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the sun goes down and the world goes dancing
It's been a good week, full of funny little spikes of euphoria that hit me suddenly as I'm on my bike or sitting watching TV or wherever, really. And I feel like documenting it, with a big long rambling life-update, before the sun goes down and the dancing begins.
On Monday![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wimble made tacos and we watched the finale of Life on Mars. Pretty good, a reasonable enough conclusion, but the real entertainment came later when he posted on LJ about it calling it "Life on Earth". Which leads to the hilarious idea of Life on Mars as narrated by David Attenborough. "The newly arrived male in the troupe is challenging the alpha male's authority. The alpha male feels his territory is being threatened. Watch him puff his chest out. He has the advantage of weight over the rival male, who will have to win allies in the troupe if he is to survive…"
Tuesday: An aqua-aerobics class withtriskellian. Previous weeks it's just been dancing about in water shallow enough to stand in, but this week's was in the nearly four-metre-deep diving pool. We had to wear flotation belts round our waists. I dropped off the edge of the pool into the water and went down, and down, three or four feet maybe, until the belt took over and I popped up like a cork, shaking my head and laughing. Liz had climbed in in a more sensible fashion and said she was jealous and wanted to try that.
Later on I was slow and caused traffic jams in the pool, making the instructor holler at me repeatedly. And I kept sinking, more than anyone else, despite doing exactly what they were doing. I must be abnormally dense. Fun, all the same.
(A sign on the wall forbade petting. Petting! Now there's a fossilised word. It brings me back to books of advice for Catholic girls, like the one which contained a list of fifty 'witty' answers to give to boys who asked you to get in the back of their car. 'No, I'd rather stay in the front with you.')
Then on, with cold ears and wet hair, to a perfect pub evening at the Mitre full of silly laughter, vintage comics, old friends, new acquaintances, cold crisp/soggy pints and the best kind of pub conversation – fast-moving and serious/funny/serious. I'd been wanting a night like that. Meanwhile,cleanskies drawing in her sketchbook, transmuting bits of the table conversation into visuals as we spoke.
Wednesday: catching up withmzdt, unwisely drinking in the afternoon at the City Arms because the nicer-looking pub hadn't even opened yet. Sudden heavy snow started falling. Some boys came in in grass skirts and plastic leis. More arrived in in kimonos, or dressed as what I think were supposed to be Thai ladyboys, in micro-skirts and conical straw hats. It was funny seeing their bare blue legs framed in the door with snow falling behind them.
I asked them if they were all meeting up to go to a party. No, they were on a Countries of the World pub crawl, something to do with the Olympics. A pub crawl! Poor silly things. There was a guy in a very ordinary tracksuit sitting with them. "I'm Greece," he said, showing me a small piece of cardboard pinned to his shirt that said "Greece". He should have been in some sort of toga, the wuss.
It was still snowing, I couldn't face the cycle, oh go on then, twist my arm, I'll have another.
Later, back home, I watched Ferris Bueller's Day Off. In bed, with wine and chocolate.
Thursday: the triumphant return ofmr_snips to the Very Late Risers' Breakfast Club at the Magic Cafe, after his Great Escape from hospital. He told us about his roommates, including a Count and army veteran who claimed to have had every bone in his body broken by a horse, and an old man who spent whole nights yelling "What is the key to the puzzle?" It's an admirable trait to be able to turn personal trauma into such funny anecdotes.
Later, bellydancing class taught bykillalla at Jo's. Gosh, check me out, all over town on my bike, going swimming and now this. Regular exercise, what a funny concept. Shakin' my ass, trying to make the bells ring on the shawl round my waist. Getting the steps all wrong and tripping over my own feet, dizzy corkscrew spinning.
So yeah, tonight: More dancing, but different. Later I'm off to get the Oxford Tube, meetuon and do some trance-dancing somewhere in a tunnel under London Bridge.
All good, all very good.
On Monday
wimble made tacos and we watched the finale of Life on Mars. Pretty good, a reasonable enough conclusion, but the real entertainment came later when he posted on LJ about it calling it "Life on Earth". Which leads to the hilarious idea of Life on Mars as narrated by David Attenborough. "The newly arrived male in the troupe is challenging the alpha male's authority. The alpha male feels his territory is being threatened. Watch him puff his chest out. He has the advantage of weight over the rival male, who will have to win allies in the troupe if he is to survive…" Tuesday: An aqua-aerobics class with
triskellian. Previous weeks it's just been dancing about in water shallow enough to stand in, but this week's was in the nearly four-metre-deep diving pool. We had to wear flotation belts round our waists. I dropped off the edge of the pool into the water and went down, and down, three or four feet maybe, until the belt took over and I popped up like a cork, shaking my head and laughing. Liz had climbed in in a more sensible fashion and said she was jealous and wanted to try that. Later on I was slow and caused traffic jams in the pool, making the instructor holler at me repeatedly. And I kept sinking, more than anyone else, despite doing exactly what they were doing. I must be abnormally dense. Fun, all the same.
(A sign on the wall forbade petting. Petting! Now there's a fossilised word. It brings me back to books of advice for Catholic girls, like the one which contained a list of fifty 'witty' answers to give to boys who asked you to get in the back of their car. 'No, I'd rather stay in the front with you.')
Then on, with cold ears and wet hair, to a perfect pub evening at the Mitre full of silly laughter, vintage comics, old friends, new acquaintances, cold crisp/soggy pints and the best kind of pub conversation – fast-moving and serious/funny/serious. I'd been wanting a night like that. Meanwhile,
cleanskies drawing in her sketchbook, transmuting bits of the table conversation into visuals as we spoke. Wednesday: catching up with
mzdt, unwisely drinking in the afternoon at the City Arms because the nicer-looking pub hadn't even opened yet. Sudden heavy snow started falling. Some boys came in in grass skirts and plastic leis. More arrived in in kimonos, or dressed as what I think were supposed to be Thai ladyboys, in micro-skirts and conical straw hats. It was funny seeing their bare blue legs framed in the door with snow falling behind them. I asked them if they were all meeting up to go to a party. No, they were on a Countries of the World pub crawl, something to do with the Olympics. A pub crawl! Poor silly things. There was a guy in a very ordinary tracksuit sitting with them. "I'm Greece," he said, showing me a small piece of cardboard pinned to his shirt that said "Greece". He should have been in some sort of toga, the wuss.
It was still snowing, I couldn't face the cycle, oh go on then, twist my arm, I'll have another.
Later, back home, I watched Ferris Bueller's Day Off. In bed, with wine and chocolate.
Thursday: the triumphant return of
mr_snips to the Very Late Risers' Breakfast Club at the Magic Cafe, after his Great Escape from hospital. He told us about his roommates, including a Count and army veteran who claimed to have had every bone in his body broken by a horse, and an old man who spent whole nights yelling "What is the key to the puzzle?" It's an admirable trait to be able to turn personal trauma into such funny anecdotes. Later, bellydancing class taught by
killalla at Jo's. Gosh, check me out, all over town on my bike, going swimming and now this. Regular exercise, what a funny concept. Shakin' my ass, trying to make the bells ring on the shawl round my waist. Getting the steps all wrong and tripping over my own feet, dizzy corkscrew spinning. So yeah, tonight: More dancing, but different. Later I'm off to get the Oxford Tube, meet
uon and do some trance-dancing somewhere in a tunnel under London Bridge. All good, all very good.
Petting
Given this, is it surprising that signs for Petting Zoos always make me think of some kind of furtive, repressed orgy?
Re: Petting
My advice book said, flatly, "Don't pet. It builds up the desire for more." It grudgingly said you could hold hands, if you were very, very careful.
Re: Petting
Which is actually pretty good advice if you're trying not to do the things they want you to try not to do. Unhelpfully, however, it also strongly recommended you abstain from any solo method of (ahem) 'relieving your tension', as it were. Which is just asking for an epidemic of exploding teenagers, IMHO. Not to mention just plain foolish and head-wrecking.
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I'll wave as I go in the opposite direction!
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Is that a quote from Dubya's autobiography ?
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But if that doesn't work out, and it may well not, shall I give you a ring?
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I’m going to Elise’s thing in Borough tonight — don’t know what time it finishes, but it’s not too far away.
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