Overdue August Bank Holiday Post

Hmm, I was very much intending on posting about this weeks ago, but then work has a way of sometimes requiring me to do, erm, work, instead of faffing about blogging looking at pictures on Pinterest at lunchtimes.  The swines.

A host of us headed down to the Isle of Wight for the annual celebration of Sam being a year older, the sun shining and there being an extra day off work.  The first few days were blighted by rain, like much of this 'summer', so we made the best of it with board games, beers and Chinese take away in doors. (NB. Snakes and ladders can get shockingly competitive.)  On the Sunday though, the sun (finally) came out and we went out into the blinding light for a wander to the beach via the cider farm...which didn't have ny cider due to an apple shortage...  It's a frigging apple farm so, really, this seemed a bit of a poor excuse but they were adamant despite our collectively raised eyebrows. 

The days events were also to involve a fire/ BBQ combo for the evening, so the menfolk flexed their muscles, whinged that they were wearing the wrong shoes and started digging up part of the field.

Once dug, the pit was lined with bricks.  Not sure why (I expect there's a purpose) but it does make it look rather neat.

Then the tree was added bit by bit, starting with some trunk bits and then, what I assume was 'kindling'.  Having never been a Girl Guide/ Scout this is all beyond me but there seemed to be enough expertise (forthright opinions?) for the job.

It would appear to be important to stay in close proximity to the fire and regularly poke it, to prevent it going out/ make sure it burns evenly/ I know not what... Man + fire stuff basically.  We ladies cracked open a bottle of wine, found some plastic glasses and were all set.

Luckily, inbetween nursing the fire, there was time for a few drinks for everyone whilst relaxing in the last of the sunshine.  The firing up of the BBQ  required the resolution of more fire issues - pine cones as a base or not, relative heat of coals to burger cooking times, who forgot the burger flipper etc, but finally we had all had a burger, a sausage and a token bit of salad. 

Then it was just a matter of watching the sun go down, the Milky Way stars come out and the fire blaze on.

Thanks everyone who came along - same time next year, yeah? x

Sunday East

Long story short, the move to outer London faltered and then died, and from its ashes arose a new scheme involving Sam moving East to my flat and us going on a big blow out holiday to Mexico.  It's not a permanent situation as eventually we will want to move away from the hustle, bustle and smog, but it's convenient for now.

So last weekend was lots of moving on the Saturday, followed by lots of screaming at the Olympic Park/ eating at the world's biggest McDonalds (when in Rome...) on Sunday, so hardly any unpacking got done at all.  We've been slowly getting this rearranged and put away this week but were looking forward to escaping the mess this weekend with a trip to Bristol.  Then disaster struck and we both came down with the lurgie and were forced to spend Saturday in the flat attempting to recuperate.  Pah.

With boxes still piled around our ears and the addition of cabin fever to our colds it was with some relief today that, feeling a bit better, we ventured into the outside world.  A quick wander down Columbia Road flower market, breakfast (me)/ lunch (Sam) at a cafe and still showing no signs of dropping dead, we decided to wander into Haggerston Park fora lie down in the sun.  Only to find that the usually deserted park was swathed in security barriers and men wearing hi-vis jackets.  Plus parking for a couple of hundred bicycles - it is Hackney after all.

I was a bit perturbed but it turned out to be a lovely bit of Olympic randomness, a big screen showing the boxing, lots of people sitting around enjoying the sun and the bar and another chance to experience that group whooping/ clapping when we scored yet another GOLD!  (Special mention goes to the man weaving his way through the crowd with a union flag as a cape.)  All with London landmarks in the background and a man handing out I heart Hackney badges.  Perfecto.

The Gherkin and the Shard behind the boxing and the crowds.

Edible chillies for £1!

On Social Media

As this week, barring the BBC live blog of the Olympics, has been pretty dead at work, I have been doing some interweb admin.  I had this blog,  a facebook account (surely these are now handed out at birth?  Or, actually, set up by parents to be for their embryos as someone I know has done.) and a Pinterest board, or what-have-you.  The issue is that the evil work overlords have decreed that facebook is a banned website and this has impeded my ability to get onto Pinterest, damnit.  It does, by-the-by, not affect my ability to find things to do when the work situation is under control, in your face evil work overlords.

I should also mention that I'm a bit addicted to the Queen's twitter feed.  Not HRH but an imposter who, I suspect, is far funnier than the real deal.  Anywho, so the 'solution' seemed to be to activate a twitter account, use that to sign into Pinterest and hurrah! I am back to pinning pictures of vintage Pyrex onto boards whilst handily being able to see all the tweets.  But now I have a twitter.  I haven't tweeted yet as it all seems a bit, erm, well, I'm just not convinced about it to be honest but I am now following 40 people and counting so I've already breached my own terms of usage. *sigh*

I think, when historians looks back at this time, they will pin point this age as the one where things all went horribly wrong, where everyone overexposed themselves via social media and the lines between public and private lives began to crumble until we all live Truman Show-esque lives.  This will come to be known as the time before the backlash, when people took to the streets, smashed their iPads (other devices are available), iPhones etc and spoke to each other in the flesh, before retreating to their own homes for a little bit of privacy. 

Now, how do I retweet again?

Moving on

After 5 years on near-abouts in Shoreditch it feels like it's time to move on to pastures new.  Or y'know, pasture-esque as opposed to inner-London council estate chic, at least, not out of London but outer-London so to speak.  It took a long time to find my place in London and it does feel like home here...albeit a home I wish people would clean up a bit and stop spitting on.  Seriously, spitting is revolting you oiks, it does not make you cool.  But I'm ready for a new home, with Sam, and since I deal with change so well and never freak out, it should be fine...oh, right, yeah, I freak out over changing my mind, let alone my London Borough.  This could get rough.

I think the thing keeping me sane in amongst all the hassle of saving money, finding tenants for my flat, negotiating with letting agents, banks, mortgage providers and all the other myriad things I am slowly becoming aware that you need when becoming a landlady, is the excitement of having a new place to 'play house' in.  This is where the lovely house blogs people have come in.  Some people do crack, others flick through endless pictures of bookshelves in ever more perfect formulations (colour coding books, fyi, = heaven).  The Guardian has been putting in some stellar service with pics of perfectly arranged book shelves, stripped wood floors and beautiful vintage furniture.  Apartment Therapy is gold and Bodie and Fou's blog, with the emphasis on white, stark but calming is also a must view.  I never really got to grips with my own flat - I have never spent enough time here to do much more than sleep, let alone bring it to life - but I have high hopes of starting afresh with a new place, albeit we'll be renting, which in a way I suppose, removes a lot of the stress of decorating i.e. actual DIY, which I loathed.

Hmm...there's packing and so many other arduous chores to do yet but I feel a bit brighter about the prospects already...  x

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/gallery/2012/jun/06/living-room-design-ideas-in-pictures

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/gallery/2012/jun/06/living-room-design-ideas-in-pictures#/?picture=385617265&index=17

Recently..

...I have been feeling fairly uninspired by blogging as I sit all day at work reading, thinking and writing as it is.  When you write, albeit sensible work stuff, for a living, coming home and switching on the computer for anything other than watching Lewis, CSI or Castle (I like a good, by which I mean bad, crime drama or three), just does not er, compute.  But then I read Junkaholique after a very long break and was reminded how nice it is to just jot down a few words about nice things that have happened, with no danger of being 'red penned' ie. corrected by a boss who cannot work track changes.

The new job is good though, my brain is engaged, I'm busy and people actually care what I think.  Initially this was fairly terrifying as I had no idea what I was supposed to think, but I think I'm getting the hang of it now and can speak in meetings without having an out of body experience and nearly passing out.  Progress!

My social life has taken a bit of a chill too, something I had been trying to achieve for a while in terms of getting a better balance between work, play and finding time to do all the things that involve being at home.  I mean, seriously, when you're struggling to keep up with CSI even with the aid of 5-ondemand, you have most definitely overstretched yourself.  Not that I'm now ready for my pipe and slippers female equivalent, just a little less...hectic.

The last few weekends have been spent traversing about visiting relatives (Sam's) and generally making the most of the nice weather...and the not so nice this weekend - poor Queen, Divine Right to rule and after 60 years of loyal service Him upstairs can't even put on a bit of sunshine?  Poor show if you ask me.  We also went to Secret Cinema, which was fun.  Dressing up in boiler suits and seeing the perplexed faces of the commuters at Euston was especially worthwhile!  Also, boiler suits hide a multitude of sins (hip flasks, beers and cookies), which is just as well as they were having a laugh with the bar prices and the service was worse than a Hoxton bar staffed by hipsters who are, like, in a band, yeah? And don't really need to be serving you.  Yeah.  That bad.

Sunday lunch at the most amazing house after a day in Bath (at the spa y'know, in the roof top pool) thanks to Sam's Gran.  The helicopter was parked on the lawn and we couldn't resist a few shots...although, 'bless', to the person who asked me how the helicopter ride was after Sam posted a pic on fb...

Shhh....Secret Cinema, Tell No One.  I won't spoil it if you haven't been and are planning to.  It's a space film, but the emails and uniforms gave that away already.  None of us guessed it...we were hoping for Total Recall.

Us 'enjoying' the Jubilee.  Watching the flotilla was fun actually, I like moments like that when you stop being individuals and become a 'crowd' instead.  Only in a good way though, with flags and bunting and three cheers.  I've never been one for schleping out to see the Royals but this was good, and the Queen waved at me (and the other hundreds on the riverbank) so score!  We didn't stay long though due to the horrible downpour.

And slightly off topic (if there is one...) my pudding tonight, which I photographed purely because it looked lovely.  Strawberry jelly and fresh blackberries.  Healthy (ish) is my new thing.

Hopefully the next post won't be so long or such a long time coming... x

Do you remember...?

Do you remember the time when a Thursday night out with friends meant meeting at 5.30pm straight from work for happy hour cocktails in some awful bar because it was cheap, eating was cheating and dicing with Trafalgar Square in a drunken attempt to find the right night bus was par for the course?

I do.  But I don't really remember the point at which it changed to meeting at 6.30 as everyone has work to finish, for one or two glasses of nice wine, a sit down dinner and home to bed at a single figure pm hour, which it is now.  The funny thing is, I don't mind.  I was the one yawning at 9pm tonight shocked to realise it wasn't actually any later and relieved when going home was suggested!

Now, don't despair dear readers, I'm not ready for my granny slippers and cocoa quite yet.  There are still many Thursday nights when I am led astray by a group of friends.  When grabbing a kebab en route from the gallery where the free beer has finally run out to the pub is met with quizzical looks from my compatriots and the clock strikes 11pm and I only realise because they're calling last orders but even then, it's far tamer than my younger self would have thought possible.

Thanks to facebook though, at least there will always be the photos... x

Trafalgar Square, June 2007

Secret Cinema: “Tell no one…”

With a tag line like that it must be something good, right?  I have been meaning to go to a Secret Cinema for ages so when this one came up in the centre of town it seemed like a perfect idea, especially the weekend before Christmas when festive fatigue has set in.  (The photos are all really, 'atmospheric', ie dark as my trusty camera phone does not like 1940s style lighting.)

We received our instructions to meet at Barbican, to dress in 1940s style, lots of black and set off in eager anticipation.  Standing at Barbican tube watching everyone arrive was amazing, so many beautiful outfits and such a lot of effort had been put in by the majority of people, and it’s nice to be a part of something like this.

Once our party had assembled we were directed to a meeting point round the corner from the tube where we waited until four ‘soldiers’ formed us up into lines and marched us (not an easy feat in heels and a pencil skirt) through Smithfields and to the door of a disused warehouse.  En route we were made aware of an ongoing funeral for ‘Harry’ and saw many shady figures loitering on corners, all of which created an amazing atmosphere.

We walked into a hotel reception where we were greeted and directed on into the warehouse.  We exchanged our money for Viennese I’m not sure whats, purchased a bottle of wine and set about exploring.  

Over four and a bit floors were spread a bar with a live band, gaming and dancing, the offices of the four countries, England, France, America and Russia, who shared Vienna in the 1940s and numerous offices, bedrooms, attics and even a train platform.  Throughout all of it actors ran about, shouted, stages assignations and at one point attempted to sell us black market stockings (Me: Oh, lovely but not really my style...).

Mary and I nearly became Communists after visiting the Russian attaché's office and poor Michael ended up marching about being yelled at.  Luckily we escaped just before being branded with a red star and made our way back to more bohemian setting of the bar.

We feasted like kings on amazing hot dogs with saurkraut, quaffed mulled wine to keep warm and generally spent a great deal of time pointing, gasping and being entertained.  A funeral procession and a fatal shooting being two of the scenes going on around us.

A siren went off, calling us all in to watch the film and I tottered in on my heels to grab a space in the barn, snuggled under a blanket.  Have you guessed what the film was yet?  The Third Man, a British film noir set in post WWII Vienna following out of luck American pulp fiction writer Holly Martins as he investigates the suspicious death of his friend Harry Lime, played by Orson Welles.  There is intrigue, dastardly doings, the girl, the British officer trying to do his best and all the other things you would imagine.  Cut glass accents and much understated acting.  It was wonderful.

The best line of the night goes to Orson Welles' character Harry Lime.  When Holly questions him about his involvement in a blackmarket penicillin scam and the harm it is wreaking on the Viennese population, Lime says by way of explanation:

"You know what the fellow said - in Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance.  In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, they had five hundred years of democracy and peace - and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock."