St Ives part 2
St Ives - day 1
..and a night with Billy
Bit dozy today. Last night was proof of concept that I can take the train up to St Pancras after work, see a North London gig and be in bed by midnight, but I wouldn't want to be doing it every night, that's for sure.
The Lexington is a beautiful venue: one of the old-style London pubs with enormous windows that I would love to draw, no less live in. It was about a 15-minute walk from St Pancras, then through a side door and up the stairs into a very small venue - about half the size of where I saw Nick Cave, though about the same number of people made up the audience in the end.
Billy's fans are so clearly the kids of the Eighties. There were a few younger people, but the vast majority of us were mid-forties. Mainly male, actually; many with beer bellies and bald heads, many dressed in pristine gig t-shirts in shades of khaki, and many who spent the gig in a state of reverence, eyes closed, lip-syncing to the music.
Without any pushing at all on my behalf, I ended up in a position front and centre; it was a well-behaved audience, and it was simply that no-one else had taken that spot. Andrew Collins was DJing, but as I'm clearly not up on my cultural icons, I'm afraid this meant nothing to me until I got home to Wikipedia.
Bragg's newly-assembled band took their places on the small stage, and he welcomed us, apologised for having a nasty chest infection, and we were off with Ideology.
Now, I don't know much about musical theory, or playing music, but the instruments on that stage were a delight to watch and listen to. Apart from Billy's several guitars, including the ones that make his trademark early-career clunking chords, there was one of these - apparently called a pedal guitar, and really a couple of guitar necks laid horizontal, and plucked.
And something that looked like a double bass after it had been on a severe diet.
Billy's particularly adept at affable chat between songs, and the anecdotes ran free - from when he met the Queen, largely to confound people's expectations and to please his mum, to how Johnny Marr was the hands-down nicest person he met in the whole of the Eighties. And you get the feeling niceness counts for a lot in the Bragg universe. He was basically as twinkly-eyed, beardy and jokey as you'd want your middle-aged icon of pop to be.
( Here's the set listCollapse )
As I mentioned [friends-locked post], my first brush with Billy was back in the Red Wedge days; his work on Woody Guthrie songs put him firmly back on my radar, and these days his work is particularly familiar to me because of two things: several of his more upbeat tracks come round routinely on my running playlist; and he also features quite a lot on Item's go-to-sleep playlist.
The very final track was great for me, because every lyric accords with a distinct part of Sheepcote Valley, and it's not overstating the case to say that some of those lines have distracted me well enough to push me to greater heights when I really just want to come to a halt.
How funny it must be, releasing music into the world, and imagining people taking it out on their little devices and listening to it in all sorts of different circumstances, from lonely, late-night bus rides, to sweaty runs across fells, to who knows where and with what emotional backdrop.
I mean, that must have been true of vinyl, and radio, too, but I imagine the potential circumstances were a little more limited: nightclubs, bedrooms, and shops, with perhaps a play as the background music in the cafe in Eastenders about as noteworthy as it got.
As a final treat, we were all handed a t-shirt as we left. Khaki-coloured, of course. ;)
A couple of hours later, as I went to get into bed, I found a card on my pillow. Item had made it for me to say that she'd missed me, and she'd drawn a picture of Billy.
Not a bad likeness at all, actually, so it's funny that it was done entirely from imagination.
The Lexington is a beautiful venue: one of the old-style London pubs with enormous windows that I would love to draw, no less live in. It was about a 15-minute walk from St Pancras, then through a side door and up the stairs into a very small venue - about half the size of where I saw Nick Cave, though about the same number of people made up the audience in the end.
Billy's fans are so clearly the kids of the Eighties. There were a few younger people, but the vast majority of us were mid-forties. Mainly male, actually; many with beer bellies and bald heads, many dressed in pristine gig t-shirts in shades of khaki, and many who spent the gig in a state of reverence, eyes closed, lip-syncing to the music.
Without any pushing at all on my behalf, I ended up in a position front and centre; it was a well-behaved audience, and it was simply that no-one else had taken that spot. Andrew Collins was DJing, but as I'm clearly not up on my cultural icons, I'm afraid this meant nothing to me until I got home to Wikipedia.
Bragg's newly-assembled band took their places on the small stage, and he welcomed us, apologised for having a nasty chest infection, and we were off with Ideology.
Now, I don't know much about musical theory, or playing music, but the instruments on that stage were a delight to watch and listen to. Apart from Billy's several guitars, including the ones that make his trademark early-career clunking chords, there was one of these - apparently called a pedal guitar, and really a couple of guitar necks laid horizontal, and plucked.
And something that looked like a double bass after it had been on a severe diet.
Billy's particularly adept at affable chat between songs, and the anecdotes ran free - from when he met the Queen, largely to confound people's expectations and to please his mum, to how Johnny Marr was the hands-down nicest person he met in the whole of the Eighties. And you get the feeling niceness counts for a lot in the Bragg universe. He was basically as twinkly-eyed, beardy and jokey as you'd want your middle-aged icon of pop to be.
( Here's the set listCollapse )
As I mentioned [friends-locked post], my first brush with Billy was back in the Red Wedge days; his work on Woody Guthrie songs put him firmly back on my radar, and these days his work is particularly familiar to me because of two things: several of his more upbeat tracks come round routinely on my running playlist; and he also features quite a lot on Item's go-to-sleep playlist.
The very final track was great for me, because every lyric accords with a distinct part of Sheepcote Valley, and it's not overstating the case to say that some of those lines have distracted me well enough to push me to greater heights when I really just want to come to a halt.
How funny it must be, releasing music into the world, and imagining people taking it out on their little devices and listening to it in all sorts of different circumstances, from lonely, late-night bus rides, to sweaty runs across fells, to who knows where and with what emotional backdrop.
I mean, that must have been true of vinyl, and radio, too, but I imagine the potential circumstances were a little more limited: nightclubs, bedrooms, and shops, with perhaps a play as the background music in the cafe in Eastenders about as noteworthy as it got.
As a final treat, we were all handed a t-shirt as we left. Khaki-coloured, of course. ;)
A couple of hours later, as I went to get into bed, I found a card on my pillow. Item had made it for me to say that she'd missed me, and she'd drawn a picture of Billy.
Not a bad likeness at all, actually, so it's funny that it was done entirely from imagination.
Teatowel
I just designed a teatowel for this competition. The winner will be sold in their shop and boutiques around the world - with commission to the artist- and quite possibly featured in glossy mags. I would like that!
They tweeted about it on Thursday, I had an idea for my design in the bath that night, and spent that evening, yesterday evening, and an hour or two today completing it.
It's been a useful learning process - firstly, to realise that I can turn a complete piece of work around so quickly. Second, I think this is the first time in my life that I have ever used Photoshop layers properly for print separation - a layer for each colour, neatly labelled. In the process I had to remember how to get a Pantone palette up in Photoshop (I say 'remember', I mean 'look up') and learn how to find the colour reference for each of said Pantone colours. Plus, I stuck to a really small number of colours (for me), because the winning design will be screenprinted, and the more colours, the more faff that'd be. Limited palette = more polished, even if the colours I chose seem to accidentally hark back to children's books of the fifties, printed on thick pulpy paper.
Ironically, for all its professionalism, I'm not sure I *like* it that much. I don't think I'd even buy it myself - an interesting question to ask about one's own artwork. If I'd had more time, I'd like to think I'd have come up with something wittier and perhaps less literal in its style.
BUT - it is done, submitted, and I have learned a lot. That'll do for me. Results are announced Monday week.
They tweeted about it on Thursday, I had an idea for my design in the bath that night, and spent that evening, yesterday evening, and an hour or two today completing it.
It's been a useful learning process - firstly, to realise that I can turn a complete piece of work around so quickly. Second, I think this is the first time in my life that I have ever used Photoshop layers properly for print separation - a layer for each colour, neatly labelled. In the process I had to remember how to get a Pantone palette up in Photoshop (I say 'remember', I mean 'look up') and learn how to find the colour reference for each of said Pantone colours. Plus, I stuck to a really small number of colours (for me), because the winning design will be screenprinted, and the more colours, the more faff that'd be. Limited palette = more polished, even if the colours I chose seem to accidentally hark back to children's books of the fifties, printed on thick pulpy paper.
Ironically, for all its professionalism, I'm not sure I *like* it that much. I don't think I'd even buy it myself - an interesting question to ask about one's own artwork. If I'd had more time, I'd like to think I'd have come up with something wittier and perhaps less literal in its style.
BUT - it is done, submitted, and I have learned a lot. That'll do for me. Results are announced Monday week.
Friday night with Nick Cave
I am on a serious come-down, as I scrub tannin stains from the kitchen sink, mop up cat sick, urge Item to do her homework, and think back to Friday night's Nick Cave event. The very concept of the thing only bubbled up last weekend. Life didn't seem particularly dull before then, but I'm left feeling that I just don't have enough thrills on the horizon.
On the upside, I'll never forget it. In more than twenty years of living in Brighton, it feels like the ultimate in 'you really had to be there' moments. The clever thing about the contest was that it ensured that every member of the small crowd was there because they really wanted to be. For a pre-tour rehearsal, I imagine it's psychologically very positive to have a crowd of people who would be applauding even if you were standing there telling knock knock jokes, let alone playing them your brand new album.
There was a bit of a queue getting in, as they checked the tickets, and everyone queuing up on the desolate bit of Hove seafront, with a February chill wind whipping round sequinned mini-skirts and conspicuous cowboy hats, was smiling and happy. Afterwards, as we wandered out in a satisfied daze, there were even more smiles.
The crowd ended up being about 100 people, I reckon. A good few of them were, to my intense surprise, around the age of ten. I'd already told Item she couldn't be my plus-one: it had said in the competition details that it was strictly over-18s.
"Why? Is there swearing in the songs? Like Bloody Hell! Why did you do that?" - this was quite a good pastiche of a Bad Seeds song, I thought, and she's been singing it around the house ever since.
I took my friend Nat, who is also a fan, and she was SO pleased and excited that it really added to the atmosphere of the night. I've never been to any event in that particular venue before - it was at Hove's leisure centre, which is a Fifties brick building that has an old-school weight-lifting gym at one side, and a pool at the back where I used to take Item for baby swimming lessons. I'm sure the whole building was slated for demolition a few years back, and the pool got less and less fun to visit, as they stopped bothering to repair little things like falling tiles. Plus, it's always been a bit of an insult to the seafront - fancy building a squat little square building right in front of the sea like that, and not including any windows on the sea-facing side. I guess it's been given a reprieve in the light of budget cuts. Plans for the seafront always seem to be trumpeted and definite, and then reversed a few years later.
At the front of the leisure centre, I now discover, is a ballroom, a wood-panelled space about the size of your average church hall, with red curtains and circles of lamps hanging from the ceiling. I've seen Nick Cave live before, but in the city's biggest venue, the Brighton Centre, and I couldn't get closer than 20 feet away unless I wanted to really elbow through a moshpit. It was a good gig, but I left without any great feeling of connection - like many big events, you might as well have been watching on TV.
As we entered the ballroom, my overwhelming feeling was disbelief that we were going to see Cave playing live, and he'd be... well, just *there*, and even if we weren't in the front few rows, we'd be damn close. In fact, *everyone* was going to be in the first few rows. There weren't going to be any other rows.
I'm 44 years old, and this shouldn't be such a big deal, but - well, while I've left most obsessive fan behaviour behind, I've kind of stuck with my favourite musicians, and there really is only a handful of them. Nick Cave is the very favourite of the favourite. So, I spend a lot of time listening to his music, and a lot of time thinking about it - and him. Living in the same town helps with that, because someone's always just seen him around, or has an anecdote to share.
Almost everyone else in the audience was about our age, and I recognised a good many Brighton faces by sight: the woman who's always in the cafe at the Marina after the car boot sale; the Asian bloke who used to DJ when we were in our 20s (maybe he still does? I haven't been to a club in decades); the punk with two sticky-up wings of bright pink hair who writes for the Independent and always appears on those talking head programmes about music.
So, a nudge from Nat when the lights went down, and Nick walked on to the tiny elevated area of the stage, and the Bad Seeds walked on, and a cluster of girls stood looking awkward, squashed into a corner at the back, and the strings players sat behind the speaker stack, and Nick explained that this really was just a rehearsal and to bear with them, and 'if we were good', they'd play some old favourites, but first they were going to play the new album Push the Sky Away.
And that's what happened. Things went wrong a few times; Nick stopped things because he was 'really fucking off the note' or he'd forgotten the words. He told some small, self-mocking jokes just for Brightonians: "This one's called Jubilee Street. It's not about going to the library" (Jubilee street being the address of Brighton library); "This one's [Mermaids] about when I wrapped my car around a speed camera. Yeah, I'm a local hero, I know". And there was one [Wide Lovely Eyes] 'about Duke's Mound', the stretch of seafront just below Kemp Town, covered in bushes and winding paths, notoriously Brighton's gay cruising zone.
It's a lovely album, I think, on my hearings so far, and it's even better to be able to listen out to all the little Brighton references. [It's streaming here]
It seems we, the audience, were good, because after that, they went on to play some old stuff. He wasn't joking about 'old'. The set went:
Tupelo (1985)
Red Right Hand (1994)
O Children (2004)
Ship Song (1990)
Jack the Ripper (1992)
From Her to Eternity (1984)
Love Letter (2001)
Deanna (1988)
Your Funeral My Trial (1986)
Mercy Seat (1988)
Stagger Lee (1996)
A good number of these were songs I was listening to when I was a student, or even a sixth former. To be absolutely honest, if this had been my most perfect night ever, this section would have been made up of the far more melodious and beautiful love songs that are the real reason I am properly passionate about Cave's music. Ship Song and Love Letter are the closest things on this list; I enjoy the more raucous, discordant stuff mainly from nostalgia and because you can have a stomping good dance to them, but with the softer songs, you can enjoy Cave's voice, the lyrics - sometimes incredibly emotional; often comedic - and the songs' quite beautiful melodies.
Backing vocals were provided by the clump of young girls, around the age of twelve. Some looked starstruck, some looked bemused, and others looked really, really tired. Although it was hard to discern who was yawning and who was singing out with a perfect O shaped mouth. I'm guessing the other kids milling about in the audience and on the balcony were their siblings, or possibly offspring of the various band members and strings players. As the concert began, Nick had looked awkwardly at the choir and made a quip about how they 'weren't his'. At the end of the first part, the album comprehensively delivered, he said the kids had to go home because it was 'past their bedtime'. The two eldest stayed. I guess you would, wouldn't you.
I wasn't sure about the young girls singing backing vocals. To be fair, I was standing really near the speakers, and getting mainly distorted bass - so I couldn't tell what they were adding to the sound. As a mum, I found myself wondering about the wisdom of exposing them to the hard-talking, profanity-littered, sexually-explicit world of the Bad Seeds. I don't know.
Meanwhile, I'm kind of in awe of the sexual persona that a 55-year-old man can carve out for himself at an age when many men are slowly descending into a world of comfy cardis and excessive nasal hair. Looking at Warren Ellis (a sprightly 48, but sporting such a huge beard that he could be mistaken for an itinerant) and Conway Savage (52), I couldn't help thinking that they've created a new way for middle-aged to elderly men to behave. Perhaps it's just a path that all the big rock stars have already paved - tramplike suits, unkempt hair, stringy beards, shirts undone to the waist, big cuffs and collars, sunglasses on indoors, big droopy porno moustaches. Quite Seventies. Maybe that's why it makes 40-somethings' hearts skip a beat: it's the sex-symbolism that was the background to our teens and our own burgeoning sexualities.
I have begun to think that more and more of Cave's work (in his music and in his literature) is about the disturbing fact of being an old man who still has a young man's sexual desires, and how people look on that with mistrust. Maybe that's just my reading of it, and something that helps me come to terms with what otherwise just comes across as misogynistic. Like, oh, maybe it's IRONIC and SELF-DEPRECATING. That's ok, I can enjoy it then.
Certainly that seems to be the theme behind the Death of Bunny Munroe, Cave's most recent novel; the new single Jubilee Street's video shows Ray Winstone in a mac, uneasily employing the services of a young, pert, attractive prostitute. The truth of the matter is that a video like that ends up showing a young, nude woman, no matter what its underlying message is. And that adds to the heap of images of young, naked women that already exist. I suppose, as a middle aged, becoming less conventionally-attractive-by-the-day woman, it would be refreshing to see that trend bucked a little more; to see some more adventurous exploration of what sexuality can mean. Looking around the audience confirmed my gut feeling, that I'm well within a Cave fan's average demographic, so - if he was concerned with maximising profits, rather than following his very clearly-defined muse - he'd be best advised not to alienate us all.
But it was a wonderful night in any case. It was over before I could quite believe I was so lucky. I took about a zillion photos and filled my memory card; they're mostly under-exposed, but at least they provide me with a lasting memory of the night.
Excitement sweeps Brighton
So, on Sunday night I got a text from upstairs to ask if they could use our wi-fi, as theirs had gone down, and Kate was trying to send an urgent job application in. I texted back to say 'sure'; they texted to check that our network was the one named Nick Cave, which... ah, well, yes, it is. Only because when the computer asked for a name it was the first one that came to mind.
But that was ok, upstairs revealed that Andrew is a huge Cave fan too, and all was well.
What I didn't reveal was that, between texts, I was assembling a fabric appliqued picture of the man himself. Because that would have seemed weird.
But you see, my ever-alert Twitter pals had told me about a competition that was right up my street. The local indie music shop had tweeted that they had ten pairs of tickets to give out - not to a gig, but to Nick Cave's final rehearsal, here in his home town, before he hits the road for the tour promoting his new album.*
Last week, I failed to buy tickets for the London dates of this tour, because, although I was right there when they went live, it turned out they were £50 each, there were none left close to the stage, and you had to buy a minimum of two. By the time I'd thought it through, they'd all gone anyway, and the decision was made for me.
So here was my chance! The challenge was to recreate a Cave/Grinderman/Bad Seeds album cover in whatever format you liked - plasticine, cake, paints, whatever. But it had to be in by Tuesday night.
In a hurry, Item, The Boy and I all looked at my record collection. I have to say that, in the main, they are a spectacularly uninspiring bunch of covers for this sort of thing. Item got her toys out and went part way towards a good stab at The Good Son.. but... I didn't feel it was going to win us the tickets.
In the end, I recreated one of my favourite Cave albums, The Boatman's Call, sewing it out of small scraps of fabric we had around the house - some of it fabric I've actually owned since the days when I first became aware of Cave's work, as it happens. It took an evening and a half; I pretty much screwed up the lettering through hurrying it, and then it was really hard to take a photo that did it justice.
So I sent it in, but with a bit of a heavy heart, convinced that the lettering and the poor photo would be my downfall. Yesterday, I had to work in London, leaving on the 8am train, and working solidly through the day with colleagues. At about 2:30pm I got an email. The title was 'You've won Nick Cave tickets!' and it started 'Once you've stopped jumping up and down...'
Whoop! There's incredibly tight security around it all. They wouldn't tell us the venue until I'd gone to pick up the tickets, and I had to show photo ID and then they wrote my name on them in big letters so that I couldn't sell them on - I'll also have to show ID at he door. Oddly enough, the venue is our local swimming pool and gym - apparently it's where Nick always rehearses. *Buys annual pass for pool* The record shop did not laugh when I asked if it was in the soft play area.
I have to say that, apart from being so delighted and excited about going to the gig tomorrow, the atmosphere on Twitter has been really fun, with lots of Brightonians all buzzing about the contest and talking about or showing their entries, with varying degrees of paranoia about whether people would copy them. It's felt a lot like the beginning of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, when there are still golden tickets to be found. And I've won one - hooray!
There are other winners here and here and here. They're all fab, and all totally different. what a great competition.
* An album which I have to say is leaving me slightly uneasy with its cover art and video content's implied misogyny, but let's gloss over that just for now, at least until I've consumed it properly.
But that was ok, upstairs revealed that Andrew is a huge Cave fan too, and all was well.
What I didn't reveal was that, between texts, I was assembling a fabric appliqued picture of the man himself. Because that would have seemed weird.
But you see, my ever-alert Twitter pals had told me about a competition that was right up my street. The local indie music shop had tweeted that they had ten pairs of tickets to give out - not to a gig, but to Nick Cave's final rehearsal, here in his home town, before he hits the road for the tour promoting his new album.*
Last week, I failed to buy tickets for the London dates of this tour, because, although I was right there when they went live, it turned out they were £50 each, there were none left close to the stage, and you had to buy a minimum of two. By the time I'd thought it through, they'd all gone anyway, and the decision was made for me.
So here was my chance! The challenge was to recreate a Cave/Grinderman/Bad Seeds album cover in whatever format you liked - plasticine, cake, paints, whatever. But it had to be in by Tuesday night.
In a hurry, Item, The Boy and I all looked at my record collection. I have to say that, in the main, they are a spectacularly uninspiring bunch of covers for this sort of thing. Item got her toys out and went part way towards a good stab at The Good Son.. but... I didn't feel it was going to win us the tickets.
In the end, I recreated one of my favourite Cave albums, The Boatman's Call, sewing it out of small scraps of fabric we had around the house - some of it fabric I've actually owned since the days when I first became aware of Cave's work, as it happens. It took an evening and a half; I pretty much screwed up the lettering through hurrying it, and then it was really hard to take a photo that did it justice.
So I sent it in, but with a bit of a heavy heart, convinced that the lettering and the poor photo would be my downfall. Yesterday, I had to work in London, leaving on the 8am train, and working solidly through the day with colleagues. At about 2:30pm I got an email. The title was 'You've won Nick Cave tickets!' and it started 'Once you've stopped jumping up and down...'
Whoop! There's incredibly tight security around it all. They wouldn't tell us the venue until I'd gone to pick up the tickets, and I had to show photo ID and then they wrote my name on them in big letters so that I couldn't sell them on - I'll also have to show ID at he door. Oddly enough, the venue is our local swimming pool and gym - apparently it's where Nick always rehearses. *Buys annual pass for pool* The record shop did not laugh when I asked if it was in the soft play area.
I have to say that, apart from being so delighted and excited about going to the gig tomorrow, the atmosphere on Twitter has been really fun, with lots of Brightonians all buzzing about the contest and talking about or showing their entries, with varying degrees of paranoia about whether people would copy them. It's felt a lot like the beginning of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, when there are still golden tickets to be found. And I've won one - hooray!
There are other winners here and here and here. They're all fab, and all totally different. what a great competition.
* An album which I have to say is leaving me slightly uneasy with its cover art and video content's implied misogyny, but let's gloss over that just for now, at least until I've consumed it properly.
(no subject)
I really enjoyed this Radiolab podcast about Mel Blanc, the man who did the voices for Bugs Bunny, Barney Rubble, Foghorn Leghorn, Porky Pig, Yosemite Sam, etc.
It's only 20 mins - and worth it. There were three stand-out bits for me, but they are spoilers.
[Spoiler (click to open)]Spoilers:
One is the anecdote that the whole podcast is based on - that the only thing that got Blanc out of a coma after a dreadful car crash was the phrase 'What's up, Bugs?' (not 'Doc', sadly, but it's still a good story).
Another is that Blanc voiced Barney Rubble in the first 50 (if I heard correctly) episodes of the Flintstones *from his hospital bed*.
And the last is what Blanc has on his gravestone: That's All, Folks".
These days, I always seem to be on the lookout for people who have or had enviable careers. Voicing cartoons must be one of the ultimate examples of 'you can't learn it at school', yet what an immensely satisfying job.
The Boy made the point that these characters are all based on high-profile celebrities/politicians of the time. These days, hardly anyone remembers them, but most of us know their cartoon versions.
It's only 20 mins - and worth it. There were three stand-out bits for me, but they are spoilers.
[Spoiler (click to open)]Spoilers:
One is the anecdote that the whole podcast is based on - that the only thing that got Blanc out of a coma after a dreadful car crash was the phrase 'What's up, Bugs?' (not 'Doc', sadly, but it's still a good story).
Another is that Blanc voiced Barney Rubble in the first 50 (if I heard correctly) episodes of the Flintstones *from his hospital bed*.
And the last is what Blanc has on his gravestone: That's All, Folks".
These days, I always seem to be on the lookout for people who have or had enviable careers. Voicing cartoons must be one of the ultimate examples of 'you can't learn it at school', yet what an immensely satisfying job.
The Boy made the point that these characters are all based on high-profile celebrities/politicians of the time. These days, hardly anyone remembers them, but most of us know their cartoon versions.
Playmates
Hey, a drawing I'm really pleased with, for once. This is Item and her friend - not a partcularly accurate likness of him, but not a bad picture of 'a person'. Fortunately, like many 7-8 year olds, he's one of those kids who stays absolutely stock still, entranced, if you put the TV on.
A week of sociability
After Christmas, we had a few days where we didn't do very much, other than read books, draw pictures, mooch round the shops, take a walk along the seafront - attempting to break in our new boots, while actually almost breaking ourselves in the process - and pop into Hove museum for a second look at the Jacqueline Wilson exhibition. But then we had an insanely sociable week (for us). It was as if everyone, ourselves included, realised what a boring prospect it is between Xmas and going back to work, and arranged events in some kind of a panic.
On New Year's Day, we spent the evening with Nice Italian exColleague and her family. They provided drinks and cooked a main course - lasagne - and we brought side dishes and a pudding. I made smoked aubergine salad and some green beans with a tahini and lemon dressing. TBH they were both ok but I don't remember really tasting them. I don't think I'd drunk all that much! Item ate a whole bowl of the lentil lasagne, which was a good show for her, as she hasn't had it before.
Originally, we were invited to stay until midnight, but when I apologetically said I didn't think we'd last that long, NIeC was relieved and said they neither, and we'd celebrate some timezone where New Year came a couple of hours earlier. We stayed til 10 pm, and although we'd originally planned to take a taxi, were transported zippily there by Brighton buses both ways, despite our fears that they might be rowdy and crowded that night.
Item was good, though quite clearly over-excited - NIeC cleverly channelled all the girls' pent-up energy into some dance game on the Wii.
Blonde Item in a Rapunzel wig
NIeC's elder daughter had prepared a pub quiz, researched on the internet. It was pretty good - just the right level of difficulty, which is quite hard to pitch, I reckon. It was a lovely night and I really enjoyed it. It may have been the first time that we took Item out late and she didn't have an overtired meltdown...
On the 1st, it was the birthday of our friend who moved back from Europe last year. Stinker of a date for a birthday! They had a party from mid-afternoon, and it was quite odd to go along and see my old cronies from 20 years ago, all now with kids and partners but otherwise looking exactly the same, as far as I could tell. Item bonded with the daughter of one of The Boy's old mates, and I spent quite a bit of time with the pet cat who was shut in the bedroom so he didn't escape. He's a Maine Coon - and enormous, despite only being 5 months old. He's about three times as big as Sushi.
Turning home, we popped into see Item's best friend and her family (who have also become our good friends) and had a quick glass of port and a chat.
Item *did* then have a massive meltdown on the way home, unfortunately, even running away from us. We couldn't see her for a good few minutes in the dark and it was quite scary, and then we found her and took her home and she gave us all a hard time for a couple of hours after that, too. SIGH. It was all triggered when I wouldn't buy her a comic on the way home, which just seems... really spoilt.
On the 2nd, I took Item to the Toy Museum - we haven't been before despite a few near-misses in the past. I'm not sure why; it's pretty good, with a massive train layout and some really interesting historic toys, though it is quite small (and was £8 for the pair of us), so I doubt we'll go back for a while.
Then, we were invited, with The Boy, to lunch with Item's friend Silas, his brother Zooey, and his two mums - plus another dad who had dropped by. The latter told a story about how someone had visited his house and asked to be seated elsewhere as 'looking at all his clutter was giving her a headache'! Poor Silas had the norovirus PLUS ear infection and spent Xmas day in hospital.
Theirs is that house that is pretty much our dream abode, and the mum both work in TV which, well, you know. If I'd just sorted myself out at an early age. However, envy swept to one side, they are nice, AND they have offered to store some of our stuff in their gargantuan loft when we put this place on the market.
I tried going for another run again last week, after more than a week's rest since pulling my calf muscle, and my leg *immediately* gave out again. On Wednesday, after lunch, we and the boys went to the swimming pool and I got in one more long swim - 57 lengths of the 100m pool, which was what I could fit in during the length of time The Boy was willing to corall Item/Item was willing to be in fairly cold water.
On the 3rd, Item had a play date with her Icelandic schoolmate, who has just moved to Hartington Road - the very first street I lived in when I moved to Brighton after university, fact fans. MORE house envy! They have a massive red brick gothic-ish airy house that is just so beautiful, and again exactly what we'd desire, if we could stretch to it.
(Side note - while I was at The Boy's, his dad totally misinterpreted something I said, and thought there was a possibility that we might move to Sheffield. No offence, Sheffield, but not going to happen. But they'd've loved that, as it's within about 45 minutes drive of them. Then he started showing me houses we could easily afford there. Which, I know.)
After I picked Item up from that playdate, we bussed to town and had lunch with Seasoned Mother and her two kids, but by that time I was starting to come down with this stupid illness, which seems now to have turned into a nose-running-constantly cold + cough, which is reassuringly familiar, but does not really explain the magnitude of my symptoms on Thursday night. I have graduated from the ibuprofen but still taking echinachea.
And on Friday, it was Item's birthday, which we've covered. Today she has her pal Dexy over. So we are up to date. On Monday it is an INSET day, but The Boy and I are both working, so we're sharing the cost of a childminder with Isadora's parents, for the first time. Let's see how that goes. (I have a feeling that The Boy's salary plus bus fare must about equal the cost of the childminder).
On New Year's Day, we spent the evening with Nice Italian exColleague and her family. They provided drinks and cooked a main course - lasagne - and we brought side dishes and a pudding. I made smoked aubergine salad and some green beans with a tahini and lemon dressing. TBH they were both ok but I don't remember really tasting them. I don't think I'd drunk all that much! Item ate a whole bowl of the lentil lasagne, which was a good show for her, as she hasn't had it before.
Originally, we were invited to stay until midnight, but when I apologetically said I didn't think we'd last that long, NIeC was relieved and said they neither, and we'd celebrate some timezone where New Year came a couple of hours earlier. We stayed til 10 pm, and although we'd originally planned to take a taxi, were transported zippily there by Brighton buses both ways, despite our fears that they might be rowdy and crowded that night.
Item was good, though quite clearly over-excited - NIeC cleverly channelled all the girls' pent-up energy into some dance game on the Wii.
Blonde Item in a Rapunzel wig
NIeC's elder daughter had prepared a pub quiz, researched on the internet. It was pretty good - just the right level of difficulty, which is quite hard to pitch, I reckon. It was a lovely night and I really enjoyed it. It may have been the first time that we took Item out late and she didn't have an overtired meltdown...
On the 1st, it was the birthday of our friend who moved back from Europe last year. Stinker of a date for a birthday! They had a party from mid-afternoon, and it was quite odd to go along and see my old cronies from 20 years ago, all now with kids and partners but otherwise looking exactly the same, as far as I could tell. Item bonded with the daughter of one of The Boy's old mates, and I spent quite a bit of time with the pet cat who was shut in the bedroom so he didn't escape. He's a Maine Coon - and enormous, despite only being 5 months old. He's about three times as big as Sushi.
Turning home, we popped into see Item's best friend and her family (who have also become our good friends) and had a quick glass of port and a chat.
Item *did* then have a massive meltdown on the way home, unfortunately, even running away from us. We couldn't see her for a good few minutes in the dark and it was quite scary, and then we found her and took her home and she gave us all a hard time for a couple of hours after that, too. SIGH. It was all triggered when I wouldn't buy her a comic on the way home, which just seems... really spoilt.
On the 2nd, I took Item to the Toy Museum - we haven't been before despite a few near-misses in the past. I'm not sure why; it's pretty good, with a massive train layout and some really interesting historic toys, though it is quite small (and was £8 for the pair of us), so I doubt we'll go back for a while.
Then, we were invited, with The Boy, to lunch with Item's friend Silas, his brother Zooey, and his two mums - plus another dad who had dropped by. The latter told a story about how someone had visited his house and asked to be seated elsewhere as 'looking at all his clutter was giving her a headache'! Poor Silas had the norovirus PLUS ear infection and spent Xmas day in hospital.
Theirs is that house that is pretty much our dream abode, and the mum both work in TV which, well, you know. If I'd just sorted myself out at an early age. However, envy swept to one side, they are nice, AND they have offered to store some of our stuff in their gargantuan loft when we put this place on the market.
I tried going for another run again last week, after more than a week's rest since pulling my calf muscle, and my leg *immediately* gave out again. On Wednesday, after lunch, we and the boys went to the swimming pool and I got in one more long swim - 57 lengths of the 100m pool, which was what I could fit in during the length of time The Boy was willing to corall Item/Item was willing to be in fairly cold water.
On the 3rd, Item had a play date with her Icelandic schoolmate, who has just moved to Hartington Road - the very first street I lived in when I moved to Brighton after university, fact fans. MORE house envy! They have a massive red brick gothic-ish airy house that is just so beautiful, and again exactly what we'd desire, if we could stretch to it.
(Side note - while I was at The Boy's, his dad totally misinterpreted something I said, and thought there was a possibility that we might move to Sheffield. No offence, Sheffield, but not going to happen. But they'd've loved that, as it's within about 45 minutes drive of them. Then he started showing me houses we could easily afford there. Which, I know.)
After I picked Item up from that playdate, we bussed to town and had lunch with Seasoned Mother and her two kids, but by that time I was starting to come down with this stupid illness, which seems now to have turned into a nose-running-constantly cold + cough, which is reassuringly familiar, but does not really explain the magnitude of my symptoms on Thursday night. I have graduated from the ibuprofen but still taking echinachea.
And on Friday, it was Item's birthday, which we've covered. Today she has her pal Dexy over. So we are up to date. On Monday it is an INSET day, but The Boy and I are both working, so we're sharing the cost of a childminder with Isadora's parents, for the first time. Let's see how that goes. (I have a feeling that The Boy's salary plus bus fare must about equal the cost of the childminder).
