Weird.
Sunday, 1. June 2008, 19:59:54
This has been a weird weekend.
I was going to go to a friend's birthday party on the Friday, but had to give it a miss due to the world's most stupid sports injury. So that was a shame. I had a constriction injury on my knee, caused by a badly fitting sock. Injured by a 45cm long piece of fabric - proof of "stupid design", if you needed it.
Things were a lot better on Saturday though. I was in London again, on my way to see this show, which the company I work for had gotten us tickets for. I went partly because of some curiosity about the show, and partly to see people from where I work. Our company is spread across three sites, and I'm on one of the smallest of the sites, in Crawley. In fact, I was the only one from Crawley to go, so it was a work do, but didn't feel like a work do at all because I didn't know many of the people there.
I'd arranged to meet my colleague Samantha (Sam) for coffee before the show, and we met at the First Out Café Bar in Soho. It's round the back of the Centre Point building and about 100 metres from the the theatre, which was useful. First Out Café is also the only gay café I've ever heard of, which was cool, although there were a couple of straight people in there kissing, which at lunch time is just offensive... not because it's a gay café, but because people kissing anywhere at lunchtime is just plain annoying.
The show was “We Will Rock You,”, this cheesy excuse to play a lot of Queen songs and make a big pile of money. They have this flimsy excuse for a story to play the songs too. On the whole the show was fun, but I was a bit disappointed with it as well. I thought that the scripted parts should have been cheesier and camper, and I was annoyed by the way they had changed the lyrics in the Queen songs (sacrilege, surely). And I don't care how good they may be, but nobody can do Freddie Mercury the way Freddie Mercury did. But it's not a bad show, just not a show that you have to see before you die.
Sam and I left the show and went to wander round London, looking for somewhere to eat. We ended up at this Italian restaurant somewhere in Holborn (Trattoria Verdi, in Southampton Row). The food was reasonable and the table service was good – and all the staff were real Italians too! After that we took a nice unscheduled walk around Aldwych, before meeting Sam's husband Griff in The Crown pub, Oxford Street for a couple of Britneys. All very civilised.
I could have gone home after that, at about 10.30, but I really wanted another drink and I craved the company of sapphists, so I headed to the Candy Bar in Soho. But the Candy Bar wanted £6 to get in. I was of the opinion that that price would have been fine if I was with friends out for a night, but just for a solo-mission end of the night nigthcap was probably a little bit steep, so I headed into Soho in search of somewhere less pricey, arriving at the Admiral Duncan at about 11. The AD is one of the best known venues in London. I've never been in because it's mostly a guys' venue, but it was free so I ventured in. Then I went outside to stand on the pavement and talk to people there.
On the pavement outside the Admiral Duncan I met someone who I hadn't seen for about 10 years. And he remembers my ex. And he tells me that the Clarence Hotel in Bedford closed down years ago and Russell and Abdou left, and that the Barleymow is now being run by lesbians (that's probably not a bad thing), and that he really, really, remembers my ex very very well, and is pretty glad that she's my ex now.
So, anyway, eventually the bar closed, and I went back to the underground. There was a big party going on on the London underground – the new mayor of London has banned alcohol from the 1st of June, so the London party scene responded by having a huge party on the circle line on the 31st. Excellent. I didn't go to the party but on the streets above we knew that it was going on, and then they closed the underground down, and all the boys in blue disappeared from the streets to go keep an eye on the Circle Line, heh heh heh. I drifted round Soho, talking to and being talked to by tipsy strangers, chancers and just the lost. I got chatting with this (straight) South African girl, who had weekend objectives. Hers were to get a picture of a police officer, which was thwarted slightly by the dearth of coppers on the surface. Mine, incidentally, were to get the phone numbers of two women*, and the nice lady generously helped by giving me hers. I told her I'd text on Monday to see how she did, but I'll probably forget, or chicken out, or something.
Then I met this other guy with a weekend objective: he was a psychotherapist, but is retraining as a film producer. He needed to someone to be his muse, had been talking to people all evening, and just happened to spot me. He wanted to talk to me because I look different to most people... telling a woman she looks different is probably one of the easiest ways to get her to talk to you, as it appeals straight to one's vanity, does it not? We ended up sitting in some doorway smoking cigarettes and discussing Kierkegaard, which is a pretty unusual way to end an evening.
Oh, the fripperies you indulge in when you alone.
I got me this Heart Rate Monitor watch on Sunday, on a whim. I really wanted to go work-out in the afternoon, but my knee isn't 100% yet so I'm resting until tomorrow – I've a 7 mile run with my running buddy scheduled. Instead I monitored my heart rate for sitting around the house. It is about 60 for sitting around, rising to 70 when caffeinated. About 90 – 100 for cleaning the kitchen, shooting up to 130 when I run up the stairs. There are two flights to run up to get to my room.
It's currently 57.
Sussex House in Crawley, one of the town's most important eyesores, has been demolished. It's all gone now, but last week this much was left. It's being redeveloped as shiny new soulless boxes and mindless consumer outlets, which is something to look forward to.
*Set by Rick, following the England - USA 2 - 0 result on Wednesday.
I was going to go to a friend's birthday party on the Friday, but had to give it a miss due to the world's most stupid sports injury. So that was a shame. I had a constriction injury on my knee, caused by a badly fitting sock. Injured by a 45cm long piece of fabric - proof of "stupid design", if you needed it.
Things were a lot better on Saturday though. I was in London again, on my way to see this show, which the company I work for had gotten us tickets for. I went partly because of some curiosity about the show, and partly to see people from where I work. Our company is spread across three sites, and I'm on one of the smallest of the sites, in Crawley. In fact, I was the only one from Crawley to go, so it was a work do, but didn't feel like a work do at all because I didn't know many of the people there.
I'd arranged to meet my colleague Samantha (Sam) for coffee before the show, and we met at the First Out Café Bar in Soho. It's round the back of the Centre Point building and about 100 metres from the the theatre, which was useful. First Out Café is also the only gay café I've ever heard of, which was cool, although there were a couple of straight people in there kissing, which at lunch time is just offensive... not because it's a gay café, but because people kissing anywhere at lunchtime is just plain annoying.
The show was “We Will Rock You,”, this cheesy excuse to play a lot of Queen songs and make a big pile of money. They have this flimsy excuse for a story to play the songs too. On the whole the show was fun, but I was a bit disappointed with it as well. I thought that the scripted parts should have been cheesier and camper, and I was annoyed by the way they had changed the lyrics in the Queen songs (sacrilege, surely). And I don't care how good they may be, but nobody can do Freddie Mercury the way Freddie Mercury did. But it's not a bad show, just not a show that you have to see before you die.
Sam and I left the show and went to wander round London, looking for somewhere to eat. We ended up at this Italian restaurant somewhere in Holborn (Trattoria Verdi, in Southampton Row). The food was reasonable and the table service was good – and all the staff were real Italians too! After that we took a nice unscheduled walk around Aldwych, before meeting Sam's husband Griff in The Crown pub, Oxford Street for a couple of Britneys. All very civilised.
I could have gone home after that, at about 10.30, but I really wanted another drink and I craved the company of sapphists, so I headed to the Candy Bar in Soho. But the Candy Bar wanted £6 to get in. I was of the opinion that that price would have been fine if I was with friends out for a night, but just for a solo-mission end of the night nigthcap was probably a little bit steep, so I headed into Soho in search of somewhere less pricey, arriving at the Admiral Duncan at about 11. The AD is one of the best known venues in London. I've never been in because it's mostly a guys' venue, but it was free so I ventured in. Then I went outside to stand on the pavement and talk to people there.
On the pavement outside the Admiral Duncan I met someone who I hadn't seen for about 10 years. And he remembers my ex. And he tells me that the Clarence Hotel in Bedford closed down years ago and Russell and Abdou left, and that the Barleymow is now being run by lesbians (that's probably not a bad thing), and that he really, really, remembers my ex very very well, and is pretty glad that she's my ex now.
So, anyway, eventually the bar closed, and I went back to the underground. There was a big party going on on the London underground – the new mayor of London has banned alcohol from the 1st of June, so the London party scene responded by having a huge party on the circle line on the 31st. Excellent. I didn't go to the party but on the streets above we knew that it was going on, and then they closed the underground down, and all the boys in blue disappeared from the streets to go keep an eye on the Circle Line, heh heh heh. I drifted round Soho, talking to and being talked to by tipsy strangers, chancers and just the lost. I got chatting with this (straight) South African girl, who had weekend objectives. Hers were to get a picture of a police officer, which was thwarted slightly by the dearth of coppers on the surface. Mine, incidentally, were to get the phone numbers of two women*, and the nice lady generously helped by giving me hers. I told her I'd text on Monday to see how she did, but I'll probably forget, or chicken out, or something.
Then I met this other guy with a weekend objective: he was a psychotherapist, but is retraining as a film producer. He needed to someone to be his muse, had been talking to people all evening, and just happened to spot me. He wanted to talk to me because I look different to most people... telling a woman she looks different is probably one of the easiest ways to get her to talk to you, as it appeals straight to one's vanity, does it not? We ended up sitting in some doorway smoking cigarettes and discussing Kierkegaard, which is a pretty unusual way to end an evening.
Oh, the fripperies you indulge in when you alone.
I got me this Heart Rate Monitor watch on Sunday, on a whim. I really wanted to go work-out in the afternoon, but my knee isn't 100% yet so I'm resting until tomorrow – I've a 7 mile run with my running buddy scheduled. Instead I monitored my heart rate for sitting around the house. It is about 60 for sitting around, rising to 70 when caffeinated. About 90 – 100 for cleaning the kitchen, shooting up to 130 when I run up the stairs. There are two flights to run up to get to my room.
It's currently 57.
Sussex House in Crawley, one of the town's most important eyesores, has been demolished. It's all gone now, but last week this much was left. It's being redeveloped as shiny new soulless boxes and mindless consumer outlets, which is something to look forward to.
*Set by Rick, following the England - USA 2 - 0 result on Wednesday.
WIDGETIZE