Monthly Archives: July 2011

Let’s talk about last week

The febrile background of an orthodoxy, prevalent for my entire life, beginning to crumble (I’m not saying, by the way, that it mightn’t stop crumbling at any minute – even now it seems difficult to believe there will be lasting change, although it certainly feels like the biggest opportunity in a generation) has provided a curious charge to the relatively banal events of my own life in the last few days. I think the weather might have something to do with it as well – the strange fluctuations between downpour and bright blue skies; thunder, drizzle, and sunbathing. This has been a week of picnics on the grass in Russell Square, of tramping alone, moon-lit, through an apparently empty university campus in Stoke (admiring trees). Cheap first class train travel, the fallout of a health and safety inspection, Senate House library in the off-season, the recurrance (Milton Keynes) of the Maxim Gun. Unexpected strains of boisterous, accordion-fuelled sea-shanties drifting over the night-sands at Greenwich, weaving between the towers of the power-station pier. An old friend and a planetarium, Return of the Jedi, the junior novelisation of Jurassic Park, the Millenium trilogy, a banquet and a horrible pizza. And everywhere this curious energy, produced in the place between activity and stagnation, between contentment and loneliness, comfort and uncertainty. The sun through black clouds, cool pyjamas, another thirty cups of tea down and a waterstone’s gift voucher up. Truck festival and teacher training next week.

I also vacuumed the living room.

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Post-Weazle

I’m so tired I can barely see, but I wanted to take a second to post a brief note on here. Just returned to Jessi’s house with the Swindler after a big Catweazle. We recorded the whole thing with Dean. I ended up hosting the whole night at zero notice and it was really enormous, overran significantly, and had even more variables than usual to deal with. It was a tremendous evening, and I’m not weighed down by that kind of satisfying tiredness that makes you actually want to savour it – to put off bed for just one more minute. Has anyone else ever had that? I think you know the one I mean.

Often I rhapsodise about Catweazle, but this has also been a day of bikes up headington hill, cheap tea, lunch with my parents, a stroll round the ashmolean (finding new bits) and much besides. It has been a day of Jessi, Alice, Rosie, Dean, Liz, Cath, James, Sam – the list is way longer than this but I’ll stop before I get tedious. Many good people. Much good art. Tired and happy. More to follow. xx

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