I have discovered that for me, speaking french is like speaking Shakespeare. It takes a while to get your ear in tune and your tongue into gear, but once you do, a glorious world of meaning and elocution opens up in front of you...
Unfortunately, with both Shakespearean and french, the results last longer than the required duration of usage... i.e. I end up using words of ridiculous length for days after reading Shakespeare, and I am still automatically saying 'Bonjour' and 'Merci!' instead of 'Hello' and 'Thank you' ... and french is most definitely not my first language.
What?!?
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
Tuesday, 30 October 2007
Hiatus Time
I am about to embark on NaNoWriMo. As a consequence this blog will probably suffer from neglect. I intend to make fewer entries here and dedicate my energies to my novel attempt – although, knowing me, I shall find every possible method of procrastinating until the very last minute and then do a mad dash for the finish line.
Typically I have booked myself in for more social engagements this month than many previously, so I will endeavour to write a little about these as they come up.
And of course, I shall be keeping you all informed of my word count here. It’s a motivation technique called shame avoidance you see – if I don’t reach the word target, you can all justifiably heap crap on me, so I will post the count as a serious motivation for myself to avoid embarrassment.
Mind you, only 17% of people that do NaNo actually reach the 50k word mark, so I have less than a 1 in 5 chance of succeeding… However I have every intention of having a damn good crack at the target!! I really want to do this – for myself – to see if I have any chance of ever becoming a writer and to prove that I can.
Wish me luck!
Temperature Management Failure
I cannot seem to get the hang of the cold weather here. Strange comment, I know, especially from someone who has survived five winters in Canberra spent largely outdoors thanks to a (now defunct) smoking habit. I don’t mean that I can’t handle the cold, that’s not the problem, what I mean is that I can’t seem to be able to judge the appropriate layers of clothing to wear to suit the conditions. I’m either boiling hot or bloody freezing and no-where in between. My jackets are either too warm or too cold, or I wear too many layers or not enough… can someone please explain to me the exact combination of clothing I need to make at each degree of Celsius to actually be comfortable?? Because I am failing entirely to manage this London weather thing. In Canberra it was fine – when it was cold, it was bloody, bloody cold and when it was warm it was sweltering. I never had a problem choosing the appropriate clothing then… what’s gone wrong? Where has my sixth clothing sense gone? … Grrr
Monday, 29 October 2007
Sweet Paree! Ah How I Love Thee!
It was freezing cold, it was windy, it was overcast, I had a cold and felt pretty miserable the entire time, but I fell in love with this city.
Paris is open. It has wide stretches of grass, huge, grand boulevards, and big stately buildings. It has space that London does not, well, not in my opinion anyway. It seems to be less cluttered, less fiddly, more refined and streamlined and elegant really.
On Friday (after arriving on the Eurostar which was a painless experience), I went to Point Zero, which is where all distances are measured from in Paris, and visited Notre Dame. Now, granted I haven't seen inside Westminster Abbey yet, but ND blew me away. Its front facade isn't any more impressive than many others I’ve seen, but when you get inside, the place is cavernous! It smelt of incense and was hushed and gloomy. Unfortunately, there were many talking tourists about, so not quite the location of contemplation you'd expect, but beautiful in a grungy and well loved sort of way.
As I was determined to take this trip a lot slower than my Amsterdam experience – and as I still had the remnants of the plague – I pottered around taking pictures, and down a side street bought got a Croq Monsieur - why did no one tell me they were so yummy before this? Two pieces of bread - ham between and cheese melted on top and I'd love to know what the cheese was. But it distracted me from the impressive church… how easily I am led! :)
I stumbled onto the flower market, which was beautiful and so peaceful. I always seem to end up in the flower markets of places I visit – they tend to draw me like a loadstone. I just find them so heavenly. Maybe I should try becoming a Gardener later in life…
With a desire to extend my Parisian experience, I stopped off at a cafe for tea (with a cloth tea bag), people watching, and a lemon meringue pie that was an accident of my appalling French...I was trying to order the Lemon Tart!
Next, on the advice of my Lonely Planet guide, I went through the Palais de la Justice (Law Courts) to the Church of Sainte-Chapelle, a small gothic church touted to be incredible. There were two levels to this. Downstairs was a bit of a let down as it seemed very dark, and very commercial, as there was a shop selling medieval paraphernalia, but the ceiling was pretty. Mind you, I LUSTED after the medieval wall hangings they had for sale there. Talk about avarice! If I had had a spare 400 Euro, I’d have bought one of the replica tapestries they had so fast you'd think I was speedy Gonzalez! Upstairs – well, magnificent is the only word I can use to describe it. You climb up a very narrow spiral staircase into another world. It was literally breath taking and everyone came to the top stopped dead in their tracks with gasps of awe and ‘Oh’s of surprise for the amazing stained glass windows. Have a look at the website above - it really is very impressive!
After a suitably decent interval of taking in such magnificence, I moved onto the Conciergerie, which is the remains of a 14th centaury palace. It was cavernous and had the trademark medieval sweeping ceilings and huge fireplaces, so beautiful and ageless but achingly empty. It was used as a prison in the revolution and was where Marie-Antoinette was imprisoned.
From there, I walked to Pont Neuf bridge, which has quite amusing stone heads along it, and gives some lovely views of the Seine.
Then it was onto the Musee du Louvre… wow. It is humongous! I saw the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, the Card-Sharper and lots of Egyptian stuff and then I was stuffed! Someone told me that if you looked at every item in the Louvre for 30 seconds, you’d be there for three months. I can believe it. I have never been in a place as big as that. And yet, I can honestly say that I would go back, time and again, to see more. It was never dull or boring. I wish I had had more energy, or more time, to really assimilate some of the artwork. What ever your passion, whichever century or style, I’m sure you could find it there and then some.
On the way out, I passed under the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel (a mini-version of the other) and then wandered through the Jardin des Tuileries, a lovely and spacious (28 ha) formal garden, to the Place de la Concord, with it’s gorgeous fountains and Egyptian obelisk and then decided that bed was a priority.
The Metro wasn’t as hard to work out as I feared, but it was strange to be in a square train again after the round tube ones. I eventually found my hotel… way out in the sticks. My room this time was tiny, but the single bed was very comfortable, so I didn’t mind a bit.
On Saturday I visited the Eiffel Tower, first winding my way through the Jardins du Trocadero to the Place de Varsovie to take the obligatory picture of the tower and me! J It was really cold though, and I didn’t think standing out in the wind would be good for my health, so I skipped going up. I can do that at a later date.
Another spacious formal garden later, and I found the perfect café to be Parisian in. It was called La TourviIle and reminded me ever so much of Gigi. I sat outside (under heat-lamps) and drank hot chocolate (which wasn’t sweet!) and had some heavenly French food. Yum.
Around the corner was the Musee Rodin, where I saw The Thinker and Hells Gate and had tea in the café. I was taking it easy ok? … Honestly, it was the most tranquil museum I’ve been to – mostly outdoors, with a lot of Rodin’s artwork situated in the formal gardens. The hotel in which he used to live and work is part of the museum and is quite lovely in its own right.
From there, I waked to the Musee d’Orsay: Monet, Renoir, Manet, Whistler, Van Gogh and Klimt… wow. They allow you to take photos if you didn’t use a flash, and I took so many photos it really isn’t funny. I seem to have become an art lover without any intention of doing so what so ever. If you'd asked me if I liked going to art galleries this time last year, I'd have given you a resounding 'NO' although I've been to a few in Australia. Now... well, I'm a convert. I freely admit that paintings can be truly beautiful and that the craft involved is truly awe inspiring. Maybe I just grew up or something. Horrible thought! But I can appreciate the artistry now. And I was yet again overwhelmed by the incredible paintings.
Then I walked over the Seine and up through the Jardin des Tuileries (where I finally recognised that the trees I’d been walking past were chestnut trees!), over the Place de la Concord and up the Champs Elysees. The CE is far wider than it looks in pictures. Yet more gardens line the bottom half but the top is dedicated to high-end stores. In that respect it’s very like Oxford Street only wider. And there were many, many more people on the CE. It was exhausting just fighting my way through them. At the top is the Arc de Triomphe. I had intended to climb it but got interrupted; a parade of civil protection officers (like our SES or so I assume) blocked off the road and the swarms of curious tourists were treated to a marching band and flag ceremony. I eventually got to the Arc and climbed the enumerable steps to the top – my calves were not happy and my feet were decidedly belligerent by the time I got ther. But it was worth it for the lovely, if hazy, views of Paris.
I had dinner on the Champs at the Café George V and watched the world go by, then back to the hotel for some more recuperative sleeping.
On Sunday I visited the Museum de Moyen Age at the Hotel Cluny. That was wonderful. I love medieval stuff, so I was in 7th heaven. It’s a museum housed in the remains of Gallo-Roman baths dating back to AD 200 and includes the 15th century Hotel de Cluny which has some gorgeous gargoyles!! The Lady and the Unicorn Tapestries are also kept there, and they are truly amazing. They’re a collection of six Flemish tapestries, dating from 15th Century, which represent each of the five senses with a 6th wrap-up scene. Wow.
Anyway, I decided to spend my remaining time wandering around Montmartre and to pay a visit to Sacre Coeur. The ‘Best of…’ Lonely Planet guides have these lovely directed walks in them, so I did their recommended route and saw some interesting things along the way. These included Van Gogh's house, a beautiful vineyard and bohemian pub, a courtyard of portrait artists (which I annoyingly neglected to get a photo of)...and some hazy views of Paris.
It was a lovely trip, and I’m not going to talk about the return journey because Eurostar failed to live up to expectations, but it didn’t spoil Paris for me, and I will definitely be going back, and as often as I can. It is a wonderful city… and I had a lot of fun trying out my French too!!
The photos will be following later as I took rather a lot of them and It’s going to take me a while to sort out. C’est la vie!
Paris is open. It has wide stretches of grass, huge, grand boulevards, and big stately buildings. It has space that London does not, well, not in my opinion anyway. It seems to be less cluttered, less fiddly, more refined and streamlined and elegant really.
On Friday (after arriving on the Eurostar which was a painless experience), I went to Point Zero, which is where all distances are measured from in Paris, and visited Notre Dame. Now, granted I haven't seen inside Westminster Abbey yet, but ND blew me away. Its front facade isn't any more impressive than many others I’ve seen, but when you get inside, the place is cavernous! It smelt of incense and was hushed and gloomy. Unfortunately, there were many talking tourists about, so not quite the location of contemplation you'd expect, but beautiful in a grungy and well loved sort of way.
As I was determined to take this trip a lot slower than my Amsterdam experience – and as I still had the remnants of the plague – I pottered around taking pictures, and down a side street bought got a Croq Monsieur - why did no one tell me they were so yummy before this? Two pieces of bread - ham between and cheese melted on top and I'd love to know what the cheese was. But it distracted me from the impressive church… how easily I am led! :)
I stumbled onto the flower market, which was beautiful and so peaceful. I always seem to end up in the flower markets of places I visit – they tend to draw me like a loadstone. I just find them so heavenly. Maybe I should try becoming a Gardener later in life…
With a desire to extend my Parisian experience, I stopped off at a cafe for tea (with a cloth tea bag), people watching, and a lemon meringue pie that was an accident of my appalling French...I was trying to order the Lemon Tart!
Next, on the advice of my Lonely Planet guide, I went through the Palais de la Justice (Law Courts) to the Church of Sainte-Chapelle, a small gothic church touted to be incredible. There were two levels to this. Downstairs was a bit of a let down as it seemed very dark, and very commercial, as there was a shop selling medieval paraphernalia, but the ceiling was pretty. Mind you, I LUSTED after the medieval wall hangings they had for sale there. Talk about avarice! If I had had a spare 400 Euro, I’d have bought one of the replica tapestries they had so fast you'd think I was speedy Gonzalez! Upstairs – well, magnificent is the only word I can use to describe it. You climb up a very narrow spiral staircase into another world. It was literally breath taking and everyone came to the top stopped dead in their tracks with gasps of awe and ‘Oh’s of surprise for the amazing stained glass windows. Have a look at the website above - it really is very impressive!
After a suitably decent interval of taking in such magnificence, I moved onto the Conciergerie, which is the remains of a 14th centaury palace. It was cavernous and had the trademark medieval sweeping ceilings and huge fireplaces, so beautiful and ageless but achingly empty. It was used as a prison in the revolution and was where Marie-Antoinette was imprisoned.
From there, I walked to Pont Neuf bridge, which has quite amusing stone heads along it, and gives some lovely views of the Seine.
Then it was onto the Musee du Louvre… wow. It is humongous! I saw the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, the Card-Sharper and lots of Egyptian stuff and then I was stuffed! Someone told me that if you looked at every item in the Louvre for 30 seconds, you’d be there for three months. I can believe it. I have never been in a place as big as that. And yet, I can honestly say that I would go back, time and again, to see more. It was never dull or boring. I wish I had had more energy, or more time, to really assimilate some of the artwork. What ever your passion, whichever century or style, I’m sure you could find it there and then some.
On the way out, I passed under the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel (a mini-version of the other) and then wandered through the Jardin des Tuileries, a lovely and spacious (28 ha) formal garden, to the Place de la Concord, with it’s gorgeous fountains and Egyptian obelisk and then decided that bed was a priority.
The Metro wasn’t as hard to work out as I feared, but it was strange to be in a square train again after the round tube ones. I eventually found my hotel… way out in the sticks. My room this time was tiny, but the single bed was very comfortable, so I didn’t mind a bit.
On Saturday I visited the Eiffel Tower, first winding my way through the Jardins du Trocadero to the Place de Varsovie to take the obligatory picture of the tower and me! J It was really cold though, and I didn’t think standing out in the wind would be good for my health, so I skipped going up. I can do that at a later date.
Another spacious formal garden later, and I found the perfect café to be Parisian in. It was called La TourviIle and reminded me ever so much of Gigi. I sat outside (under heat-lamps) and drank hot chocolate (which wasn’t sweet!) and had some heavenly French food. Yum.
Around the corner was the Musee Rodin, where I saw The Thinker and Hells Gate and had tea in the café. I was taking it easy ok? … Honestly, it was the most tranquil museum I’ve been to – mostly outdoors, with a lot of Rodin’s artwork situated in the formal gardens. The hotel in which he used to live and work is part of the museum and is quite lovely in its own right.
From there, I waked to the Musee d’Orsay: Monet, Renoir, Manet, Whistler, Van Gogh and Klimt… wow. They allow you to take photos if you didn’t use a flash, and I took so many photos it really isn’t funny. I seem to have become an art lover without any intention of doing so what so ever. If you'd asked me if I liked going to art galleries this time last year, I'd have given you a resounding 'NO' although I've been to a few in Australia. Now... well, I'm a convert. I freely admit that paintings can be truly beautiful and that the craft involved is truly awe inspiring. Maybe I just grew up or something. Horrible thought! But I can appreciate the artistry now. And I was yet again overwhelmed by the incredible paintings.
Then I walked over the Seine and up through the Jardin des Tuileries (where I finally recognised that the trees I’d been walking past were chestnut trees!), over the Place de la Concord and up the Champs Elysees. The CE is far wider than it looks in pictures. Yet more gardens line the bottom half but the top is dedicated to high-end stores. In that respect it’s very like Oxford Street only wider. And there were many, many more people on the CE. It was exhausting just fighting my way through them. At the top is the Arc de Triomphe. I had intended to climb it but got interrupted; a parade of civil protection officers (like our SES or so I assume) blocked off the road and the swarms of curious tourists were treated to a marching band and flag ceremony. I eventually got to the Arc and climbed the enumerable steps to the top – my calves were not happy and my feet were decidedly belligerent by the time I got ther. But it was worth it for the lovely, if hazy, views of Paris.
I had dinner on the Champs at the Café George V and watched the world go by, then back to the hotel for some more recuperative sleeping.
On Sunday I visited the Museum de Moyen Age at the Hotel Cluny. That was wonderful. I love medieval stuff, so I was in 7th heaven. It’s a museum housed in the remains of Gallo-Roman baths dating back to AD 200 and includes the 15th century Hotel de Cluny which has some gorgeous gargoyles!! The Lady and the Unicorn Tapestries are also kept there, and they are truly amazing. They’re a collection of six Flemish tapestries, dating from 15th Century, which represent each of the five senses with a 6th wrap-up scene. Wow.
Anyway, I decided to spend my remaining time wandering around Montmartre and to pay a visit to Sacre Coeur. The ‘Best of…’ Lonely Planet guides have these lovely directed walks in them, so I did their recommended route and saw some interesting things along the way. These included Van Gogh's house, a beautiful vineyard and bohemian pub, a courtyard of portrait artists (which I annoyingly neglected to get a photo of)...and some hazy views of Paris.
It was a lovely trip, and I’m not going to talk about the return journey because Eurostar failed to live up to expectations, but it didn’t spoil Paris for me, and I will definitely be going back, and as often as I can. It is a wonderful city… and I had a lot of fun trying out my French too!!
The photos will be following later as I took rather a lot of them and It’s going to take me a while to sort out. C’est la vie!
Wednesday, 24 October 2007
Lemming Behaviour...
I’ve been having a disconcerting number of blond moments recently… and yes, I can say that because I AM blond!! Here follows a small list which provides incontrovertible proof of my dedication to becoming a lemming:
Action: I visited the Australia shop to buy flags for the Last Night at the Proms, and seeing that I was there, and that they had them, and I hadn’t had them in about five years, I bought a box of Chicken Shapes. Half way through eating the contents, I remembered why I hadn’t bought them in five years… I am allergic to them.
Result: Delightful migraine on the night before the last night of the proms.
Action: Trusting my fridge… well I’ve blogged about that already here.
Result: Continuous cramps for three days.
Action: Leaving my window open a crack because ‘I like fresh air’ when I know it’s going to be hovering around the four degree mark overnight, and that, as I am a rather immobile sleeper, a draft would give me a crick in the neck… and doing this, not once, oh no, but on THREE separate occasions within a two week period.
Result: Inability to move my head in any direction without continual stabbing pains for days after each occation.
But most stupid of all??
Action: Now I know that if I look after myself when I feel the first twitchings of an illness, it doesn’t usually latch on too hard and I recover much faster than if I don’t. Well, I didn’t. No, instead, I went to Brighton, for a day out in the cold, with a really bad head cold. All in a good cause of course! I wanted to catch up with some lovely people I haven’t seen in years… but honestly Kat!!
Result: It was wonderful catching up with Kerry and Nick, but I was totally flattened afterwards and had to stay in bed for two days, so lost two day’s wages, and as I failed to look after myself prior, I have since failed to get rid of the damn thing. I was also so generous as to pass on this indescribable plague to many of my poor fellow office compatriots, playing havoc with IT support for a week.
I know I have a degree, but whether or not I have a brain is a much more vexing question.
Action: I visited the Australia shop to buy flags for the Last Night at the Proms, and seeing that I was there, and that they had them, and I hadn’t had them in about five years, I bought a box of Chicken Shapes. Half way through eating the contents, I remembered why I hadn’t bought them in five years… I am allergic to them.
Result: Delightful migraine on the night before the last night of the proms.
Action: Trusting my fridge… well I’ve blogged about that already here.
Result: Continuous cramps for three days.
Action: Leaving my window open a crack because ‘I like fresh air’ when I know it’s going to be hovering around the four degree mark overnight, and that, as I am a rather immobile sleeper, a draft would give me a crick in the neck… and doing this, not once, oh no, but on THREE separate occasions within a two week period.
Result: Inability to move my head in any direction without continual stabbing pains for days after each occation.
But most stupid of all??
Action: Now I know that if I look after myself when I feel the first twitchings of an illness, it doesn’t usually latch on too hard and I recover much faster than if I don’t. Well, I didn’t. No, instead, I went to Brighton, for a day out in the cold, with a really bad head cold. All in a good cause of course! I wanted to catch up with some lovely people I haven’t seen in years… but honestly Kat!!
Result: It was wonderful catching up with Kerry and Nick, but I was totally flattened afterwards and had to stay in bed for two days, so lost two day’s wages, and as I failed to look after myself prior, I have since failed to get rid of the damn thing. I was also so generous as to pass on this indescribable plague to many of my poor fellow office compatriots, playing havoc with IT support for a week.
I know I have a degree, but whether or not I have a brain is a much more vexing question.
Saturday, 20 October 2007
Amsterdam
It was fun. Exhausting, but fun.
My modes of transportation were impressive - or rather, the sheer number I had to take to get to and from home to my hotel and thence to Amsterdam return was impressive. All up, I travelled on 10 trains, 4 busses, 2 planes, 1 tram, 1 taxi and a partridge in a pear tree... not that you can travel in a pear tree... but you may be able to travel on the partridge! And the one mode I didn't take that I wish I had as it would have really saved my feet: Bicycle. Will be hiring one next time for damn sure! I don't think I spent more time travelling than I did actually in Amsterdam, but I could be wrong - it was definitely a close run thing!
Arriving Friday night after a full day's work, all I wanted to do was crash (3 trains, 1 plane, 1 taxi). And I got a lovely surprise when I got to the hotel. Both the hotel and my room were MaHOOsive!!! The hotel was out in the sticks which accounted for me being able to afford such luxury, but still... I wasn't expecting such a cavernous suite I can tell you!
Anyway, on Saturday I went into Amsterdam (3 busses, 2 trains), arriving in Amsterdam Centraal Station and proceeded to kill my feet by hiking to the De Gooyer Windmill. It probably wasn't that far, but it sure didn't feel like a stroll. En route I passed NEMO - the science and tech museum, which looks like a giant sinking ship, complete with a three-master out front; The Nederlands Scheepvaartmuseum (the maritime museum), which is closed until 2009 (D'oh); the start of a boat race, the participants of which I continued to see all day speeding along the canals; some amazing spider webs from which I stayed a healthy distance away; and literally thousands of bicycles - they're everywhere - something like 600,000 of them are owned in the country and there seemed to be more bicycles than people!! Anyway, the windmill wasn't actually in motion when I arrived so I got a coffee and recovered from the walk. An hour later it still wasn't going, so I decided to head back into town. I managed to see it starting to spin out of the rear window of the bus I finally caught back to Centraal... damn.
Speaking of dams, Dam Square is the main square in the centre of Amsterdam. It's situated where the first dam of the Amstel river was created from which the city takes it's name... I think. Anyway, the National Monument is there and the Koinklijk Paleis, a royal residence, along with, very bizarrely, a full-blown fair out front. I got a two-foot high pink and yellow stick of fairy floss so I was happy.
Next was a wonder through the winding streets of the city, over many canals and through interesting little side alleys, where I found the Bloemenmarkt (lovely street of flower shops selling tons of tulip bulbs), the Delft shop (scary being in there actually - I was very aware of not touching anything), amazing displays of alcohol (would you like your whisky in a deer, or horse-shaped bottle or perhaps a motorbike?), and quite a few ‘Australia’ shops selling Australian chocolate (I didn't know we had especially good chocolate back home...?!?). I passed, and was too scared to go into, the Amsterdam Diamond Centre. I think you need to be made of money to go into that place which I am obviously not. Diamonds are apparently one of the Netherlands bigger industries. And also went past one of the original gates to the city. I think I circled around the main areas at least three times. My feet felt very ill-used but the place is so fascinating it warranted several passes.
Amsterdam has a very bohemian side and is very liberal. There are 'Coffee houses' selling hash everywhere, and the Red-Light district, which is prostitute territory, is a major tourist attraction for everyone including families with young children. There really are red lights on the houses and many scantily clad ladies posing in purposefully designed windows down one particular street. It was interesting. There was also a Sex Museum, a Marijuana Museum and an Exotic Museum along with so many sex shops I lost count. Pretty much like Fyshwick only classy. And right in the middle of it, a beautiful Church - Oude Kirk - which is dedicated to St Nicholas, the patron saint of sailors and prostitutes appropriately! I went into the Sex museum, which was a good chortle, but also educational in the way that sex has been viewed through time. They have some very interesting displays there.
Sunday (5 trains, 2 busses, 1 tram, 1 plane) I went back into Amsterdam for a few hours and thence home... but I did manage to get some cultural experiences in before departing. I walked from Centraal to the Oud Zuid and a stretch of ground they call the Museumplein for good reason. It’s this vast grassed area with a fantastic collection of museums and cultural icons on the edges.
The first I visited was the Rijksmuseum. This is Amsterdam’s answer to the Louvre. The building itself is very impressive. Unfortunately it's undergoing renovations, so only it’s ‘Masters’ were on show. Funnily enough, that wasn't really a handy cap. The best of the museum all agglomerated in one location so I didn't have to go hiking for miles to find them? I call that fortuitous! And they really were amazing. Rembrant... wow! Such illumination - his paintings literally GLOW! Paintings don’t often inspire me, but I was in total awe at these - I really wish I'd had time to go to Rembranthuis where he painted - next time. The Night Watch, his most famous painting there, was incredible - and so big. I've seen it on the TV in art shows before, but seeing it up close was a totally different experience. Exhilarating really.
Then I popped just next door to the Van Gogh museum. A much more modern building housing 200 odd of his paintings and 800 plus sketches on four floors. It was amazing to see so many of his works in one place and there was such variety! I love his flower paintings best. His variations on sunflowers - apparently he did 5 of them with variously blue and yellow backgrounds - and his orchids are just so vibrant and energetic. They really appealed to me.
In the same area is the Concertgebow (a concert hall famous the world over). I wish I could have gone to a performance. I've heard so many classical concerts recorded from there. However, it was closed, so I just got pictures of the outside.
Then I decided my feet needed yet further torture and headed over to Vondle Park, ostensibly for a relaxing afternoon of contemplation, but really I just sat on the bank of one of the lakes and aired my blisters.
Then it was on to Vondle Kirk for a quick look (a church - which I saw one side of) before heading back to Amsterdam Centraal and back the Airport to go home.
I was so tired I couldn't sleep - over stimulated I think. I will try to take it a little easier the next time I go OS. I pushed myself a little too hard trying to see everything at once. I think I’m coming down with a cold too. I just keep forgetting that I can go back and visit again. I don't have to do everything all at once. Too energetic, that's me. Huh!
My modes of transportation were impressive - or rather, the sheer number I had to take to get to and from home to my hotel and thence to Amsterdam return was impressive. All up, I travelled on 10 trains, 4 busses, 2 planes, 1 tram, 1 taxi and a partridge in a pear tree... not that you can travel in a pear tree... but you may be able to travel on the partridge! And the one mode I didn't take that I wish I had as it would have really saved my feet: Bicycle. Will be hiring one next time for damn sure! I don't think I spent more time travelling than I did actually in Amsterdam, but I could be wrong - it was definitely a close run thing!
Arriving Friday night after a full day's work, all I wanted to do was crash (3 trains, 1 plane, 1 taxi). And I got a lovely surprise when I got to the hotel. Both the hotel and my room were MaHOOsive!!! The hotel was out in the sticks which accounted for me being able to afford such luxury, but still... I wasn't expecting such a cavernous suite I can tell you!
Anyway, on Saturday I went into Amsterdam (3 busses, 2 trains), arriving in Amsterdam Centraal Station and proceeded to kill my feet by hiking to the De Gooyer Windmill. It probably wasn't that far, but it sure didn't feel like a stroll. En route I passed NEMO - the science and tech museum, which looks like a giant sinking ship, complete with a three-master out front; The Nederlands Scheepvaartmuseum (the maritime museum), which is closed until 2009 (D'oh); the start of a boat race, the participants of which I continued to see all day speeding along the canals; some amazing spider webs from which I stayed a healthy distance away; and literally thousands of bicycles - they're everywhere - something like 600,000 of them are owned in the country and there seemed to be more bicycles than people!! Anyway, the windmill wasn't actually in motion when I arrived so I got a coffee and recovered from the walk. An hour later it still wasn't going, so I decided to head back into town. I managed to see it starting to spin out of the rear window of the bus I finally caught back to Centraal... damn.
Speaking of dams, Dam Square is the main square in the centre of Amsterdam. It's situated where the first dam of the Amstel river was created from which the city takes it's name... I think. Anyway, the National Monument is there and the Koinklijk Paleis, a royal residence, along with, very bizarrely, a full-blown fair out front. I got a two-foot high pink and yellow stick of fairy floss so I was happy.
Next was a wonder through the winding streets of the city, over many canals and through interesting little side alleys, where I found the Bloemenmarkt (lovely street of flower shops selling tons of tulip bulbs), the Delft shop (scary being in there actually - I was very aware of not touching anything), amazing displays of alcohol (would you like your whisky in a deer, or horse-shaped bottle or perhaps a motorbike?), and quite a few ‘Australia’ shops selling Australian chocolate (I didn't know we had especially good chocolate back home...?!?). I passed, and was too scared to go into, the Amsterdam Diamond Centre. I think you need to be made of money to go into that place which I am obviously not. Diamonds are apparently one of the Netherlands bigger industries. And also went past one of the original gates to the city. I think I circled around the main areas at least three times. My feet felt very ill-used but the place is so fascinating it warranted several passes.
Amsterdam has a very bohemian side and is very liberal. There are 'Coffee houses' selling hash everywhere, and the Red-Light district, which is prostitute territory, is a major tourist attraction for everyone including families with young children. There really are red lights on the houses and many scantily clad ladies posing in purposefully designed windows down one particular street. It was interesting. There was also a Sex Museum, a Marijuana Museum and an Exotic Museum along with so many sex shops I lost count. Pretty much like Fyshwick only classy. And right in the middle of it, a beautiful Church - Oude Kirk - which is dedicated to St Nicholas, the patron saint of sailors and prostitutes appropriately! I went into the Sex museum, which was a good chortle, but also educational in the way that sex has been viewed through time. They have some very interesting displays there.
Sunday (5 trains, 2 busses, 1 tram, 1 plane) I went back into Amsterdam for a few hours and thence home... but I did manage to get some cultural experiences in before departing. I walked from Centraal to the Oud Zuid and a stretch of ground they call the Museumplein for good reason. It’s this vast grassed area with a fantastic collection of museums and cultural icons on the edges.
The first I visited was the Rijksmuseum. This is Amsterdam’s answer to the Louvre. The building itself is very impressive. Unfortunately it's undergoing renovations, so only it’s ‘Masters’ were on show. Funnily enough, that wasn't really a handy cap. The best of the museum all agglomerated in one location so I didn't have to go hiking for miles to find them? I call that fortuitous! And they really were amazing. Rembrant... wow! Such illumination - his paintings literally GLOW! Paintings don’t often inspire me, but I was in total awe at these - I really wish I'd had time to go to Rembranthuis where he painted - next time. The Night Watch, his most famous painting there, was incredible - and so big. I've seen it on the TV in art shows before, but seeing it up close was a totally different experience. Exhilarating really.
Then I popped just next door to the Van Gogh museum. A much more modern building housing 200 odd of his paintings and 800 plus sketches on four floors. It was amazing to see so many of his works in one place and there was such variety! I love his flower paintings best. His variations on sunflowers - apparently he did 5 of them with variously blue and yellow backgrounds - and his orchids are just so vibrant and energetic. They really appealed to me.
In the same area is the Concertgebow (a concert hall famous the world over). I wish I could have gone to a performance. I've heard so many classical concerts recorded from there. However, it was closed, so I just got pictures of the outside.
Then I decided my feet needed yet further torture and headed over to Vondle Park, ostensibly for a relaxing afternoon of contemplation, but really I just sat on the bank of one of the lakes and aired my blisters.
Then it was on to Vondle Kirk for a quick look (a church - which I saw one side of) before heading back to Amsterdam Centraal and back the Airport to go home.
I was so tired I couldn't sleep - over stimulated I think. I will try to take it a little easier the next time I go OS. I pushed myself a little too hard trying to see everything at once. I think I’m coming down with a cold too. I just keep forgetting that I can go back and visit again. I don't have to do everything all at once. Too energetic, that's me. Huh!
Thursday, 18 October 2007
A Romantic Notion Debunked
I have always heard that the position of the horse’s hooves in a statue of a famous person on horseback reflected the way that the person died. I liked this theory and kept intending to investigate it to verify the meaning. Well this morning, I finally did.
The theory goes that if all four hooves are on the ground then the rider survived all battles without incident, if one hoof is raised then the rider was wounded in battle but if two hoofs are raised – ie, the horse is rearing up – then the rider died in battle.
Unfortunately, if you look at the various statues around and then research the death of the rider, there isn’t a consistent correlation. There are some which follow this seeming code, but enough that don’t to debunk the myth. It turns out that the position of the hooves doesn’t actually symbolise anything except the fancy of the sculptor. If you like to know more you can go here or here.
*Sigh* another romantic notion up in flames.
The theory goes that if all four hooves are on the ground then the rider survived all battles without incident, if one hoof is raised then the rider was wounded in battle but if two hoofs are raised – ie, the horse is rearing up – then the rider died in battle.
Unfortunately, if you look at the various statues around and then research the death of the rider, there isn’t a consistent correlation. There are some which follow this seeming code, but enough that don’t to debunk the myth. It turns out that the position of the hooves doesn’t actually symbolise anything except the fancy of the sculptor. If you like to know more you can go here or here.
*Sigh* another romantic notion up in flames.
Wednesday, 17 October 2007
Autumn is upon us...
Overnight it seems that the leaves have all turned vibrant shades of orange and yellow and started falling everywhere. It's quite beautiful and a very obvious sign of the change in seasons. I haven't really noticed the autumn switch since I lived in Melbourne, so it's a nice stark reminder that there are indeed four seasons here and that I'd really better start preparing for winter.
Whilst it is indeed lovely, there is one real downfall of all the leaves; with the predominance of rain that London has, they don't blow away, but get wet and slimy instead. Walking to work has become an interesting proposition as I’m frequently in danger of becoming part of a slapstick comedy act. I can just see myself doing a banana slide and then going arse over tit, arms flailing wildly whilst my feet fly over my head and I land on my back with a loud bang accompanied by plenty of riotous laughter.
Not something I’d really like to do often thank you.
Whilst it is indeed lovely, there is one real downfall of all the leaves; with the predominance of rain that London has, they don't blow away, but get wet and slimy instead. Walking to work has become an interesting proposition as I’m frequently in danger of becoming part of a slapstick comedy act. I can just see myself doing a banana slide and then going arse over tit, arms flailing wildly whilst my feet fly over my head and I land on my back with a loud bang accompanied by plenty of riotous laughter.
Not something I’d really like to do often thank you.
Tuesday, 16 October 2007
Leunig
I felt in need of a little inspiration today, so I turned to one of my favourite Australian poets, Michael Leunig, and some of his lovely prayers.
God bless this little boat
And me who travels in it.
It stays afloat for years and years
And sinks within a minute.
And so the soul in which we sail,
Unknown by years of thinking,
Is deeply felt and understood
The minute that its sinking.
Let it go. Let it out.
Let it all unravel.
Let it free and it can be
A path on which to travel.
God help us
If our world should grow dark,
And there is no way of seeing or knowing
Grant us courage and trust
To touch and be touched
To find our way onwards
By feeling
Amen.
Love is born
With a dark and troubled face,
When hope is dead
And in the most unlikely place;
Love is born,
Love is always born.
Always lovely :)
God bless this little boat
And me who travels in it.
It stays afloat for years and years
And sinks within a minute.
And so the soul in which we sail,
Unknown by years of thinking,
Is deeply felt and understood
The minute that its sinking.
Let it go. Let it out.
Let it all unravel.
Let it free and it can be
A path on which to travel.
God help us
If our world should grow dark,
And there is no way of seeing or knowing
Grant us courage and trust
To touch and be touched
To find our way onwards
By feeling
Amen.
Love is born
With a dark and troubled face,
When hope is dead
And in the most unlikely place;
Love is born,
Love is always born.
Always lovely :)
Monday, 15 October 2007
Amsterdam...later
I am so very tired after this weekend. I enjoyed going to Amsterdam, but right now I want to go to bed and I have the rest of the day to get through yet. Will write about Am later I think…
Thursday, 11 October 2007
Activities for this Week:
Gym, Veg, Salsa, Washing / Packing, AMSTERDAM!!!
Oh and I've reached a minor mile-stone. This is my 60th blog since my adventures began. Pretty good going if I do say so myself!
:-)
Oh and I've reached a minor mile-stone. This is my 60th blog since my adventures began. Pretty good going if I do say so myself!
:-)
Tuesday, 9 October 2007
Umbrella Etiquette
First things first: Happy Birthday Ali.
Now, I don’t know if I’ve said it before but it bears saying again; London is a very dichotomous society.
There are those who use manners; sorry, excuse me, sorry, thank you, sorry, pardon me, sorry, my pleasure, sorry, you’re welcome…
And those who do not; I am going to hurl abuse at you because I am annoyed, or because you brushed past me trying desperately to get off the bus, or I am drunk, or you looked at me strangely, or the bus isn’t on time, or the Police are asking me to move in a different direction from the one I wanted to go…
There are those that queue; you were first, please no dearie, I’m sure you was first…
And those that don’t; if you stand at a pedestrian crossing far enough from the curb not to get blind-sided by a buses side-mirror then it is guaranteed that by the time the light turns green, there will be five people standing in front of you.
And then there are those that practice umbrella etiquette; I am going to try not to impale you as you are walking down the street, I will lift and angle my umbrella away from yours so that they don’t catch and clash.
And those don't; I will quite happily use my umbrella as a weapon of mass destruction, scratching, gauging, ripping and swiping you without giving a frig as to the damage I'm causing and look at you like you were a piece of trash when you squeal in agony.
I prefer to be one of the former on all counts… it’s the way I’m hard wired I guess. And I’m not going to apologise for saying sorry! :-) But I will admit, in terms of the English fascination with manners, the umbrella dance holds a special place in my heart and has me transfixed every time I see it.
This morning it was raining, and for some reason known only to my deepest unconscious, I decided to walk to work. Well, when I say rain, it was really only spitting or misting. London rain often lacks commitment – which makes for a bit of difficulty on the umbrella front; to use or not to use, that is the question. You’re kinda damned if you do and damned if you don’t, as either way, you still get rather convincingly wet. However, this morning there were more umbrellas in evidence than there were people sodden and bearing it, so the Umbrella quadrille was in full swing.
Whenever it’s wet, you will see the polite Londoners, umbrellas aloft, dancing around, trying to avoid each other’s spokes and still maintain the semblance of rain-coverage. The often colourful circles rise and fall, dip and glide, pirouette and curtsy in an intricate dance of consideration and civility. It’s quite entrancing to watch when it works, to see everyone manage to thread the fine line between a dry walk and hopeless entanglement, especially at those points of convergence such as Tube Station exits. And yet, in a second, it can all be ruined by the boorish, stubborn, unmannerly care-nots who prefer to fight and impale rather than be courteous and dance.
Thankfully this morning I only encountered one boor, and it was only a minor contretemps, his umbrella suffering more than mine I fancy, and I arrived safely, if a tad damp, at work. But the rest of the walk was pure spectacle and very amusing!
Now, I don’t know if I’ve said it before but it bears saying again; London is a very dichotomous society.
There are those who use manners; sorry, excuse me, sorry, thank you, sorry, pardon me, sorry, my pleasure, sorry, you’re welcome…
And those who do not; I am going to hurl abuse at you because I am annoyed, or because you brushed past me trying desperately to get off the bus, or I am drunk, or you looked at me strangely, or the bus isn’t on time, or the Police are asking me to move in a different direction from the one I wanted to go…
There are those that queue; you were first, please no dearie, I’m sure you was first…
And those that don’t; if you stand at a pedestrian crossing far enough from the curb not to get blind-sided by a buses side-mirror then it is guaranteed that by the time the light turns green, there will be five people standing in front of you.
And then there are those that practice umbrella etiquette; I am going to try not to impale you as you are walking down the street, I will lift and angle my umbrella away from yours so that they don’t catch and clash.
And those don't; I will quite happily use my umbrella as a weapon of mass destruction, scratching, gauging, ripping and swiping you without giving a frig as to the damage I'm causing and look at you like you were a piece of trash when you squeal in agony.
I prefer to be one of the former on all counts… it’s the way I’m hard wired I guess. And I’m not going to apologise for saying sorry! :-) But I will admit, in terms of the English fascination with manners, the umbrella dance holds a special place in my heart and has me transfixed every time I see it.
This morning it was raining, and for some reason known only to my deepest unconscious, I decided to walk to work. Well, when I say rain, it was really only spitting or misting. London rain often lacks commitment – which makes for a bit of difficulty on the umbrella front; to use or not to use, that is the question. You’re kinda damned if you do and damned if you don’t, as either way, you still get rather convincingly wet. However, this morning there were more umbrellas in evidence than there were people sodden and bearing it, so the Umbrella quadrille was in full swing.
Whenever it’s wet, you will see the polite Londoners, umbrellas aloft, dancing around, trying to avoid each other’s spokes and still maintain the semblance of rain-coverage. The often colourful circles rise and fall, dip and glide, pirouette and curtsy in an intricate dance of consideration and civility. It’s quite entrancing to watch when it works, to see everyone manage to thread the fine line between a dry walk and hopeless entanglement, especially at those points of convergence such as Tube Station exits. And yet, in a second, it can all be ruined by the boorish, stubborn, unmannerly care-nots who prefer to fight and impale rather than be courteous and dance.
Thankfully this morning I only encountered one boor, and it was only a minor contretemps, his umbrella suffering more than mine I fancy, and I arrived safely, if a tad damp, at work. But the rest of the walk was pure spectacle and very amusing!
Sunday, 7 October 2007
Holy Shit
Now, I know I said I’d not say no to stuff whilst I'm over here - but no-one asked me to do this. I just did it, of my on volition, without thinking about it. Crap. Why did I do this? What am I putting myself up for?
What’s the fuss about? I've just signed up for NaNoWriMo idiot that I am. This is HUGE for me. Writing a novel is something I’ve always had on my list of ‘Things To Do’, but it was always “I’ll get around to it…eventually”. Not “Right NOW Dammit”!
NaNoWriMo is a month long writing spree conducted by thousands of people world-wide for the month of November. The aim is to achieve a novel of 50,000 words or more within that month, and the emphasis is on quantity not quality, so your internal editor is shut in a box and pure creative bullshit ensues. Anyone who completes the word-limit in the time limit (and only about 17% of the participants do) gains international bragging writes, the self-satisfaction of achieving a personal goal and the first draft of a potential novel.
Mind you, the aim for me was always just to write a book, not to become an author. It never has to be published thank goodness. But I guess this will really push me to see if I can do it, and if I can, I will then have it under my belt as another accomplishment.
But oh dear… my head is spinning. It’s a very big commitment. Better make sure I don’t plan too many activities in November. May not be blogging much that month either.
50,000 words. Wow.
What’s the fuss about? I've just signed up for NaNoWriMo idiot that I am. This is HUGE for me. Writing a novel is something I’ve always had on my list of ‘Things To Do’, but it was always “I’ll get around to it…eventually”. Not “Right NOW Dammit”!
NaNoWriMo is a month long writing spree conducted by thousands of people world-wide for the month of November. The aim is to achieve a novel of 50,000 words or more within that month, and the emphasis is on quantity not quality, so your internal editor is shut in a box and pure creative bullshit ensues. Anyone who completes the word-limit in the time limit (and only about 17% of the participants do) gains international bragging writes, the self-satisfaction of achieving a personal goal and the first draft of a potential novel.
Mind you, the aim for me was always just to write a book, not to become an author. It never has to be published thank goodness. But I guess this will really push me to see if I can do it, and if I can, I will then have it under my belt as another accomplishment.
But oh dear… my head is spinning. It’s a very big commitment. Better make sure I don’t plan too many activities in November. May not be blogging much that month either.
50,000 words. Wow.
Saturday, 6 October 2007
I would like to talk to you about Duvets
A Duvet is something I never knew I owned – and yet I did. A Doona is a Duvet.
Apparently it is only called a ‘Doona’ in Australia, derived form the Old Norse dunn meaning ‘down feathers’ and something else that I never knew - that the actual word ‘Doona’ started as a brand name for duvets in Australia. Like so many Australian products, the brand name becomes the product name, so we have Glad Wrap and Scotch tape and Speedo’s and Kleenex and Biro’s… Well, how many examples can you think of?
But let’s not get too sidetracked here.
When I first secured my current place of abode, I had to purchase a lot of manchester, as furniture was included in the flat but linen was not. So I had to buy sheets and towels and pillows… and a duvet. The problem was that duvets here are labelled very differently from what we see at home. Instead of the % of wool v acrylic or down v feathers, all duvets here are rated according to Togs. So What on Earth is a Tog? I hear you ask… well, if you didn’t ask, I certainly did, as I had absolutely no clue and wasn’t about to purchase anything if I couldn’t tell how warm it was going to be.
So off to the trusty www for me…
Tog: Unit of measure of thermal insulation used in the textile trade; a light summer suit provides 1.0 tog. The tog value of an object is equal to ten times the temperature difference (in °C) between its two surfaces when the flow of heat is equal to one watt per square metre; one tog equals 0.645 clo.
Or, in somewhat more user-friendly English:
What are tog ratings?
A 'tog' is a UK industry standard name used for measuring the warmth of a duvet. The higher the tog rating, the warmer the duvet. Togs are measured in units of thermal resistance. For instance if a duvet has a tog rating of 4.5 then it would be more likely be used in the summer months. And at the other end of the scale, a duvet with a tog rating of 13.5 would be used in the colder months of the year.
summer >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> winter
4.5 tog 6 tog 7.5 tog 9 tog 10.5 tog 12 tog 13.5 tog
Something that Australia could benefit from incorporating I think. When I first moved out of home I bought a Doona that was way too warm for me during summer and not warm enough in winter. I learnt that lesson well, and never again bought a 50% down Doona. But you’re still never quite sure if what you’re getting is going to be right for you when you purchase something back home.
Here, they have ingenious duel packs where you can buy a 4.5 and a 10 together, which gives you a summer duvet (the 4.5), a spring and autumn duvet (the 10) and a winter duvet (the 4.5 and 10 combined). This is what I did, and I have recently changed from my summer to my autumn duvet, and it works a treat. I’ve never actually been quite as comfortable in those ‘in-between’ months before. It’s great!
Just thought I’d let you know! :)
Apparently it is only called a ‘Doona’ in Australia, derived form the Old Norse dunn meaning ‘down feathers’ and something else that I never knew - that the actual word ‘Doona’ started as a brand name for duvets in Australia. Like so many Australian products, the brand name becomes the product name, so we have Glad Wrap and Scotch tape and Speedo’s and Kleenex and Biro’s… Well, how many examples can you think of?
But let’s not get too sidetracked here.
When I first secured my current place of abode, I had to purchase a lot of manchester, as furniture was included in the flat but linen was not. So I had to buy sheets and towels and pillows… and a duvet. The problem was that duvets here are labelled very differently from what we see at home. Instead of the % of wool v acrylic or down v feathers, all duvets here are rated according to Togs. So What on Earth is a Tog? I hear you ask… well, if you didn’t ask, I certainly did, as I had absolutely no clue and wasn’t about to purchase anything if I couldn’t tell how warm it was going to be.
So off to the trusty www for me…
Tog: Unit of measure of thermal insulation used in the textile trade; a light summer suit provides 1.0 tog. The tog value of an object is equal to ten times the temperature difference (in °C) between its two surfaces when the flow of heat is equal to one watt per square metre; one tog equals 0.645 clo.
Or, in somewhat more user-friendly English:
What are tog ratings?
A 'tog' is a UK industry standard name used for measuring the warmth of a duvet. The higher the tog rating, the warmer the duvet. Togs are measured in units of thermal resistance. For instance if a duvet has a tog rating of 4.5 then it would be more likely be used in the summer months. And at the other end of the scale, a duvet with a tog rating of 13.5 would be used in the colder months of the year.
summer >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> winter
4.5 tog 6 tog 7.5 tog 9 tog 10.5 tog 12 tog 13.5 tog
Something that Australia could benefit from incorporating I think. When I first moved out of home I bought a Doona that was way too warm for me during summer and not warm enough in winter. I learnt that lesson well, and never again bought a 50% down Doona. But you’re still never quite sure if what you’re getting is going to be right for you when you purchase something back home.
Here, they have ingenious duel packs where you can buy a 4.5 and a 10 together, which gives you a summer duvet (the 4.5), a spring and autumn duvet (the 10) and a winter duvet (the 4.5 and 10 combined). This is what I did, and I have recently changed from my summer to my autumn duvet, and it works a treat. I’ve never actually been quite as comfortable in those ‘in-between’ months before. It’s great!
Just thought I’d let you know! :)
Wednesday, 3 October 2007
The fridge that isn't...
I have had a no-exercise week. Why? Because I ate something I shouldn't'a on Monday night and have been paying the penance for it ever since.
I forgot the cardinal rules of our fridge:
1. Never trust the milk no matter how fresh it is
2. Detract at least 3 days from all other Used By dates
3. Eat at Your Own Risk
I forgot rules two and three and have been feeling remarkably like a punching bag ever since. Used by dates don't mean anything in this country. It's all 'use three days after opening' regardless of when it's 'Due'... which always confuses me!
Every time I do anything more strenuous than a gentle amble, my entire intestinal tract seizes up and lets me know in no uncertain terms that it is feeling exceedingly delicate thank you very much and to please walk slower or else suffer the agonizing death of one thousand cramps. My shoulders are sore from the amount of time I've spent hunched over.
Needless to say, Salsa was off the menu for tonight. I'm catching up with the Muppets instead, and hoping against hope that the bland and boring chicken dish thing I bought for this evenings repast is well within it's used by date...
Grrr...
I forgot the cardinal rules of our fridge:
1. Never trust the milk no matter how fresh it is
2. Detract at least 3 days from all other Used By dates
3. Eat at Your Own Risk
I forgot rules two and three and have been feeling remarkably like a punching bag ever since. Used by dates don't mean anything in this country. It's all 'use three days after opening' regardless of when it's 'Due'... which always confuses me!
Every time I do anything more strenuous than a gentle amble, my entire intestinal tract seizes up and lets me know in no uncertain terms that it is feeling exceedingly delicate thank you very much and to please walk slower or else suffer the agonizing death of one thousand cramps. My shoulders are sore from the amount of time I've spent hunched over.
Needless to say, Salsa was off the menu for tonight. I'm catching up with the Muppets instead, and hoping against hope that the bland and boring chicken dish thing I bought for this evenings repast is well within it's used by date...
Grrr...
Tuesday, 2 October 2007
A Mad Dash for Three G's
One of the things I love about this city is that eventually everyone you’d ever want to see visits here. I’ve just seen Patrick Stewart in Macbeth, Ian McKellen will soon be playing here in King Lear and this evening I saw Neil Gaiman and Jonathan Pryce!
So – G number one was Neil Gaiman in conversation with Claire Armitstead from the Guardian, at the Criterion Theatre in Picadilly, It was an interview, but really he needed so little prompting, she just sort of nudged him in appropriate directions
I was running very late too. I just made it to the theatre for 1800, which is when it was supposed to start, but like all good theatrical events, it was running five minutes late so it was all good.
Neil is in town for the UK opening and promotion of ‘Stardust’ the movie, which I will in due course see, but he talked of many other things as well. It was an hour’s dialogue – and the crowd were allowed to ask questions at the end too. It was fascinating. He’s a lot nicer and gentler in person than you are led to believe from his writing and he said some very interesting things. Like he writes something to discover what he thinks about a subject rather than to illuminate others, and that he isn’t concerned with offending people when writing; in person he’s squeamish and polite, but the minute he’s in a story he looses his inhibitions and just writes what the story asks of him. He also said that if he ever tried to write something for money it invariably went wrong, but if he wrote what interested or intrigued him, the money just sort of worked itself out.
Richard kept my company at this event, and as we were both due at the Apollo to see a play at 1945, he was understandably concerned that we make that performance in time. However as the Gaiman interview was over by 1900 we had about ¾ of an hour up our sleeves and so decided to go to have a look in a Neil’s book signing down the road to see how long the line was. The signing was happening at the Piccadilly Waterstones (the biggest bookstore in Europe) and when we got there we were told to wait for about 2 minutes and then were ushered into a separate room. I really don’t know how we managed it but R and I ended up first in line for the signing. So of course we waited. And waited. Until Neil finally came in at about 1925. I got some photos and two books signed and Richard got his copy of Good Omens signed, which he’d been carrying around the world with him in hope of such an opportunity as he’d already managed to get it signed by Terry Pratchett it’s other author. So it was a bit of a mad dash for us, over to the Blue Posts to pick up the tickets from Jase and then to make it to the theatre on time, but we did.
So, the second G was seeing Jonathan Pryce in ‘Glengarry Glen Ross’ at the Apollo. It was an absorbing play. The dialogue was electric and the actor’s were superb… only, I was a little lost as to what the whole thing was about, until interval, when Jason was able to illuminate me. The film apparently makes it a lot clearer, but essentially the main plot of the play is a competition: 1st prize is a Cadillac, 2nd Prize is you keep your job, and 3rd Prize is you’re fired! So, it’s four door-to-door salesmen in the US competing to sell real estate, and if they don’t get any sales up on the board they lose their jobs.
I found it compelling, but just as I was a little lost at the beginning, so I was a tad under-whelmed at the end. The twist really wasn’t one for me, and although the dynamic between the actors was good, a couple of them kept loosing their American accents, which I found quite jarring. Add that to that the fact that I wasn’t feeling so great and the end result was that I enjoyed it but wasn’t fired by it – no pun intended.
So the third G? It was goodbye to Martin tonight. He’s off home tomorrow and so we had a last beer at the Belgium bar De Hems (I had strawberry beer this time – can’t wait to go to Belgium!) and an Adelaidean contingent photo and then I had to retire.
Sad to see him go but he will be back for Christmas… won’t you Marty??!!
So – G number one was Neil Gaiman in conversation with Claire Armitstead from the Guardian, at the Criterion Theatre in Picadilly, It was an interview, but really he needed so little prompting, she just sort of nudged him in appropriate directions
I was running very late too. I just made it to the theatre for 1800, which is when it was supposed to start, but like all good theatrical events, it was running five minutes late so it was all good.
Neil is in town for the UK opening and promotion of ‘Stardust’ the movie, which I will in due course see, but he talked of many other things as well. It was an hour’s dialogue – and the crowd were allowed to ask questions at the end too. It was fascinating. He’s a lot nicer and gentler in person than you are led to believe from his writing and he said some very interesting things. Like he writes something to discover what he thinks about a subject rather than to illuminate others, and that he isn’t concerned with offending people when writing; in person he’s squeamish and polite, but the minute he’s in a story he looses his inhibitions and just writes what the story asks of him. He also said that if he ever tried to write something for money it invariably went wrong, but if he wrote what interested or intrigued him, the money just sort of worked itself out.
Richard kept my company at this event, and as we were both due at the Apollo to see a play at 1945, he was understandably concerned that we make that performance in time. However as the Gaiman interview was over by 1900 we had about ¾ of an hour up our sleeves and so decided to go to have a look in a Neil’s book signing down the road to see how long the line was. The signing was happening at the Piccadilly Waterstones (the biggest bookstore in Europe) and when we got there we were told to wait for about 2 minutes and then were ushered into a separate room. I really don’t know how we managed it but R and I ended up first in line for the signing. So of course we waited. And waited. Until Neil finally came in at about 1925. I got some photos and two books signed and Richard got his copy of Good Omens signed, which he’d been carrying around the world with him in hope of such an opportunity as he’d already managed to get it signed by Terry Pratchett it’s other author. So it was a bit of a mad dash for us, over to the Blue Posts to pick up the tickets from Jase and then to make it to the theatre on time, but we did.
So, the second G was seeing Jonathan Pryce in ‘Glengarry Glen Ross’ at the Apollo. It was an absorbing play. The dialogue was electric and the actor’s were superb… only, I was a little lost as to what the whole thing was about, until interval, when Jason was able to illuminate me. The film apparently makes it a lot clearer, but essentially the main plot of the play is a competition: 1st prize is a Cadillac, 2nd Prize is you keep your job, and 3rd Prize is you’re fired! So, it’s four door-to-door salesmen in the US competing to sell real estate, and if they don’t get any sales up on the board they lose their jobs.
I found it compelling, but just as I was a little lost at the beginning, so I was a tad under-whelmed at the end. The twist really wasn’t one for me, and although the dynamic between the actors was good, a couple of them kept loosing their American accents, which I found quite jarring. Add that to that the fact that I wasn’t feeling so great and the end result was that I enjoyed it but wasn’t fired by it – no pun intended.
So the third G? It was goodbye to Martin tonight. He’s off home tomorrow and so we had a last beer at the Belgium bar De Hems (I had strawberry beer this time – can’t wait to go to Belgium!) and an Adelaidean contingent photo and then I had to retire.
Sad to see him go but he will be back for Christmas… won’t you Marty??!!
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