weekend

[devi]

The short version: Rain, bands, rain, talk, rain, stupid funny songs, rain, books, rain, rain.

On Friday night I trogged through the pouring rain to meet up with juggzy, cleanskies and annifa and go to see Sleater-Kinney, who were fantastic, all galloping guitar wig-outs, though I couldn't hear a word they were singing. I went scurrying to the merchandise table afterwards, but they had no CDs for sale. So we all went back to the pub and sat outside in the rain for a while before we had to admit defeat and go back into the warm and loud.

cleanskies pointed out to me that the writer of a book I've been reading about Oxford, Jan Morris, is the transsexual Jan Morris I'd seen in newspaper profiles years ago. That does explain a lot of puzzling stuff in the book. She mostly comes across like a middle-aged woman – whatever that means – but as though she has experience of having been a male undergraduate, and then you come across a weird multi-page diatribe about how Oxford hasn't been as good since they let the women in. Apparently the women disturb the intensely homoerotic male companionship and are too interested in working hard and getting good results. Bad women! No biscuits! cleanskies thinks Jan Morris became a woman to show the women how it ought to be done.

Actually, the book is beautifully written and full of wonderful moments but it's been bothering me in other ways besides the strange gender stuff. I've probably been taking too much Marxism lately – it's a hazard of teaching sociology – because it's leaving me unsatisfied with regard to something I was curious about: what's it like to grow up poor in Oxford, going to a shit school with no encouragement and no prospects, spending your life on the fringes of this huge system whose courtyards will probably always be closed to you? Jan Morris pretty much ignores them. For just a few sentences she goes "There are some poor people living down by the train station! Ooh, fancy that! Now, as I was saying about the dons…"

Can anyone recommend any books about Oxford psychogeography? The sort of books Iain Sinclair writes about London? Surely books like that must exist in a city this old and full of stories?

After more drinking and ranting about the evils of society I went home on the Brookes Bus in the pouring rain, the hem of my skirt soggy, feeling kind of righteous and melancholy. At the bus stop a passing girl stopped and squirted washing-up liquid on the ground, then lathered it up with her foot. "Bubbles!" was all she managed to say before her friend dragged her on up the street.

Saturday was Polyfilla-ing the bathroom (and more rain) and then Eurovision! Drunken raucous fun as ever (thank you kauket) and enough key changes and costume changes to keep everybody happy. I wondered if it would be possible to program a Terry Wogan Commentary Generator. We all cheered like mad for Finland, though Lithuania was the funniest thing I've seen in a long time. Eurovision goes self-referential! Eurovision discovers irony! Oh man! Eurovision breaks the fourth wall! I was glad Finland won, but every point Lithuania got was a victory for humour and irreverence and it felt good. The hard core sat up afterwards till the wee hours playing card games, then taxi home in, guess what, the pouring rain.

On Sunday I did nothing whatsoever but lounge and read as the rain poured down outside. The sun's out now. I hope it lasts. Oh, now it's gone again.

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