Continued from hereYesterday in London. Ben Hecht (February 28, 1894 – April 18, 1964), eat your heart out.
Audition tape of our soon-to-be new
fridge. This isn't technically an anniversary present.
Ruby
We've been together 40(!!!!) years today. As I like to say, we were betrothed as infants. Though she was in
Sri Lanka at the time.
It's no botherRemembering important dates is one of my less used skills, which must explain why it has atrophied. This thought occurs to me twice a year, as my wife and I celebrate both the date of our marriage and the date – you could call it our first and only date – I waylaid her in the building where we both lived and we spent the night talking in the laundry room downstairs. [On edit: it doesn't help that one was the 27th, the other the 28th, though in different months.]
Yesterday she told me about one of her co-workers, who this year forgot his wedding anniversary while his wife naturally didn't. When he was helped to awareness of this unfortunate fact, he quickly attempted a save of the sort gifts or cards were invented to help effect. "Don't bother," she told him. How nice that we could laugh about this even as I scampered away from the scene of my own error.
Now it is time for me to count backwards, as you do before an operation.
"Our" song.
It's a small world after all, at the Science Museum. Narrated by Helen Sharman, the UK's first astronaut who sounds like Victoria Wood.
"No, I won't sing
The Ballad of Barry and Freda (Let's Do It) on the space station."
Macho Mystic Meltdown Chapter 2: Monster; She Wrote. At the V&A.
Encounter artist Natasha Tontey's alternative vision of the 1950s Permesta rebellion in Indonesia through a rare female fighter's ritualistic, indigenous practice at the front line of the political movement. By centring a woman within a male-dominated struggle, the video foregrounds gendered dimensions of rebellion, state violence, and militarised heroism that still shape the Minahasan community in Indonesia today.
Followed by
Diaspora BirdsThrough artist Luo Yang's photographs, be immersed in stories of displacement and emotional conflicts gathered from Asian diaspora communities. The artist reveals complex challenges and resilience arising from identity struggles, integration into Western social systems and difficulties of returning to the homelands. Yang invites us to reflect on the importance of respect and incusivity towards immigrants of different cultural backgrounds – from refugees, orphans adopted into Europe, students, LGBTQ+ individuals and so on.
and so on.
On top of our old apartment building:
It was quite a feeling to come back after all those years.
Click for tour
More recent estate agent pic. You can barely see our red brick building with the bay windows peaking from behind that honey-coloured one.
Concierge not on duty. Had a nice chat with a guy waiting for lady friend before a resident came in from the street and we both followed her in.
Elevator. Fancy. But where's the elevator operator?
Martin Clunes' old flat. I was about to behave badly, as you'll see in the
Things I didn't film section.
Yes, I took it for a spin first on the roof. I'm surprised you had to ask.
- The cop getting angry with me at the Trafalgar Square roundabout because I thought the VIPs he was holding up traffic for had passed.
All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.- The American skateboarder I chatted with in the Exhibition Road courtyard of the V&A after I moved out of the way so he could get to the board he'd parked there, the cloakroom charge being prohibitive. He had a chevron moustache
and was almost as talkative as me when I'm feeling particularly uninhibited.
There was a 60s counterculture vibe to his side of the conversation. Eventually I started to get the feeling he was possibly a little chemically enhanced.
- My bike ride down the fourth floor corridor. The only newfangled change is the just-in-time hallway lighting, which was a bit spooky.
- The Southeastern train conductor stuck in the accessible toilet on the ride home. I choose the seat nearby because it's on its own and has a charge port. The sliding door had stopped short with a 2cm sliver for egress. I finally realised he was beseeching me, and had just attempted to pull it open when a take-charge woman stepped up to the plate, giving it considerably more English it must be said. The conductor handed her a key to the control panel outside, and eventually he was set free, but not before she got her fingers chomped when the door closed on them.
- The River of Fire, way back when.
Fucking awesome. ish.
