Culture binge (and other binges)

The National Gallery and the Royal Academy of Arts. I don't think I'd been to the main galleries at The National Gallery since I was doing my art GCSE. I only went through the 1700-1900 rooms. Being genuinely moved by art? It doesn't happen often. But I was blown away, just wanting to stare for hours. Monet's Parliament at Sunset just tugged the old heart strings, as did his studies of poplar trees. Van Gogh's farmhouses made me smile. When I was younger, I appreciated impressionists in a "they were incredibly important" kind of way. It was all academic. So, does my new-found appreciation of fine art signify some increased maturity? Dunno.

So then the Royal Academy, and their 3 Emperors exhibition. As much a sensory and cultural onslaught as an exhibition. Textiles, tapestries, pottery, scrolls, calligraphy; every facet of court life in China over a period of about 150 years. Quite a bit happened in that period apparently, including the introduction of Jesuit missionaries in the imperial court, bringing the first western influences into Chinese art. It was, however, the calligraphy that took me, and not the imperial stuff, but the works of the Literati - the deposed artists with ties to the previous, Ming Dynasty. Their subversiveness expressed in the raw emotion of their writing was startling when compared to the disciplined strokes of those in the status quo. And I don't even know what it was saying. Quite a bit of it reminded me of Blake, the combinations of words and images, though without the dogma and lunacy. Remember those Smirnoff adds, where it would show a bunch of hornets flying? But looking through the Smirnoff bottle there'd be helicopter gunships? Well, with the more tame illustrated poems, usually quietly observant of nature, you could imagine holding the Smirnoff bottle over it and seeing some crazy Blake. In any case, if you're anywhere near London while this exhibition's on, go and see it. Worth every penny. I got in for free though, but if I'd had to have paid £11, I wouldn't have minded. Honest.

I then found that the best burger in London is available at The Wolseley on Piccadilly. It ain't cheap, but damn it's good.

Prior to all of these events was a night out in the ultra-fashionable Notting Hill area, where £50 for a round of 5 cocktails is the norm. I know the area fairly well as I went to school around there, though in those days the bohemians had the edge on the ultra-chic. Nowadays it seems as though the bohemians have become the ultra-chic... sell-outs. It was cool in an antropological sense. Ultra-style bars that only serve beer in half-pints (not amused), cocktail lists that seem to be taking classics and putting an exotic fruit in them and charging the earth (lychee mojitos? you've gotta be fucking kidding me), and people surrounding me that are unbelievably pretty and pretty vacuous to boot. I drank a lot to convince myself that the fat, bald, wannabe writer, American fit in (as that's what most American writers abroad do to fit in - Hemmingway? Fitzgerald?). Not too much though... didn't make an arse of oneself. Some of the cocktails were brilliant. My chat was, possibly, on form. We ate a lot of dumplings. I was with an old friend and some friends of his, and most of us appreciated some of the ridiculousness of it all. I was ultra flash and took a taxi home (the tubes were shut - what can you do?).

First book

Christmas 1983. I was 7. My sister, Kari, gave me what I thought at that precise moment was the worst present possible. In a year that should have been crowned with the holy trinity of GI Joe, Transformers & Star Wars (with St Lego making a miraculous appearance), I received books. And not books with big pictures, nor the instructions to build big Lego spaceships, but books with just words. And a couple of drawings that didn't even have speech bubbles. I think I made a brave face, and as she was my oldest sister, she gave me a lecture about how great reading was and how these were the books that she started reading with and I just fidgeted and wanted to play lego/Star Wars/GI Joe.

I didn't touch them until February of 1984. The books were C. S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia. The first book in the series was The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. I started reading it to put myself to sleep and read it through until it was finished. It was a landmark moment in my life. I was too young to recognise Christian allegory or care very much about it. I was, however, the perfect age to think that talking animals would be the coolest thing ever, were it not for the idea that there were other worlds around every corner being the coolest thing ever. I wanted Narnia to be real, just like I would want to be Indiana Jones or blow up the Death Star. I read all the books and re-read them. I read other books, (including The Dark is Rising Sequence by Susan Cooper - best children's fantasy series ever) and kept seeking new worlds. I'm still seeking new worlds.

So, I went to see the movie the other day. And for the first hour or so, I was 7 again. I wanted to believe and did believe in that place through the wardrobe. It felt brilliant. I don't think I can judge its merits objectively because it achieved what for me was its only goal. Making Narnia real. So if you read the books and hoped that there really was a wardrobe that led to another world, go and see it.

Fat pigeons

The wood pigeons that nest in the tree next to the belfry are hideously fat. So much so that flight seems to almost elude them. Their efforts to get airbourne are Herculean and I'm shocked every time they succeed. Their weight surprises me, as they produce so much shit (and deposit it in front of the door to the belfry), that they should be skeletal by now. Big fat pigeons. Lots of poo. Ah well.

Unpacked and with a new name

Well, I've unpacked and am now firmly established in the loft of the wendy house/garden shed. I've decided to call it the belfry, in spite of the lack of bell. In fact, I shall purchase a bell for the sake of literary accuracy. I like the term "belfry". There is a small cupola on the roof, whose purpose is a mystery, and if that's a cupola then my loft can be a belfry. There are no bats in this belfry, though there seems to be no shortage of spider or moth. I'd have thought with all the spiders there would be few moths, but perhaps that's naïvity on my part. So, as the majority of my writing will be from this cozy belfry, this blog has been retitled. I like the title. It's got both "belfry" and "chronicles" in it; cool, huh?

Holiday's over... and other episodes.

I've moved. This time from my parents' house to the garden shed out back. They call it the Wendy House. Highly emasculating, nes pas? This wouldn't be so bad if I'd unpacked. But I didn't. Well, not really. There are boxes from 6 years ago with stuff that I forgot I owned. And most of my stuff from St Andrews - well, unpacked in that it's no longer in boxes or bags... sadly it's not tidily put away either.

It's been a voyage of discovery. For instance, a pair of shoes I hadn't worn in ages? Well, went to slip them on and found the spare battery for my digital camera in one of them. I thought I'd lost it. Always the last place you look. Or, in this case, somewhere you just wouldn't look for it, like, ever. So the mysteries that await fill the mind with a mixture of wonder and the mundane. Such is life.

So yeah, I'm living in a bomb site that I've detonated. But my folks are home and we haven't fallen out yet, which is a good thing. Building the energy to tidy the bomb site while balancing that with writing? Well, that's quite hard. And apparently there's some holiday coming up that I need to be ready for - something about a tree and a baby.

Last weekend was interesting. Friday night was spent in the exciting company of "tour operators". I drank a lot and, to my shame, ate a McDonald's.

Saturday was a day off.

Sunday was an epic Christmas lunch party that ran from 1pm to 1am and involved lovely ladies and old friends as well as a couple of new faces. I felt atrocious yesterday and deserved to, as I consumed a vast amount of red wine. That said the day did have its perks.

Last evening found yet another pub in London that is brilliant. The Horse & Groom in Belgravia (ultra-high-rent-district), a pub that boasts free sandwiches, great beer, lunatic scando bar managers and nice wood paneling. Caught up with the lovely Clair and the nice but not all that lovely Ru & Marcus. I didn't need to catch up that much with the latter 2 as the aforementioned Sunday lunch boasted their presence, but Clair I hadn't seen in ages and was in brilliant form.

This evening cultural enlightenment took centre stage and I went to a talk by Saba Douglas-Hamilton, of Big Cat Diaries fame, about her mother's family planning clinic in Kenya. It turns out she was a St Andrews alum as well. It was a great talk, and she struck me as one of those people who just manages to be very talented and lovely enough so as not to inspire cynical jealousy. It turns out her mum worked with my aunt many years ago. And I'm pretty sure she's related to an old friend. So it's a pretty small world, really.

So feeling informed and enlightened the folks and I went over to the table where the native crafts were sold to raise money for the clinic and I got the coolest bathrobe ever. And if you don't believe me, just check it out:See? I love it. I'm wearing it as I type this, I kid you not. In any case, I'm looking forward to a good quiet night's rest.

Retox. no pics.

Had 3 beers and a Chinese meal tonight, including grilled pork dumplings, Kung Po chicken and fried rice.

Tasted pretty good.

Is there guilt?

Nah. I'll do an extra 5 minutes exercising tomorrow. Honest.

Detox. And 2 pics.

I've not had a drink since 1am Sunday.
I've not had red meat since 10am Sunday (and that was only a tiny bit of sausage).
I've been eating falafel, hummus, salad, cous cous, egg noodles, wild rice and wild mushrooms. All organic.
I've been drinking water, Innocent smoothies (though I miss Get Juiced), fresh squeezed OJ and quite a lot of tea.
I work out every morning. I stretch before I do this.

The food thing is hard. I cannot believe that there are people, vegetarians and vegans, that willingly do this, claiming they actually enjoy it. Have they not tasted bacon? Do they not know how tasty a good steak is? Buttered toast & Marmite? Food should be fun and make you happy - if it were just about being healthy then comfort food wouldn't exist and we'd all be living on protein pills. And people who don't care about what they eat? Don't trust those people. The flavour of good food is the flavour of life, and the enjoyment of one leads to the enjoyment of the other. Food should first and foremost be a statement about what you love in life, not some socio-political commentary through fucking tofu. Now granted, I love wild mushrooms and cous cous. And hummus even. In fact - if I didn't like these things I wouldn't be eating them, regardless of detox. But there's something missing; egg noodles are brilliant when fried in sesame oil and served with strips of pan-fried sirloin laid on top, wild mushrooms thrive in risottos (or served on toast having been fried in butter), salads - well, salads are fun when they're on the side of something. So that's my petulant rant about food.

All that said, I feel a lot better for taking a break. I feel good in the mornings (until I do my nordic-track nonsense) and my sleep seems pretty healthy. I still want a burger. Like, right now. I've got some great looking organic mince in the freezer as well. hmmmm. I mean to stay off booze for the week, but I never really made a conscious decision regarding meat.

Chiswick Mall during a very high tide. The River Thames has totally submerged the road. It's quite cool and happens a couple of times a month.

It's not often you see a street lamp in the middle of a river.

euphoric weekend.

This week is to be a detox week. Thursday, Friday and Saturday night haunt this Sunday with a combination of total exhaustion, reunion revelry and that emptiness that comes when one says goodbye to old friends after too short a time together. My body aches from dancing like a total lunatic.

Still, just seeing the gang was incredible. The friends there I've known for 11 years, and the good times just keep coming. Albeit not quite as frequently and with longer subsequent recovery periods... ah well.

It was a lovely wedding and I felt so happy for the mr & mrs that I surprised myself. I try to be grumpy and cynical about everyone getting married all the time, and the hassle, and really I'm just a total softie. Well done to Luke & Ang.

Oh, and if you're ever in the Blue Velvet in Newcastle, ask for "Cluuhhr". Honest.

Matfen Hall - lovely location. That's Guy, the best man coming out to greet us.

Left-to-right: Guy, the best man, Luke W, the groom & Mark, usher and Luke's older brother.

The happy couple, all married and everything.

Ric Clark, singing to the chocolate fountain. Yes, you read that right: a flowing fountain of chocolate. It was amazing. I shall refuse future wedding invites should they lack one of these for late evening entertainment.

That's me and the lovely Julie D - she's a total legend and lovely in spite of being Belgian. She inconveniently lives in Leeds and with someone. Ah well...

I love the look on Luke's face for this picture. It looks as though he's cut the cheese as well as the cake.

The first dance was lovely. There were tears.

Adam Bissill, our very own pet pretty boy, tearing up the dance floor. I don't see him often enough; he makes me laugh by breathing.

This is my favourite picture of the whole day - taken on the coach ride back to our hotel. Classic Jamie and Guy.

This has been an inarticulate post. That's due to a pretty heavy weekend. The pics aren't that great because Saturday was a swift progression from being hungover to being drunk again. But I think that's a testament to an amazing weekend and wedding. If I'd been all poetic and succinct about everything, it meant I wasn't enjoying myself enough.

Another wedding...

I'm off to another wedding tomorrow. In Newcastle. One of my first friends from St Andrews. It should, and will, be awesome. I don't think I'm going to take as many photos though. It's taken me 2 1/2 weeks to get all the Ireland ones up, after all.

I've renamed this post for a few reasons: 1) It's been updated 2) It wasn't just pictures, as the previous title suggested 3) Can't remember

I wrote yesterday, and it felt incredible. I built characters and found out stuff about my characters that I hadn't thought of before as fingers hit keys and words kept coming. It excited and frustrated me at the same time... like in Force 10 from Navarone when they blow up the dam and at first nothing happens; a few cracks here and there and a dribble of water, but no mad rush. I'm frustrated at the lack of mad rush. But it's good trickle at the moment and it felt so good to overcome some of the various mental blocks that had been plaguing me that the trickles are great and bring on the dam bursting. Sadly today was an errand day, lacking in those large chunks of time needed to bring about dam-bursting literature, so I've been taking notes when I get the chance instead.

Enough babbling... but it's so great. Anyway. Last night after feeling very accomplished I met some old friends for dinner in Soho - nice fish restaurant: had lobster tails, which I LOVE. And just generally caught up with the Hedges brothers (Jamie & Blair) and Hignett. Most of us will be at the wedding in Newcastle this weekend but it was nice to chat without having a massive wedding going on in the background.

One of my errands today was picking up some pics from the developers, including a roll that I'd thought I'd lost from Ireland, and I'm very glad I found. Sadly I was out of focus for my only really cool "team" photo, something I'm really pissed off about. In any case, here're a bunch of pics from all over the place:
IrelandThe out-of-focus team pic. From left to right: James Wicken, Georgie Wicken, Andrew Hendry, Matt Wicken, James Miller, Suman Wicken & Luke Potter. Curse my lack of focus skills. Brilliant mates to travel with, though, and they'll always be in-focus to me (cue cheesy vomit mime).

We thought these were the Skelligs, but we were mistaken. I like this picture though. I have no idea what the islands are called, either. Answers in comments.

The southern coast of the Ring of Kerry. Quite pretty, really. It's cool being able to watch the weather in another county (across the water, those hills in the rain, that's County Cork) and realise that either you've just had that weather, are about to have that weather, or some totally different weather's about to hit you.
St AndrewsLow tide always gives some cool texture opportunities. On the left is the big pool outside the aquarium. I don't quite "get" black & white yet, but I really like the photos on this roll - almost half of them are ok, which is good for me. That said, I didn't actually attempt to take pictures of people. So maybe I was cheating a bit.

The infamous West Sands on a crowded Sunday. It was unbelievably cold - those hills and the forest obscured in the distance? That's an ice mist. Yet everyone was out kiting, playing football, walking the dog and allsorts. Lunacy, but admirable lunacy.

The harbour from the balcony of my old flat. Ice mist in the hills. I really do miss St Andrews, and especially this flat. But I'm glad I left.
LondonHammersmith Bridge. I took this on my way to the station to get the tube to get the train to get up to St Andrews.

This is the river by my house at low tide. The actual print for this scan is overexposed. This is one of a set of three, all of which have much higher contrast and saturation on the prints. This is the only digital one that seems to have balance. I almost know what I'm talking about, but not quite.

This is a car driving in front of my house at high tide. I expected it to flood. It didn't - I'm really chuffed I got this picture - I think it's wicked. I don't know why this hippy van has been parked outside for so long but I'm glad it got away from tidal ravages when it did.

I babble too much about my pictures. It's because I'm not used to them and I don't know what I'm doing enough to chat about apeture and shutter speeds and other posh things. I disappoint myself more often than I please myself. Being more comfortable with words, I feel better babbling; attempting to explain. I don't know if it works or if it's just nonsense. If it seems arrogant, me trying to explain, it's not meant to be. It's a case of me not understanding the medium yet, not knowing what is good and what's rubbish, and therefore trying to justify my decisions in posting them. I put up what I like. There. That was easy. I should just leave it at that. But I probably won't.