go wild in the country…
And after an unforeseen but brief blog hiatus thanks to unforeseen fuckery, it’s business as (almost) usual, and everything is ticking over nicely!
The intervening time has seen a nice walk down to the Tate Modern to see the Expressionists, sadly without Franz Marcs Yellow Cow (but plenty of others to make up for it), followed by my regular evening with Mark Kermode at the BFI; the refits going on at the South Bank have moved this over to the IMAX for the last three months and also the next two (or possibly three) where endless fun can be had while trying to remember how to find the entrance. As is the case every May the big highlight was Eurovision, and I managed to make a pretty good week of it even if I did have to watch some of one and all of the other semi final on catch up (which meant avoiding everything Eurovision related until I had the chance to sit down). Thank God for Iplayer.
The final ended in robbery for Croatia, but as with Finland last year and the UK the year before that, it’s par for the course and Rim Tim Tagi Dim by Baby Lasagna is still getting regular outings on my Spotify. The biggest hit of the night: even after eating half my body weight in hot dogs and chocolate crispies I still managed to leap off the couch for a dance to Crying At The Discoteque by Alcazar leap might be a bit strong.
As of next weekend we’ll be almost in July and the longest day of the year has already been and gone! This last few weeks have seen (amongst other things) this years’ Flamenco Festival at Sadler’s Wells (olé!) plus a razz into town for 90’s crowdpleaser Man Bites Dog at the Prince Charles, and most excitingly of all, my first trip in almost ten years to Champney’s …where I am now.
An unexpected special offer and a definite need for a break having got the moving house, decorating and general twattery out of the way has brought me to Tring, an outpost somewhere between London and Milton Keynes for a bit of R&R. Fellow hayfever sufferers – and mine starts the engine if I see a picture of a lawn – bring pharma. There are actual FIELDS; ones that are next to other fields. Not parks (visible buildings around the periphery, usually a few bins and a seat or two), fields.
Not being a country person the journey was something of a trial; travelling by car is something I do a handful of times a year and never if I can avoid it, but I didn’t fancy a route march through bushes and nettles along the edges of roads the width of the pavement on my street, so grudgingly, a taxi was summoned. I have spent the time since arrival either languishing on a big cushion in my dressing gown or stuffing my face so no real change bar the setting, but not having to do any cooking, cleaning or laundry is worth every penny. I will be back to enjoy the delights of proper infrastructure late tomorrow evening, but some swimming and a sauna first.
To the week ahead; business as usual from Wednesday to Friday and I promise I will no longer smell of pool. Next week will be Monday pm to Thursday only; nobody wants to be in the same room as me when I’ve been up all night (not even me) and election allnighters have been one of my non negotiable mainstays since the days of Peter Snow and the Swingometer. I don’t intend to miss a second of this one.
Song of the Week returns to a disco classic with the magnificent Sylvester, and which I have had on a loop since BBC4’s (oft repeated but who cares) disco night last week. That ought to shake a few avocado smoothies off.
More soon! The relaxation room awaits…
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