The last couple of weeks have flown! Which for some bits in particular is no bad thing; I wonder if we could fast forward through the next four years too.
I’m all packed up and ready to head off for Pimlico for an exercise in déjà vu that I’m vaguely apprehensive about; as a handful of the long term faithful will recall this was my first properly regular London base and it’s (unbelievably) five and a half years since I was last there for any length of time after falling out with my regular pied à terre over a reservation mix up that brought about possibly the most unpleasant accommodation experience I have ever suffered, in London at least. The fateful trips to Edinburgh and Coventry around the same time – related here in ancient posts for anybody who fancies doing a search – remain forever etched in my consciousness whether I like it or not. Brrrrrr.
Hopefully this was nary a blip (plus it was five and half years ago, to be fair) and my return will be as much fun as the glory days before it! I will be keeping company until Saturday morning before heading off at eleven for lunch, a Hidden London tour around London’s very first skyscraper at 55 Broadway and if there’s time a razz round the big John Lewis at Oxford Circus. The original itinerary included taking in the Abstract Expressionists at the RA but memories of my last Saturday afternoon visit thankfully resurfaced before I booked it; believe me, John Lewis will be the epitome of peace and tranquility by comparison and after a couple of months pottering about at home watching the days get shorter that won’t be any bad thing.
Scarborough folks will have to keep their powder dry until next week, but bar a quick 24 hour absence for the Pixies at the start of next month, that’s me back and settled until Christmas – the puddings are now made (taking an unexpectedly spicy and maverick turn thanks to my crap eyesight and resulting exuberance with the cloves) and the Oven Pride has very satisfyingly annihalated the black bits from everything inside the cooker as only industrial-scale soaking in big bags of caustic soda can. Mince pies next, and by then it’ll be well on the way to putting the tree up and I promise I will have sorted out all the Christmas and New Year working arrangements and more importantly, put them where everyone can see them!
A brief update then, since it’s an early start in the morning and
Netflix on the Smart TV bed beckons. Fingers crossed for morning sunshine, or at the very least, daylight.
This week’s song of the week is really an album of the week entry – the Beastie Boys’ Licence to Ill is thirty years old this very month having been released on November 10th 1986, to be specific! I bought mine from Sydney Scarborough in Hull (and whilst I couldn’t put my hands on it for a picture thanks to the ever-present decorating chaos I still have it), so to celebrate us all being three decades older here’s the very first bit. The fact that even I would sound cool rapping over When The Levee Breaks is entirely by the by.
Paul’s Boutique was better I know, but still. Happy days.
More soon, and possibly some hair news…