31 March 2004
Yet another update: The end of February, this time
In an endless bid to document my life for the future me, here is the end of February:
28 February 2004: Jongleurs fun
Spim came round for lunch in the afternoon and we enjoyed lots of wine and big bowls of mussels. Although we talked at great length, we also drank at equal length, and so I don't really recall what we talked about. What I do recall is turning up at Obep's flat in Bow that evening, far drunker than I meant to be, and then going to the Jongleurs comedy club in Mile End.
I went to Jongleurs in 1999, in Camden, and found the comedy rather poor and the atmosphere utterly dire. Clearly the Jongleurs management didn't see things the same way, since I would say things were twice as bad in 2004. This was no seedy, underground club where the performers sit on the edge of our culture and peer back at our world and challenge our pereceptions through comedy, with the clientele jeering back and jolly waitresses ferrying sloshing jugs of foaming beer. It's a gigantic, sterile aircraft hanger where seats are crammed up at tables, heckling and talking is strictly forbidden, food and beer must be ordered on a special Jongleurs-branded form which should be handed to one of the Jongleurs team, and the comics are pure mainstream crap - jokes about penises, women, beer, women and penises. The net effect was rather less entertaining that just chatting to my friends, although it did cost £45 more, once I'd factored in the taxi home.
27 February 2004: Revolution
On Saturday morning there was a revolution! A revolution in laundry, that is… for the past two years I've had to plan my life around the draconian opening hours of the local laundrette. The old woman who works there seems to be under the delusion that most people are available to wash their clothes during office hours, and so Saturday was the only day each week I could do my laundry, and if I missed it (say, having fun), then I'd stink for the next five days. It was also a desperate trial each week persuading the stupid old woman to change a fiver for pound coins so I could use the machine, and if she did then I'd have to listen to a twenty minute lecture about how she carries the world on her shoulders, and if it wasn't for her changing my neat little note for five of her grubby pound coins then civilization would collapse around our ears and the Japanese would be at the gates on their horses.
Gladly, this is all now in the past: I now own a spanking brand new Indesit washing machine, with three different flashing lights and twenty five separate cycles, twenty four of which I'll never use. This is what the 21st century is all about.
Update: When I first came to London I used to love going to the science museum and standing in the earthquake simulator - but no more! Thanks to the age of my building and the shoddiness of its construction, I merely need set the washing machine to spin and it's Kobe 1995 all over again! (Bam 2003, for younger readers).
26 February 2004: Count Arthur Strong
I went to see Count Arthur Strong at the Soho theatre with bots like Dan, Andrew, Helens and Ted. He is a brilliant comedy creation, but should not be endured for more than half an hour at a time. It is hard to describe his style (other than to say he's half Matthius Benares, half Alex Tottle, which means little to any of you). The basic premise is that a working class alcoholic idiot is doing his very best to pretend to be a well-read academic aristocrat, and that his very best really isn't best enough.
My favourite section was his defence of Creationism over Darwinism. He begins quite sober: "There's some as believe the world was created in seven days, and I'm not saying I believe that, but I do. And there's others as say we evolved from the monkeys - that's Charles Darwin that said that. But I say to you, Mr Darwin, if monkeys evolved into us, then why are there still monkeys left over? And how, in Planet of the Apes, did Charlton Heston meet TALKING monkeys? That could ride HORSES? And carry RIFLES? … it's witchcraft, that! … PURE WITCHCRAFT! … now that I've exploded Darwin's theory, on with the lecture."
24 February 2004: Zoot Suit Riot
Full of cold, and keen to get better before my holiday, I resolved to go straight home from work and make it an early night. Sadly, a gamut of friends was stationed strategically in the Mug House by London Bridge, and so to go straight home would have been to snub them. I decided to pop in for a swift half and, of course, after a swift half bottle of wine one soon feels like another, and then another, and then the next thing you know you're on stage with Darien, singing "Zoot Suit Riot" to an audience of firemen and backpackers.
Only in the morning, when the healing effects of the wine had worn off and my illness had returned with reinforcements, did I remember how much I'd wanted a quiet night in.
In an endless bid to document my life for the future me, here is the end of February:
28 February 2004: Jongleurs fun
Spim came round for lunch in the afternoon and we enjoyed lots of wine and big bowls of mussels. Although we talked at great length, we also drank at equal length, and so I don't really recall what we talked about. What I do recall is turning up at Obep's flat in Bow that evening, far drunker than I meant to be, and then going to the Jongleurs comedy club in Mile End.
I went to Jongleurs in 1999, in Camden, and found the comedy rather poor and the atmosphere utterly dire. Clearly the Jongleurs management didn't see things the same way, since I would say things were twice as bad in 2004. This was no seedy, underground club where the performers sit on the edge of our culture and peer back at our world and challenge our pereceptions through comedy, with the clientele jeering back and jolly waitresses ferrying sloshing jugs of foaming beer. It's a gigantic, sterile aircraft hanger where seats are crammed up at tables, heckling and talking is strictly forbidden, food and beer must be ordered on a special Jongleurs-branded form which should be handed to one of the Jongleurs team, and the comics are pure mainstream crap - jokes about penises, women, beer, women and penises. The net effect was rather less entertaining that just chatting to my friends, although it did cost £45 more, once I'd factored in the taxi home.
27 February 2004: Revolution
On Saturday morning there was a revolution! A revolution in laundry, that is… for the past two years I've had to plan my life around the draconian opening hours of the local laundrette. The old woman who works there seems to be under the delusion that most people are available to wash their clothes during office hours, and so Saturday was the only day each week I could do my laundry, and if I missed it (say, having fun), then I'd stink for the next five days. It was also a desperate trial each week persuading the stupid old woman to change a fiver for pound coins so I could use the machine, and if she did then I'd have to listen to a twenty minute lecture about how she carries the world on her shoulders, and if it wasn't for her changing my neat little note for five of her grubby pound coins then civilization would collapse around our ears and the Japanese would be at the gates on their horses.
Gladly, this is all now in the past: I now own a spanking brand new Indesit washing machine, with three different flashing lights and twenty five separate cycles, twenty four of which I'll never use. This is what the 21st century is all about.
Update: When I first came to London I used to love going to the science museum and standing in the earthquake simulator - but no more! Thanks to the age of my building and the shoddiness of its construction, I merely need set the washing machine to spin and it's Kobe 1995 all over again! (Bam 2003, for younger readers).
26 February 2004: Count Arthur Strong
I went to see Count Arthur Strong at the Soho theatre with bots like Dan, Andrew, Helens and Ted. He is a brilliant comedy creation, but should not be endured for more than half an hour at a time. It is hard to describe his style (other than to say he's half Matthius Benares, half Alex Tottle, which means little to any of you). The basic premise is that a working class alcoholic idiot is doing his very best to pretend to be a well-read academic aristocrat, and that his very best really isn't best enough.
My favourite section was his defence of Creationism over Darwinism. He begins quite sober: "There's some as believe the world was created in seven days, and I'm not saying I believe that, but I do. And there's others as say we evolved from the monkeys - that's Charles Darwin that said that. But I say to you, Mr Darwin, if monkeys evolved into us, then why are there still monkeys left over? And how, in Planet of the Apes, did Charlton Heston meet TALKING monkeys? That could ride HORSES? And carry RIFLES? … it's witchcraft, that! … PURE WITCHCRAFT! … now that I've exploded Darwin's theory, on with the lecture."
24 February 2004: Zoot Suit Riot
Full of cold, and keen to get better before my holiday, I resolved to go straight home from work and make it an early night. Sadly, a gamut of friends was stationed strategically in the Mug House by London Bridge, and so to go straight home would have been to snub them. I decided to pop in for a swift half and, of course, after a swift half bottle of wine one soon feels like another, and then another, and then the next thing you know you're on stage with Darien, singing "Zoot Suit Riot" to an audience of firemen and backpackers.
Only in the morning, when the healing effects of the wine had worn off and my illness had returned with reinforcements, did I remember how much I'd wanted a quiet night in.
