The best advice I've ever been given came from a white Zimbabwean. After letting us out at our destination, having bought us lunch, drinks and keeping us in stitches for the entire journey, he left us with these sound words:
"Don't get too drunk, don't fall out of your tree and NEVER take your clothes off in public."
I've failed in all 3 at some point or another.
Today delivered some new wisdom:
"Go to the pub. And buy something pretty."
And why not.
Listening to Bat for Lashes
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Monday, April 06, 2009
bitter hands broken glass
It's good to be in April. March has not been one of my finest months of late. For most of it I've been a bear with a bad head. Which I tend to keep down when I'm feeling like that. I'm not great company. Not very talkative.
52 Mondays ago I sat at my desk at The Archives for the first time. Doesn't feel like a year. The work-life-balance-ometer might be swinging a little too far in the wrong direction right now but I still love what I do. And if you're going to wander in to work on a Saturday, then it's much more pleasant to trickle down to Kew than trek up to Tottenham Court Road.
Spring: the chance to wash the coal dust out of my life for another 7 months, finches stopping ever so briefly, sky filled with birdsong, mallards gang-raping each other, and the gradual increase in the numbers of lumpen-headed-pointless-fuckwits (determined to get from one end of the river to another as fast as possible without pause to realise that they're oxygen wasting morons) going by my window. The kind of folks who should be spending time in an environment more suited. Like Jupiter.
I'm listening to a lot of Pearl Jam. The remastered Ten is wonderful, the additional disk of remixes almost better. Beautiful, hopeful and angry. Suited the mood.
52 Mondays ago I sat at my desk at The Archives for the first time. Doesn't feel like a year. The work-life-balance-ometer might be swinging a little too far in the wrong direction right now but I still love what I do. And if you're going to wander in to work on a Saturday, then it's much more pleasant to trickle down to Kew than trek up to Tottenham Court Road.
Spring: the chance to wash the coal dust out of my life for another 7 months, finches stopping ever so briefly, sky filled with birdsong, mallards gang-raping each other, and the gradual increase in the numbers of lumpen-headed-pointless-fuckwits (determined to get from one end of the river to another as fast as possible without pause to realise that they're oxygen wasting morons) going by my window. The kind of folks who should be spending time in an environment more suited. Like Jupiter.
I'm listening to a lot of Pearl Jam. The remastered Ten is wonderful, the additional disk of remixes almost better. Beautiful, hopeful and angry. Suited the mood.
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