It's very cold in the flat tonight but I'm refusing to put on the fire or the radiators because it's still only September. Also, if I get into the habit of putting that fire on now, it'll be on all the time and, given the impending financial apocalypse, I really don't need my gas meter to start ringing up numbers with the speed and ferocity of an ambitious tele-sales executive.
Speaking of financial doom, I went out for cocktails on Friday night at The Scotsman and on Saturday night at Harvey Nick's. Lots of people were doing the same; you wouldn't think there was a credit crunch. It reminded me vaguely of those paintings depicting the Gilded Age of American excess just before the Great Depression kicked in. Uh-oh.
I have a date this week with someone I actually feel quite excited about. (I'm not looking for a relationship but since I'm not putting the fire on, I could really do with something to keep me warm.) I know, who'd have thought it? The last time I felt like this about someone I was 14, so it's a lot of fun. Even if it comes to nothing, it's good to know that I can still get excited. I was beginning to wonder. (p.s. 'Dave' and I have gone back to being 'just friends'. He accepted it with good grace and humour and said: "Yeah, you're much cooler when you're not going out with you." 'Dave', on the other hand, was exactly as cool as when he wasn't going out with me. I feel he has a lot to learn about women and I need to be more honest with myself.)
A colleague from work was telling me about a guy she's just started dating. He sounds hot and she's pretty excited. All excellent news. However, she was telling me about a dinner he'd cooked the night before. He made lobster. She was suspicious that he hadn't made it himself as cooking is 'neither a great interest nor skill' for him. "What does it matter whether he caught the lobster with his teeth or whether he scooped it out of a can, it's the thought that counts." "Oh I know, and it was really good. I just wish he'd be upfront if he didn't make it himself."
"Did you have a good night though?"
"Yeah, it was great. A really nice evening."
"Excellent."
"Except..."
"What?"
"Well, it was getting quite late so Steve offered to give me a lift home. And I said: 'Well, maybe I'll just stay'. He looked a bit startled and said: 'Erm... the thing is ... my mum's here'. I said: 'What? You're kidding!' I mean, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of his mum all night. 'Where is she?' 'Erm ... she's through in one of the bedrooms. She's visiting this weekend, but she didn't want to get in the way.' 'Right, well I'm not staying if your mum's here.' 'Yeah, I'll give you a lift.' So he gave me a lift home. I still don't think he cooked that lobster himself though. I wish he'd just say."
"Oh my God. Who cares about the fucking lobster? You're dating Norman Bates."
In other news:
1)I've got my race number and champion chip through for Sunday's big race. Very excited and nervous.
2)I received a text from Careth to say she and Mark are "expecting a 'bundle of joy' in March '09". Jen said she felt the '09 part was unnecessary unless Careth has turned into an elephant since we saw her last. I clearly missed the point as I thought their insurance policy was paying out.
3)Leanne is due to deliver baby number two any day now.
4)Sinead is loved-up and she and Saul are acting like Jonathan and Jennifer Hart. I don't just mean they're being all romantic and cosy, they're actually undertaking investigative assignments in and around Kirkcaldy.
5)My ex is getting married, again, (the fool) and wants to chat through some 'unresolved stuff' from our spectacularly short-lived attempt. I'm not doing it."
I'll let you know how I get on in the big race.
Showing posts with label Jen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jen. Show all posts
Monday, September 29, 2008
Friday, November 10, 2006
Claws and crimps
Life? Manic? Yes! And not in the good way. Work has been so crazy that I've taken to avoiding my email and my phone like the plague. In some ways it's good because it's only ever pishy little stuff that comes via those channels, but in others it's bad because I now have something of a 'diva' attitude towards my tasks. "If it's not even remotely interesting baby, I ain't touching it."
Yesterday I ran a future planning session for my favourite clients. It went really well and I only mentioned taking my clothes off once. Today, I was filming in Leith. Oh there's no end to the glamour. A couple of months back I'd drawn up some storyboards (complete with stick men) in response to a client's request to make a film, and today it all became reality. My left hand was required for one of the scenes. The very same left hand that had an confidence-shattering experience in this month's company magazine.
Somehow I ended up being centre-spread. There are a number of things wrong with the picture:
1) It's enormous
2) It's a cut-out and as such is bereft of context
3) The photographer shot it from below
4) My left arm is outstretched and, as a result of point 4, appears hideously disproportionate to the rest of my body
5) I am wearing a (hideously disproportionate) chunky, gold bracelet on my (hideously disproportionate)left wrist.
6) I pity da fool.
The only saving grace is that there are staples and a crease down my face so people may not know it's me (I pray. Oh dear God, do I pray).
My colleagues have now nicknamed me 'the claw' and do the full on Toy Story thing every time I open my mouth.
Anyway, I saw today's film as a chance to recover. I was required to stack £2 coins. It doesn't sound very difficult, but I hadn't factored on stage fright. My hand began shaking like Sue-Ellen in the early years. I had to do four takes - dismal.
It was really interesting seeing the film come together. I also had to sit in on the voice-over recording which was really cool. The guy had an amazingly smooth voice, which reminded me of just how nasal mine is.
The last few weeks have been really good for catching up with my friends. Jen (who incidentally was pished at her work today)and I had a marathon phone sesh which was cynical yet optimistic. I also spoke to Kerry, who informed me that one of her budgies has 'croaked'and that she'd bought a replacement which is 'much brawer like'. We're heading off to see the Scissor Sisters in Newcastle next week and are trying to decide what to wear. I'm definitely going to crimp my hair. I've had crimped hair every day this week and it's been attracting a lot of attention. Jayne said:"Oh my goodness. I've not seen a crimp since 1987." To which I replied avec great gusto: "Well Jayne, you'll be seeing lot more of them as it's a key part of the look for this season. And as everyone around here takes their fashion leads from me, expect to see plenty more crimped heads around here next week." She laughed, but in a nervous kind of way.
Sinead emailed with a subject heading of "Colin Fry - Mon 13th, Playhouse", so we're going to see him. I'm looking forward to hearing repeated use of the word "passed-over". On the phone last night, Sinead told me that she'd sent the same email to Joleen and she'd written back saying: "Great! When & where?" Prone to Hulkesque outbursts, Sinead resisted and replied: "Mon 13th :) at the Playhouse :)". Well done that girl!
That's enough from me. I'm off to work on my fireside tartan.
Yesterday I ran a future planning session for my favourite clients. It went really well and I only mentioned taking my clothes off once. Today, I was filming in Leith. Oh there's no end to the glamour. A couple of months back I'd drawn up some storyboards (complete with stick men) in response to a client's request to make a film, and today it all became reality. My left hand was required for one of the scenes. The very same left hand that had an confidence-shattering experience in this month's company magazine.
Somehow I ended up being centre-spread. There are a number of things wrong with the picture:
1) It's enormous
2) It's a cut-out and as such is bereft of context
3) The photographer shot it from below
4) My left arm is outstretched and, as a result of point 4, appears hideously disproportionate to the rest of my body
5) I am wearing a (hideously disproportionate) chunky, gold bracelet on my (hideously disproportionate)left wrist.
6) I pity da fool.
The only saving grace is that there are staples and a crease down my face so people may not know it's me (I pray. Oh dear God, do I pray).
My colleagues have now nicknamed me 'the claw' and do the full on Toy Story thing every time I open my mouth.
Anyway, I saw today's film as a chance to recover. I was required to stack £2 coins. It doesn't sound very difficult, but I hadn't factored on stage fright. My hand began shaking like Sue-Ellen in the early years. I had to do four takes - dismal.
It was really interesting seeing the film come together. I also had to sit in on the voice-over recording which was really cool. The guy had an amazingly smooth voice, which reminded me of just how nasal mine is.
The last few weeks have been really good for catching up with my friends. Jen (who incidentally was pished at her work today)and I had a marathon phone sesh which was cynical yet optimistic. I also spoke to Kerry, who informed me that one of her budgies has 'croaked'and that she'd bought a replacement which is 'much brawer like'. We're heading off to see the Scissor Sisters in Newcastle next week and are trying to decide what to wear. I'm definitely going to crimp my hair. I've had crimped hair every day this week and it's been attracting a lot of attention. Jayne said:"Oh my goodness. I've not seen a crimp since 1987." To which I replied avec great gusto: "Well Jayne, you'll be seeing lot more of them as it's a key part of the look for this season. And as everyone around here takes their fashion leads from me, expect to see plenty more crimped heads around here next week." She laughed, but in a nervous kind of way.
Sinead emailed with a subject heading of "Colin Fry - Mon 13th, Playhouse", so we're going to see him. I'm looking forward to hearing repeated use of the word "passed-over". On the phone last night, Sinead told me that she'd sent the same email to Joleen and she'd written back saying: "Great! When & where?" Prone to Hulkesque outbursts, Sinead resisted and replied: "Mon 13th :) at the Playhouse :)". Well done that girl!
That's enough from me. I'm off to work on my fireside tartan.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Sofa so good
Festival excellence. Jen made the trip up from Liverpool and we both made the most of the weekend.
My shin pads, gum shield, hockey stick and pink hockey glitter ball all arrived in time for Thursday's game, and I noticed a marked difference in my willingness to get 'stuck in'. My blue gum shield makes me look particularly attractive and, according to its instructions, I can 'breathe, talk and spit!". Oh how people will flock to me.
After the game, I had a rather embarrassing encounter with a friend of a friend. As we said our goodbyes, I saw he intended to kiss me on the lips. Uncomfortable with this, I lowered my head to silently plead with the ground to open up and swallow me. Unfortunately, Mr Trying-His-Luck had decided to part his lips, which meant I ended up with my nose in his mouth. Hello, awkward!
Kelly, Tim, Kate, Steven and I headed out for drinks at Baroque after work on Friday. I'd only intended to stay for one but ended up just walking straight from the pub to the station to meet Jen. We dropped Jen's stuff off at the flat then headed out to Shapla for an Indian takeaway. We started the weekend as we meant to go on by ordering the 'special' lentils as a side dish.
It was so good to catch-up and even better over some great food and wine. We chatted non-stop about all manner of things until about 2:45am. Jen slept on the new sofa and informed me that it is most comfortable.
On Saturday, we bought almond croissants from the Manna House and fought our way along Princes Street. As we were heading out to Careth's new house for her house-warming party, we stopped in at M&S to buy a gift. We opted for a gorgeous fuschia orchid, which Jen christened Olivier, and a bottle of pink cava. After eating our sandwiches and croissants, and indulging in the sun in the gardens, we stopped at the bus stop to catch the no. 22. I had the honour of carrying Olivier through the thronging masses and noted that he was attracting a fair bit of attention. "Absolutely beautiful" exclaimed one woman, to which Jen remarked: "Olivier! You cad!"
We then decided to carry out a little psychological experiment to see how many smiles we could induce by casually placing Olivier in front of people's faces. It was remarkable. I noted he drew almost as many smiles from men as he did women, though it was only old ladies who actually commented on his beauty. Jen would identify prime candidates for a comment and I would try to keep Olivier in their faces for as long as possible. We thoroughly amused ourselves in this way for about 20 minutes. At which point we realised that there were no buses on Princes Street. We walked to Lothian Road, by way of a massive (and unintentional) diversion, where we waited another 20 minutes before the no 22 picked us up and took us to Careth's new place.
We presented Careth with her gifts (voici Olivier!) and had the privilege of meeting her boyfriend, Mark, for the first time. He is a lovely guy and both Jen and I confided that we were pleased Careth had someone as wonderful as she deserves. Happiness!
A delicious meal at The Apartment, followed by a stroll across the Meadows brought us to Bristo Square. We went to see a comedienne called Carrie Quinlan who was very likeable and quite funny, but who Jen and I agreed, could have got a lot more out of the material. The highlight of our weekend came at 22:40pm when we went to see Simon Amstell. He opened up with the line: "Matel brought out wheelchair Barbie a few years ago", and it was a great show. As we walked home, Jen and I both admitted we kinda fancied him which adds yet another gay guy to my list.
On Sunday, we took a leisurely stroll along by the Water of Leith and stopped in at the King's Wark for some breakfast. Jen made her train by the skin of her teeth and I looked forward to another Monday morning spent at work - yeah right!
Next week: The film festival, Snow Patrol & Keane.
My shin pads, gum shield, hockey stick and pink hockey glitter ball all arrived in time for Thursday's game, and I noticed a marked difference in my willingness to get 'stuck in'. My blue gum shield makes me look particularly attractive and, according to its instructions, I can 'breathe, talk and spit!". Oh how people will flock to me.
After the game, I had a rather embarrassing encounter with a friend of a friend. As we said our goodbyes, I saw he intended to kiss me on the lips. Uncomfortable with this, I lowered my head to silently plead with the ground to open up and swallow me. Unfortunately, Mr Trying-His-Luck had decided to part his lips, which meant I ended up with my nose in his mouth. Hello, awkward!
Kelly, Tim, Kate, Steven and I headed out for drinks at Baroque after work on Friday. I'd only intended to stay for one but ended up just walking straight from the pub to the station to meet Jen. We dropped Jen's stuff off at the flat then headed out to Shapla for an Indian takeaway. We started the weekend as we meant to go on by ordering the 'special' lentils as a side dish.
It was so good to catch-up and even better over some great food and wine. We chatted non-stop about all manner of things until about 2:45am. Jen slept on the new sofa and informed me that it is most comfortable.
On Saturday, we bought almond croissants from the Manna House and fought our way along Princes Street. As we were heading out to Careth's new house for her house-warming party, we stopped in at M&S to buy a gift. We opted for a gorgeous fuschia orchid, which Jen christened Olivier, and a bottle of pink cava. After eating our sandwiches and croissants, and indulging in the sun in the gardens, we stopped at the bus stop to catch the no. 22. I had the honour of carrying Olivier through the thronging masses and noted that he was attracting a fair bit of attention. "Absolutely beautiful" exclaimed one woman, to which Jen remarked: "Olivier! You cad!"
We then decided to carry out a little psychological experiment to see how many smiles we could induce by casually placing Olivier in front of people's faces. It was remarkable. I noted he drew almost as many smiles from men as he did women, though it was only old ladies who actually commented on his beauty. Jen would identify prime candidates for a comment and I would try to keep Olivier in their faces for as long as possible. We thoroughly amused ourselves in this way for about 20 minutes. At which point we realised that there were no buses on Princes Street. We walked to Lothian Road, by way of a massive (and unintentional) diversion, where we waited another 20 minutes before the no 22 picked us up and took us to Careth's new place.
We presented Careth with her gifts (voici Olivier!) and had the privilege of meeting her boyfriend, Mark, for the first time. He is a lovely guy and both Jen and I confided that we were pleased Careth had someone as wonderful as she deserves. Happiness!
A delicious meal at The Apartment, followed by a stroll across the Meadows brought us to Bristo Square. We went to see a comedienne called Carrie Quinlan who was very likeable and quite funny, but who Jen and I agreed, could have got a lot more out of the material. The highlight of our weekend came at 22:40pm when we went to see Simon Amstell. He opened up with the line: "Matel brought out wheelchair Barbie a few years ago", and it was a great show. As we walked home, Jen and I both admitted we kinda fancied him which adds yet another gay guy to my list.
On Sunday, we took a leisurely stroll along by the Water of Leith and stopped in at the King's Wark for some breakfast. Jen made her train by the skin of her teeth and I looked forward to another Monday morning spent at work - yeah right!
Next week: The film festival, Snow Patrol & Keane.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Coldsore, warm heart
I was on the bus, on my way to collect the car I'd abandoned in favour of wine the night before. Slightly hungover, and with a whopping great coldsore on the right-hand side of my bottom lip, I'd quickly pulled my hair back and put on my specs. Neither looking nor feeling my best, the plan was to get the car as quickly as possible with as few people seeing me as possible.
As the bus neared my stop, I stood up to press the button and leave my seat. Just then, I noticed that the guy in front was moving his hand back - also to press the button I presumed. However, he ended up pressing my left breast instead.
This was something of a shock for us both.
He apologised immediately and I was mortified but said it was quite alright (how awfully British of me).
Now off the bus and walking along the road, I heard someone saying "excuse me, miss". I turned round and saw that it was my public transport groper. He informed me that he hadn't known the bus was going this way and could I tell him the best bus to get to Morningside. I told him that he was almost there and basically just had to follow the road for 10 minuntes. He asked if I was going his way and I said I wasn't. Then he asked if I was from Edinburgh. Not wanting to get into anything resembling a conversation, I said 'yes'. He asked me to guess where he was from. I told him that I'd guess somewhere in West Africa but didn't know exactly where. He pressed me (not quite like before, thankfully) for a country so I hedged my bets and picked the most populous one - Nigeria. And what do you know, I was right. He told me his name was Eugene and he was studying Engineering. He asked me a bit about myself and then, as I said goodbye and went to cross the road, he said:
"So when can I see you again?"
"Perhaps, you'll bump into me in the street or grope me on another bus journey," I replied, then feared he'd think it was an invitation.
"Oh no," said he, "the chances are too slim. Can I have your number?"
"Oh no," said I, "the number can never be given. Things are in God's hands now."
"I like that," he said. "It has been a wonderful pleasure to meet you miss and now I will let you go on your way."
"Likewise," I replied.
As I crossed the road I couldn't help but smile. I'm not saying I particularly like being felt-up by strangers (although there was that one time ... when I was feeling really low ...) and having to make small-talk with them is worse still, but I really wasn't looking my best and it cheered me up that some poor soul didn't seem to mind. And besides, at least he wasn't a stark raving loon like the person my friend Jen had the pleasure of meeting recently. She emailed me with the details of her encounter, which I will share with you now.
Hey Lisa.
As soon as this happened I immediately thought of you - not because you are a Scouse reprobate, but because I really wished you were there to share in the moment. Given your enjoyment of Liverpool's eccentricities, I knew you'd have appreciated it.
I was walking across town last week, having been sent to another building to get my photie took for my security pass (yes, I have started work, it's not just a strange hobby). It was a nice sunny day, and I was just strolling along minding my own business when I stopped at a pedestrian crossing.
A local gentleman struck up conversation with me, which went a little like this:
Scouse Gent: 'Don't touch that button!'
Me: 'OK...er, why not?'
Scouse Gent: 'Have you ever thought about all the people who have probably picked their nose and then pressed that button?'
Me: Well, no, not really...'
Scouse Gent: 'Yeah, picked their nose and then pressed that button! Picked their nose!'(By now - praise the Lord - the green man has deigned to make an appearance and I am defying everything I learned en route to my First Aid badge in the Brownies to get across the road)
Scouse Gent: 'And then you go home and tuck into a nice cream cake. After your fingers have been on that button!'
Me: (now running) 'Hahahahahahaha!'
Scouse Gent: 'A nice cream cake! Cream cake! CREAM CAKE!!'
Lisa, I swear, he kept shouting cream cake at me until he was a small speck in the distance.What the hell is going on in this city?!?!
Quite.
As the bus neared my stop, I stood up to press the button and leave my seat. Just then, I noticed that the guy in front was moving his hand back - also to press the button I presumed. However, he ended up pressing my left breast instead.
This was something of a shock for us both.
He apologised immediately and I was mortified but said it was quite alright (how awfully British of me).
Now off the bus and walking along the road, I heard someone saying "excuse me, miss". I turned round and saw that it was my public transport groper. He informed me that he hadn't known the bus was going this way and could I tell him the best bus to get to Morningside. I told him that he was almost there and basically just had to follow the road for 10 minuntes. He asked if I was going his way and I said I wasn't. Then he asked if I was from Edinburgh. Not wanting to get into anything resembling a conversation, I said 'yes'. He asked me to guess where he was from. I told him that I'd guess somewhere in West Africa but didn't know exactly where. He pressed me (not quite like before, thankfully) for a country so I hedged my bets and picked the most populous one - Nigeria. And what do you know, I was right. He told me his name was Eugene and he was studying Engineering. He asked me a bit about myself and then, as I said goodbye and went to cross the road, he said:
"So when can I see you again?"
"Perhaps, you'll bump into me in the street or grope me on another bus journey," I replied, then feared he'd think it was an invitation.
"Oh no," said he, "the chances are too slim. Can I have your number?"
"Oh no," said I, "the number can never be given. Things are in God's hands now."
"I like that," he said. "It has been a wonderful pleasure to meet you miss and now I will let you go on your way."
"Likewise," I replied.
As I crossed the road I couldn't help but smile. I'm not saying I particularly like being felt-up by strangers (although there was that one time ... when I was feeling really low ...) and having to make small-talk with them is worse still, but I really wasn't looking my best and it cheered me up that some poor soul didn't seem to mind. And besides, at least he wasn't a stark raving loon like the person my friend Jen had the pleasure of meeting recently. She emailed me with the details of her encounter, which I will share with you now.
Hey Lisa.
As soon as this happened I immediately thought of you - not because you are a Scouse reprobate, but because I really wished you were there to share in the moment. Given your enjoyment of Liverpool's eccentricities, I knew you'd have appreciated it.
I was walking across town last week, having been sent to another building to get my photie took for my security pass (yes, I have started work, it's not just a strange hobby). It was a nice sunny day, and I was just strolling along minding my own business when I stopped at a pedestrian crossing.
A local gentleman struck up conversation with me, which went a little like this:
Scouse Gent: 'Don't touch that button!'
Me: 'OK...er, why not?'
Scouse Gent: 'Have you ever thought about all the people who have probably picked their nose and then pressed that button?'
Me: Well, no, not really...'
Scouse Gent: 'Yeah, picked their nose and then pressed that button! Picked their nose!'(By now - praise the Lord - the green man has deigned to make an appearance and I am defying everything I learned en route to my First Aid badge in the Brownies to get across the road)
Scouse Gent: 'And then you go home and tuck into a nice cream cake. After your fingers have been on that button!'
Me: (now running) 'Hahahahahahaha!'
Scouse Gent: 'A nice cream cake! Cream cake! CREAM CAKE!!'
Lisa, I swear, he kept shouting cream cake at me until he was a small speck in the distance.What the hell is going on in this city?!?!
Quite.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Gillen's the name ...
... good old-fashioned hilarity's the game.
My busiest and most successful week yet in my new job meant I was on a bit of a high as I caught the 1600 to Liverpool (via York) to spend the weekend with Jennifer.
My busiest and most successful week yet in my new job meant I was on a bit of a high as I caught the 1600 to Liverpool (via York) to spend the weekend with Jennifer.
Our group presentation (the Big Brother spoof) at the departmental away day was extremely well-received, my knowledge of Bond films meant my group got all the answers to the energiser quiz, and my personal presentation on a Rough Guide for Chavs in Edinburgh went down a storm in the afternoon. In addition, the real work moved along at pace and I feel like I'm really starting to understand things. Nice one.
The social side of life was better yet with Sam and I enjoying a Bon Voyage meal at the Grain Store on Monday night, Mog and I enjoying an 'I need a rant' meal at the King's Wark on Wednesday night, and the dizzying combination of after-work drinks and the Tiny Monkey gig on Thursday. Thoroughly knackered, I stayed just long enough to applaud Keith and his fellow monkeys at the end of their set. Reading about the trials and tribulations of TM on Keith's blog over the past few months meant I was more nervous for them than I ever needed to be - they did indeed rock! Go the Monkey!
Friday at work was a bit of a joke as I turned up at 10am, went for lunch at 11.45, returned at 2.15pm and got a taxi to the station at 3.30. Various comments about allergies to pieces of office equipment, and work in general, ensued.
It took 4.5 hours to get to Lime Street but the wait was well worth it. A woman in an outrageously short, sparse and tacky outfit asked me a question as I was walking along the platform. I told Jen about it and she replied: "Oh yes, the fetching green number. I swear, until I moved here last month, I didn't realise that Atomic Kitten were actually classy and sophisticated." Oh how I've missed my friend.
Jennifer had a shocking cough. I'd always put her down as someone who's bite was every bit as bad, and probably worse, than her bark, alas, on this occasion she was reduced to a cliche. We enjoyed a Thai takeaway and some wine as we caught up on the immediate stuff. Jen showed me to my room, apologising for the fact that this was the only room the owners had neglected to decorate. The next morning after a fantastically comfortable night's sleep, I told Jennifer that the only thing the room was missing was a kitsch picture of the Virgin Mary above the bed. There was an unused picture hook in the correct place and I suspect this may have been the one item the owners took with them. I'm not sure if anyone else gets what I mean here, but some rooms just feel so Catholic. This was kind of how I imagine a priest's bedroom might look, only with Stargazer lilies for decoration as opposed to young boys.
Saturday afternoon was spent at the Docklands where Richard and Judy used to film, and the giant floating weather map was moored. Sadly both Richard and the oversized wobbling items have moved on. The former Miss Gillen and I enjoyed the offerings of the Tate while she told me about her lukewarm relationship with her married name. She is now Mrs Sloan, but doesn't like having to say it and is pretty convinced that when she booked a table for an upcoming meal the woman recorded her name as 'Slod'. Unfortunate.
Jen and I share a contempt for the pretentious wankfest that is modern art, but I have to admit the upper two floors of modern shite were an absolute Godsend after enduring the Turner exhibit on the ground floor. Jen overheard a couple discussing the merits of one of Turner's paintings: "The light in this painting is exceptional," said the woman. "Yes," agreed the man, "it has an almost ethereal quality wouldn't you say?". Shite! In my opinion, Turner and Constable are pretty much the same in that their paintings are dull, dreary, depressing and generally quite pish. Don't get me wrong, the art upstairs was 90% pish too, it's just that most people will actually admit it's pish while they seem to have to pretend that Turner and Constable are excellent examples of arty wonderfulness.
An early dinner of top notch tapas was thoroughly enjoyed before we headed off to Oddbins to stock up for an evening in front of the TV. As we drove back to Jen's, I noticed that the names of shops and bars in Liverpool were appallingly bad and difficult to fathom. There was McHale's Irish American Bar complete with a smog-rotted replica Statue of Liberty. Jen asked what made it Irish-American as opposed to just Irish. I had no answer other than perhaps they put pretzels rather than peanuts on the bar. There was also a shop called Kut-A-Bill. I have no idea what service it offered but did deduce that whatever it was, it was offered cheaply. Just in case the lame play on words didn't impress the idea of cheapness strongly enough, they opted to spell cut with a 'K'. Klassy. There was also some construction work going on under the banner of 'considerate construction'. Jen and I pondered what was so considerate about it and came up with the idea that perhaps the builders wore their belts tightly enough to keep their jeans from sliding half way down their arses.
Copious amounts of wine meant that our witticisms on Saturday night TV came thick and fast. Of course, with Celebrity Stars in their Eyes featuring Jade Goody and Charlene Tilton we couldn't fail.
On Sunday Jen showed me some pictures she and Derek had taken whilst living in Africa over the last couple of years. The scenery was truly stunning and the Rhinos were up-close and massive. A leisurely stroll through Sefton Park with some general musing and pondering of life was the perfect end to a much anticipated and enjoyable weekend.
It took 4.5 hours to get home on the train, but some quality time with a much admired and cherished friend was well worth travelling for.
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