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millionreasonsSpring 17. After we came back from holiday, we went for afternoon tea at a fancy hotel with cakes influenced by Banksy, Rothko, Kusama. I ate until I felt unpleasant.
We walked it off around Mayfair, which is always nice for a ramble, although I get unduly annoyed by the myriad of black cabs in the West End's back lanes. Sadiq Khan seems serious about tackling London's appalling air pollution - maybe limiting taxis in zone 1?
We had a look-see at Michael Andrews' exhibition at the Gagosian, an art cube up a mews, which seemed like the kind of landscapes you get adorning the walls of provincial B&Bs, but there were some seascapes (esturiana?) that I found pleasing:
A few weekends ago we went to Greenwich. The DLR was not running, so went to North Greenwich and walked along the Thames path, or at least we did until kicked off due to building work. We ended up ono the feeder road for the Blackwall tunnel, which was like walking along the A1 (see above re: pollution).
We visited the NOW gallery at Greenwich Peninsula (i.e. the Excel centre) where 10,000 irises hang from the ceiling, a little but of nature in a car-filled city.
Last weekend, we met up with Tanya, Alice and Marta with the intention of doing a cat crawl around Kentish Town, i.e. visiting pubs with resident pussy-cats. We abandoned this after two pubs, both of which were table-less. Kentish Town is not what it was (an overflow from Camden; nowadays it's pretty much people-priced-out-of-Hampstead, with the attendant pastel stucco houses and overcrowded posh pubs. We went back to Marta's flat to pet her cat Little Lily, and drink Norwegian schnapps, which gave me a two day headache.
Friday, we went to see the Butterflies of Love at Islington Town Hall. I used to see BoL pretty often in the early noughties and this was an exercise in nostalgia as well as an elegy; it was the last ever gig. It's odd the memories that surface, unbidden. I could clearly remember Dave driving the band back from Leeds to Nottingham in a minibus and when we stopped for chips, one of the band received a text saying Reagan had died. This was May 2000, but when I looked it up, Ronnie carked it in 2004. My memory was entirely false.
I think about you now all the time
Anyway, they were wonderful, none of this "Here's a new song" nonsense, they concentrated on the first album: swirling stoner guitarscapes with chiming keyboards and soaring viola. They launched into the stunning Mount Everest, playing the sublime Drunken Falls twice, the second time in the correct key, and the marvellous Wild to finish things off. Everyone was grinning, happy: it was like a meeting of the indie clans (or as Dave put it, an indie retirement party). There was an after party, in the after hours pub, the Myddleton, but I was falling asleep at the table and we ended up splashing out on a black cab home, which gave us a rather whopping £12 discount after the guy went the wrong way around Islington. You don't get that in an uber.
Racing for love out on the racing track
Yesterday, we went on the March For Europe. The colours of the sky and the sun were Euro-friendly. The speakers talked about their pride of being European and loving the EU. I feel neither of these things, I am definitely English (snobbish, reserved), and the EU is hardly perfect, but the failing, flailing attempts to leave it are horrifying and the non-economic knock-on effects: racism, problems in Northern Ireland, Nigel Farage being happy, are not worth it. Alastair Campbell's speech was annoyingly good, although his comments about the lies of the right wing press were somwhat ironic given that New Lab did all they could to cosy up to Murdoch and Big Media. David Lammy spoke and it was all the crowd could do to stop itself from dragging him off the stage and into a new Labour leadership contest.
We walked it off around Mayfair, which is always nice for a ramble, although I get unduly annoyed by the myriad of black cabs in the West End's back lanes. Sadiq Khan seems serious about tackling London's appalling air pollution - maybe limiting taxis in zone 1?
We had a look-see at Michael Andrews' exhibition at the Gagosian, an art cube up a mews, which seemed like the kind of landscapes you get adorning the walls of provincial B&Bs, but there were some seascapes (esturiana?) that I found pleasing:
A few weekends ago we went to Greenwich. The DLR was not running, so went to North Greenwich and walked along the Thames path, or at least we did until kicked off due to building work. We ended up ono the feeder road for the Blackwall tunnel, which was like walking along the A1 (see above re: pollution).
We visited the NOW gallery at Greenwich Peninsula (i.e. the Excel centre) where 10,000 irises hang from the ceiling, a little but of nature in a car-filled city.
Last weekend, we met up with Tanya, Alice and Marta with the intention of doing a cat crawl around Kentish Town, i.e. visiting pubs with resident pussy-cats. We abandoned this after two pubs, both of which were table-less. Kentish Town is not what it was (an overflow from Camden; nowadays it's pretty much people-priced-out-of-Hampstead, with the attendant pastel stucco houses and overcrowded posh pubs. We went back to Marta's flat to pet her cat Little Lily, and drink Norwegian schnapps, which gave me a two day headache.
Friday, we went to see the Butterflies of Love at Islington Town Hall. I used to see BoL pretty often in the early noughties and this was an exercise in nostalgia as well as an elegy; it was the last ever gig. It's odd the memories that surface, unbidden. I could clearly remember Dave driving the band back from Leeds to Nottingham in a minibus and when we stopped for chips, one of the band received a text saying Reagan had died. This was May 2000, but when I looked it up, Ronnie carked it in 2004. My memory was entirely false.
I think about you now all the time
Anyway, they were wonderful, none of this "Here's a new song" nonsense, they concentrated on the first album: swirling stoner guitarscapes with chiming keyboards and soaring viola. They launched into the stunning Mount Everest, playing the sublime Drunken Falls twice, the second time in the correct key, and the marvellous Wild to finish things off. Everyone was grinning, happy: it was like a meeting of the indie clans (or as Dave put it, an indie retirement party). There was an after party, in the after hours pub, the Myddleton, but I was falling asleep at the table and we ended up splashing out on a black cab home, which gave us a rather whopping £12 discount after the guy went the wrong way around Islington. You don't get that in an uber.
Racing for love out on the racing track
Yesterday, we went on the March For Europe. The colours of the sky and the sun were Euro-friendly. The speakers talked about their pride of being European and loving the EU. I feel neither of these things, I am definitely English (snobbish, reserved), and the EU is hardly perfect, but the failing, flailing attempts to leave it are horrifying and the non-economic knock-on effects: racism, problems in Northern Ireland, Nigel Farage being happy, are not worth it. Alastair Campbell's speech was annoyingly good, although his comments about the lies of the right wing press were somwhat ironic given that New Lab did all they could to cosy up to Murdoch and Big Media. David Lammy spoke and it was all the crowd could do to stop itself from dragging him off the stage and into a new Labour leadership contest.
