I'm in Suffolk. Have moved three tonnes of crap. Very much in need of 1) More shelving, 2) A car boot sale, 3) The ability to get rid of things I don't need.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Sunday, November 21, 2004
Hangovers and packing
My time in London is now coming to a close, and travelling seems just that bit closer, with a sudden panic over changes of address, packing, visas, plans for next year... things feel like they're coming to a head a bit, and suddenly my settled existence in Arundel Close is nearly over and it's brought home that I might not get to feel settled again for a long time!
I've been reading The Beach to get myself in the mood for travel, but annoyingly I can't get Leonardo di Caprio's face out of my mind, having seen the film first and attaching his face to Richard's character. It's also all wrong that Sal is American and Richard is British in the book, where in the film it was the other way around. Ah well, these are the hazards of seeing the film before the book - the book is so much better than the film.
After two nights out on the trot I am feeling beer fatigue in a major way, but as powerful as the urge is to do nothing for the next 48 hours except watch films and each snack foods, I'm picking up a van tomorrow morning to move all of my worldly possessions back up to Suffolk - where the hell they're going to go in mum's place is yet to be figured out, but I can already hear her complaining about the amount of my junk I've left in the living room, and I'm sure I'll lose the cat under a pile of boxes. Driving the van should be fun though - it takes moving to have an excuse to hire a van, when actually Transits are just great fun to drive!
The last few nights out in London have been great. It seems like at long last, I actually got to appreciate London and how much fun it can be - but maybe that's just nostalgia kicking in in advance, looking back at the last year through rose-tinted specs, when I actually spent most of the last year whingeing about how London was no fun, dirty and expensive, people were rude, the rich kids in rugby shirts and the prams in Starbucks were annoying, and Northcote Road was a stuck-up and unwelcoming place. London is a good place, sometimes, and sometimes it just plain sucks. Maybe I'll give it another chance when I get back. I will miss some great people - and it's always the people that have made places memorable so far. I'm starting to sound like the voiceover for the Wonder Years, so it's definitely time to go and pack.
I've been reading The Beach to get myself in the mood for travel, but annoyingly I can't get Leonardo di Caprio's face out of my mind, having seen the film first and attaching his face to Richard's character. It's also all wrong that Sal is American and Richard is British in the book, where in the film it was the other way around. Ah well, these are the hazards of seeing the film before the book - the book is so much better than the film.
After two nights out on the trot I am feeling beer fatigue in a major way, but as powerful as the urge is to do nothing for the next 48 hours except watch films and each snack foods, I'm picking up a van tomorrow morning to move all of my worldly possessions back up to Suffolk - where the hell they're going to go in mum's place is yet to be figured out, but I can already hear her complaining about the amount of my junk I've left in the living room, and I'm sure I'll lose the cat under a pile of boxes. Driving the van should be fun though - it takes moving to have an excuse to hire a van, when actually Transits are just great fun to drive!
The last few nights out in London have been great. It seems like at long last, I actually got to appreciate London and how much fun it can be - but maybe that's just nostalgia kicking in in advance, looking back at the last year through rose-tinted specs, when I actually spent most of the last year whingeing about how London was no fun, dirty and expensive, people were rude, the rich kids in rugby shirts and the prams in Starbucks were annoying, and Northcote Road was a stuck-up and unwelcoming place. London is a good place, sometimes, and sometimes it just plain sucks. Maybe I'll give it another chance when I get back. I will miss some great people - and it's always the people that have made places memorable so far. I'm starting to sound like the voiceover for the Wonder Years, so it's definitely time to go and pack.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Grumpy old man
I left the house this morning in fine fettle, to drop my car off for an MOT and service. Got to have it ship shaped ready to sell before the trip. Well ship shaped would be a miracle with a Fiesta, but you get my drift.
Anyway, it's been one of those mornings where events have conspired to bring the Victor Meldrew out in me:
Anyway, it's been one of those mornings where events have conspired to bring the Victor Meldrew out in me:
- Yet again I could hardly move in the Northcote Road Starbucks for haughty mothers and their prams, with countless bloody children scuttling around the floor getting under my feet. Not only do they seem to turn the place into the equivalent of a busy supermarket fruit and veg aisle packed with trolleys, they always take up the comfy chairs and the sofa, and what's worst is that sometimes a small child will get a sofa to itself, meaning that if I want to sit on the sofa I'll run the risk of a) having to listen to someone going on about how marvellous their new curtain fabric is, and b) getting covered in the fine film of jam that seems to emanate from small children. I'm not saying mothers and children have no right to use a coffee shop, that would be unfair, but why can't they have their own special coffee shop?
- On the way home I saw a young woman being accosted at her doorstep by a couple of Bible bashers trying to push literature onto her, probably copies of Watchtower. They should just come round to my door, I'll give them something to think about. Previous Jehovah's Witnesses have finished conversations with me looking punch drunk. It's nice to think I've maybe converted a few to godlessness.
- Walking home over Bolingroke Grove, the traffic lights went red, and as has been the case several times recently, one or two cars continued on through the red lights, even though the green man was showing on the pedestrian crossing. This really riles me. I've taken to stepping out in to the road in front of these cars that run the lights so they have to swerve around me, making eye contact with the drivers, and occasionally mouthing 'What the **** do you think you're doing?'. Maybe not wise. Maybe I should recruit the buggy brigade down Starbucks to protest with me, mothers with prams seem to get away with murder.
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