HAD balls! I always thought tiny little black things were eyes......
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