Two-eight Two-eight Two-Snow

Before I begin, let me quickly point out that the title of this blog post is a reference to my age as of Wednesday, combined with the snowy weather conditions, combined with the once-famous advert with the telephone number that sounded like an owl.

Now my shameful pun explanation is out of the way, I would like to firstly say that I've had a brilliant week. I remember when the white stuff descended in February last year and transport here in south east London was well and truly borked, with no buses, no trains, no DLR, and the snow was really too thick to walk through. This time I think both the snow hasn't been quite as severe (albeit it's more persistent), or TFL have pulled their socks up somewhat, or a little of both, as despite various transport cock-ups I have managed to get into town and home again every day. Yes, it's taken me a little longer than normal, but the DLR really has come to the rescue.

I'm very glad it did, because the last thing I wanted was to be stranded on my own on my birthday and for my planned celebrations to be a 'white off'. So I made it to the office after a rather epic effort, had a lovely birthday lunch with colleagues (three out of five of us have our birthdays within a week of each other; obviously Capricorns make good newspaper PR people) then went to a local bar for 'Birth-hay drinks'. I was absolutely chuffed to bits with the turnout as I thought the weather would have put more people off. My friends who live in Abu Dhabi were in London this week, so they made it along, as did lots of other good friends. A huge thank you to all who came (but absolutely 'snow flurries' if you couldn't make it).

I then had a couple of days off work, during which I was out and about quite a lot, catching up with the aforementioned Abu Dhabi pals before they flew back, and tonight I went to watch The Snow Queen ballet at The Coliseum. A fantastic production and some of the dancing actually made me gasp. I have a new-found appreciation for ballet after stumbling (apt for me) across a fabulous BBC4 drama about Margot Fonteyn last week.

In all honesty I know I've been lucky this week as during the latter half when the weather really deteriorated I haven't had to battle through rush hour crowds to get into town and back again. But I must say that - when I have needed to travel - I've been mightily impressed with how smooth my journeys have been. Yeah, it's taken a little longer and my wellies (above) have probably worn down a few millimetres with all the extra walking, but it proves that if you don't want to be sat at home on your own when the sky shakes out its dandruff, you really don't have to be.

And finally, here are some [girly] 'when it snows, anything goes' observations from the last week:

• You can walk in the middle of the road
• You can wear wellies in The Coliseum (well, I did and no one told me off)
  
• You can wear a hat without even considering what your hair will look like when you take it off because NOT wearing one simply isn't an option
• You can leave the heating on at night (cos, you know, you might freeze otherwise...)
• You can wear uber-cosy clothes to work
• You can build a snowman ANYWHERE. I saw one yesterday on the roof of a car...which was being driven along the road. Classic. Shame it wasn't on top of a van as it could have been a SNOWVAN.
  

The Dunsfold Seven

In my last but one post, I talked about how much I love London - and I really do - but the pace of life is so relentless, and so much can change in such a short period of time, that getting away every once and a while is the only way to maintain a healthy outlook on things. So after what can only be described as a challenging week, I was very much looking forward to a weekend in the countryside with a bunch of good friends. A while back we arranged a trip to a village called Dunsfold in Surrey (they film Top Gear there), where one of my friend's granny's lives (Granule), and the timing for the trip from my point of view couldn't have been better. Her home is a lovely rambling yet cosy place, with room for all seven of us.

But this year's trip didn't get off to the best of starts. Firstly, I was awoken by a full-on thunderstorm; not a great weather prospect for frolicking in fields. Then, having decided to treat myself to a massive bowl of steaming porridge for breakfast since I never did get round to dinner the night before, I discovered that water was dripping into the kitchen from the newly-occupied flat above. So I met my new neighbours in my pyjamas to introduce myself and request - as cheerfully as possible - they switch off their shower, like, now. Which they promptly did, and they called out a plumber straight away to fix the problem. Legends.

After the morning's dramas I donned my trusty cagoule and wellies and hotstepped it from London and its related stresses as fast as I could. I'm so glad I did. The torrential rain cleared just in time for a bracing walk around the village and the surrounding area. The wind was still ferocious - strong enough to lean into without falling over - and we even saw a massive tree uprooted before our eyes, blocking the country road (we called the necessary people). Quite a sad moment in hindsight, as the tree must have been hundreds of years old. We returned to Granule's in time for tea and brownies around the roaring fireplace. A jumbo crossword and a game of cheat later and it was time for fireworks! Granted, a week late, but it's part of what is fast becoming an annual tradition (we made the same trip this time last year).

On our Sunday morning walk we splashed in giant puddles, saw a beautiful rainbow, made friends with a couple of horses....then stumbled across a crime scene! I don't want to go into too much detail as it's obviously still a live case, but we had to call the police and everything. A proper mystery straight out of an Enid Blyton book, but a traumatic experience for the victim no doubt.

So now I'm back in London. Back to reality. But with a renewed energy, thanks to a perfect weekend full of simple, wholesome pleasures, and the magnificent seven people I shared it with, including the irrepressible Granule.

Speaking in puns...

...is quite often what I find myself doing, mainly for my own childish amusement. Most of them are pretty weak and groan-inducing (which isn't a bad thing), but there's something incredibly gratifying about coming up with a pure pun. By a 'pure' pun, I mean one that works on not two, but at least THREE separate levels; they're the puns that are meant to exist, and they'll pop into your head almost effortlessly, before you've even had a chance to process the sheer brilliance of it. I reckon I've come up with a triple-tiered pun on only a dozen of occasions or so. Those who've ever interacted with me in any way shape or form know that a dozen is a tiny drop in the ocean when it comes to the sheer volume of my word-play attempts. So they're very rare creatures indeed.

Anyway, I've gone off on a punrelated tangent, as this blog was meant to be about a play I saw tonight called 'Speaking in Tongues'. A very good play it was too. It had John Simm in it (most would know him from Life On Mars, but as a Doctor Who fan I only see The Master), and another Doctor Who connection via actress Lucy Cohu, who played Captain Jack's daughter in the latest Torchwood series (thanks IMDB, that had been bugging me all night). There were only four actors in the production, but each one took on at least a couple of characters throughout the play.

The story initially centres around two married couples, whose lives and relationships are about to become as interwoven as the fast-paced dialogue, which is spoken in unison by the characters in the opening scene. Each of the couples is experiencing marital problems, and by coincidence they each find solace in the other's spouse. 

By the end of act one, the audience is left wondering whether the couples will resolve their differences once their individual deceptions have been discovered and agonised over. But then the second half takes the audience on an altogether different journey, following the stories of a number of other complicated relationships, with a dark mystery linking them all in unspoken little ways, as well as the characters we met in the first half. It's all very clever and tense, and it was a great production which definitely gets you thinking about the notion of trust and just how blimin' complicated human relationships are, and not just the romantic ones.

Before the play, I caught up with some old colleagues and friends, and had a yummy Thai meal in a restaurant which I never knew existed before tonight. It's called Thai Pot, and it's just round the corner from my favourite pub in the world, The Harp. So, basically, everything I have mentioned above, I would very much recommend.

Unleashing the Beard

I'm not usually the type of person who makes New Year's resolutions, but at the start of 2009 I had the urge to tick off one of my life's ambitions at some point over the next 12 months. I can now happily declare that I have achieved that aim - to play a live gig.

I've been drumming for a couple of years, just as a random hobby really. I've written before about how this may seem an odd choice of instrument for someone who is usually pretty clumsy and uncoordinated, but it somehow seems to work! My band - Witness To The Beard* - has been together for just under a year, and although we try and get together to practice once a week, work commitments have meant that our gatherings are more infrequent than we would prefer. So the prospect of actually getting up on stage and playing our songs (well, to be fair, their songs, as I just drum along) was pretty terrifying. But I reckon sometimes you have to challenge yourself and put yourself in unfamiliar situations simply for the experience.

I'm thrilled to report that our first gig was an amazing experience. Yeah, our performance was by no means perfect, but we got up there, played a set of mostly our own material, and even got paid for the privilege! We hadn't realised when we signed up to play a 30-minute slot at the Comedy Pub near Leicester Square that we'd get a quid for everyone who turned up to see us, so we were thrilled to get over a tenner each.

The 30+ people who were there to specifically watch up absolutely blew me away with their support and enthusiasm on the night. The chants of "Witness!Witness!Witness!Witness!" were inspired, and exactly the type of light-hearted vibe that we all thrive under. On this occasion I personally decided not to tell too many people about our debut performance, just in case it all went horribly wrong. But since it went pretty well, expect to see much more shameless self-promotion from now on! It would be great to see lots of familiar faces at one of our future performances, and I'd be really interested to get your feedback on our beardy antics!

*My dad grew a beard. Someone didn't believe me. Someone else said: "It's true. I was witness to the beard." Simple as. The beard is still in existence today, and we proudly represent those facial follicles through the medium of rock.

Unexpected day off

We got evacuated from the office yesterday and have no idea when we'll be allowed back. Apparently, water cascading onto the electrical system does not make for a safe working environment. We have no access to e-mails or anything - shame! My crisis mode kicked in nicely, and I helped to put together an emergency telephone pyramid so we can quickly keep each other updated on the situation given the lack of e-communication.

Unfortunately the nature of my job means that I for one can actually still do some work from home. However, I guess I mustn't grumble about being paid to sit in my new flat today, reading all of the newspapers whilst catching up with the Loose Women and Quincy's latest passionate plight.

Now I'm looking forward to a nice cosy and wholesome weekend in the countryside with my fab friends. The wellies are already packed, so bring on some sogginess!

A midsummer night's dream

Yes, I know strictly speaking the title of this blog should have a few more capital letters in it, especially since what I have to say is in fact Shakespeare-related. But I'm not actually writing about Puck and Titania, because last night a bunch of us went along to The Globe to watch a special midnight - 3.30am performance of King Lear. It's definitely midsummer-ish, it was during the night and it did indeed feel like a bit of a dream. So my grammar isn't rubbish. Ha.

Anyway, the play was fantastic - amazing pagan music and earthy costumes - I felt like I was watching it as it was originally meant to be performed. With the solar eclipse earlier in the day (which a group of us from the office successfully witnessed from Trafalgar Square by looking at the reflection of the sun in a puddle, causing a few bystanders to look at us rather oddly since it appeared that we were simply standing in a line and looking at the ground) it was, all in all, a pretty magical 24 hours in London.

Photo (in which you can kind of see us!) by little misadventure.

Gotcha

I saw Dave Lee Travis (aka, 'DLT') in Hyde Park today. Or at least I was assured it was him - all I could see was the top of his head, which is very grey and fuzzy. A bit like a boom mike. Some lovely friends from work joined me to read the Sunday papers in the park (I have to read the papers every day for my job). I was delighted to see that my favourite artist, Banksy, was interviewed in the Mail on Sunday's 'Live' magazine - his first ever interview. It's only when you start to read the article that you realise that the guy being interviewed might not actually be Banksy after all, although the journalist is '99% sure'. Well, that's ok then....

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/moslive/article-1024130/Breaking-Banksy-The-interview-worlds-elusive-artist.html

So today I saw someone who may have been DLT, and read about someone who might be Banksy. Or perhaps DLT IS Banksy. That would be cool. Then we could call him 'BLT'. Harhar.