two years, two days and two hours…
It’s October!
Well, just. Virtually every seasonal autumn milestone has slid by at some point this last week; the heating has been on, piles of rustly leaves have been kicked when no one was probably looking and I’ve turned back home to put a coat on twice after setting off for the flat and feeling a pretty insistent nip in the air. The other and unrelated milestone of the week – and see title – is that it’s now two whole years since I finally got the keys to the flat – I don’t know where the time goes! One day it might even be finished, although not before HQ which is getting yet another a lick of paint in yet another room over the weekend in the effort to have it all done for Christmas. At least there’s now only one floor missing, and almost no iffy wiring.
This – amongst other things – means that at least a handful of the people reading this I’ve known for far longer than I’d thought – everybody’s settled in frighteningly comfortably and the ease with which I’ve dumped the hotel-train station-airport-hotel-another hotel-train-home for a week (book more trains and hotels)-rinse and repeat routine of the previous few years has surprised even me, even though I was (demonstrably, as anybody who called and caught me at an off moment on the last few trips to Random City #137 will know) completely, totally and miserably sick of it. Long may the Scarborough morning stroll to work with the packed lunch (and especially the return home each day to eat Snack-A-Jacks, watch Mubi and sleep peacefully in a bed whose occupant history I can account for in it’s entirety) continue.
After all the ranting, the next few trips are hurtling into the foreground apace with Sheffield and Celluloid Screams only three weeks away! Two days, one evening and one full night beckon at one of my favourite cinemas and in one of my favourite cities; the all nighter (unmissable for somebody who came of age in the 1980’s when it kicks off with An American Werewolf In London and follows that with The Lost Boys and Teen Wolf) will make availability on the Sunday patchy at the very least (and probably ill-advised for punters to whom it’s important that their puntee remains awake, which certainly isn’t all of them in my experience) but there’s the odd gap, plus the Friday afternoon and then ALL DAY on the Monday before I head for home – yay! See, it’s fun when you were going there anyhow.
London follows a month or so later, and what will be the first trip in two and a half months (since I can’t really count the fun-but-batshit-crazy afternoon shenanigans of last week) is looking likely to be something of an exercise in nostalgia. Proper information will follow when I know it myself, but there’s a clue in the picture and as well as the usual fun and games, a tour around 55 Broadway on the itinerary – woohoo! This will be my last visit before Christmas and without wanting to get too far ahead of ourselves, I can confirm that this years plan will mirror last years in the days immediately after it, although we’ll hopefully be able to give the torrential rain and subsequent flooding a swerve this time round.
Back to local news and following the sad demise of my old cylinder vacuum (which I can only think got irreversibly peeved at having to pick up more and finer dust than any machine could reasonably be expected to, the time I sanded the artex bathroom walls being the chief suspect) we have an unexpected addition to the household! Henry Hoover, with whom I’m slightly besotted after he demonstrated impressive enough pulling power on a wood floor to make me fear for the nails, although he doesn’t corner terribly well and falls over occasionally (a trait with which I sympathise given that it’s one I share, thanks to my crap hearing and resultant dodgy balance). Welcome, Henry.
And for song of the week, more 80’s nostalgia to celebrate both my hard won Pixies ticket, and release of Head Carrier this week. I can’t claim to remember watching this on TV (I would not have forgotten that Fall T-shirt), but if they look this young I can’t imagine what sixteen year old me must have looked like when I went out to buy Doolittle all those years ago. A proper state, more than likely.
More soon!
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