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The Dusty Maiden (part I)
Jul. 29th, 2009 | 01:18 pm
location: HR
mood: 
(purely in the dusty sense)
music: Spooooootifyyyyyy (quel fromage!)
Once upon a time, there was a fair maiden. Many knights had bravely scaled many a dizzy height of chivalry, climbing the towers of gin to woo the fair maiden, but as yet she was unwed.
One day, the maiden decided that she needed a new castle. Her current turretty tower was a bit poky, and now that she was a freelance maiden with very important things to do at home during the day she needed the sort of castle that only the far-off land of Highburgh could offer. So she spoke to another maiden, who was also in need of a fabulous pad, and they decided to wave goodbye to their lands in the South of Londonia and head North.
The time had come to pack up her things, so she donned her filthiest jeans, and mounted the stairs on bended knee to venture into.... the Dusty Cupboard of Doom. And verily, she was very brave. She got splinters in places maidens should not get splinters. She got dust EVERYWHERE.
But now the maiden has boxes. And is going to start to PACK. Swiftly, and very organisedly. And verily she shall stop her online procrastination already. After she's put the kettle on.
... to be continued ...
One day, the maiden decided that she needed a new castle. Her current turretty tower was a bit poky, and now that she was a freelance maiden with very important things to do at home during the day she needed the sort of castle that only the far-off land of Highburgh could offer. So she spoke to another maiden, who was also in need of a fabulous pad, and they decided to wave goodbye to their lands in the South of Londonia and head North.
The time had come to pack up her things, so she donned her filthiest jeans, and mounted the stairs on bended knee to venture into.... the Dusty Cupboard of Doom. And verily, she was very brave. She got splinters in places maidens should not get splinters. She got dust EVERYWHERE.
But now the maiden has boxes. And is going to start to PACK. Swiftly, and very organisedly. And verily she shall stop her online procrastination already. After she's put the kettle on.
... to be continued ...
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(no subject)
Jul. 25th, 2009 | 11:11 pm
location: United Kingdom, England, London Borough of Wandsworth
[NB the pizza had chicken and pepperoni; there is a candle; we don't have a coffee table so the (expensive) candle is on a dining chair by my snuffly armchair]
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(no subject)
Jul. 25th, 2009 | 10:41 pm
location: United Kingdom, England, London Borough of Wandsworth
Suppertime: rugby shirt, can of fosters, pizza in oven. Ate the M&S mint truffle bar on the way home from the station.
Today I:
- slept past 11 for the first time since I had university vacations
- cried the most I cried since April
- exercised a bit of facebook profile self-preservation
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What's hot, and what's irritatingly tepid
Jul. 19th, 2009 | 10:03 am
location: United Kingdom, England
There are some things - themes, interests, hues, lens filters - that are too repetitious for facebook stati. They're like a Twitter twitch. For these things, there's a blog.
My current things:
- Proms (tonight, Andreas Scholl, possibly the only countertenor whose singing makes him worthy of a little shrine of sexiness for me*)
* it's not that Chance and Blaze don't make me quivery in the loins, rather that with Scholl it's just really, really HOT.
- Running. Things have gone from colourful, log-what-you've-done wallchart to each-week's-workouts-planned-in-advance .xlsx workbook. Because you need that extra 'x'. Status report: training is on track. Woo!
- Singing. Ya duh.
Tepid topics: the ones which warrant a SHUT UP AND CHILL OUT CLAIRE...
- Blissing out on 'I don't work to live, I live to work' vibes: this is covered in more than enough detail below thankyouplease.
- Boys. They're all different. Current mantra: live your values and you'll know if he's good for you. When for a split second he isn't, remind yourself that you're human too, and that it's the girl's job to be obsessive. Then, subvert that and enjoy 5 mins to yourself with those old friends, your OWN thoughts. Remember those great times you spent together when you were single: long cups of coffee, bus rides, excited sleepless nights. They were there back then and you created them. Give yourself some credit, count your blessings, and chill out.
- All the big scary life stuff. Time for a summer break methinx.
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Top wine from the Argentine...
Jul. 16th, 2009 | 01:59 pm
Was at home the other day when we had one of Dad's wine club yummies with our salmon and new pots:
http://www.laithwaites.co.uk/articl
Very highly recommended! I'm no wino (in the knowledge sense), but I know what I like and I like what I know...
Unfortunately it only comes in 12s from Laithwaites and my budget's not really up to that. Boooo hissss and all that.
http://www.laithwaites.co.uk/articl
Very highly recommended! I'm no wino (in the knowledge sense), but I know what I like and I like what I know...
Unfortunately it only comes in 12s from Laithwaites and my budget's not really up to that. Boooo hissss and all that.
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back from beyond
Jul. 14th, 2009 | 03:12 pm
The air in london tastes of dirt and my shoulders are already sad with tension and i just booked half a choir for the wrong dates.
i need out of admin, it hurts.
And I miss my hills. Meh.
i need out of admin, it hurts.
And I miss my hills. Meh.
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A dare
Jul. 8th, 2009 | 09:15 pm
location: on bed
mood: dewy-eyed
music: nada
So, I'm not feeling hyper. Or twitchy to do something.
I can't remember the last time I felt like this.
There are some things floating near the surface which I can do before sleeps, but which can wait.
Because today, I've played my part.
I have also drunk caffeine, fed my coming-down-with-something chest with lemony gingery goodness (and the obligatory fruit pastilles). I have enjoyed and given thanks for the company of friends. I have frittered time on facebook. And Twitter. I've worried about boys. I have justified not going to the gym and am looking forward to going tomorrow if this chest thing doesn't get any worse. I've done singing practice, and happytime stretches. I have cooked. I have eaten naughty pastries. Without excess, and without deprivation. And not without the niggling tug of a million vices.
Life is good (some would say it's all good, all the time). I'm so humbled by the realisation that in our lives we all get the responsibility of choosing, each of us for ourselves. Sometimes it's painful. Learning to live the moment, living in transit rather than stasis, relinquishing the pleasure of constant self-observation, self-judgment, or self-congratulation, living by osmosis, whimsy, and soul. It is the most frightening, the most exhilariating, and the most moving thing I've ever learnt.
Trusting that what we have is enough, because it has been gifted us.
Daring to live of ourselves, within and without, engaged and engaging.
In a state of energised peace. Ok ok, that sounds a bit wanky. But seriously, try it. I dare you.
I can't remember the last time I felt like this.
There are some things floating near the surface which I can do before sleeps, but which can wait.
Because today, I've played my part.
I have also drunk caffeine, fed my coming-down-with-something chest with lemony gingery goodness (and the obligatory fruit pastilles). I have enjoyed and given thanks for the company of friends. I have frittered time on facebook. And Twitter. I've worried about boys. I have justified not going to the gym and am looking forward to going tomorrow if this chest thing doesn't get any worse. I've done singing practice, and happytime stretches. I have cooked. I have eaten naughty pastries. Without excess, and without deprivation. And not without the niggling tug of a million vices.
Life is good (some would say it's all good, all the time). I'm so humbled by the realisation that in our lives we all get the responsibility of choosing, each of us for ourselves. Sometimes it's painful. Learning to live the moment, living in transit rather than stasis, relinquishing the pleasure of constant self-observation, self-judgment, or self-congratulation, living by osmosis, whimsy, and soul. It is the most frightening, the most exhilariating, and the most moving thing I've ever learnt.
Trusting that what we have is enough, because it has been gifted us.
Daring to live of ourselves, within and without, engaged and engaging.
In a state of energised peace. Ok ok, that sounds a bit wanky. But seriously, try it. I dare you.
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(no subject)
Jul. 7th, 2009 | 05:44 pm
location: Sofa.
music: Wicked soundtrack. Woops.
Gym today = short, useful.
Today's lesson = one blowout night a week, followed by a day off the gym. Not two, and a horrible day in the armchair feeling rotten followed by short gym.
Today's auxiliary lesson = my cross trainers are really rubbish and I'm glad I bought the big expensive brick ones, even if they're still giving me blisters.
Today's lesson = one blowout night a week, followed by a day off the gym. Not two, and a horrible day in the armchair feeling rotten followed by short gym.
Today's auxiliary lesson = my cross trainers are really rubbish and I'm glad I bought the big expensive brick ones, even if they're still giving me blisters.
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Relativity 101
Jul. 6th, 2009 | 02:20 pm
mood: Endorphinolicious
music: Spotify: my new thing to gush about (Girls Aloud atm - ohhhh yesss!)
Time til Great North Run: 10 weeks 6 days
Fundraising: £180ish (£30 offline) (www.justgivingcom/ronandclaire)
Monday. Official Reset Day, starting the week as you mean to go on, etc, etc, and – crucially – usually a day after a day off the gym.
Today’s lesson: relativity. Contextualising today with the other days in the coming week. Realism. Difficult for someone with, as I’ve probably said before, the attention span of a three-year-old who’s just been given a shiny teaspoon.
The plan? Run to gym (5 mins max), then do 12k on the treadmill.
Premise for plan? Last week I did 40 mins cardio each on Mon, Tue and Wed. I ran 10k a couple weeks ago. I need to increase the distances I run between now and Sep 20th.
Flaw in plan? Day Four (daaai fohwah) of last week’s cardio offensive: got my period. Days Five to Seven: got really drunk, had 4 hours sleep on a sofa, sang all day yesterday, then slept for 12 hours.
Success of plan? Run to gym (5 mins…ish), 30 mins at 9.5km/h with 0.5 incline. Hmmm….
Lesson summary:
Fundraising: £180ish (£30 offline) (www.justgivingcom/ronandclaire)
Monday. Official Reset Day, starting the week as you mean to go on, etc, etc, and – crucially – usually a day after a day off the gym.
Today’s lesson: relativity. Contextualising today with the other days in the coming week. Realism. Difficult for someone with, as I’ve probably said before, the attention span of a three-year-old who’s just been given a shiny teaspoon.
The plan? Run to gym (5 mins max), then do 12k on the treadmill.
Premise for plan? Last week I did 40 mins cardio each on Mon, Tue and Wed. I ran 10k a couple weeks ago. I need to increase the distances I run between now and Sep 20th.
Flaw in plan? Day Four (daaai fohwah) of last week’s cardio offensive: got my period. Days Five to Seven: got really drunk, had 4 hours sleep on a sofa, sang all day yesterday, then slept for 12 hours.
Success of plan? Run to gym (5 mins…ish), 30 mins at 9.5km/h with 0.5 incline. Hmmm….
Lesson summary:
- Each workout needs to contain something on the treadmill. Lots of cross-trainering whist watching Loose Women is a useful cardio carrot to this reluctant donkey but the bottom line is that I'm running a half-marathon, not watching--daytime-telly a half-marathon.
- Each week's stuff should build up to running the target distance, in terms of time spent cardio-ing and thinky brain schtuff.
- I need to remember to eat bananas/energy stuff.
- I am getting fitter and can do this.
- Trainers are slowly getting worn in: left leg didn't hurt today but blister coming back a bit. Lesser of two weevils.
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(no subject)
Jul. 3rd, 2009 | 11:04 am
location: on bed
mood: 
REALLY wibbly :'(
music: Bach
Dreaming hurts today. Hormones. Ow.
It's "good pain", in the way that it just really really hurts in a funny gutteral spirity place, but I know that somewhere in the middle of it, I am definitely right. I just want to cry a lot. But that has to happen once a month, right?
Cx
PS life is really really good right now, and I wish I could write a blog about it which didn't make me sound up my own arse. I'll work on that, because I want to share - very muchly - how the big decision I made to do what I'm doing has totally turned my world on its head. But this is a blog and that would mean telling everybody, including the people who might not understand. And that's another one of life's big cliffs that I'm not sure I'm ready to jump off of just yet.
It's "good pain", in the way that it just really really hurts in a funny gutteral spirity place, but I know that somewhere in the middle of it, I am definitely right. I just want to cry a lot. But that has to happen once a month, right?
Cx
PS life is really really good right now, and I wish I could write a blog about it which didn't make me sound up my own arse. I'll work on that, because I want to share - very muchly - how the big decision I made to do what I'm doing has totally turned my world on its head. But this is a blog and that would mean telling everybody, including the people who might not understand. And that's another one of life's big cliffs that I'm not sure I'm ready to jump off of just yet.
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Wha's that hinny? A canny big run..?!
Jun. 24th, 2009 | 04:50 pm
mood: 
hopeful
music: Wimblydonian grunting
I sent this on Saturday, and as JustGiving.com's site update teething problems have scuppered any chance anyone might have had of donating, I wanted to put it here too, to say yes, the site is rubbish, but please check back soon, or post a cheque payable to Shelter to me either in London or oop at home.
Also, I always forget someone when I send a message like this, so please read if I forgot you - I do care, I'm just human - and if you feel you can support such a bonkers expotition, then thank you so much, it really counts. I can't do it without your support, both financially, but also - and massively importantly to a weakling like me - emotionally.
Also also, I'm going to have to start talking about my training on this blog. Why? Because it's not going very well, having done my 10k in expectation-bashing time, I've, well, drooped, a bit. Which is really demoralising, and I need to have some way of feeling accountable.
Basta: here's the email:
Saturday 20th June 2009
Dear lots of lovely people,
What better day than Father's Day (it's tomorrow, in case you hadn't clocked that) to say that my Dad is brilliant. And when you know someone who is as brilliant as my Dad, you want to be just like them.
Sooooo.... <cue fanfare> my wonderful Dad and me are both running the Great North Run oop in Newcastle (pronounced "nyoocassel" - trust me, I'm a geordie) on September 20th in aid of Shelter. It's a half marathon, and, if one of my more encouraging and charming friends to be believed, "13 miles of cardio-hell uphill on a dual carriageway". Nice.
We've promised Shelter that we'll raise £700 between us, and this email is to ask you to be part of that effort. Until recently I worked for Shelter in their fabulous fundraising team, so I can say wholeheartedly that this is a great cause and one of the most brilliant ways to support them, as justgiving's very easy and paperless (hooray for the trees) and it all comes with the added bonus of being part of our Geet Big Geordie Adventure. Shelter are a nationwide charity who work not only to house homeless people, but to reach out to badly housed people across the UK, and lobby the British Government to sort their act out and make sufficient decent housing for all a priority.
It's really easy to help us reach our target: just point your web machine at www.justgiving.com/
If we raise more than £1500 I am going to run all 13.1 miles of the Great North Run dressed as a superhero(ine). You get to vote for the superhero if we break £1500 and you donated some money.
We're lucky enough to have homes where our families can thrive. Please help Shelter make that a reality for everyone in the UK. Your support means a massive amount to both Rondad and me - please visit the page and give what you can.
Lots of love
Claire xx
www.justgiving.com/
Also, I always forget someone when I send a message like this, so please read if I forgot you - I do care, I'm just human - and if you feel you can support such a bonkers expotition, then thank you so much, it really counts. I can't do it without your support, both financially, but also - and massively importantly to a weakling like me - emotionally.
Also also, I'm going to have to start talking about my training on this blog. Why? Because it's not going very well, having done my 10k in expectation-bashing time, I've, well, drooped, a bit. Which is really demoralising, and I need to have some way of feeling accountable.
Basta: here's the email:
Saturday 20th June 2009
Dear lots of lovely people,
What better day than Father's Day (it's tomorrow, in case you hadn't clocked that) to say that my Dad is brilliant. And when you know someone who is as brilliant as my Dad, you want to be just like them.
Sooooo.... <cue fanfare> my wonderful Dad and me are both running the Great North Run oop in Newcastle (pronounced "nyoocassel" - trust me, I'm a geordie) on September 20th in aid of Shelter. It's a half marathon, and, if one of my more encouraging and charming friends to be believed, "13 miles of cardio-hell uphill on a dual carriageway". Nice.
We've promised Shelter that we'll raise £700 between us, and this email is to ask you to be part of that effort. Until recently I worked for Shelter in their fabulous fundraising team, so I can say wholeheartedly that this is a great cause and one of the most brilliant ways to support them, as justgiving's very easy and paperless (hooray for the trees) and it all comes with the added bonus of being part of our Geet Big Geordie Adventure. Shelter are a nationwide charity who work not only to house homeless people, but to reach out to badly housed people across the UK, and lobby the British Government to sort their act out and make sufficient decent housing for all a priority.
It's really easy to help us reach our target: just point your web machine at www.justgiving.com/
If we raise more than £1500 I am going to run all 13.1 miles of the Great North Run dressed as a superhero(ine). You get to vote for the superhero if we break £1500 and you donated some money.
We're lucky enough to have homes where our families can thrive. Please help Shelter make that a reality for everyone in the UK. Your support means a massive amount to both Rondad and me - please visit the page and give what you can.
Lots of love
Claire xx
www.justgiving.com/
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Shudderly small
Jun. 17th, 2009 | 02:54 pm
location: 52.470322, -1.930496
Feeling very very small and tenderly in need of some snuggly snoofage before tonight's concert. Not that you can get any on tap if you're single and all that.
Right now I'd love for someone who isn't a parent, scuppered by all of the 'when you're married or have someone to look after you then it'll be okay but for now we should just carry on as if until the wedding day that could never happen, we can fill the love void utterly' stuff that means as far as they're concerned you need a watchman. I don't need someone to know where I am all of the time - so many people are willing to ask how you are, and with facebook and twitter so many people do. Critical personal security issue #1 is sorted.
It's the thing where you are old enough to know how special a non-parental man hug feels like (girls are allowed to give man hugs too, it's just figurativespeak for the hug's epicness, like man flu but, well, not). It's special because you've earned it and they've no duty or genetic urge to provide one.
In the shitty single bird's no-man's land between uni and a mortgage, up misery creek without a man hug paddle is a hideous place to be. Fact.
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Absorption
Jun. 15th, 2009 | 08:12 pm
location: The Harbuttery
mood: floundering
music: Purcell [Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<mmmmmm....>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]
Purcell <sssschrunch> <mmmmmm....>
Purcell <sssschrunch> <mmmmmm....>
When the tube staff struck last week the weather was of the opinion that my days off after Russia were to be seized upon in a festival of pyjamas, long hot showers, and some blissful time soaking up the rays wandering around London. I had a bag being mended in the City, so decided on Wednesday to walk along the South Bank and over the brilliant Millennium Footbridge (not shaped like a foot, unfortunately - that'd be more like it) with its full-frontal prospect onto St Paul's Cathedral. It's one of those places where if you've commuted across London you feel entitled to elbow the odd slow-moving tourist out of the way as you stride across the river.
Whilst in Russia I'd read Alain de Botton's book 'The Art of Travel' - it's fantastic, and does what it says on the tin. Let's just call him Alan - his writing's no nonsense so let's run with that and pretend he's friendly and not in the least bit French. Alan says, in his usual < 'yeah, I've thought that before' - except you haven't > brand of genius, that firstly it's not about where you go, or ticking off all the stuff in your guidebook's Top Ten Things to Do in Doncaster; it's about expectations. How else do you explain why my heart warms up a couple of degrees and my cheeks smile when I see these two photographs of Jonny and Ollie in Argentina in 2005 (on tour with Schola)?
The other thing Alan talks about is that it's not where you go, it's the slower-paced wonderment you take with you; the peripheral vision and open mind rather than the Baedecker and spare camera batteries.
So as I wandered from Waterloo, going east along the Thames, I was torn between hastily tapping thoughts into my iPhone's notepad, and trying to chill out and enjoy everything. So, in true Eadoblog style, here's a list of things that I did tap into my phone, with a bit of elaborasseeon:
Caution men working: a cordoned-off square about 2m wide with this sign enclosed three men sitting eating their lunch. Dangerous.
Green AstroTurf armchairs: an artsy thing which was just REALLY COOL.
Book sale - going to library but excitement that might spend money: there was a big book sale. Things were stupidly expensive even though you could get them in Oxfam for cheaper; in fact I did - and bought 4 books for £2 in a Scope shop today. I told myself I could go to the library later... but it's just not as much fun when you don't spend money. Weak weak weak human nature. Grrrr!
Runny nose - so not swine 'flu - national crises behind us - do people really care about corrupt government so long as there are winners and losers in the press? Was watching quite a lot of West Wing last week....
Made both happy and humbled by the architecture of that turgidity of cool that is the South Bank. The poster that was advertising it as a location made up solely of verbs: lusting snogging slurping laughing....
School trips: primary kids eating packed lunches; some older boys from a home counties independent school strutting.
"I want you to make the connection" - Echo of Michel Thomas from my French learny CD, when he's trying to get you to not skip a step and make silly mistakes. Trying to keep in check my inner hyperactive/OCD middle-aged persona and eeeeeennnnnnjjjjjjooooooyyyyyyyyy the sunny walk.
There's an Italian gelateria (tautologious but it really is properly continental and everything) by the OXO tower which has Apple Pie Crumble Ice Cream. I am a girl. Somebody take me and buy me ice cream please. I will love you forever.
The ice cream one is the last one. Up til then I'd really been giving myself a hard time about my inability to let go and have a day off: I was between a crazily fun tour and the momentummy mode I got into later last week when I finally got onto the work-that's-already-in-the-diary. I wasn't used to having freelance days off, and on a big post-tour slump, missing the banter, and generally feeling guilty for sculpting a life that i thought I'd enjoy, and was actually, now, in practice, enjoying. And somehow, the memory of all the ice creams I'd eaten ever, especially the continental ones was just the 'other' I needed to map my missing existential solution onto. Think gelateria Boulevard in San Sebastian, or the one by the Trevi Fountain in Rome in the brief sojourn on the way back from the 2005 Argentina trip, with a dollop of good old Seaton Delaval Nougat Wafer thrown in for good measure. The sum of everywhere I'd been before showed me the answer I knew and had thought before - yes I had, and I didn't need Alan to tell me this time.
The pragmatical aspect of travel is an Art, and for that to ring as truly as I mean it to, you need to think of travel as a variable: not just going a distance, being somewhere 'other' - simply the act of being somewhere, your variance from wherever you feel is home. If home is a big area, then 'variance' might just be which bit of 'home' you're in. For example, if you're 57 and you've spent every bank holiday weekend and August week of drizzle exploring most corners of England, you might think England is your home. If you're from 2, or 3, or 7 places because of moving around when you're little/big then that's got to count too. Travel is the relationship between us and the ground beneath our feet, and our interaction and observance of all the other things that come into the peripheral sight receptors between those two things: us, and the dust.
Whilst in Russia I'd read Alain de Botton's book 'The Art of Travel' - it's fantastic, and does what it says on the tin. Let's just call him Alan - his writing's no nonsense so let's run with that and pretend he's friendly and not in the least bit French. Alan says, in his usual < 'yeah, I've thought that before' - except you haven't > brand of genius, that firstly it's not about where you go, or ticking off all the stuff in your guidebook's Top Ten Things to Do in Doncaster; it's about expectations. How else do you explain why my heart warms up a couple of degrees and my cheeks smile when I see these two photographs of Jonny and Ollie in Argentina in 2005 (on tour with Schola)?
The other thing Alan talks about is that it's not where you go, it's the slower-paced wonderment you take with you; the peripheral vision and open mind rather than the Baedecker and spare camera batteries.
So as I wandered from Waterloo, going east along the Thames, I was torn between hastily tapping thoughts into my iPhone's notepad, and trying to chill out and enjoy everything. So, in true Eadoblog style, here's a list of things that I did tap into my phone, with a bit of elaborasseeon:
Caution men working: a cordoned-off square about 2m wide with this sign enclosed three men sitting eating their lunch. Dangerous.
Green AstroTurf armchairs: an artsy thing which was just REALLY COOL.
Book sale - going to library but excitement that might spend money: there was a big book sale. Things were stupidly expensive even though you could get them in Oxfam for cheaper; in fact I did - and bought 4 books for £2 in a Scope shop today. I told myself I could go to the library later... but it's just not as much fun when you don't spend money. Weak weak weak human nature. Grrrr!
Runny nose - so not swine 'flu - national crises behind us - do people really care about corrupt government so long as there are winners and losers in the press? Was watching quite a lot of West Wing last week....
Made both happy and humbled by the architecture of that turgidity of cool that is the South Bank. The poster that was advertising it as a location made up solely of verbs: lusting snogging slurping laughing....
School trips: primary kids eating packed lunches; some older boys from a home counties independent school strutting.
"I want you to make the connection" - Echo of Michel Thomas from my French learny CD, when he's trying to get you to not skip a step and make silly mistakes. Trying to keep in check my inner hyperactive/OCD middle-aged persona and eeeeeennnnnnjjjjjjooooooyyyyyyyyy the sunny walk.
There's an Italian gelateria (tautologious but it really is properly continental and everything) by the OXO tower which has Apple Pie Crumble Ice Cream. I am a girl. Somebody take me and buy me ice cream please. I will love you forever.
The ice cream one is the last one. Up til then I'd really been giving myself a hard time about my inability to let go and have a day off: I was between a crazily fun tour and the momentummy mode I got into later last week when I finally got onto the work-that's-already-in-the-diary. I wasn't used to having freelance days off, and on a big post-tour slump, missing the banter, and generally feeling guilty for sculpting a life that i thought I'd enjoy, and was actually, now, in practice, enjoying. And somehow, the memory of all the ice creams I'd eaten ever, especially the continental ones was just the 'other' I needed to map my missing existential solution onto. Think gelateria Boulevard in San Sebastian, or the one by the Trevi Fountain in Rome in the brief sojourn on the way back from the 2005 Argentina trip, with a dollop of good old Seaton Delaval Nougat Wafer thrown in for good measure. The sum of everywhere I'd been before showed me the answer I knew and had thought before - yes I had, and I didn't need Alan to tell me this time.
The pragmatical aspect of travel is an Art, and for that to ring as truly as I mean it to, you need to think of travel as a variable: not just going a distance, being somewhere 'other' - simply the act of being somewhere, your variance from wherever you feel is home. If home is a big area, then 'variance' might just be which bit of 'home' you're in. For example, if you're 57 and you've spent every bank holiday weekend and August week of drizzle exploring most corners of England, you might think England is your home. If you're from 2, or 3, or 7 places because of moving around when you're little/big then that's got to count too. Travel is the relationship between us and the ground beneath our feet, and our interaction and observance of all the other things that come into the peripheral sight receptors between those two things: us, and the dust.
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When I grow up...
Jun. 15th, 2009 | 03:23 pm
location: Harbers
mood: drained
music: Pas de musique
...there will be playdoh in my kitchen. I shall wear spotty things. I will doodle whilst chatting on the phone. Things will happen in the wrong order when I'm packing/trying to organise things. I will miss the point when someone's being ironic. I will move the furniture around frequently. I will have a big sofa that's deep enough to sit with your feet up and curl up when you're reading/snuggling/watching a film. I will fidget when I wake up. I will sometimes stay up too late. I will be silly. And that shall be the way of it all.
I've got a big post brewing about something that happened last week. I might actually write it but don't hold your breath. It's sunny. And who knows what could happen.
Bella xx
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When I grow up...
Jun. 15th, 2009 | 09:18 am
...there will be playdoh in my kitchen.
Posted via LiveJournal.app.
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Blogski
Jun. 8th, 2009 | 07:19 pm
location: Back in Blighty
mood: 
groggy
Things I learnt whilst on tour in St Petersburg:
Handel is still my homeboy, but Mundy's getting involved in a big way.
I need to stop using the phrase 'get involved', bad dill puns, and suffixing everything with '-skiova' in a bid to sound Russianskiova. No space for such dilletante-is behaviour back here in Blighty.
I am good at pool. In fact, I am very good at pool. Fact. Yes I am.
There ain't no party like an S Club party.
However much my lovely mammy might faff, it will always be more productive and lovely than Russian admin faff (faffmin).
I need Philippa to take me shopping, unless I only want to attract women for the rest of my life.
St Petersburg is colourful and very very big.
Never turn down a) a nighttime boat trip, b) a blanket when on a nighttime boat trip, or c) a tinnie.
Vodka + Taverner + Gibbons - enough people = very very silliskiova.
Russians do angry very well, especially when you take bottled water into a supermarket.
When being shouted at by a Russian supermarket security guy for taking bottled water into a supermarket, it is not a good idea for your friend to start asking him if they stock Beluga vodka (as cyrillic is so difficult to understand when you're British and with only 58 types to choose from you think they'd offer a bit of help). It's not his job. His job is to shout at people who don't stow their belongings in the lockers. Angrily.
If you are unfortunate enough to have an episode with a Russian supermarket security guy, use the golden-teethed checkout lady (yes, all of her top teeth may be made of gold) to get him back on your side, by asking her to teach you the word for plastic bag in a bid to look interested at the crazy language .
I am as scared of being told off now as I was when I was 4.
Almost almost finally: Cheney knows.
Almost finally: if in doubt, add dill.
And finally.... never believe your tastebuds: just because it is a crepe and it came with jam and creme fraiche on the side, doesn't mean it doesn't have cabbage inside.
Eadova xxx
Handel is still my homeboy, but Mundy's getting involved in a big way.
I need to stop using the phrase 'get involved', bad dill puns, and suffixing everything with '-skiova' in a bid to sound Russianskiova. No space for such dilletante-is behaviour back here in Blighty.
I am good at pool. In fact, I am very good at pool. Fact. Yes I am.
There ain't no party like an S Club party.
However much my lovely mammy might faff, it will always be more productive and lovely than Russian admin faff (faffmin).
I need Philippa to take me shopping, unless I only want to attract women for the rest of my life.
St Petersburg is colourful and very very big.
Never turn down a) a nighttime boat trip, b) a blanket when on a nighttime boat trip, or c) a tinnie.
Vodka + Taverner + Gibbons - enough people = very very silliskiova.
Russians do angry very well, especially when you take bottled water into a supermarket.
When being shouted at by a Russian supermarket security guy for taking bottled water into a supermarket, it is not a good idea for your friend to start asking him if they stock Beluga vodka (as cyrillic is so difficult to understand when you're British and with only 58 types to choose from you think they'd offer a bit of help). It's not his job. His job is to shout at people who don't stow their belongings in the lockers. Angrily.
If you are unfortunate enough to have an episode with a Russian supermarket security guy, use the golden-teethed checkout lady (yes, all of her top teeth may be made of gold) to get him back on your side, by asking her to teach you the word for plastic bag in a bid to look interested at the crazy language .
I am as scared of being told off now as I was when I was 4.
Almost almost finally: Cheney knows.
Almost finally: if in doubt, add dill.
And finally.... never believe your tastebuds: just because it is a crepe and it came with jam and creme fraiche on the side, doesn't mean it doesn't have cabbage inside.
Eadova xxx
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Chu-chu-chu-chu-chu-chaaaanges
May. 19th, 2009 | 09:32 am
location: SW11
mood: aaaaaaargh
music: Ave Q soundtrack...
Yo.
Checklist for pretty big changes I might have just effected in case you haven't been within the 100 mile facebook radius of the high-pitched screeching of the rate of change of my self-involved status updates...
- left job
- had lots of parties/publy celebrations
- cut hair
- did I say left job? So yes, left job - the onethat pays enough money into your account each month to enable you to eat and live in a flat which breaks every month even though the estate agents charge you through the left testicle for it and are totally ineffective in 'managing' your property.
- got offered enough regular teaching for next year to pay the rent... just. Maybe.
- did first audition since applying to uni, didn't look like a muppet from it, and then got work from it.
- fix more auditions
- upgraded to iPhone
- acquired a very hot dentist
This has been addressed in the karmic balance as follows:
- my wardrobe collapsed last night
- it looks like the council won't take it away unless I pay £60
- my bed is full of splinters because the furniture in my room's that close together that in dismantling the wardrobe in my pyjamas all the cheapassed splintery wood went in my sleepyspace
- as above, the estate agents are utter ****s
- my hair looks a bit like a fluffy hedgehog when I wake up each morning and since having it all chopped yesterday I don't know whether to get out in the sunshine and strut around all day or cry...
- I have to have a filling at lunchtime
Ooo so then the yin/yang - which ever one is the good cop is all like
- Claire, you have a hot dentist..!
- And you are the Nigella of DIY
- And it's totally funky headscarf weather anyway
- And noone will even have to put you in a wig for a Handel trouser role given you look like Gwynnie-as-Thomas-Kent in Shakespeare in Love...
Repeat three times an hour in the mirror: I do not look like a fluffy hedgehog...
Checklist for pretty big changes I might have just effected in case you haven't been within the 100 mile facebook radius of the high-pitched screeching of the rate of change of my self-involved status updates...
- left job
- had lots of parties/publy celebrations
- cut hair
- did I say left job? So yes, left job - the onethat pays enough money into your account each month to enable you to eat and live in a flat which breaks every month even though the estate agents charge you through the left testicle for it and are totally ineffective in 'managing' your property.
- got offered enough regular teaching for next year to pay the rent... just. Maybe.
- did first audition since applying to uni, didn't look like a muppet from it, and then got work from it.
- fix more auditions
- upgraded to iPhone
- acquired a very hot dentist
This has been addressed in the karmic balance as follows:
- my wardrobe collapsed last night
- it looks like the council won't take it away unless I pay £60
- my bed is full of splinters because the furniture in my room's that close together that in dismantling the wardrobe in my pyjamas all the cheapassed splintery wood went in my sleepyspace
- as above, the estate agents are utter ****s
- my hair looks a bit like a fluffy hedgehog when I wake up each morning and since having it all chopped yesterday I don't know whether to get out in the sunshine and strut around all day or cry...
- I have to have a filling at lunchtime
Ooo so then the yin/yang - which ever one is the good cop is all like
- Claire, you have a hot dentist..!
- And you are the Nigella of DIY
- And it's totally funky headscarf weather anyway
- And noone will even have to put you in a wig for a Handel trouser role given you look like Gwynnie-as-Thomas-Kent in Shakespeare in Love...
Repeat three times an hour in the mirror: I do not look like a fluffy hedgehog...
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one for the list...
Apr. 22nd, 2009 | 10:35 pm
location: SW11
mood: in a good way
music: SATC on the telly
on the list of 'things that shunt me up the scale of 1 - fulfilled' goes:
- the feel of the air of a warm spring night when you're walking home after the sun's gone down without a coat on
- the feel of the air of a warm spring night when you're walking home after the sun's gone down without a coat on
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Resignation
Apr. 21st, 2009 | 09:07 pm
mood: indescribable
Dear everyone-who-thinks-that-I’m-a-great-org
I hereby resign from the post of great-orgainser-but-a-shit-communicator-s
Thanks for all the fish. I look forward to the rest of my life without the shackles of your ridiculous labels, and from now on will only use Eado-certified labels in accordance with EU law.
Cheers y'all
Eado xxx
I hereby resign from the post of great-orgainser-but-a-shit-communicator-s
Thanks for all the fish. I look forward to the rest of my life without the shackles of your ridiculous labels, and from now on will only use Eado-certified labels in accordance with EU law.
Cheers y'all
Eado xxx
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(no subject)
Mar. 5th, 2009 | 08:05 pm
Feeling in need of a big, strong-armed cuddle. Could also do with a big, well-stocked desk in a cosy corner to knuckle down with some work. Unfortunately, neither seem to be on the menu!
Oh well, my endorphins will just have to be fed into typing up Rods Exec minutes. Less fun than investing them in pretty much anything else, but first things must sometimes come first...
For a springy day it really does feel like a winter's night.
Oh well, my endorphins will just have to be fed into typing up Rods Exec minutes. Less fun than investing them in pretty much anything else, but first things must sometimes come first...
For a springy day it really does feel like a winter's night.