Thursday, 1 April 2010
Thursday, 11 September 2008
Things I did not know
I discovered that S is afraid of slugs, after a particularly long and thin one crawled under our kitchen door to take up residence on the tiles. This is from a man who is 6'2" and built like the proverbial.
Thursday, 28 August 2008
Back from the 'Burgh
I’m back from Edinburgh via a wedding in Wales (we did so many miles in the car that they actually make up 1% of its total mileage. And it is a very old car with a lot of miles on the clock). When I have the strength I will comment on the shows I saw (21 over 7 days, not bad when you consider I was working a shift a day too), but in the meantime, I just have to mention one of the highlights of the festival.
I was walking to the Gilded Balloon when I saw Luke Wright (the poet) walk past, which put a smile on my face as it’s always good to do a bit of star spotting at festival time. Then, as I rounded a sandwich board to climb the steps of the venue, I literally bumped into Colin Murray (who is on my List of Five People I Can Sleep With Without Punishment), although it took me a few seconds to realise who he was. By which time, of course, he had gone, and I was not able to test out the theory. Damn! Because of course he would have succumbed to my West Country charms…
And then came the best star spotting of all, because standing in the lobby having a chat with a mate was - Daniel Kitson! I got quite excited (too excited, really) and lurked a few feet away, eavesdropping on their conversation (I know, I’m sorry), trying to look like I was waiting for someone rather than the pathetic stalker I was. When he left to go upstairs, I followed him out but lost him in the crowd. Sanity set in and I realized I was being very sad, so sensibly stopped all attempts to flush him out, but when I went to the Sportsmans’ Bar for my next show, there he was, waiting too! It was fate, clearly. The steward asked us all to start queuing, and whilst I was getting my stuff together, Daniel’s and my eyes met across the room.
This is it, I thought, here’s where he realizes that I’m a wonderfully witty, erudite person that he would love to hang out with and go to gigs with and practise his new material in front of. Paper cup of tea in one hand, he looked at me and said…
“Sorry, from where to where did she ask us to queue?”
Not quite what I’d hoped for, but still… contact!
And my witty, erudite response?
“From there to there [imagine my pointing with hand] - and can I just say that I thought 66a Church Road was great.”
Yes, that was it.
Daniel’s reply was an embarrassed “thank you” before he shuffled off to join the queue, making sure there were at least 5 people between myself and him. I heard him laughing very loudly through the show, but that was it – I’d blown my one chance to impress him. So no, Daniel Kitson did not continue the conversation, and ask for my number, and invite round to his Crystal Palace flat for bacon and avocado sandwiches. But he made me smile on a wet day in Edinburgh, and so that was enough.
I was walking to the Gilded Balloon when I saw Luke Wright (the poet) walk past, which put a smile on my face as it’s always good to do a bit of star spotting at festival time. Then, as I rounded a sandwich board to climb the steps of the venue, I literally bumped into Colin Murray (who is on my List of Five People I Can Sleep With Without Punishment), although it took me a few seconds to realise who he was. By which time, of course, he had gone, and I was not able to test out the theory. Damn! Because of course he would have succumbed to my West Country charms…
And then came the best star spotting of all, because standing in the lobby having a chat with a mate was - Daniel Kitson! I got quite excited (too excited, really) and lurked a few feet away, eavesdropping on their conversation (I know, I’m sorry), trying to look like I was waiting for someone rather than the pathetic stalker I was. When he left to go upstairs, I followed him out but lost him in the crowd. Sanity set in and I realized I was being very sad, so sensibly stopped all attempts to flush him out, but when I went to the Sportsmans’ Bar for my next show, there he was, waiting too! It was fate, clearly. The steward asked us all to start queuing, and whilst I was getting my stuff together, Daniel’s and my eyes met across the room.
This is it, I thought, here’s where he realizes that I’m a wonderfully witty, erudite person that he would love to hang out with and go to gigs with and practise his new material in front of. Paper cup of tea in one hand, he looked at me and said…
“Sorry, from where to where did she ask us to queue?”
Not quite what I’d hoped for, but still… contact!
And my witty, erudite response?
“From there to there [imagine my pointing with hand] - and can I just say that I thought 66a Church Road was great.”
Yes, that was it.
Daniel’s reply was an embarrassed “thank you” before he shuffled off to join the queue, making sure there were at least 5 people between myself and him. I heard him laughing very loudly through the show, but that was it – I’d blown my one chance to impress him. So no, Daniel Kitson did not continue the conversation, and ask for my number, and invite round to his Crystal Palace flat for bacon and avocado sandwiches. But he made me smile on a wet day in Edinburgh, and so that was enough.
Tuesday, 12 August 2008
On the Fringes
I am off to Edinburgh this week, and looking forward to it very much indeed. I am especially chuffed that I got a train ticket for £9 – thank you Virgin! I’m not entirely sure how I managed that; it’s nearly as good when I bought one two years ago through The Trainline and discovered that they’d put me in First Class. It’s a long, long journey up to Edinburgh and having complimentary coffee and snacks, a large seat, and no-one nearby with music bleeding from their iPod was bliss. Not so good were the daggers looks I got from the people crammed into the corridors as the rest of the train was full – I could sense them thinking, “what’s she doing in there? She doesn’t look rich enough for First…”
Anyway, as I made out my packing list, I was thinking about the pearls of wisdom I’ve accumulated over five years of Festival-going, and what I now know is vital to get through a week up there. In the spirit of sharing, I hereby present you with my top ten “things you need to survive the Fringe”.
1. Comfy shoes
It sounds obvious, but so, so many people totter around Edinburgh’s cobbled streets in high heels, and then wonder why they’re crippled by six o’clock. Edinburgh is very hilly, very steep, and venues are very far away from each other. I can guarantee that you will be running between shows at least once, so trainers or flats are vital if you want to catch that 5 star show everyone’s raving about.
2. A bag with lots of space
The Fringe brochure is large and the day is long. You will need water and snacks as you dash from show to show with no time to stop for lunch. To cope with the vagaries of the Scottish weather, you will also definitely need to carry the following items: an umbrella, a scarf, a raincoat, sunscreen and sunglasses. Also deodorant, most likely, in reference to point 1. Lipgloss and mascara are optional, but there are a lot of good looking thespians around.
3. Patience
Thirty thousand people WILL try and stuff their flyer into your hand, and you WILL have thirty thousand people try and convince you that their show is the best thing since sliced bread. Be nice, remember that most of them aren’t getting paid, and smile lots as you listen to their spiel, even if you do dump their leaflet in the nearest bin.
4. A notebook and pen
Although you think you’ll never forget the sheer awfulness of a piece, or the actor who’s performance was mindblowingly amazing, after a week at the festival everything starts to blur into a huge drama monster. Jotting down the title of the show, and what you liked/were appalled by, will make the post festival pub chat a lot easier. This is especially important if you are being paid by your day job to see shows, and they want some concrete recommendations. Imagine the horror if, in the blurry mess of twenty nine shows in five days, you inadvertently told the programmer to book the god-awful Slovakian physical theatre ensemble over the exquisite Slovenian mime troupe? Your head would be on the block, my friend.
5. A stiff drink
You will reach the stage where you cannot see ANY MORE theatre or ANY MORE comedy, and oh my god, if I see one more show where a lone performer weeps on stage I will go MAD. At this point, the only thing for it is a gin and tonic/red wine/pint of Thatcher’s*
*Please insert drink of choice
6. Realism
You will not be able to see everything you want; your purse will explode and your brain will melt. Be sensible, remember that seeing a smaller range of shows means you’ll be able to enjoy them all, rather than worrying that if this one overruns then we won’t be able to make the next one at the Traverse, and then that will bugger up the evening’s schedule… Also a lot of the bigger comedians will be touring the same show in the Autumn when you’ll probably be able to appreciate it better.
7. A reservation at Monster Mash
Comfort food at its best – their onion gravy is to die for.
8. The ability to survive on no sleep
With the bars being open very late, and comedy shows on until 3 or 4am, Edinburgh becomes the city that doesn’t sleep. Ever. If there’s no show to see, there’s always the alternative of climbing Arthur’s Seat to watch the dawn break. Be prepared to run on coffee and Mars Bars alone.
9. The capacity to watch a god-awful show without a) laughing hysterically in the wrong places, b) making pointed and cutting comments to your companion/random stranger in the seat next to you or c) walking out. There is a lot of crap at the Fringe, and despite your best efforts you will end up seeing some shows that you resent for stealing away an hour of your life. Chin up, it could be worse – there’s always a more awful show that you managed to avoid.
10. The ability to walk past men in kilts without sniggering about what may or may not be under there.
Anyway, as I made out my packing list, I was thinking about the pearls of wisdom I’ve accumulated over five years of Festival-going, and what I now know is vital to get through a week up there. In the spirit of sharing, I hereby present you with my top ten “things you need to survive the Fringe”.
1. Comfy shoes
It sounds obvious, but so, so many people totter around Edinburgh’s cobbled streets in high heels, and then wonder why they’re crippled by six o’clock. Edinburgh is very hilly, very steep, and venues are very far away from each other. I can guarantee that you will be running between shows at least once, so trainers or flats are vital if you want to catch that 5 star show everyone’s raving about.
2. A bag with lots of space
The Fringe brochure is large and the day is long. You will need water and snacks as you dash from show to show with no time to stop for lunch. To cope with the vagaries of the Scottish weather, you will also definitely need to carry the following items: an umbrella, a scarf, a raincoat, sunscreen and sunglasses. Also deodorant, most likely, in reference to point 1. Lipgloss and mascara are optional, but there are a lot of good looking thespians around.
3. Patience
Thirty thousand people WILL try and stuff their flyer into your hand, and you WILL have thirty thousand people try and convince you that their show is the best thing since sliced bread. Be nice, remember that most of them aren’t getting paid, and smile lots as you listen to their spiel, even if you do dump their leaflet in the nearest bin.
4. A notebook and pen
Although you think you’ll never forget the sheer awfulness of a piece, or the actor who’s performance was mindblowingly amazing, after a week at the festival everything starts to blur into a huge drama monster. Jotting down the title of the show, and what you liked/were appalled by, will make the post festival pub chat a lot easier. This is especially important if you are being paid by your day job to see shows, and they want some concrete recommendations. Imagine the horror if, in the blurry mess of twenty nine shows in five days, you inadvertently told the programmer to book the god-awful Slovakian physical theatre ensemble over the exquisite Slovenian mime troupe? Your head would be on the block, my friend.
5. A stiff drink
You will reach the stage where you cannot see ANY MORE theatre or ANY MORE comedy, and oh my god, if I see one more show where a lone performer weeps on stage I will go MAD. At this point, the only thing for it is a gin and tonic/red wine/pint of Thatcher’s*
*Please insert drink of choice
6. Realism
You will not be able to see everything you want; your purse will explode and your brain will melt. Be sensible, remember that seeing a smaller range of shows means you’ll be able to enjoy them all, rather than worrying that if this one overruns then we won’t be able to make the next one at the Traverse, and then that will bugger up the evening’s schedule… Also a lot of the bigger comedians will be touring the same show in the Autumn when you’ll probably be able to appreciate it better.
7. A reservation at Monster Mash
Comfort food at its best – their onion gravy is to die for.
8. The ability to survive on no sleep
With the bars being open very late, and comedy shows on until 3 or 4am, Edinburgh becomes the city that doesn’t sleep. Ever. If there’s no show to see, there’s always the alternative of climbing Arthur’s Seat to watch the dawn break. Be prepared to run on coffee and Mars Bars alone.
9. The capacity to watch a god-awful show without a) laughing hysterically in the wrong places, b) making pointed and cutting comments to your companion/random stranger in the seat next to you or c) walking out. There is a lot of crap at the Fringe, and despite your best efforts you will end up seeing some shows that you resent for stealing away an hour of your life. Chin up, it could be worse – there’s always a more awful show that you managed to avoid.
10. The ability to walk past men in kilts without sniggering about what may or may not be under there.
Wednesday, 6 August 2008
I have a new bag!
Now, I realise that I already have about 30 bags (and that’s just a conservative estimate), and a lot of people would ask, “so why do you need another?” The reason is that I take a lot of stuff to work each day – a book, lunch, glasses, purse, diary etc – and the bag I was using just wasn’t big enough. Plus I was always losing my keys because they got buried in the one main pocket, and my lunch boxes were too big to fit in comfortably. I think that justifies the buying of another one, don’t you? So I bought this one instead.
Now, I realise that I already have about 30 bags (and that’s just a conservative estimate), and a lot of people would ask, “so why do you need another?” The reason is that I take a lot of stuff to work each day – a book, lunch, glasses, purse, diary etc – and the bag I was using just wasn’t big enough. Plus I was always losing my keys because they got buried in the one main pocket, and my lunch boxes were too big to fit in comfortably. I think that justifies the buying of another one, don’t you? So I bought this one instead.
And it’s brown and shiny and best of all it has NINE compartments – yes, nine! – so I have a space for everything now and nothing gets lost. Well, until I can’t remember what compartment I put it in.
I can’t describe how happy this bag makes me. Sad, yes, but I took it into town today, and I sat outside having a coffee, and the bag sat next to me, and every so often I’d look up from the pages of Hello! magazine (this week: exclusive photos of Brad and Angelina’s twins – not that I buy Hello!, you understand, but the café had a copy and my brain was too frazzled after a morning interviewing to cope with Vanity Fair) and give it an affectionate stroke. I swear I could almost hear it purring.
Monday, 4 August 2008
A Very Lovely Weekend
Bit of a last minute decision, but S and I ended up going to Dolgellau in North Wales this weekend with two friends who were up there to do some mountain biking at Coed y Brenin.
This is absolute heaven for the three of them; the only time I get on a bike is when the terrain is dead flat and there are no cars, people or other bikes in a five mile radius (ie: hardly ever). So whilst they were throwing themselves down rock faces, getting soaked in streams, and generally having a whale of a time, I got into Serious Hiking Mode. Since my usual weekly classes have stopped for the summer, I’ve been feeling a little unfit of late, so I decided to burn some calories by pounding up and down Welsh hills. With a borrowed iPod that was chocka of cheesy pop, I did a two hour walk across some of the loveliest countryside I’ve seen for a long time. Luckily there was hardly anybody else around, so I wasn’t embarrassed by other people overhearing me singing along to “Holding out for a Hero”. Well, it’s Bonnie Tyler, isn’t it? And that’s appropriate for Wales. I was also in Stock, Aiken and Waterman heaven with Kylie’s entire 80’s back catalogue – and let me just say that “It’s Never Too Late” has a fantastic beat for walking fast to.
We undid all the good work of the day by having curry and beers in the evening, followed by more beers sitting in the glassed-in office of an old ironmongers that’s now a bar. S beat me at Othello, but I don’t hold it against him.
By the end of the weekend, I was also 300 pages into Vanity Fair, which as a double English graduate, I’m ashamed to say I’ve never read before. It’s excellent – why hasn’t someone sat me down, thrust it into my hands and insisted I stay put until I’ve got through at least five chapters? I will do the same to the next person who confesses that they haven’t read it. Becky Sharp has to be one of the best characters ever written. Go, read, now! And let me know what you think.
This is absolute heaven for the three of them; the only time I get on a bike is when the terrain is dead flat and there are no cars, people or other bikes in a five mile radius (ie: hardly ever). So whilst they were throwing themselves down rock faces, getting soaked in streams, and generally having a whale of a time, I got into Serious Hiking Mode. Since my usual weekly classes have stopped for the summer, I’ve been feeling a little unfit of late, so I decided to burn some calories by pounding up and down Welsh hills. With a borrowed iPod that was chocka of cheesy pop, I did a two hour walk across some of the loveliest countryside I’ve seen for a long time. Luckily there was hardly anybody else around, so I wasn’t embarrassed by other people overhearing me singing along to “Holding out for a Hero”. Well, it’s Bonnie Tyler, isn’t it? And that’s appropriate for Wales. I was also in Stock, Aiken and Waterman heaven with Kylie’s entire 80’s back catalogue – and let me just say that “It’s Never Too Late” has a fantastic beat for walking fast to.
We undid all the good work of the day by having curry and beers in the evening, followed by more beers sitting in the glassed-in office of an old ironmongers that’s now a bar. S beat me at Othello, but I don’t hold it against him.
By the end of the weekend, I was also 300 pages into Vanity Fair, which as a double English graduate, I’m ashamed to say I’ve never read before. It’s excellent – why hasn’t someone sat me down, thrust it into my hands and insisted I stay put until I’ve got through at least five chapters? I will do the same to the next person who confesses that they haven’t read it. Becky Sharp has to be one of the best characters ever written. Go, read, now! And let me know what you think.
Thursday, 31 July 2008
Milk no sugar please
It’s hard to concentrate at work at the moment (not that I usually need an excuse, as the internet is always at hand to provide one), as the building’s electrics are being overhauled and there’s an ever present danger that the computer will turn itself off, along with the lights, the radio and the phone system. We’ve been without proper electricity downstairs since June, which means that only about 50% of the sockets on the ground floor actually fulfil their purpose in life. It also means that we have no fridge, no microwave and no kettle. The kettle is camped out in the end office (where mercifully sockets do work), but the milk is kept in a jug full of water (very Girl Guide camping) and I’ve been deprived of lunchtime jacket potatoes for nearly two months.
Making a cup of coffee for everyone in the building has become an epic task, and our consumption of hot beverages has reduced drastically. The end is in sight, thank god, as I am starting to get cranky without a constant supply of coffee.
Coffee is a battle royal that has been raging ever since I started this job in January. Because we work in a “fairtrade town” (although someone please define that one for me) all our coffee and tea is meant to be fairtrade too. Now, in theory, I’m totally for that. The problem is that I find all types - and I do mean all - of fairtrade instant coffee to be vile. I cannot drink them. Co-op, Cafedirect, Clipper – you name it, I’ve tried it and hated it. Ground coffee is fine, but there’s something about instant that just doesn’t sit well with me.
So I started buying my own personal jars of coffee to bring into the office. The first mistake I made was buying Alta Rica, which as many of you will know, is made by Nestle. Cue horrified intake of breath from boss, and accusations of supporting evil multinationals who abuse little African children. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am fully aware of Nestle’s reputation and the actions they have done, and I am not condoning them in any way. I do, however, feel that Nestle has become a scapegoat and that there are plenty of other companies who are just as bad in other ways. People virtuously boycott Kitkats and don’t touch Shreddies, but happily buy clothes from Gap and wear Nike trainers.
Anyway, rant aside, I took the jar of Alta Rica home so as not to offend anyone’s sensibilities, and brought in Carte Noire instead. Again, cue horrified reaction from boss. Now Carte Noire is owned by Kraft, and as far as I am aware there is no major issue with them (apart from being a huge multinational, of course, which intrinsically is beset with problems), so I couldn’t see that it would provoke such a reaction. But ANY coffee that isn’t Fairtrade is going to be A Very Bad Thing in my boss’ eyes.
By sticking to my guns, I managed to be allowed to keep the jar, with the proviso that it stayed hidden under the sink and the large vat of Fairtrade granules would be on display and freely available. Fine by me, I said.
What I couldn’t understand, though, was how I was getting through so much coffee when it was just me using it. Until one day, I went in to find another member of staff bent double, surreptitiously transferring a teaspoon of my Carte Noire to their mug. Looking shamefaced, they confessed that they, too, HATED the Fairtrade and ever since there had been an alternative available, they’d been using it, but had been too scared to admit it.
That was four months ago, and since then, we’ve got through numerous jars of Carte Noire. And the Fairtrade stuff? Still at the same level it was back in March.
Making a cup of coffee for everyone in the building has become an epic task, and our consumption of hot beverages has reduced drastically. The end is in sight, thank god, as I am starting to get cranky without a constant supply of coffee.
Coffee is a battle royal that has been raging ever since I started this job in January. Because we work in a “fairtrade town” (although someone please define that one for me) all our coffee and tea is meant to be fairtrade too. Now, in theory, I’m totally for that. The problem is that I find all types - and I do mean all - of fairtrade instant coffee to be vile. I cannot drink them. Co-op, Cafedirect, Clipper – you name it, I’ve tried it and hated it. Ground coffee is fine, but there’s something about instant that just doesn’t sit well with me.
So I started buying my own personal jars of coffee to bring into the office. The first mistake I made was buying Alta Rica, which as many of you will know, is made by Nestle. Cue horrified intake of breath from boss, and accusations of supporting evil multinationals who abuse little African children. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am fully aware of Nestle’s reputation and the actions they have done, and I am not condoning them in any way. I do, however, feel that Nestle has become a scapegoat and that there are plenty of other companies who are just as bad in other ways. People virtuously boycott Kitkats and don’t touch Shreddies, but happily buy clothes from Gap and wear Nike trainers.
Anyway, rant aside, I took the jar of Alta Rica home so as not to offend anyone’s sensibilities, and brought in Carte Noire instead. Again, cue horrified reaction from boss. Now Carte Noire is owned by Kraft, and as far as I am aware there is no major issue with them (apart from being a huge multinational, of course, which intrinsically is beset with problems), so I couldn’t see that it would provoke such a reaction. But ANY coffee that isn’t Fairtrade is going to be A Very Bad Thing in my boss’ eyes.
By sticking to my guns, I managed to be allowed to keep the jar, with the proviso that it stayed hidden under the sink and the large vat of Fairtrade granules would be on display and freely available. Fine by me, I said.
What I couldn’t understand, though, was how I was getting through so much coffee when it was just me using it. Until one day, I went in to find another member of staff bent double, surreptitiously transferring a teaspoon of my Carte Noire to their mug. Looking shamefaced, they confessed that they, too, HATED the Fairtrade and ever since there had been an alternative available, they’d been using it, but had been too scared to admit it.
That was four months ago, and since then, we’ve got through numerous jars of Carte Noire. And the Fairtrade stuff? Still at the same level it was back in March.
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