Saturday, April 24, 2004
Happy birthday, Will!
(Yes, I know I'm a day too late - )
Did anyone take up the brilliant offer of a free day at the Globe? ( - but yesterday was full of paperwork and sunshine and G&Ts...)
- And off I bounce again out into the splendour of spring.
(Yes, I know I'm a day too late - )
Did anyone take up the brilliant offer of a free day at the Globe? ( - but yesterday was full of paperwork and sunshine and G&Ts...)
- And off I bounce again out into the splendour of spring.
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Kevin Spacey attempting a bit of damage-limitation
Went to see the Vivienne Westwood show at the V&A, which was absolutely splendid, not to mention informative and most importantly, a hell of a lot of fun. It's so worth going to! And don't forget the shop, aptly named Shop, the kinkiest boudoir south of Coco de Mer.
Went to see the Vivienne Westwood show at the V&A, which was absolutely splendid, not to mention informative and most importantly, a hell of a lot of fun. It's so worth going to! And don't forget the shop, aptly named Shop, the kinkiest boudoir south of Coco de Mer.
Sunday, April 18, 2004
There's a hilarious piece in yesterdays Guardian by Jacques Peretti, who's gone to Denmark and has found it wanting. Of pubs with TVs and Sky, mostly. This I found quite amusing, but also relieving, I'm happy to see that Denmark has not turned all British (yet) and that in this respect, sanity still rules.
'On arrival in Scandinavia, the shame of of simply being British
is hard to take. While English children step off the plane eating
chips and bogeys and elastic bands and speaking a kind of
medieval argot of grunts and Michael Jackson Ee-hees!,
Scandinavian children eat only steamied, diagonally-cut vegetables
and speak English like Lady Diana.'
- This is actually not far off, as I can always tell which kids are from which country, when I fly home. The English kids are all over the place, usually carrying a packet of crisps and wearing oversize footballshirts, while Danish kids are usually blindingly blond (usually, I said!) and usually wear something or other from Lego. (Lego Wear that is, we do not randomly overglue our kids with Lego blocks.)
Peretti has also come actross 'men in beards and rainbow braces hoeing fields and waving cheerily to anyone - absolutely anyone - driving past in a car'. This is something I always wondered about too, and I bloody well grew up there; some people will wave at anything. Kids will wave at all forms of transportation, since I guess, it moves (or whatever), but grown people? Is it a way to make things slow down, if nothing more than for one moment, in order to personalise, uhm, industrialisation?
Peretti also laments the upcoming demise of Christiania (me too, especially since the prospect of luxury flats is just ridiculous - moving out some people in order to facilitate other (rich) people, who have much more choice than your average students, who gets no choice at all) within the country of, what he calls 'goody two-shoeness' - a country in which sanity almost over-rules and where generel gentrification makes everything and everyone seem the same.
Oh, I just know where he is coming from, bringing forward the best and the worst of Denmark, and then we're back at my usualy conundrum: must Denmark necessarily be so orderly (dare I say anal?) in order to facilitate all those benefits that we all love much? Can a country only function this way, if all and sundry are the same?
Today is the day of the London Marathon, but it's raining so I haven't bothered with checking it out, even though it happens pretty much on my doorstep. I did contemplate cheering on the lovely Jonny, given that he is 2-1 at Ladbrokes (or whatever, I'm not good at these things) and is 'certainly not a sick boy' at all (?!), but, frankly, the sight of a sweating, half-gagging semi-celeb, clad in shorts and socks rushing past, leaving a whiff of pitts in the air would be enough to ruin my childish dreams of the glamorous people forever, so I stayed in bed.
'On arrival in Scandinavia, the shame of of simply being British
is hard to take. While English children step off the plane eating
chips and bogeys and elastic bands and speaking a kind of
medieval argot of grunts and Michael Jackson Ee-hees!,
Scandinavian children eat only steamied, diagonally-cut vegetables
and speak English like Lady Diana.'
- This is actually not far off, as I can always tell which kids are from which country, when I fly home. The English kids are all over the place, usually carrying a packet of crisps and wearing oversize footballshirts, while Danish kids are usually blindingly blond (usually, I said!) and usually wear something or other from Lego. (Lego Wear that is, we do not randomly overglue our kids with Lego blocks.)
Peretti has also come actross 'men in beards and rainbow braces hoeing fields and waving cheerily to anyone - absolutely anyone - driving past in a car'. This is something I always wondered about too, and I bloody well grew up there; some people will wave at anything. Kids will wave at all forms of transportation, since I guess, it moves (or whatever), but grown people? Is it a way to make things slow down, if nothing more than for one moment, in order to personalise, uhm, industrialisation?
Peretti also laments the upcoming demise of Christiania (me too, especially since the prospect of luxury flats is just ridiculous - moving out some people in order to facilitate other (rich) people, who have much more choice than your average students, who gets no choice at all) within the country of, what he calls 'goody two-shoeness' - a country in which sanity almost over-rules and where generel gentrification makes everything and everyone seem the same.
Oh, I just know where he is coming from, bringing forward the best and the worst of Denmark, and then we're back at my usualy conundrum: must Denmark necessarily be so orderly (dare I say anal?) in order to facilitate all those benefits that we all love much? Can a country only function this way, if all and sundry are the same?
Today is the day of the London Marathon, but it's raining so I haven't bothered with checking it out, even though it happens pretty much on my doorstep. I did contemplate cheering on the lovely Jonny, given that he is 2-1 at Ladbrokes (or whatever, I'm not good at these things) and is 'certainly not a sick boy' at all (?!), but, frankly, the sight of a sweating, half-gagging semi-celeb, clad in shorts and socks rushing past, leaving a whiff of pitts in the air would be enough to ruin my childish dreams of the glamorous people forever, so I stayed in bed.
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
The nearest book - from bertramonline:
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
'The appearance at my bedside of my shiny black trunk with its imposing, rounded roof, flanked by my father's brown wooden tuck-box which still showed, by a patch of darker paint, where my initials had been painted over his - this ocular proof that we were really going back had an effect on my spirits more overwhelming than the Headmaster's brief announcement after prayers the previous evening.'
The Go-Between, L. P. Hartley
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
'The appearance at my bedside of my shiny black trunk with its imposing, rounded roof, flanked by my father's brown wooden tuck-box which still showed, by a patch of darker paint, where my initials had been painted over his - this ocular proof that we were really going back had an effect on my spirits more overwhelming than the Headmaster's brief announcement after prayers the previous evening.'
The Go-Between, L. P. Hartley
Friday, April 09, 2004
The smallest theatres are often the nicest.
Donmar Warehouse is the size of your average River Island (and seemingly much smaller than Top Shop) and yet it is absolutely wonderful. At the Almeida you're so close to the stage that you can almost feel every breath drawn.
Festen is a great film and almost a greater play. This version, indeed, was inventive and tight and extremely moving. A few weaknesses apart (mainly underdevelopment of one or two characters) it was creatively staged and the action effectively rose to a crescendo of howling and physical fight. Jonny Lee Miller ('cause we do want to know about him, don't we?) was exploring the violence and torment of his character in an almost heart-breaking manner, and if you think that's gushing to vomit-inducing levels, then so be it. (And can we also remember, that while our Jonny is not particularly beautiful, he is one of the most attractive men I've ever seen on stage. And I've seen naked Americans!)
I would be more specific about the play, but I'm off to Belgium for Easter, so have a good one!
Donmar Warehouse is the size of your average River Island (and seemingly much smaller than Top Shop) and yet it is absolutely wonderful. At the Almeida you're so close to the stage that you can almost feel every breath drawn.
Festen is a great film and almost a greater play. This version, indeed, was inventive and tight and extremely moving. A few weaknesses apart (mainly underdevelopment of one or two characters) it was creatively staged and the action effectively rose to a crescendo of howling and physical fight. Jonny Lee Miller ('cause we do want to know about him, don't we?) was exploring the violence and torment of his character in an almost heart-breaking manner, and if you think that's gushing to vomit-inducing levels, then so be it. (And can we also remember, that while our Jonny is not particularly beautiful, he is one of the most attractive men I've ever seen on stage. And I've seen naked Americans!)
I would be more specific about the play, but I'm off to Belgium for Easter, so have a good one!
Stole this at Jess':
You're Watership Down!
by Richard Adams
Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're
actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their
assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they
build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd
be recognized as such if you weren't always talking about talking rabbits.
Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
Well, colour me speechless!
I have been proposed to and have gracefully* accepted.
*If sourly mumbling 'possibly' whilst greedily chewing on Danish liquorice can be considered graceful behaviour
I have been proposed to and have gracefully* accepted.
*If sourly mumbling 'possibly' whilst greedily chewing on Danish liquorice can be considered graceful behaviour
Sunday, April 04, 2004
As seen at Roy's:
I am convinced that Celine Dion albums can kill, personally I feel faintly queasy every time I'm exposed to one of her songs.
The area I live in is an old whale ship/pirate/sailor dock, the place in which Lemur Gulliver lived with his wife and kids and from which he sailed onto distant shores.
It's quite nice here; we've got woodland and a park, the river and the dock and plenty of birds and foxes.
The population is a cheerful mix of families, who have lived here all their lives and (mainly) young people who find the area affordable and fairly close to central London. Of course this is me being charitable, because, frankly, what it all comes down to, is the Chavs and the non-Chavs.
The non-Chavs are pretty harmless since they all work in town somewhere and tend to only stick around here during evenings and weekends.
The Chavs, on the other hand, while also (fairly) harmless, stick around always, hanging out in the streets, screaming at their kids in Tesco (Shut up! Shut up!!!) or bothering William Hill at all times of day.
Some of them unexplicably think that public transport is the same as 'the street' and that it is therefore okay to spit on the floor. Some think that public transport is the same as private transport and therefore take it upon themsleves to randomly open the door of the bus (via the emergency exit button) and jump off anywhere.
Then of course there's the litter, which, mind you, is not really a Chav-thing but a British thing - too used to having a working class employed to pick up their shit, so they'll dump it anywhere and too used to it being anywhere, so what does a little more matter?
A woman in the building opposite mine used to throw used nappies out of the window instead of binning them as normal people would.
Apart from that, it's nice around here. I could list a million places I'd rather live, but for now I think it'll do. And who knows, maybe one day I'll become a fully fledged Chav and not worry about these things any more.
*Spits violently on floor*
*Ponders*
*Runs to get bleach*
I am convinced that Celine Dion albums can kill, personally I feel faintly queasy every time I'm exposed to one of her songs.
The area I live in is an old whale ship/pirate/sailor dock, the place in which Lemur Gulliver lived with his wife and kids and from which he sailed onto distant shores.
It's quite nice here; we've got woodland and a park, the river and the dock and plenty of birds and foxes.
The population is a cheerful mix of families, who have lived here all their lives and (mainly) young people who find the area affordable and fairly close to central London. Of course this is me being charitable, because, frankly, what it all comes down to, is the Chavs and the non-Chavs.
The non-Chavs are pretty harmless since they all work in town somewhere and tend to only stick around here during evenings and weekends.
The Chavs, on the other hand, while also (fairly) harmless, stick around always, hanging out in the streets, screaming at their kids in Tesco (Shut up! Shut up!!!) or bothering William Hill at all times of day.
Some of them unexplicably think that public transport is the same as 'the street' and that it is therefore okay to spit on the floor. Some think that public transport is the same as private transport and therefore take it upon themsleves to randomly open the door of the bus (via the emergency exit button) and jump off anywhere.
Then of course there's the litter, which, mind you, is not really a Chav-thing but a British thing - too used to having a working class employed to pick up their shit, so they'll dump it anywhere and too used to it being anywhere, so what does a little more matter?
A woman in the building opposite mine used to throw used nappies out of the window instead of binning them as normal people would.
Apart from that, it's nice around here. I could list a million places I'd rather live, but for now I think it'll do. And who knows, maybe one day I'll become a fully fledged Chav and not worry about these things any more.
*Spits violently on floor*
*Ponders*
*Runs to get bleach*
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