Unreliable information since 1972
It’s Saturday night. I am not out partying. I am instead lying on my bed, in a room lit only by a couple of candles, sipping whiskey and listening to the rain fall outside my window while Tom Waits sings songs of regret and loss on the stereo.
Because sometimes, staying in on your own is much, much better than partying.
In the absence of anything more interesting to say: I have been listening to an awful lot of Tom Waits lately. You should do the same thing.
So the weekend just gone:
Friday: Huw’s leaving do. Clubbing at the Underworld. Suprise encounter with WEF clubbing people. Good laugh.
Saturday: Went out to meet up with WEFclubbing people for trip to Uptight. Complete non-attendance of WEF-clubbing people, and Andrew and Andrea have my heartfelt gratitude for saving me from an evening of kicking about in town doing nothing, as we went for food and drinks at Garlic’n’Shots followed by cherry beer in the dutch pub that I can’t spell the name of. They sodded off at about ten, leaving me with an hour to kill before Uptight, so I went for coffee.
Went on to Uptight, met Dan and Sarah who I hadn’t seen in ages, so that was ace, but frankly, the club was shit. The music was less interesting than last time I went, and the crowd were older. Dull, dull, dull. Won’t be back. We left very early, and I spent a few hours wandering about town on my own being depressed. Which I really ought to have learned not to do by now. Got harassed by random drunk people who had evidentially decided that they didn’t like my face, which did nothing to help my mood.
Ooh, tests!
Firstly, the Stress Test – 27% stressed, apparently, which is “well below average”. I can get less stressed by eliminating: conciousness. Hurrah!
Secondly, the Goth, Trendy, Alternative? test. I am: 30% Goth, 5% Trendy and 45% alternative (“Angry *and* Arrogant! You have just enough knowledge of the world to really resent it properly”). Quite what the remaining 20% of me is, I’m not sure. Answers on a postcard, please.
(Tests found via various Sluts livejournals. I’m watching you, you bastards. I can see all the nasty little things you get up to when you think no-one’s watching. For god’s sake, stop that. Or at least use disinfectant first, you horrible, horrible people.)
Going to be one of those days. I have a not-quite-hangover, just enough that I’m feeling a bit headachy and dry, not enough to actually qualify as a proper hangover and I could really do with a few more hours sleep. Nothing’s working as it should, and all in all, I just want everything to fuck off and leave me alone.
Long and tiring day yesterday – London’s open House weekend is on, so I spent to tramping over town with my friends seeing things like the Mason’s Hall, The Guildhall, and a couple of churches. Should be off to do Christchrch Spitalfields today. After the tramping, because the club I’d be planning on going to was cancelled, I went to see a marvelous and strange cabaret. Some acts better than others, but a very entertaining night.
Before I forget: Diamanda Galas was ace, last night. Beautiful and frightening. Her command of her voice is just astonishing, and she’s a damn fine pianist. I’d love to give a proper review, but honestly, I don’t know where to begin, except to say that she was good. Three encores and a standing ovation good. That’s about the best I can do.
Oh, fuck. Fuckety fuckety fuck. My eyemodule has packed up. I am this close to tears, right now. I know it’s sad and geeky of me, but my visor and all the associated kit I have for it is pretty much my most prized possession. To find that part of it is no longer useable is just rotten. This is made worse by the fact that I need the damn thing in order to do everything I want with Electricana.
What do I do now?
Fuck.
I love living in London. This will come as a shock to no-one that knows me, but it’s nights like tonight that make me remember how much I love it.
As I write this, I’m sitting in the cafe at the Royal Festival Hall, where I’ve come to the second in my set of “three artists I must see live before I die” – Diamanda Galas. I’ve already seen Nick Cave, and have yet to see Tom Waits. From here, I’m drinking a coffee while watching the sun set over London – a Waterloo Sunset. Not a perfect view, and the sky’s pretty murky, but it’ll do. I have a need to see one of these every so often, and this’ll tide me over for a while.
Because I knew I had time to kill, (and also knew that if I went to the pub with my friends, I wouldn’t want to leave), I got off the tube a couple of stops early, and walked the rest of the way, down along the river from Embankment to Westminster, over the bridge and back down on the other side, stopping frequently to admire the view. It’s sad that so few Londoners take the time to appreciate their city, which really is the finest city on earth.
A final note, before I get on with something more important – the elderly crew opposite me have just surprised me by complimenting me on my “Jesus hates you and so do I” T-shirt. I’m used the shirt getting compliments from my generation, but from the older one is a little unusual.
Films I’ve seen this year that were worth the money I paid (as in: I can still recall having been to see them and enjoyed them): GINGER SNAPS, STATE AND MAIN, JURASSIC PARK III. I find that scary. In nine months, I’ve seen three films that have stayed with me.
Films I’ve missed that I really wanted to see, but was too crap to get around to it: SHREK.