Smokingboot

It took them ages to get home, because the hospital transport was delayed or didn't turn up or something. In the end, they took the tube. He is so frail and delicate now I well believed him when he said he almost collapsed at the end, but Whimsy was with him. She made us all a fine veggie curry, rice, salad and apple pie with marscapone afterwards. He was aware, eager to see the news and catch up with the world, and his eyes were bright in a way they haven't been for ages, but still he trembled and was very weak. I do not see how this man can be left alone in a flat the day after tomorrow.

With gratitude and relief he may well be enjoying Whimsy's hospitality, yet I can understand how he would want to be home. He says the doctor told him that his liver wasn't in a good state but neither was it in the worst state - he doesn't have cirrhosis. But he is aware he nearly died of pneumonia. 'I will have a scar,' he told me, self conscious about the cut at the base of his throat. I assured him it looked quite manly and he smiled. His smiles are nice. And he wants to write. We are trying to coax him on to the internet. As a solid member of the British Library his research has always been paper based, and very thorough... and of course, the net is monstrous for leading us to bizarre rubbishy websites based on nothing. But still it might save him time.

Having said that, I checked into social media sites on the way home, only to come across an animal cruelty story so upsetting I burst into tears on the bus. Seriously, I made the right decision not to breed. How anybody can take the risk of creating so much evil is beyond me. I honestly begin to believe that the only way to survive happily in this world is to be hopelessly unaware of it. Perhaps my friend is right to avoid the internet.

A very dear friend's words speaking so kindly about light coming back to my life.

He used the word 'sunshine.' I love sunshine.

Don't know if I am quite seeing the dawn yet... right now, it's like walking in a wood at night, with lanterns and camping fires all around and stars over head; it's dark but not utterly dark and I can find my way. It's also beautiful in most places. The landscape is far from empty, and there will be sunshine in the morning.

It's a good time to ruminate on this, as tomorrow will be the 4 year anniversary of the break-in. I have learned a lot. But I will return to this tomorrow.

All the below shows is the obvious re the Arctic Monkeys.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWHkR4O8cyc

This weekend saw us in the company of chums november_girl and ephraim. It became a throwback to the old days of november_girl's flat, where folk would eat, drink and pass out, usually leaving larians and november_girl to sit and talk til dawn, only to wake much later at the behest of a late lunch/football match/whatever.

I'm having a minor regression myself. Gone is this year's earlier sparkly-nailed, sunkissed boot, not quite golden tan streaks down her arm, not quite blonde streaks in her hair. The nails have come off, and I've decided they need a rest, so now all that's left are my own chunky little nails painted ruby, like a punk rocker's kid sister. The so-called tan has gone with the so-called summer, and the hair?

Ah well, the hair. I decided to take a leaf from a certain velvet_the_cat and try Lush Shop's henna powder, branded by Lush's happy marketers as 'Caca' because that's what it looks like. Some joke.

( Adventures with caca. )

So right now, the person in the mirror is a brown haired white skinned freckled woman with stubby nails. Well, my rota starts again next week, and I will sparkle this up as appropriate, cos I love that aspect of my work, but today I also like what I see. Been thinking about the past recently. Have decided to keep the good bits.
Now, back to 505.

Enough. Yes, Hard Wired and I are doomed to combust in an apocalypse of malfunctioning tech, vile weather and insane passers-by. Morituri te salutant! I shall think on it no longer.

Instead I will reveal how to make the most glorious cocktail as discovered by ravenrigan and explained to me by a barkeeper last night, before I went on to enjoy Hot Fuzz in the company of larians, evilwends andcyanidemigraine.

For the delectable cooling cocktail known as The Bombay Flower one mixes:

Bombay Sapphire Gin: Double shot
Elderflower cordial/presse: Half a single shot
4 mint leaves shredded
A squeeze of lemon if preferred
And the mysterious hitherto unknown ingredient:
Syrup de Gomme (brand = Molin}: half a single shot

Don't tell Mad Carew; he'll just steal the gin or offend the locals by ripping up their herb gardens, or squirt lemon in your eyes because you told him he can't kiss properly. Let's leave that loser somewhere north of Kathmandu, steal his aspirin, and we shall cross dream borders, you and I, under a jasmine moon two nights before the monsoon...

It was velvet_the_cat's birthday party on Saturday night, held in rather an interesting location; an organic eatery/garden centre in Kings Heath in Brum. One was faced with temptation almost instantly, and it wasn't even the food. There were heathers and snowdrops dotting the way in, and a pomegranate tree. Within waited interesting relishes and breads, many many cheeses, hummus, lethal chocolate cake and (best of all for me) marinaded artichoke hearts and seriously fine olives.

The birthday girl was beautifully corseted and embustled (not a word, surely?) in black and silver with a black lace choker at her throat; a luscious combination of gothic and romantic. This lady has changed in the years since we first met, and to my mind her changes suit her; always lovely, not a particle of the old velvet has been lost, but much more joy and confidence is apparent.

It was a night for catching up with people and noticing such things; people taking new routes in life, finding crusades, lovers, projects, purpose, a feeling of being near the crossroads. I suddenly had this strange sense that I would not be in a room with all of these individuals again; I guess that can't quite be true, cos there will always be other parties. It isn't even a lamentable thought - people come, people go - but for a moment it was very strong. Not like a premonition; I don't know what it was like really. Guess it's about moving on.

That night and next day larians and I enjoyed the marvellous hospitality of ephraim and november_girl. We got nowhere near the Year of the Pig celebrations; instead we ended up at a local cheese festival in our hosts', er, local. The festival had really occurred the day before, but there was plenty of good cheese left, as if we hadn't been treated to enough at Velvet's party. Adding to the benign atmosphere came great pies and pints, all of which were consumed with enthusiasm. The pub was all too old and welcoming; a dangerous place. We left to avoid the temptation of staying and chilling out until nightfall.

Then we came home, cuddled, and watched Miss Congeniality again. Not everything about the past is a waste of time:-)

Maybe the music could have been better; Friday night at Jilly's has changed somewhat. I recall Friday night as being somewhat grungy, the dangers included inevitable harrassment by hobbits trying to bounce their way into your underwear, but the payoff was fine music.
Go away for a couple of months and everything changes; gone were the irritating squeakies, replaced by well-kitted demigoths and leatherettes. They looked great, but I don't know what they danced to. falco_biarmicus and I realised our desperation when we were almost considering grooving down to Eye of the Tiger. Fortunately our pride took over in time and we retired from the floor.

I did find music to bounce by, but it took an endless patrol of all four rooms to seek out occasional bearables. Admittedly, it was enjoyable when I found the right stuff; it's as though I've needed, just for a while, to not wear ultimate prettykit and pvc, not care about looking good, just leap around in jeans and t-shirt and forget everything except how good it feels to be in the combined vibe of friends and music again. There were hugs. I had forgotten how nice those are.

Friday night passed in great company, more of the same followed on Saturday, when we visited velvet_the_cat and Dan sans lj, and spent night and morning in conversation, punctuated by ver' nice fud indeed. Our hostess made us a fine steak pie, but even this could not compete with her chocolate mouse roulade, which looked like a cocoa sprinkled blanket rolled over on itself, and tasted so heavenly it was gone in seconds. Pouring cream over it helped, not just for taste but because it made strange mesmerising patterns with the cocoa.

Cocoa. That reminds me... could really do with going back to bed...

And now... *drum roll*

The truth!

Big stuff on my mind. Should spill it, make it less real. So then, a small smokingboot realisation, a little truth.

Ah but first...
( Stuff )

Well, I was a bloody awful hostess last night.

Oh I didn't swing naked from the chandelier singing expletives at my guests whilst yoinking the good china out of their grasp with my prehensile toes; that at least would have been interesting. No, I just sat there useless and tired, enjoying their company but unable to contribute at all. Thankfully they made teas and stuff and carried the evening, but it is frustrating to be such a drag.

At some stage yesterday I muddled Ralik's special 'anti-cystitis' food with Surya's regular stuff; I never do things like that, I'm aware with the beasties. There's stuff to be done, packing, etc and of course, my old not-quite-abandoned job to attend to, this afternoon.Tonight I travel again, not back til Monday, missing Maelstrom. I am sitting here staring at the screen, can't be bothered to finish my coffee.

Man, I am more than tired.

Of course it could be the stress of new job and much travel, but...there's no getting past it...I don't feel this sense of exhaustion in London. There's a time for everything I guess. The birdsong outside reminds me that this place has been really good for me in its time, and just as I got sick of London and needed a change, so I need a change from here now, not because of any deficiency in place or people but because of my own requirements. Much as I like the idea of having a cat as my totem, it doesn't fit; cats need their same old territory and freak when they lose it. I'm a birdy really - a new nest every Spring suits me fine.

The I Ching, chronicle of venerable Chinese wisdom tells us how to cope with these feelings:

Hexagram 47:

There is no water in the lake
The image of EXHAUSTION
The superior man (meaning anyone who's smart) stakes his life
on following his will.

Which I presume means that when you are drained and feel you have nothing left, you find something that really matters to you and follow it through. Sound advice I would certainly follow...if I wasn't too knackered.

Edited to add I have just remembered last night's dream in which some kind of Madonna(not madge)/ rag doll figure with long purple hair was supposed to be nailed to a cross, though it didn't look at all grotesque - the whole thing was a blue and purple mediterranean style mosaic, very pretty, and she didn't look unhappy at all.

So first there was Scotland and chums, and a really rich LARP system called Cuckoo's Nest (for a definition of LARP, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LARP) The system was great, the people were great (thanks so much jennifermc, daisyann, squintywitch, bad_moon_rising and many others who either don't have lj monickers or wisely keep them hidden from the boot) the fun had was great but the scenery was the star. It is hard to fantasize about other worlds in a place where everything around you proves how beautiful this one is.

Now, some might argue that for a lady intending to do a screen test in London on Tuesday, where her hands will be on prominent display under cameras, spending the weekend before on a rampage in the wilds might be considered a foolish thing to do. OK, so I had got a lot of green and yellow makeup under the nails. OK, so I had hit my knuckles against something (probably my head) and they were red and scraped. But I guessed I could hide it in some way. It was only when I tried painting them (varnish just ran straight off the acrylic) and putting transfers on (which fell off) that I found myself staring at the horrible truth: Less than a fortnight after paying some chavissima £27 to give me bright clean nails and a gem daisy that fell off, I was staring at hands Rocky Marciano would have flinched from.

Getting into London the night before the test, I ran around Archway looking for a nail salon, and found a Chinese lady who stared at the mess in awe; 'You paid English people to do this to you?' she said. She applied everything short of a flame-thrower to them. £14 and an hour later, they looked great. Yesterday they looked great too; the day was mostly spent watching the show. I was told I would be introduced and spend a couple of minutes talking to a presenter, her manic smile reflecting the rabbit-in-headlights terror of my own bared lips and bulging eyes; in fact, as the show is interactive, we started getting texts and dealing with the public almost instantly. My terror was great, but everyone applauded as I came off set, and they made me feel good. Let's see where it goes from here.


In other news to myself, very important news, it is weird how, despite everything being so much more constructive, I haven't been myself recently; things have bugged me that I should be able to drop, I have been emotional and tired and weepy. It isn't me. But I have pinpointed the situation around which it is happening, and in an unprecedented attack of commonsense, am going to have to be a grown up about it. This is a temporary situation; but even a temporary foray into emotional maturity will help right now. Normal idiocy will be resumed as soon as possible. See my new icon? I am going to use it for times when I need to convince myself that responsibility is regal and fascinating and not a chore at all.

Yeah, right. Whatever.