Casualty
Rush hour, way home, on the train. Phone rings. Don't recognise the number so I don't answer it. Message from someone saying Bails had an accident. Agreed to meet at the hospital. North Middlesex. Arrived at the A&E department. Bails had not come in yet. Sitting waiting - sign said 3 hours. Man with a painful stomach is hunched over, his head on his hands on the back of the chair. His wife is sitting silently next to him. His son (who I suspect has the wheels) is chatting to a different patient and his girlfriend. I presume they are friends. The waiting is excruitiating. The son keeps sneaking into the restricted area and coming back with reports. Two women sit chatting loudly, laughing. Can't tell which one is the potential patient. Lots of people are using their mobile phones, even though there are signs all over the place forbidding it. Eventually I am too restless to stay sitting down anymore and stand in the queue again to ask whether Bails has been booked in yet. At first they say not but subsequently it turns out she is here.
8.00pm. Inside the restricted area there are curtained off cubicles and a central station. Its not like ER. Not quite like Casualty either. There is no sense of urgency. Lots of student doctors in strange smart outfits. Every once and a while someone gets up to see one of the patients in their curtained area. It seems that the doctors wear stethescopes. Nursing staff don't.
Bails has hurt her back in a gym accident. Some kind of weight lifting accident. She's lying still on the gurney. Stretchered in.
10.45pm. No doctor has come to make an assessment of Bails' case as yet. I ask the nurse at the station if there is a queue and if so where are we on it. She is irritated by me and looks at me accusingly. She grudgingly looks up the list of patients. 2 ahead of us. Other people who were waiting with me outside come and go. One of the female doctors looks like she has been up for 24 hours straight. Huge bags under her eyes. Grouchy demeanor.
12.15am. I decide to ask again where we are in the queue. Next it turns out. Took an hour and a half to see 2 patients. One of the other nurses asks whether anyone has been to see Bails yet. No I say, with some irritation showing. Its now late, I haven't had any supper. Finally at 12.30 the doctor comes and asks lots of quetsions. Bails is sent for an x-ray. X-ray comes back and 3 doctors stand around looking it it. One noticies a fracture. Everyone shows a degree more urgency. This is a serious injury. Shouldn't have been left for 4 hours on the trolley. Finally a doctor is assigned, Bails is fully assessed and admitted to the trauma ward. Its 2am.
Sunday, 15 November 2009
Friday, 13 November 2009
Public information messages
Please be considerate to your fellow passengers and keep personal audio music and mobile phone conversations to a minimum.
Weird old fashioned messages on the train. Why is it that announcements and messages always feel rather out of date? I wonder if the man who used to do the announcements at New Cross is still there - a suprisingly tiny neat man with a voice from the 50s. I hardly ever refer to my mobile phone any more - mostly just phone, occassionally mobile, never together.
I follow a guitar player, girl with a hockey stick, and a tall man with very short legs, off the train at London Bridge. Its a bit chilly today - first day of the year when that I've put on gloves. Definitely winter now - although the garden isn't quite up with the season - still have hardy geraniums, roses, and the occasional rock rose bloom, one left over japanese anemone blossom.
Please be considerate to your fellow passengers and keep personal audio music and mobile phone conversations to a minimum.
Weird old fashioned messages on the train. Why is it that announcements and messages always feel rather out of date? I wonder if the man who used to do the announcements at New Cross is still there - a suprisingly tiny neat man with a voice from the 50s. I hardly ever refer to my mobile phone any more - mostly just phone, occassionally mobile, never together.
I follow a guitar player, girl with a hockey stick, and a tall man with very short legs, off the train at London Bridge. Its a bit chilly today - first day of the year when that I've put on gloves. Definitely winter now - although the garden isn't quite up with the season - still have hardy geraniums, roses, and the occasional rock rose bloom, one left over japanese anemone blossom.
Tuesday, 10 November 2009
Shoe Sizing
A woman on the tube had a pair of boots still in their box. Black 41 written on it. That's my size. Back in the days when they first introduced European sizing to Dolcis (shoe shop of choice when I was at school) I used to wear a size 40. This was equivalent to a 7. It turns out that that is actually closer to a 6 and a half, so they round it down to a 6. A 7 is now a 41. Gargantuan feet.
A woman on the tube had a pair of boots still in their box. Black 41 written on it. That's my size. Back in the days when they first introduced European sizing to Dolcis (shoe shop of choice when I was at school) I used to wear a size 40. This was equivalent to a 7. It turns out that that is actually closer to a 6 and a half, so they round it down to a 6. A 7 is now a 41. Gargantuan feet.
Sunday, 8 November 2009
Chores
Gross jobs I did today:
Things I was using to keep my mind of the dirty jobs:
After dark it was cold and misty - perfect Guy Fawkes weather. The smell of bonfires and fireworks hung in the air. Constant boom and fizz of fireworks exploding, sometimes the whistle of a rocket.
Gross jobs I did today:
- Picked up dead rat from the lawn (cup of tea, wandering around the garden as I like to do on a Saturday morning, horror as I came across a rat carcass - probably the prey of a local cat or perhaps fox). Shovelled it into a bin bag while trying to control my gag reflex.
- Unclogged the bathtub plug-hole (I have long hair that comes out in the wash). It looks like one or two hairs but when you pull them out there is always a huge clod on the end that has to be dragged up. More controlling the gag reflex. I'm getting quite good at it.
- Cleaned the wheelie bin. I noticed there were rice grains in the bottom of the bin, then realised they were wriggling around - maggots - ugh. Sometimes the bin doesn't get emptied properly. Ninja gag reflex control. I am a black belt. Nothing will make me puke today.
Things I was using to keep my mind of the dirty jobs:
- Fox sunning itself on my neighbour's shed roof.
- Beautifully golden orange leaves of the Japanese weeping cherry.
- Roses still in bud, in November - it doesn't seem normal.
After dark it was cold and misty - perfect Guy Fawkes weather. The smell of bonfires and fireworks hung in the air. Constant boom and fizz of fireworks exploding, sometimes the whistle of a rocket.
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Halloween Party
A party - haven't been to a party for some time - the day brightened up and was unseasonably mild for the time of year. Perfect for an outdoor party with a fire. Hosts have a firepit in which they were burning wooden palettes - making a raging heat, kept getting that fire burn thing - hot on one side and cold on the other. Then the fireworks were let off from the garden wall. Home fireworks displays always seem a little dangerous - but they all went off without event. First fireworks of the year. OOO, Ahhh, ooo.
(and one of Bails, for Harry, thrown in)
A party - haven't been to a party for some time - the day brightened up and was unseasonably mild for the time of year. Perfect for an outdoor party with a fire. Hosts have a firepit in which they were burning wooden palettes - making a raging heat, kept getting that fire burn thing - hot on one side and cold on the other. Then the fireworks were let off from the garden wall. Home fireworks displays always seem a little dangerous - but they all went off without event. First fireworks of the year. OOO, Ahhh, ooo.
(and one of Bails, for Harry, thrown in)
Monday, 12 October 2009
Smoke Firing Course
Weekend course delivered by Jane Perryman. Drove over to Suffolk - heavy rain. Leaves of gold and red. We took bisqued pieces ready for smoking (10cm or 25cm limit in size).
We did 4 different types of firing over the weekend. Gave a good idea of what can be achieved.
For the black saggar firing we prep'd pieces by doing some wax resist, wrapping in tin foil and piercing it, wrapping with string - all ways of resisting the smoke. Pieces were then further wrapped in tissue paper and packed into old paint tins, gaps filled with sawdust. Lids were then put on tightly and they were packed into a gas kiln and fired over night to 900 degrees.
My favourite result was from the pierced tin foil resist. Still had a bit of white clay showing through, smoking was very dark.
Saggar firing with salts was the only firing that introduced some colour. We prep'd half the peices by soaking them in a salt solution for an hour (water, table salt dissolved until the water would not hold any more. These pieces were then dried. Again we prep'd peices with resists - wax resist, string. Pieces could also be wrapped with copper wire, we put in some seaweed (some I wrapped over the pot with copper wire). Copper carbonate was liberally dusted over the pots as we packed them into metal and ceramic saggars along with more table salt. These saggars were more loosely packed with sawdust. Lidded but with a gap and packed into a gas kiln. Fired overnight to 900.
Liked the colours and flashing this produced. Dramatic. Really liked the lines made by the copper wire as well.
The results of the overnight smoke firing were not very exciting on my pots (mostly just black) but on other people's they had some interesting flashing from the smoke and resisted by digging parts of the pots into sand. It was a fairly dramatic firing though - lots of fire, later lots of smoke. Huge kiln to fire in - lots of pots all together. Fast firing however, did get me some drama. Pots were treated with resists again - resist slip was used this time - prep'd the day before the firing so the slip could dry thoroughly. I wrapped pots with string, feathers and honesty seeds and painted over resist slip. Where the slip was the smoke was resisted, and where there was other material the smoke from it burning was localised. The firing was done in metal bins or braziers packed with newspapers loosely scrunched and fired until the paper burned out (about 20 mins).
All pots were washed and cleaned off and shined up using beeswax polish.
Weekend course delivered by Jane Perryman. Drove over to Suffolk - heavy rain. Leaves of gold and red. We took bisqued pieces ready for smoking (10cm or 25cm limit in size).
We did 4 different types of firing over the weekend. Gave a good idea of what can be achieved.
- saggar firing - black
- saggar firing - salt
- sawdust firing - overnight
- fast smoke firing
For the black saggar firing we prep'd pieces by doing some wax resist, wrapping in tin foil and piercing it, wrapping with string - all ways of resisting the smoke. Pieces were then further wrapped in tissue paper and packed into old paint tins, gaps filled with sawdust. Lids were then put on tightly and they were packed into a gas kiln and fired over night to 900 degrees.
My favourite result was from the pierced tin foil resist. Still had a bit of white clay showing through, smoking was very dark.
Saggar firing with salts was the only firing that introduced some colour. We prep'd half the peices by soaking them in a salt solution for an hour (water, table salt dissolved until the water would not hold any more. These pieces were then dried. Again we prep'd peices with resists - wax resist, string. Pieces could also be wrapped with copper wire, we put in some seaweed (some I wrapped over the pot with copper wire). Copper carbonate was liberally dusted over the pots as we packed them into metal and ceramic saggars along with more table salt. These saggars were more loosely packed with sawdust. Lidded but with a gap and packed into a gas kiln. Fired overnight to 900.
Liked the colours and flashing this produced. Dramatic. Really liked the lines made by the copper wire as well.
The results of the overnight smoke firing were not very exciting on my pots (mostly just black) but on other people's they had some interesting flashing from the smoke and resisted by digging parts of the pots into sand. It was a fairly dramatic firing though - lots of fire, later lots of smoke. Huge kiln to fire in - lots of pots all together. Fast firing however, did get me some drama. Pots were treated with resists again - resist slip was used this time - prep'd the day before the firing so the slip could dry thoroughly. I wrapped pots with string, feathers and honesty seeds and painted over resist slip. Where the slip was the smoke was resisted, and where there was other material the smoke from it burning was localised. The firing was done in metal bins or braziers packed with newspapers loosely scrunched and fired until the paper burned out (about 20 mins).
All pots were washed and cleaned off and shined up using beeswax polish.
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
Friday, 25 September 2009
Friday Afternoon
Its been a long week.
Wednesday we had a fire evacuation - whole building trooped out. Escape stairs are a bit narrow so we on the third floor had to wait until the 1st and 2nd floors had already got out (think we would have been toast if it was a raging fire). We mustered under the third floor mustering point - a person holding a placard (printed page stuck onto a bit of cardboard box duct taped onto a broom handle) reading 3rd floor mustering. It turned out that someone on the third floor had been making toast. It set off the fire alarm. We were reminded of the protocols of the office on our return.
Friday mid-morning the community sports team landed to do their admin. Mostly this meant chatting [up the admin girls from community safety team], sitting on tables, bantering and generally causing a commotion. Their presence in proximity to the females caused other males who normally have priority to saunter over and flex their muscles. I wasn't sure which group were dominant in the end. We, the grumpy women, watching the spectacle decided we needed one of those signs that they used to have at the swimming baths - no running, diving or bombing, no heavy petting - illustrated appropriately. It would only need minor alternations to make it appropriate to the office.
Its been a long week.
Wednesday we had a fire evacuation - whole building trooped out. Escape stairs are a bit narrow so we on the third floor had to wait until the 1st and 2nd floors had already got out (think we would have been toast if it was a raging fire). We mustered under the third floor mustering point - a person holding a placard (printed page stuck onto a bit of cardboard box duct taped onto a broom handle) reading 3rd floor mustering. It turned out that someone on the third floor had been making toast. It set off the fire alarm. We were reminded of the protocols of the office on our return.
Friday mid-morning the community sports team landed to do their admin. Mostly this meant chatting [up the admin girls from community safety team], sitting on tables, bantering and generally causing a commotion. Their presence in proximity to the females caused other males who normally have priority to saunter over and flex their muscles. I wasn't sure which group were dominant in the end. We, the grumpy women, watching the spectacle decided we needed one of those signs that they used to have at the swimming baths - no running, diving or bombing, no heavy petting - illustrated appropriately. It would only need minor alternations to make it appropriate to the office.
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
Oxo Tower
Celebrating Susanna's birthday at the Oxo Tower Restaurant. We ordered a round of margaritas, unusually muddied with pineapple, fragrant but still sharp, served in wide-mouthed long stemmed glasses with salted edges. Weird foody word associations - french knickers - my instant thought. Gallery Lafayette, Paris, flesh tone net with black embroidery and scalloped edges, transparent and dainty.
All the courses were served on square dishes in groupings of three, drizzled, trailed or dotted with dressings, sauces or foam. Carefully chosen and blended flavours.
The table next to us ordered the to-share souffle. The dessert serving waiter held the spoon of walnut ice cream against the warm crown so it melted enough to slide off the spoon when thrust into the body of the pudding. Leather trousers - always suggestible and sexual, however they are worn. Normally raising concerns about them uncleaned for their lifetime able to stand on their own in a corner. Once - there was an Australian with blond dreadlocks, leather trousers, very forward in the Coal Hole on the strand. One of the first days that pubs were open all day from 11.00am. Eleanor, Gavin and I in there early. Met the Australian. He rubbed his foot up and down my calf under the table. Ages later, dark, he dragged me outside, snogging on the doorstep - the doorman told us to move on. We snogged all the way back to Acton Town, up to his flat over a shop...
Celebrating Susanna's birthday at the Oxo Tower Restaurant. We ordered a round of margaritas, unusually muddied with pineapple, fragrant but still sharp, served in wide-mouthed long stemmed glasses with salted edges. Weird foody word associations - french knickers - my instant thought. Gallery Lafayette, Paris, flesh tone net with black embroidery and scalloped edges, transparent and dainty.
All the courses were served on square dishes in groupings of three, drizzled, trailed or dotted with dressings, sauces or foam. Carefully chosen and blended flavours.
The table next to us ordered the to-share souffle. The dessert serving waiter held the spoon of walnut ice cream against the warm crown so it melted enough to slide off the spoon when thrust into the body of the pudding. Leather trousers - always suggestible and sexual, however they are worn. Normally raising concerns about them uncleaned for their lifetime able to stand on their own in a corner. Once - there was an Australian with blond dreadlocks, leather trousers, very forward in the Coal Hole on the strand. One of the first days that pubs were open all day from 11.00am. Eleanor, Gavin and I in there early. Met the Australian. He rubbed his foot up and down my calf under the table. Ages later, dark, he dragged me outside, snogging on the doorstep - the doorman told us to move on. We snogged all the way back to Acton Town, up to his flat over a shop...
Saturday, 19 September 2009
Annoying all the neighbours
Actually scratch that, all the annoying neighbours is really the title of the post.
Warm weather in Autumn is lovely. Great opportunity for clearing up the garden, giving it some attention before it all starts to fall for the winter. Chinese neighbours across the garden are having a kareoke party. They start praticing early to get in good voice. Luckily for them they all sing as well as one another - nobody will feel they must hold back because they have a worse singing voice than the others. Unfortunately for us, they all sing incredibly badly. And they like to sing through a microphone so it floats across all the gardens. Cruxifying candles in the wind, careless whisper, strangely country roads, and numerous power ballads which were not quite recognisable.
My next door neighbours (family of women, nan, mum, three sisters, one boyfriend and a granddaughter) were having one of their tidy-the-house saturdays which end in a roast dinner cooked by or advised by nan. The sisters have tantrums, even though they are old enough to know better. They also have a dog who comes in for a lot of stick - always being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Eventually I mowed the lawn to get some peace and quiet.
Actually scratch that, all the annoying neighbours is really the title of the post.
Warm weather in Autumn is lovely. Great opportunity for clearing up the garden, giving it some attention before it all starts to fall for the winter. Chinese neighbours across the garden are having a kareoke party. They start praticing early to get in good voice. Luckily for them they all sing as well as one another - nobody will feel they must hold back because they have a worse singing voice than the others. Unfortunately for us, they all sing incredibly badly. And they like to sing through a microphone so it floats across all the gardens. Cruxifying candles in the wind, careless whisper, strangely country roads, and numerous power ballads which were not quite recognisable.
My next door neighbours (family of women, nan, mum, three sisters, one boyfriend and a granddaughter) were having one of their tidy-the-house saturdays which end in a roast dinner cooked by or advised by nan. The sisters have tantrums, even though they are old enough to know better. They also have a dog who comes in for a lot of stick - always being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Eventually I mowed the lawn to get some peace and quiet.
Tuesday, 15 September 2009
Grey Day
It was grey when I woke up. Grey continuing as I left for work. Raining by the time I got into the office. Not enough light to make me wake up fully or shake off the slight depression that inhabited my head since awaking. Drops spattered on the window of the office. Canary Wharf disappearing into a misty grey gloom. Coming home it was dark at 6.30. Getting off the train on the way home it started to rain, heavy thick rain like buckets of water being chucked out the window. Drenched. Drowned rat. Glad to be back home but hoping that going to bed early will clear the fug. Autumn is here.
It was grey when I woke up. Grey continuing as I left for work. Raining by the time I got into the office. Not enough light to make me wake up fully or shake off the slight depression that inhabited my head since awaking. Drops spattered on the window of the office. Canary Wharf disappearing into a misty grey gloom. Coming home it was dark at 6.30. Getting off the train on the way home it started to rain, heavy thick rain like buckets of water being chucked out the window. Drenched. Drowned rat. Glad to be back home but hoping that going to bed early will clear the fug. Autumn is here.
Monday, 14 September 2009
Lost post
Flawed plans - forgotten notebook, scrawled the latest rambling on the back of a receipt. Something about the joys of teenage humour, two boys/youths having an elongated private joke which made me laugh but I can't remember how it went now because I screwed up all the old receipts that were floating about in my bag's wallet pocket (where I keep said wallet and change purse and USB sticks and keys) when it started feeling like drowning in little papers. Forgetting that the latest post, of which there haven't been many, was scrawled on the back of one of them. Tossed. Lost.
Flawed plans - forgotten notebook, scrawled the latest rambling on the back of a receipt. Something about the joys of teenage humour, two boys/youths having an elongated private joke which made me laugh but I can't remember how it went now because I screwed up all the old receipts that were floating about in my bag's wallet pocket (where I keep said wallet and change purse and USB sticks and keys) when it started feeling like drowning in little papers. Forgetting that the latest post, of which there haven't been many, was scrawled on the back of one of them. Tossed. Lost.
Friday, 28 August 2009
Stormy
Today was the sort of day that I speak to the boyfiend and he is having torrential rain and I'm having glorious sunshine even though we're in the same city but on different sides of the river.
On my way home I'm on the train that goes overground to London Bridge - good view across the London towards the North. I can see a huge traingle of dark grey cloud and in the distance over Parliament it looks like rain - misty downward lines. Round the edges is golden sunshine. Off the train walking through the station it starts raining so hard its coming through the roof and raining onto the platforms, hammering down. Standing under the bus terminous outside the station there is a downpour on one side and one of the steeling grey skys lit by bright sunshine on the other. Two rainbows form - a bright clear well defined one tightly arching and a feint one arching over it.
Nearly home at Bruce Grove the light has dropped even though it is an hour or more before dusk, the sky is dark dark grey with that weird yellow electricity tinge. I'll be lucky to get home before the deluge. I run to catch the bus, the driver kindly waits for me. As we set off a crack of lightning flashes across the underside of the clouds. And again later on. I worry about lightning striking the dead tree in my neighbour's neighbour's back yard. Before I get off the bus huge drops of hot rain start to fall. The ground is quickly soaked, puddles form fast. I get in just before I'm drenched.
Today was the sort of day that I speak to the boyfiend and he is having torrential rain and I'm having glorious sunshine even though we're in the same city but on different sides of the river.
On my way home I'm on the train that goes overground to London Bridge - good view across the London towards the North. I can see a huge traingle of dark grey cloud and in the distance over Parliament it looks like rain - misty downward lines. Round the edges is golden sunshine. Off the train walking through the station it starts raining so hard its coming through the roof and raining onto the platforms, hammering down. Standing under the bus terminous outside the station there is a downpour on one side and one of the steeling grey skys lit by bright sunshine on the other. Two rainbows form - a bright clear well defined one tightly arching and a feint one arching over it.
Nearly home at Bruce Grove the light has dropped even though it is an hour or more before dusk, the sky is dark dark grey with that weird yellow electricity tinge. I'll be lucky to get home before the deluge. I run to catch the bus, the driver kindly waits for me. As we set off a crack of lightning flashes across the underside of the clouds. And again later on. I worry about lightning striking the dead tree in my neighbour's neighbour's back yard. Before I get off the bus huge drops of hot rain start to fall. The ground is quickly soaked, puddles form fast. I get in just before I'm drenched.
Sunday, 23 August 2009
Recording Life
20th century had an explosion in the mechanisms for ordinary folk to record their lives - the sepia studio photos of our grandparents (with running trophies, with siblings in white dresses with wide black sashes, wedding photos of the bride and groom); 8mm film of funny family events (funny smiling people running round in strange environments, dark colours, oddly flat); photograph albums (poorly labeled square photos with white edges, scratched, curling - mum as a child swimming in a pond wearing a woollen swimsuit, young dad leaning proudly leaning against his first car - reportedly dark and light green with chrome, or standing next to his plane in the navy, granny as a girl with long hair in ribbons, babies from all over the family, graduation pictures, yellowing and fading photos from the 70s - slightly too short flares and fake fur jackets); slides (dreaded grandad slide shows of a variety of badly-composed groups of relatives on their trips to South Africa, interspersed with pictures of the local flora, grandfather in his shorts safari suit, aunties and uncles with their feet, head or half the group chopped off the edge of the frame). This was the heyday of capturing the family's history. There are still enthusiasts from whom you can pick up a slide projector to see the old stuff. The photograph albums are tangible weighty tomes dragged out for viewing together, old stories oft told entering into the folklore of family.
Now everything is digital, throw-away, kept on the computer. I'm worried that we will loose a mass of social history because we don't back up our data well enough, or we hate all the images and trash them, or the computer busts and we loose it all, or the media will become obsolete and therefore un-accessible. I forget how nice photograph albums are.
20th century had an explosion in the mechanisms for ordinary folk to record their lives - the sepia studio photos of our grandparents (with running trophies, with siblings in white dresses with wide black sashes, wedding photos of the bride and groom); 8mm film of funny family events (funny smiling people running round in strange environments, dark colours, oddly flat); photograph albums (poorly labeled square photos with white edges, scratched, curling - mum as a child swimming in a pond wearing a woollen swimsuit, young dad leaning proudly leaning against his first car - reportedly dark and light green with chrome, or standing next to his plane in the navy, granny as a girl with long hair in ribbons, babies from all over the family, graduation pictures, yellowing and fading photos from the 70s - slightly too short flares and fake fur jackets); slides (dreaded grandad slide shows of a variety of badly-composed groups of relatives on their trips to South Africa, interspersed with pictures of the local flora, grandfather in his shorts safari suit, aunties and uncles with their feet, head or half the group chopped off the edge of the frame). This was the heyday of capturing the family's history. There are still enthusiasts from whom you can pick up a slide projector to see the old stuff. The photograph albums are tangible weighty tomes dragged out for viewing together, old stories oft told entering into the folklore of family.
Now everything is digital, throw-away, kept on the computer. I'm worried that we will loose a mass of social history because we don't back up our data well enough, or we hate all the images and trash them, or the computer busts and we loose it all, or the media will become obsolete and therefore un-accessible. I forget how nice photograph albums are.
Thursday, 20 August 2009
Cycling
London's serious cyclists stream past the bus stop - all Lycra clad, rucksacks, go-faster-helmets, some with rear view mirrors on, courier bags, reflective strips, single speeds, panniers, cleats. Then a girl rides past on a sit-up-and-beg bike wearing a summer dress that is wafting up in the wind so you can see her knickers. A bit 70's flake advert.
London's serious cyclists stream past the bus stop - all Lycra clad, rucksacks, go-faster-helmets, some with rear view mirrors on, courier bags, reflective strips, single speeds, panniers, cleats. Then a girl rides past on a sit-up-and-beg bike wearing a summer dress that is wafting up in the wind so you can see her knickers. A bit 70's flake advert.
Tuesday, 18 August 2009
Age Appropriate Activities
I think I'm going to die. I will be 40 next year and I've just spent lunchtime in the canteen at the Unicorn Theatre listening to a 50 year old talk to a 41 year old about getting older (this did include divulging their ages). The 50 year old was talking about clinging to his 20s in the past but now does the garden and other age appropriate activities. He still manages to get to a few gigs each year, but nothing in comparison to the number he used to go to. I look at them and they look like adults. Grown up people, who have proper magazine houses and perfectly organised lives. Adult in a way I don't think I am. I don't feel I look like them at all. I'm probably deluding myself. 41 year old was waxing lyrical about her weekend spent travelling down memory lane in Wakefield, old haunts, B&Bs... I hope I never get that old.
I think I'm going to die. I will be 40 next year and I've just spent lunchtime in the canteen at the Unicorn Theatre listening to a 50 year old talk to a 41 year old about getting older (this did include divulging their ages). The 50 year old was talking about clinging to his 20s in the past but now does the garden and other age appropriate activities. He still manages to get to a few gigs each year, but nothing in comparison to the number he used to go to. I look at them and they look like adults. Grown up people, who have proper magazine houses and perfectly organised lives. Adult in a way I don't think I am. I don't feel I look like them at all. I'm probably deluding myself. 41 year old was waxing lyrical about her weekend spent travelling down memory lane in Wakefield, old haunts, B&Bs... I hope I never get that old.
Monday, 17 August 2009
Open Plan Working
Plus points: swanky new office near London Bridge - close to Borough Market, better lunchtime eating, clean, new, nice lavs, cool. Negative points: lots more colleagues in an open plan space, many of whom are easily distracted and talk too loudly on the phone and to one another, there's nowhere to hide apart from the toilet.
The Flirt
So many more people, 5 floors of potential. First pass-by the kitchenette he's there at the coffee machine, chatting up some woman. "I thought we had a connection - I'm trying to send you something now..." (fingers on temples, intense thought-transmission stare into her eyes). She wasn't getting it, but seemed to enjoy the gaze. Lunch-time at the lifts, he's there waiting, chatting to another woman about her family (single parent, baby with mother, going on holiday in two weeks). After lunch, he's by the vending machine talking to Miranda...
The Shirker
Hard to hide when you're working in a huge open plan air hanger with 300 desks. Corner of my eye is caught by him popping up over his computer again. Its screen is strangely high - higher than any other. He has ants in his pants, can't sit still for more than 10 minutes. Does lots of printing which requires a trip over to the printing hub. Walks past my desk, comes back with a coffee. Half an hour later, walks past again (could be more coffee, could be a trip to the loo, could be a fag break). By lunchtime there have been at least that number of passbys. After lunch there is time for a bit of desk-visiting around the building with colleagues from the team who are spread around.
Plus points: swanky new office near London Bridge - close to Borough Market, better lunchtime eating, clean, new, nice lavs, cool. Negative points: lots more colleagues in an open plan space, many of whom are easily distracted and talk too loudly on the phone and to one another, there's nowhere to hide apart from the toilet.
The Flirt
So many more people, 5 floors of potential. First pass-by the kitchenette he's there at the coffee machine, chatting up some woman. "I thought we had a connection - I'm trying to send you something now..." (fingers on temples, intense thought-transmission stare into her eyes). She wasn't getting it, but seemed to enjoy the gaze. Lunch-time at the lifts, he's there waiting, chatting to another woman about her family (single parent, baby with mother, going on holiday in two weeks). After lunch, he's by the vending machine talking to Miranda...
The Shirker
Hard to hide when you're working in a huge open plan air hanger with 300 desks. Corner of my eye is caught by him popping up over his computer again. Its screen is strangely high - higher than any other. He has ants in his pants, can't sit still for more than 10 minutes. Does lots of printing which requires a trip over to the printing hub. Walks past my desk, comes back with a coffee. Half an hour later, walks past again (could be more coffee, could be a trip to the loo, could be a fag break). By lunchtime there have been at least that number of passbys. After lunch there is time for a bit of desk-visiting around the building with colleagues from the team who are spread around.
Wednesday, 12 August 2009
Shed
The shed of the previous owners had a certain amount of Little House on the Prairie charm but in the two years that I owned (and neglected) it fell into a state of dilapidation from which it was unsalvagable - what had already been a leaning and vaguely rotting structure, began to loose roofing, shiplaps and got woodworm. It became the home of a local stray cat and a snail haven.
Pops decided to buy me a replacement one for my birthday. I ordered it online. Six weeks for delivery. Instructions said they would only put it up on a level base.
Tore the old one down - wood worms fell out, water sodden and underneath it was propped on broken bits of paving stones. I decided to build a plinth to raise the level up away from the rain. Built it from breeze blocks and bricks. Amateur night bricklaying. I made it as level as I could manager and prayed that they wouldn't look too closely.
Two weeks ago it arrived on the back of a lorry. The driver and his work-placement nephew put it together in 15 minutes. It was very blond pine. In my head I was thinking about Derek Jarman's house in Dungeness - black wood, yellow window frames, sculptures made of rusted metal, driftwood and beach finds. I stained it walnut first - nice but too woody, not dark enough. Over-stained it with black ash. Liked it better but then gave it a second coat. Now its got to be a mini dungeness house.
The shed of the previous owners had a certain amount of Little House on the Prairie charm but in the two years that I owned (and neglected) it fell into a state of dilapidation from which it was unsalvagable - what had already been a leaning and vaguely rotting structure, began to loose roofing, shiplaps and got woodworm. It became the home of a local stray cat and a snail haven.
Pops decided to buy me a replacement one for my birthday. I ordered it online. Six weeks for delivery. Instructions said they would only put it up on a level base.
Tore the old one down - wood worms fell out, water sodden and underneath it was propped on broken bits of paving stones. I decided to build a plinth to raise the level up away from the rain. Built it from breeze blocks and bricks. Amateur night bricklaying. I made it as level as I could manager and prayed that they wouldn't look too closely.
Two weeks ago it arrived on the back of a lorry. The driver and his work-placement nephew put it together in 15 minutes. It was very blond pine. In my head I was thinking about Derek Jarman's house in Dungeness - black wood, yellow window frames, sculptures made of rusted metal, driftwood and beach finds. I stained it walnut first - nice but too woody, not dark enough. Over-stained it with black ash. Liked it better but then gave it a second coat. Now its got to be a mini dungeness house.
Monday, 3 August 2009
Coming Home
After driving home from Northumberland with my Dad, dropping him off at his house (unloading the car of his belongings), I got back home. Stepping through the door it felt alien, not like home at all. The wooden floors were echoey and hard sounding. The place was empty (of people). Closed off to the street (I purposefully have the paper blinds closed at the front windows always). It didn't feel like home. I wasn't sure why that was, perhaps I like having family around me all the time (despite having needed some personal space when I was away with them), perhaps I like a fuller house than it was at that second. Perhaps it was the sense of place. I've felt strangely dislodged on coming back. Drawn to something I have never been drawn to before. Very much enjoyed the sea, walking on the rocks everyday, collecting stuff. Liked the scenery. Liked the sense of freedom (particularly from work I think).
Its taken a week to get back into the swing of regular life. Going back to work wasn't half as bad as I was imagining. Home is starting to feel a bit more homely. The boyfiend is upstairs asleep - I'm waiting for the gasman and my new shed (Dad bought it for me for my birthday last may)...
After driving home from Northumberland with my Dad, dropping him off at his house (unloading the car of his belongings), I got back home. Stepping through the door it felt alien, not like home at all. The wooden floors were echoey and hard sounding. The place was empty (of people). Closed off to the street (I purposefully have the paper blinds closed at the front windows always). It didn't feel like home. I wasn't sure why that was, perhaps I like having family around me all the time (despite having needed some personal space when I was away with them), perhaps I like a fuller house than it was at that second. Perhaps it was the sense of place. I've felt strangely dislodged on coming back. Drawn to something I have never been drawn to before. Very much enjoyed the sea, walking on the rocks everyday, collecting stuff. Liked the scenery. Liked the sense of freedom (particularly from work I think).
Its taken a week to get back into the swing of regular life. Going back to work wasn't half as bad as I was imagining. Home is starting to feel a bit more homely. The boyfiend is upstairs asleep - I'm waiting for the gasman and my new shed (Dad bought it for me for my birthday last may)...
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