Come On Up To The House

James won MasterChef. Boo! Not in my name!

I’ve spent most of today answering emails, constructing work-based Facebook pages, and continuing to organise myself for my US trip next week. I’m such a geek - I literally have a daily-itemised folder containing various confirmation emails, print-outs, etc., that I’m taking with me. I’d panic otherwise, I think, I forget things frequently and easily.

I’m preparing my mind also - I have a busy weekend lined up with helping people house-move, packing and that, so I need to focus now. Fortunately, my itinerary allows for getting accustomed somewhat, which is nice. I’ve been daydreaming of New York a bit - I’m really up for that, been perusing the book, studying the districts, trying to work out if I’ve time to head out of Manhattan… All pretty exciting.

It’s the final of Masterchef tonight. That’s pretty exciting. I don’t why but I’m captivated by Greg Wallace’s shiny head and John Torode’s kooky accent, and the food they think up is dead impressive. How on earth does one get that level of knowledge by age 18 as per one contestant? Freakish. Charming though the fat Irishman is, I kind of want the young’un to win, just because that level of innovation is intimidatingly impressive.

I love to cook, me. Last night I stir-fried up some chicken with coriander, ginger and lime, and very nice it were too. The other night, chicken and lemon tagine, and so on. But while I can knock up a decent home-cooked dinner for two, I’ve got nothing on the skill and artistry of these fancy types. That’s why I loved Maze, that’s why I respect Ramsey, hurray for food!

I wrote a post here about Paul Westerberg. As you can imagine, it was full of witty insight, deft manoeuvrings around the English Language, sharp critical analysis and the occasional belly laugh. But I’m cursed in that my post has disappeared, I do not know where.

 To catch up, do listen to:

Paul Westerberg: Folker
Replacements: Let It Be
Replacements: Pleased To Meet Me

PS - hurrah for Fopp!

House-sharing never gets any simpler, and the procession of crazies never dies down. I long for the day when I can shack up with, as Brian Wilson may have put it, my best girl, and own a place that we can do up to our heart’s content, never have to share with strangers, and never have to close our eyes and cross our fingers that there’s no-one in when we get home.

This afternoon and evening has been spent dealing with an unhelpful current tenant trying to impinge on one’s good nature slightly. One has copious good nature, I hope, but one has common sense also. It’s not easy mediating, apparently, and I don’t think I’m very good at it, but that’s the role one has to play occasionally.

It’s amazing how impotent leaving one’s wallet at home renders one. I realised at the Darwin Gate of Noel Park, but decided against going back to get it. This causes issues in the following way:

• I think I’ll just about have enough credit on my Oyster to get me home (although I’ll be collecting a cheque for £1100 to TFL for an annual travelcard soon…).
• I have scant loose change - barely enough for a reduced price Guardian to accompany my lunch break.
• I cannot go up to Stanford’s now to purchase
  • a travel-themed office mug
  • a guidebook for my US trip
• I have to rely solely on my packed lunch to nourish me (actually, probably a good thing in belly terms, although in tastebud terms it’s Mexican week on campus :-()
• I cannot book the following, which I need to do asap:
  • car hire in Boston
  • hotel in Boston
  • Amtrak ticket, NY Penn to Philadelphia 30th St.
  • travel insurance
• I cannot go via Sainsbury’s on the way home, forcing me to shop local. Good for food miles and probably the soon-to-be-recovered wallet, but not so good in choice of what to cook. I reckon I can manage some sort of tagine arrangement though, I’ve defrosted some chicken.

And so on. On the other hand, long time since last blog = news update. I now have a spanking new M&S suitcase to take with me, which is potentially either too huge or sufficiently capacious - I’ll wait and see. I also now have a significantly upgraded room, featuring spanking new Ikea curtains and shelf, and a reorganised and just plain better living arrangement. It’s lurvely. There’s also a redone living room and front garden, with real live flowers and everything. I can’t wait to own a home, it’s going to be mental.

Also, details are finalised for T. to move back in to the soon-to-be-vacated, recently-subject-of-much-irritation spare room. Convenience or what. It’ll be dead nic, for both parties (I hope). More playing with my (non-euphemistic) drill? I can but hope!

I’m sitting here revelling once again in my charity shop raiding skillz: Michael Jackson’s Off The Wall is currently rocking the House Towers record player. If anyone between the ages of about 20 and 40 tells you they don’t respect Michael Jackson then they’re either lying to you or a fool: either way, ditch the suckas.

I’m off in a mo to Cambridge for a good, old-fashioned day out. Hopefully some pics to follow, although most. Time off is great, but it’s not conducive to blogging in the same way as a boring day at work, so sorry. More to follow later on about St John, complaining, Finchley, and probably Cambridge. Buh-bye!

Today is the first day of half-term. Sick. I’m not a teacher, but whateva. I have the time off, I’m scoping out a Homebase trip, I’m listening to Pearl Jam, I’m… checking my work emails.

I got a call this morning from work saying, your inbox is over the limit, people need to forward you stuff goshdarnit! I hate to think of stuff like this when I have time off. I don’t care! Work is just a job! My time is precious! Etc.

Poor old Cat. Clearly fed up with being stuck with Gordon Brittas for the rest of eternity, he appears to have gone “berserk” in Kensal Green, as one does around this time of year. The ever-helpful Londonist records the deterioration in linguistic accountability in the newspapers’ reporting of the event, from the Beeb’s impartial and polite rendering to the Mirror’s over-dramatic inclusion of the ’samurai sword-waving’ incident in its Showbiz section.

Much as I love these celebrities-gone-wild stories (my own personal favourite was Alan Davies’ recent tooth-based attack on a vagrant, although they range all the way to the Chris Langham/Pete Townshend, Jonathan King, iffy end of the scale), I can’t help but think that if I had gone after an errant binman with a sword, it would have just about made the Harringey Independent. Maybe I should restyle myself as a reggae-themed Merry Man, I would have more chance of notoriety.

Tody was characterised by an eye-test (new glasses coming soon!) and a charity-shop outing to Epping. Only managed Ten in terms of bargain CD’s, but got some ace books.

Just some updates:

Celebrities (ish)

Why, That’s Delightful!
Graham Lineham of Father Ted, Black Books, etc. fame - noted writer of drunk of Irishmen. His blog is where I saw the great pictures of the Anonymous scientology protest…

Lynne Featherstone: the Commons’ 5th sexiest MP.

Me And My Big Mouth: Scott Pack of The Friday Project (the indie publishing company, not the hideous Justin Lee Collins vehicle. When I say hideous, am I referring to the show? Or to Justin Lee Collins? You decide). COUTTH’s (great acronym! I never noticed) first book blog link, I think.

Art

Sky First Then Shoes: as the author states: “every day the sky, with some writing on.”

Achewood is one of the Interweb greats in terms of comics. I am very disappointed that Ray Smuckles never made it as president.

Dinosaur Comics - it is what it is.

Hark! A Vagrant. Home of the infamous Tesla strip.

That’s it!

I can has a week off now? I can!

It’s a beauitful feeling, knowing that I’m just a few short hours from an entire eleven-day stretch without work. Then it’s back for a week and off to ‘merica. I have loads planned - lazing around, sleeping, lying in, chilling out, relaxing, and a good dose of slobbing around.

Also: maybe day trips! that’s pretty exciting. I’m thinking Cambridge (in this country, not Massachussets - yet), and also St John for a fine-dining experience. Aside from this, the world, as they say, is our lobster. Maybe some schlepping about this London town would be nice.

Tomorrow I have an eye-test. It’s been two years since I’ve had to wear glasses for pretty much everything, and I’ve taken to it like a fish to water off a duck’s back. I wonder what style I’ll go for next. Maybe the Kim Jong Il:

Or the John:

Or the Everage:

Or my personal favourite, Nick Robinson: