As things continue to pick up a bit and as much as traipsing up to Moorgate for a wander through the huge Finsbury Pavement shop will have done me lots of good, my favourite news of the week has been the long-awaited reopening of my neighbourhood M&S on Fenchurch Street for a hygienically wrapped croissant, some Greek yoghurt and a razz through the many yellow-stickered bargains, likely plentiful because not everyone has noticed the store has reopened yet. What little space there was in my freezer is no longer space.

My hairdresser was also on form last weekend and kitted out appropriately with plastic visors and sanitiser; thankfully tea was still available albeit in disposable cups and all involved were extremely pleasant and diplomatic about the haystack presented to them – I suspect they’ll have seen a lot worse by the time I write this but I was happy just to be able to get a comb through it without wincing, even if having somebody else wash my hair hadn’t been the most exciting thing I’d done for over three months (it was). It didn’t pour with rain on the walk back this time which was definitely a plus, and nobody destroyed my £35 blowdry the following morning either which was another one. Happy days.

I have visited Borough Market (and come away poorer in cash but rich in fresh baby squid and fancy tomatoes, amongst other things) and seen an Artistically Significant Wall, Leadenhall Market is starting to reopen and the City is gradually starting to look a bit more like I remember it for the month or so I was here before everything shut and everybody bogged off home.

Unfortunately the relaxing stroll around Sky Garden I had been looking forward to was something of a disappointment after I managed to choose the only grey, overcast and thoroughly miserable day to visit, and with sitting in the seats now prohibited too I didn’t hang about after the picture-taking and went home for a pot of tea instead. It is only a two minute walk, in all fairness, and the weather is nobody’s fault – luckily the next set of free stuff on the itinerary thanks to an email from Tate announcing their reopening on the 27th is indoors. All visits are timed and must be prebooked, even for members. I have prebooked.

And speaking of prebooked – smoothly done, I know – I’ll reiterate that since I’m taking fewer bookings and spacing them further apart, if you have a pretty narrow time in mind it’s currently useful to have as much warning as possible; I do mean hours, not days (or God forbid, weeks). This is purely because of the extra cleaning logistics (and not because I’ve suddenly decided to take two hours getting ready for bookings, or whatever) and applies to everybody who hasn’t been before; if it isn’t convenient to call, text and we can get to the confirming later. There is no situation at the moment when I will be available ‘in the next half hour’, and rarely is there ever. At least an hours’ notice, please.

Song Of The Week maybe ought to be a little celebratory, but given the state of the news it would feel at least a little disingenuous. Plus I always liked the song, and especially the part in the video where the little man is made of peanut butter.

More soon! I have a peanut butter and banana crumpet planned, and it won’t eat itself.

I know, but after spending the best part of five months sitting on my arse in front of one type of screen or another, the reopening of activities that demand engaging with the real world was moreish to say the least and I have been throwing myself back into them while we still had the last of the summer left. This is not including those days where the streets outside were so hot the only thing I threw myself into was the cool embrace of my fridge, which I did with the sort of abandon most people reserve for the receipt of lifechanging news. Thankfully I am now almost back at my fighting weight, give or take.

The exception to the screen avoidance has been the cinemas, after the gradual reopening of first the Genesis (where I had a pleasant walk up to see the fun/incomprehensible to anybody sober Tenet and was thrilled beyond all sensibility to find dark chocolate Bounty bars in a shop along the way), I caught a handful of favourites at the Picturehouse Central in town for the posh seats and at the start of the month the BFI, where I got stuck into the member-voted Classics strand with aplomb and went to see Jaws, Singing In The Rain, The Wizard Of Oz, Breakfast At Tiffanys and Pulp Fiction all inside a week – result! And the Prince Charles finally reopens on the 16th…

By way of a bonus, the weather is most definitely on the Autumn turn now after a bit of a false start and things are settling down nicely in general – the aircon is hopefully done with for the year, the boots, jumpers and scarves have been unearthed (and not a few new ones bought alongside a coat, sunglasses, a couple of hats and an umbrella), and after a fairly strictly enforced moritorium on the baking of anything until I could comfortably get back into my 28″ jeans, the panic is over and both cookie and gingerbread doughs have retaken their rightful place in the fridge (dumplings will remain out of bounds for a week or two, suet being something of a gateway drug).

I have finally been to the Tates (Britain and Modern), had a long overdue eye test (two; both mostly useless, at least unaided), virtually inhaled a McDonald’s (with 50% off at Leicester Square) and also had fish and chips for the first time in many months courtesy of Poppies in Spitalfields, where I once bought chips and curry sauce after an evening at Rich Mix up the road and was impressed with both. I now know that the battered haddock is equally celestial, and therefore that it’s probably fortunate for the 28″ jeans and everything else in the wardrobe that I’m not really in the habit of ordering takeaways.

A retro favourite for Song Of The Week, and one which has been a not-especially-annoying (unless you’re one of my neighbours) earworm for about a month. The one which brought back proper pop songs and rescued us all from the howly power-warbling of the day (sorry Whitney), plus anybody who doesn’t want to listen can just watch the video with the sound off. Bonus!

More soon! As usual all are welcome (sort of), and I promise to update a little more conscientiously from now on, not least because it’s likely to be pissing down morning, noon and night for the foreseeable future according to the October forecast. Lovely.

The post rumours of my disappearance... first appeared on adore amy.

After a week of settling back into a vaguely normal routine, and buoyed by my ever-relentless desire to look on the bright side, not that anybody with underfloor heating is going to have a tough time doing that (and speaking of which I should admit that – as befits my thrifty nature – I have also found that it’s very good for drying clothes; bonus!) I have pretty much given up on receiving useful enquiries and am reverting as of now to my previous Regular And Returnees Only stance. And not many of those.

Instead I’m taking advantage of the post-New Year quiet to do more exploring, and I have selfishly enjoyed having the City’s tiny streets and passages virtually all to myself (even if mostly for the purposes of catching Pokémons and getting in on a few battles while doing so); whilst sitting down for a read of the paper on the steps of St Paul’s or reclining on the grass in the (closed) fancy hotel gardens up the road is less appealing in January, the extra free time to get out and about in the fresh air is always a pleasure. Especially when the sun is out, the tourists are somewhere else and the traffic is down to barely a trickle.

I have read a lot of blue plaques, googled a lot of churches and street names, and generally availed myself of the stuff that’s right on my doorstep, not least London Bridge itself. Spurred on by a programme on Channel 5 of all places, I have learned that not only is it the oldest bridge in London, it was the only bridge across the Thames for seventeen centuries, with houses, shops and even a Keeper Of The Heads to look after the reality TV of the day – the boiled and pitch-dipped heads of traitorous folks on their spikes to remind everybody of what happens to, well, traitorous folks (only the highfalutin’ ones, mind. I’m not clear on what happened to the pleb traitors).

There is a model of the whole thing in St Magnus-the-Martyr a couple of streets away where the original bridge would have ended, which is now well ahead on my list of Things To Visit the next time the opportunity arises. I could of course go to Mass for the first time in about fifteen years, but I think they’re mostly doing it on Facebook at the moment and nothing on God’s earth will have me signing up for that (or Twatter, or any of the rest of them while there is still drying paint in the world). Next weeks’ installment is about Tower Bridge and I will definitely be watching, having had planned visits at the local residents rate of £1 a ticket (bring your council tax bill) scuppered not once now, but twice.

By contrast, last weeks’ special treat was a walk up to the giant Sainsbury’s at Whitechapel, a behemoth amongst supermarkets whose fresh herb offering alone is enough to induce a state of euphoria just this side of panic, a little like a middle aged version of the nights out thirty years or so ago but without the drugs, glowsticks and (thank God) the obligatory gurning cunt in a felt jesters hat hanging around everywhere you looked – given that I still own and wear voluminous cargo trousers, a dozen or so pairs of different coloured gazelles and even a slip dress or two, the only other real difference is the setting not being a disused warehouse or a field. I even still have most of the records (I promise faithfully never to inflict Poing by Rotterdam Termination Source on others).

After buying as much I could carry including coriander, fenugreek and cardamom pods for curry cooking, an improbably huge sweet potato and a big pack of pickled onion Monster Munch (if I’m not going to be working it matters not if the flat and I stink), I arrived back at HQ realising that I had forgotten to call in for dark chocolate Bounty bars when I passed the shop. I’ll just have to go back next week.

So as above, it’s a bit of a closed shop again – sorry! I’ll keep updating with pictures of my groceries and meanwhile in the spirit of nostalgia, Song Of The Week is a slightly more accessible 1990 classic. I promised, after all.

More soon! Since I’ve covered availability, local history and culture, I think it’s time for some potato butchery and a bit of a dance…

And for those who weren’t sure – which is entirely my fault for not updating – I’m back!

Since I brought the aforementioned ice and snow with me upon my return three weeks or so ago and having spent a good couple of months putting it off, I have been diligently catching up with this years’ accounts, normally an easy but tedious job much like putting the washing away or cleaning the grill (also similar in that if I had spent as much time just cracking on as I did kvetching about the minutiae, it would all be finished and I would be back in my rightful place under the duvet with a box of custard tarts and the remote) and if anything simpler still this year given that there wasn’t an awful lot to record for longer than even I’d realised.

Thankfully the worst of the admin was done just as the weather turned and without wanting to jinx it, I was thrilled beyond measure to see the snowdrops outside the Walkie Talkie on my way to M&S as a first tentative sign of spring (as opposed to the more robust signs of winter a couple of weeks prior), but I don’t get out much. Although last Wednesday marked the second (and more concrete) sign of the coming season in that I went out without a coat on for the first time in what must be months. Only the once mind, and I had a scarf, a hat and some mittens just in case.

This last week especially has been gloriously bright and mood-lifting as can (hopefully) be seen in the pictures – newly inspired, I have decided to set a half day aside soon to enjoy a bit more open space and greenness. Most likely will be a walk over to St James’s Park; an enduring favourite of mine for a good few years now (especially since I can combine the trip with a razz around the big Sainsbury’s market on Wilton Road whilst I’m over that way – the excitement may be too much) for some lakeside strolling about and pelican spotting. Cherry blossom is also on the way, so my postponed-from-last-year jolly over to the Kyoto Garden will soon be in the offing for a bit of sakura-style zen time and maybe a feed of the fish, assuming I can remember to bring along something suitable mine like banana.

The other news that I have been waiting for is the reopening of hairdressers (in April, I think), and whilst I’ve undoubtedly saved a fortune even allowing for a couple of huge and shamelessly profligate CultBeauty.co.uk orders, it’s high time somebody else took over. Whilst the optimist in me hopes I’m managing to blag any occasion involving going out in public with the covetable air of one who only has to wake up, shake their hair out and dress in whatever was on the floor from last night to appear effortlessly insouciant and stylish, unfortunately after all the Christmas food and now three (soon to be four) missed hair appointments I just look like Chewbacca would if he ate at Burger King every day for a month and slept in a skip throughout. Not to worry!

So after all that, it’s business as usual (or what has come to be usual, at least) here in my quiet corner of the city; as most will realise this means less availability than would be ideal, but getting requests in in good time ought to sort it so I’m actually in the flat. If the weather holds over the next couple of weeks then as suggested above I likely won’t be, so do try to give me some warning!

For Song Of The Week we’re going upbeat and stomping round the kitchen in celebration of the news that filming has started on Series Three of The Boys – yay! We’ll likely have to wait to see it for at least another year, but it’s a step in the right direction – anything fun to look forward to will do for me. And who doesn’t like peaches?

More soon! It’s going to be a good week…

Hello from Leicester Square! You’ll be reassured to know that Leicester Square on the August Bank Holiday weekend is gratifyingly normal – busy, smelly and very noisy (currently the fire-and-brimstone preacher outside the casino is in full swing competing with the buskers on the corner while the nice quiet Muslim guys hand out free Qu’rans and chat to everybody), and that’s from somebody who frequented many punk gigs once upon a time. The giant inflatable Suicide Squad starfish has gone, though.

For the last few months generally and the last few weeks especially, going out and doing things rather than sitting about the flat thinking about doing things has been the order of the day and writing about both has taken a backseat as a result; I’m currently on the final day of FrightFest (recommendations from the weekend and many others on request ***Riders Of Justice***) and everything is very much back to business as usual, or at least it will be from tomorrow when I’ve had a full nights’ sleep, knocked the Irn-Bru-and-TUC-sandwich-biscuit diet adopted over the weekend in order to cram the films in on the head and look less like shit (and see above).

The City is filling up again, new places are moving in to replace the gone-but-not-forgotten (small café at the top of my street, sadly no more; Doughnut Time two minutes away on Fenchurch St – woohoo!) and best of all the Prince Charles Cinema is booking all nighters, marathons and double bills at full capacity with a vengeance. So I’ve had a bit of a holiday – the reopening of galleries and cinemas is at least partly to blame (and certainly my new Cineworld Unlimited card, which has allowed me to wander in and out of what was the Empire practically at will for the last three months or thereabouts), as has been the pleasant weather and more obviously, the gradual increase in visitors now folks are starting to wander back into town – yay!

I promised myself I wouldn’t leave it more than six months, and whilst a hiatus in the form of a complete break from all work-related stuff bar the bookings themselves (necessary given the rent and bills, plus like most people I got a several-month break from bookings last year whether I wanted one or not) has been lovely, it’s time to settle back down into the routine things. Alongside the brand new pictures (finally!) and a bit of a general tidy up, that includes the – slightly neglected, but definitely not forgotten – blog. I am (equally definitely0 back.

The vigilant will have spotted a minor availability change; I am now otherwise engaged volunteering one day a week until mid afternoon out at Poplar (so not far away) and thus not availabile in either the morning or over lunchtime. This is currently Mondays (and anybody who has ever tried to speak to me first thing on a Monday morning will be under no illusion that parcelling me off somewhere else for a few hours to acclimatise is a very good idea) but possibly switching to Fridays. You’ll know when I know, although anybody who habitually books after 2-3pm is unlikely to notice a thing one way or the other, to be honest.

Also back (and in the spirit of both the FrightFest weekend and Ministry Of Sound 30th Anniversary) is Song Of The Week – yay! No better time for a kitchen disco than a Bank Holiday, and a weapons grade classic that has seen me get my dancing trousers on many a time despite being twenty six years old now! Was it really that long ago?

The Ministry of Sound 30th Anniversary party starts onsite on Saturday 17th September and continues at the O2 on November, but more of that later. Three more films to go and I can get some sleep…

More soon!

…and happy Rosh Hashanah to all, but especially to the lovely lady who fed me honey cake and told me all about it.

It’s been another busy week! As we can see above, immediately after posting new and representative pictures I (apropos of nothing in particular) decided to highlight my own hair, a considerable saving even with the kit and with a reasonable degree of success considering I can barely even spell balayage. I’m very happy with the (admittedly slightly crisp) result – for a first attempt anyway – and hopefully it will brighten up the autumn days please some autumn days a bit. Tights, boots and my new tartan skirt here we come, at least after this week which according to the forecast will be heading back the other way. Thank God for the aircon.

Planning has continued apace now that fun is back to being allowed outside my flat as well as in it, starting with yoga at the Ministry Of Sound in a couple of weeks, a trip to the museums next weekend and the requisite cinemagoing including a Raid 1 & 2 double feature on Friday evening – yay! My first 10K in a while in the form of a nearby Race For Life is coming up too, which means I will be getting my running shoes back on in earnest – it’s been far too long, and I have no doubt that my back will remind me of exactly how long without any hesitation at all.

I’m also booked in for ballet at Covent Garden for Christmas, Cole Porter at the Barbican plus Grayson Perry on the South Bank in October and a chance to dust off my cargo pants and gazelles they are not dusty and get my space buns on for the Ministry Of Sound’s 30th Anniversary at the O2 in November. Plus most exciting of all, a chance for a lengthy nerd-out at the Natural History Museums’s Dino Snores For Grown Ups overnighter – long planned and now happily reinstated (and booked immediately alongside the aforementioned fact-finding mission next weekend when I will choose a camping spot).

This last also led to a rummage in the loft for a sleeping bag where I discovered a box of vinyl records I’d given up hope of ever finding and decided I must have sold (along with a lot of my other vinyl records back in the day, on the basis that even in 1991 people didn’t eat black plastic) and a happy evening poking about among my Iron Maiden picture discs and Beastie Boys 12″ singles to name a couple of fab finds. Time will be set aside for a proper look through as soon as I have any – and I did find my sleeping bag!

All of the above mean that over the coming few months I’ll be here on more Saturdays (including the upcoming one) and details will be added overleaf; in the meantime visitors here won’t notice much (the slight Pringle-related growth as seen in the photos is on and off). Weekdays are as advertised, for now at least, and yes I am at Monument *please stop asking me where I am and other stupid questions, unless you actively enjoy seriously stupid answers*.

More special occasions over the weekend; Beyoncé and I now share more than an acute accent, since as of last Saturday we are now both in our fifth decade on the planet – yay! Happy 40th birthday, and whilst I won’t be joining in the energetic dancing in high heels any time soon, I will stand tall and proud in my favourite Isabel Marant wedge heel trainers, which render me a positively statuesque five foot five and make me feel a bit like a giraffe.

Nobody is more fabulous than Beyoncé. That’s just maths.

As above, I’ll be here all week, but for now it’s back to work, crispy hair included.

More soon!

And the return to normality continues apace!

I did have the chance to catch up on some domesticity last weekend when some of my Saturday plans were unexpectedly cancelled; the plans to wash my hair and finish off the honey cake went ahead without incident and I not only got a fresh set of listings on eBay sorted but another cake too, thanks to half a bag of desiccated coconut of indeterminate age I found at the back of the baking cupboard.

I also crowbarred in a trip to the Natural History Museum to scope out camping spots, a film afterwards (Copshop – pedestrian) and a trip to the big Sainsbury’s in Pimlico to get the shopping done; it was a good day! Things are finally cooling off towards tights and boots weather thankfully – fingers crossed that coats will be next, and my giant scarf – so giant that I didn’t have the time to finish knitting it before the weather turned last Spring – is almost complete in preparation. My many trips to Cineworld have all required an Arctic get up irrespective of the outdoor temperature thanks to their previously-mentioned robust aircon and free spirited attitude to energy usage, and I will enjoy not having to carry it all there and back with me like a bloody nomad or risk fainting from heatstroke on the underground. Tonight’s 4K restoration of A Clockwork Orange was no exception, and I was thankful to have packed my woolly hat.

This week is shaping up to be a lively one; in other underground news the latest bit of the Northern Line is now open as of this morning and I was up early with a full compliment of fellow train nerds to go for a ride over to Battersea Power Station via Kennington and through the also-new Nine Elms – yay! The new BPS tube station apparently has sixty two roundels which I didn’t have time to count before heading back (although here is one!), but one day I will. It’s good to have goals.

The approach of October means the London Film Festival, and all looks to be back on track after last years’ limited offering. Definitely back on track was the ticketing system, which cost me a full hour and a half of my life just to book a dozen cinema tickets after the predictable (and annual) meltdown of the website following a month or so of regular ‘reminder’ emails about when the tickets would be available to buy; at least one of us remembered! I did manage to secure a ticket for the Saturday night gala screening of Titane – this years’ Palme D’Or winner at Cannes – at the Royal Festival Hall, so given that this is a red carpet situation I will be certain to wear my very nicest and shiniest Doc Martens.

LFF runs from the 6th to the 17th of October and I will update availability nearer the time, but most of my tickets are for early to mid evening at times when I would normally be in one cinema or another anyway and won’t have a big effect on anything. What might is the midnight screening of the new Bond film next week (but I’ll jump that one when I get to it), and what definitely will is my trip to see the Sopranos prequel on Wednesday afternoon, when I will be off grid from lunchtime onwards – I’ll make up for it next week.

Back to the dinosaurs for Song Of The Week! Maybe not a solid gold classic, but hopefully it might generate a bit of luck that will magically return the blue stuffed triceratops I shlepped all the way to South Kensington to buy to the Natural History Museum shops’s stocklist. Fingers crossed.

More soon! It’s going to be a good week.

Well when I started this post the London Film Festival was in full swing, and whilst I’d forgotten how exhausting charging around between myriad cinemas daily while trying to eat, sleep and earn a living can be, I thoroughly enjoyed every minute and even managed to get a bit of red carpet action in not once, but twice!

I will point out that the picture above was taken at half past one on a Saturday afternoon before Ron’s Gone Wrong (which is lovely), hence the Converse – I would not and did not turn out to the Saturday night gala (Titane – pretentious try-hard cobblers) in anything other than my trusty Doc Martens (and vintage Jean Paul Gaultier, it being the first opportunity to enjoy wearing impractical clothing for a very long time). I also found time to crowbar the new Bond film in after two false starts (and in the 4DX screen too thanks to my trusty Unlimited card) and was surprised to find it was great fun (and I speak as somebody who hasn’t seen a Bond film in the cinema since Roger Moore was in them – Octopussy, I think).

A month or so on and once again, the available time for writing about things to see, places to go and new and exciting activities to do has been well and truly taken up by doing them – the last couple of weeks alone have seen me apple picking in sunny (and unexpectedly flat – I have never been anywhere so flat) Essex with the Felix Project, some Halloween horror at the Prince Charles, a cosy evening with Grayson Perry (also of Essex, at least originally) back at the Royal Festival Hall and getting some showtunes in with Anything Goes at the Barbican before the run ended as well as taking on a few extra projects at home, not least starting the Christmas plans in earnest! Details will follow asap – there wasn’t a great deal of value in putting up the usual Christmas availability page last year, but it will be back very soon, and dates/times are being finalised almost as I type.

The (rental) tree and main food shopping are ordered, fancy advent calendars are on the way, and several Christmas films plus a carol service are booked; I can now pretty much forget about the whole thing for a good few weeks and enjoy the last of the dwindling days where the sun is out for more than twenty minutes (fingers crossed). Availability is back to usual after being a bit thin last week, and I also have two Saturdays coming up, for those who find weekdays a bit of a challenge!

This coming week sees the Ministry Of Sound 30th Anniversary at the O2 (which starts early in the evening and finishes before I remember the MoS opening on a Saturday night the last time I was in it, but then I suspect I’m no different to other attendees in being of an age where we like to be home, kettle on and away to bed at a sensible hour nowadays) complete with orchestra – given that I also have a ticket to see Maximum Overdrive at the PCC, it’s going to be a nostalgia-fest of a weekend. So I will be digging out the Gazelles (but not the Wonderbra, partly because I no longer own one and mostly because even thirty years ago they were no use for anything except stashing one’s gear in the pockets where the bra pads went) and setting off for Greenwich in good time, but not so early I can’t accommodate a visitor or two prior! Not too early, though. I’m going out later on.

Time to calm down a bit for Song of the Week while continuing the dancing theme and also the bizarre film one, given the extremely odd video accompaniment. A Kitchen Disco favourite from the Baking To The Oldies section of the playlist (mixing bowl is optional).

More soon – proper Masterchef is back tonight, and I need to get the tea on. Life in the fast lane, as ever.

It’s December already! I know this partly because of my many advent calendars, but even without the daily excitement from Fortnum & Mason, Space NK and Bonne Maman, the weather has provided ample guidance.

Despite (or perhaps because of) the encroaching gloom, the last few weeks have been as busy as ever, with barely a moment to spare between orchestral clubbing at the O2 with Ministry of Sound, the obligatory cinema trip or two (the Raid/Raid 2 double bill with Gareth Evans attending to answer questions being a particular highlight) and my new favourite thing to do on a Saturday night, camping at the Natural History Museum.

For anybody who wasn’t already aware, adults can pay to arrive in the evening with sleeping bags, pillows (stuffed triceratops optional), and their toothbrush, and settle in for the night with a three course dinner, biology/dinosaur themed talks from experts, films, a spot of handicrafts – I was and am very proud of my new dinosaur friend and his pipe cleaner scarf – and not least, the run of the museum for the entire night. I had a blissfully quiet wander around the (usually mobbed) Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition at 1am with half a dozen or so others to wind up before taking to my sleeping bag around 3am when the main lights go out. I did brush my teeth.

A full breakfast and a trip to the museum shop for a sparkly dodo to go on the Christmas tree later, I was on my way back across town in minus temperatures to spend the rest of my Sunday in bed. I cannot recommend Dino Snores enough, and given that the NHM’s Silent Discos are back too, I suspect I will be spending more time over at South Ken than I ever thought I would after my one attempt at actually working there (in 2009, I think) ended after a day and a half with my bogging off back to civilisation in a huff, or more specifically my favourite hotel in Waterloo where the punters – whilst not perfect – generally managed to conduct their bookings without whining, sulking or patronising me to within an inch of my life. The Invisible Line Of Cuntery is drawn somewhere between Pimlico and Sloane Square, I think.

I also had a semi-unexpected trip down to Brighton to see Pete Tong when the opportunity arose last week; Mr Tong has visited most of us in spirit on plenty of unwelcome occasions I’m sure, but I wasn’t going to turn down another chance for a spot of Ibiza nostalgia even if it did mean a bit of a train ride. Brighton is now the furthest south I have ever been in the UK (which means that it’s Burger King is also the most southerly place I have ever had their lovely crispy chips, although with it being five or so years since I last had Burger King, the location was not foremost in my mind at the time), and I will be back.

As of this next week (and as we can hopefully see from the fairly hastily cobbled together Christmas page overleaf), things will be settling down a bit and whilst a fair few evenings are still taken up with the usual Christmas films and so on, I will be here until the evening of the 22nd and keeping as much availability as possible including a fair chunk of Saturday 18th – yay! After a bit of a break I will be back (albeit in a limited capacity) just before New Year and then again just after before everything returns to business as usual a week or so after that. I will be also taking bookings slightly further ahead than usual (from previous visitors, that is), for those who like to plan – for clarity this means a week or so at most.

Back to the music and not just a solid gold kitchen disco classic for Song Of The Week, but the original video featuring the peerless Darryl Pandy and his fabulous mullet too! A very happy man.

I will endeavour to get another update in before Christmas, but in the meantime I will be well wrapped up and looking forward to the celebrating – Christmas tree is next on the list! There will be plenty of goodwill to all men on offer too, needless to say.

More soon!

The Christmas preparation continues apace; my beautiful rental Christmas tree arrived safely and has taken up happy temporary residence in a corner of the living room until it’s return home with the rest of the visiting trees in the New Year – yay! I have managed to not break a single glass decoration, which is something of an achievement, although 2021 Tree’s diminutive size compared with last years’ strapping six footer means anything that falls off doesn’t have far to go; good news when I bought most of them from Fortnum’s after getting slightly carried away amongst the tinsel last year when everything was shut and miserable.

There has also been a trip into town and a walk up Bond Street to see more Christmas lights, carol singing at the Battersea Dogs Home carol service in Chelsea (which cheered me up no end not least thanks to the mince pies and mulled wine, the latter definitely erring on the rougher side – exactly what free mulled wine served in a paper cup ought to be), and my second and third visits in a month to the O2 for Christmas films, since their Cineworld is getting far more into the spirit of things than my usual Leicester Square branch, although the Prince Charles Cinema trumps all others as always (Jingle All The Way is a particular highlight at least for anybody who, like me, will happily hand over any amount of money just to see Arnold Schwartznegger punch a reindeer in the face).

I now have plans for both New Years’ Eve and New Years’ Day thanks in no small part to the Tate Modern and (predictably) the Prince Charles Cinema, but also the Ministry of Sound and its through the night New Years’ Day party – usefully enough, it only being a short bus ride (or slightly longer walk, at least depending on temperature and knackeredness) away, no concerns about having to leave at a sensible hour. I am slightly aghast to admit that I am middle aged enough to have left Pete Tong to it the other week in Brighton fifteen minutes before the end so as to preempt the cloakroom rush and not miss the last tube back from Blackfriars (I know, but I’d been on my feet all day).

New and glittery Converse are ordered for any upcoming festive evenings out and are winging their way over as I write; I am never knowingly underdressed, although to be fair being in Central London makes it virtually impossible to be either under or over provided one actually is dressed at all, and even that isn’t always a requirement. My glittery gold skinny jeans may even make another appearance, but only if it’s extra cold; I am still a little traumatised by the fateful year when, post Christmas, I overestimated the tensile strength of a pair of cheap skinnies way back when in the days when they were made from plain cotton denim, fell off the wall I’d been sitting on waiting for a bus which never arrived and eventually had to walk home with my friend in a blizzard pissed, muddy and with the arse hanging out of my breeks.

Back to the present day, and as per the Christmas page I will be here until Wednesday afternoon; whilst Saturday in particular is filling up a bit, there is still plenty of elbow room for anybody wanting to get a visit in before I go off and take to my sofa for a bit of a rest – yay! For those who can’t, don’t worry – I’ll be back in a week. Meanwhile, Song Of The Week is a Christmas classic from the Wall Of Sound section; I will try to get another one in, but if I don’t have time Darlene will hold her own perfectly well.

More soon…

And it’s an extremely belated first blog of the year – one year to the day since the last one, and 2022 is almost gone along with my birthday, which encompassed a trip each to the Tate Modern to see the Mirror Rooms and the V&A for some Fabergé (followed by a peaceful swim and a sauna at my lovely gym and a big dinner), an awful lot of cinema trips including my first trip on a plane since 2018 to go to Glasgow Frightfest in March, and some seriously great nights out – yay!

I hadn’t planned quite such a blog hiatus, but I’ve had a lot of catching up to do given that within six weeks of my City move back in February 2020 everything was shut, and catch up I will. The working hours are now fairly stable, everybody is slowly (some slower than others) learning that booking involves no more – and also no less – than a polite text containing the day, time and booking length desired, and things are ticking over as well as can be expected; all has settled down nicely.

I’m unlikely to be the only person who remains eternally grateful that the Prince Charles Cinema is still open, and including for a couple of long overdue allnighters when they hosted a Godfather triple bill (it’s magnificence taking up most of a ten hour stretch between 9pm Saturday and 7am on the Sunday) plus a classic horror marathon for Halloween, where I watched all five films without nodding off and staggered home boss-eyed at 10am. I’ve had plenty of other exciting events to fill the time too; not least Fatboy Slim on Brighton beach in July followed by a blistering Prodigy return at Brixton Academy a scant twenty four hours later (on possibly the hottest night of the year) and in almost diametric contrast, a very long queue to see the Queen.

As we’re no doubt all aware, and to get swiftly back to the present, the days of my reaching gratefully for the aircon controls in my flat just to get the room down to a bearable 24-25 degrees are just a distant memory. The current temperatures are far more befitting of Christmas past; I won’t be the only person who looked out of the window in disbelief last Monday morning at the snow (I wasn’t even sure the Corporation allowed it, if I’m honest) and whilst reports suggests it’ll soon be just a memory it was very pretty and extremely festive, at least when not having to put on five layers and go outside to flounder about in it like a pissed penguin.

The intrepid determination of the punter on a mission never ceases to amaze me even in the face of the Arctic weather plus train strikes, tube strikes, erroneous Bank Holidays and Acts of God; those who remember the hurricane back in February (I think?) may or may not be surprised to learn that it and the following day remain my record-breaking busiest of the year, and thanks to the gale force winds I couldn’t even get a bloody Deliveroo after.

There have also been a few recent moments when I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be here at all, given a stratospheric rent increase followed by a handful of flat viewings so depressing they would drive many to give up altogether (the ‘amazing luxury development’ in particular was an eyeopener at a bargain £3200 a month) but the long and short of it is I’ll be digging my heels in and staying put, for now at least. Apart from anything else, I’ve just got nicely settled in with Tree (pictured above and back from last year, courtesy of Christmas On The Hill) and some pre-Christmas chocolate for a Secret Life Of Pets double bill, and the thought of having to pack up and move out of my amazing neighbourhood (where even a trip to Sainsbury’s for tea and bananas means waiting at the bus stop outside the Cheesegrater and strolling back through Leadenhall Market) in January at a month’s notice makes me want to cry.

This does mean possible price increases, if only because it has to come from somewhere. I haven’t decided, so rather than tell half a story I’ll give it a bit more thought, but either way, anybody who has visited in the last twelve months won’t be affected. If nothing else, it’ll pay for the underfloor heating to stay on – everybody likes underfloor heating (except in summer, when everybody likes the aircon) and since I’ll be here over most of the next couple of weeks bar Friday 23rd to Tuesday 27th, I will be glad of it too. Since I’m making myself useful, I will also be about through the New Year week including New Year’s Eve, at least until 5pm-ish and it’s time to get ready for my annual trip to the Prince Charles to watch When Harry Met Sally and follow it with some Szechuan round the corner before the fireworks.

Therefore, the blog is definitely back! Getting back to tradition right away, I was very happy to visit St Martins In The Fields for the Christmas tree lighting, nativity and carol service over in Trafalgar Square the other week, so obviously our Song Of The Week (which is also our Song Of The Year) is this Christmas classic.

More soon, honest. Christmas is a week away!

It’s here!

I am not, however (and I’m probably asleep), but I do have some 2022 posting to catch up on now that the last minute shopping, packing and charging about is done with.

Depending on when you read this, it’s a fair assumption that I will be cooking and/or eating something, watching Muppet Christmas Carol or possibly even out in the fresh air for a Christmas walk and a spot of Pokémon Go, depending on the ever-unpredictable weather.

The phone is (naturally) off and will remain so until Tuesday afternoon, after which anybody feeling a bit restless and ruddlerless in the limbo week before New Year can (and is welcome to!) wander over from Wednesday on. Before that, it’s a few days off for a well deserved rest.

In the meantime and for a change, a festive video from one of my favourite YouTube channels (the bus rides along entire routes are my favourite, especially the number 11), and a reminder of what we had a couple of weeks ago!

Merry Christmas to all, and see you soon…

As the title might suggest, 2022 has been a year of catching up on the fun I missed out on, although my days of ESRR-ing are admittedly long gone. Still, at least I had them.

Christmas on the other hand is always a time of peace, quiet and R&R with a well stocked fridge and the TV remote taking centre-stage; the outside stuff is done, and whilst I’m never convinced about enforced time off in theory, in practice there is nothing quite like switching off the phone knowing it won’t be on again for the best part of a week.

It’s a distant memory now after being well and truly back since Wednesday and some busy days indeed; the final weekend of 2022 is looking slightly more lively but still mostly sedate (as befits an almost-fifty year old), and in addition to the aforementioned regular NYE Prince Charles cinema trip, I have a ticket for the fireworks on the South Bank tonight – yay! Who would want to watch it all on TV when you can stand in the middle of a crowd of strangers in the freezing cold and see them live? Definitely not me.

The first day of 2023 will see a big lie in, a giant breakfast and a trip up to Sadlers Wells for some ballet in the afternoon; my ballet days are even longer-gone than the rave years given that I haven’t trained since 1985 and my plié is certainly not what it was, but watching others do it is still a favourite of mine. I will be wearing Vivienne Westwood (may she rest in peace) and I will also have a Waitrose click and collect order replete with luxury(ish) items waiting in my fridge for when I get back at tea time; matinées are definitely the way forward.

New pictures are almost in the bag (or at least in the phone), and – fingers crossed – should be appearing soon. The big challenge at this time of year is catching the roughly ninety minutes of the day where it’s light enough to take any, at least at any distance more than two feet from the window (the other big challenge is not deleting them all by mistake like the last lot, but the less said about that the better).

As usual, Mondays are a pretty much never even without a Bank Holiday, so the New Year will be kicking off on Tuesday. In the meantime, Song of the Week is here with some more joyous choreography to cheer things up (it always does me, anyway).

More soon, and I’ll see you on the other side. Happy New Year to everyone!

…I never make plans for New Years Eve.

The optimism of the morning was scuppered at every turn, not least by Waitrose (who forgot to give me the main item in my special New Year order, which I didn’t discover until I got home), TfL (who ensured the punter I had to get back for and whose booking prevented me from immediately returning to Waitrose to sort it out was so late I actually could have made it with a good twenty minutes to spare) and eventually by good old fashioned twattery itself.

Despite running so late I had no time to eat any of the things that did make it into in the Waitrose order before dashing into town, I decided to try and throw the day’s shit-cloud off and get on with my evening, only to have some monumental cunt in the seat behind me at the Prince Charles roaring with laughter at the top of his voice throughout the film. Bearing in mind that I’m deaf and I could still hear him, I imagine most of the auditorium – certainly including me – spent much of the screening planning his violent demise, and the combination of this and being so ravenously hungry I could have eaten my seat cushion pretty much finished me off.

As much as I endeavour to stay upbeat wherever possible without being the sort of insufferable twat everybody wants to punch, I had to admit defeat and instead of taking my ticketed place on the embankment to watch the fireworks, I threw in the towel and went home; even a quick detour for a look round the new Elizabeth Line station at Bond Street wasn’t enough to change my mind, fabulous though it was.

Cue my next mistake, which was thinking that feeling a bit better after some dim sum and half a Waitrose raspberry trifle meant I should put my coat on and find somewhere to watch the fireworks I had been looking forward to for months – this ended with a pointless walk down to St Pauls only to find the bridge shut, and with twenty minutes or so left to pick a vantage point that wasn’t a three inch gap between buildings on Lower Thames Street I gave up; I did hear a lot of loud bangs and even saw a few sparks from the side of a building, but the rest was watched on YouTube when I got in. I could have saved myself an hour and a half if I’d just sat tight in front of the TV in the first place to see the fireworks I’d been looking forward to for months – no fireworks photo for the header either! Fuck you, Laughing Man.

Thankfully, 2023 (aka the following day) brought a complete about turn, with the requisite New Years Day big lie in and a fry followed by a trip up to Angel and Matthew Bourne’s Sleeping Beauty at Sadlers Wells. Given that some sixteen hours earlier I couldn’t have felt more sorry for myself if I’d tried, this was definitely a result; the only real shame was that the shops were shut, but to be fair I can ransack the yellow stickers at M&S any day. Tchaikovsky, dark fairies and vampires for the win – yay! And all barely twenty minutes away from my front door.

Onward to the present, and being once (or rather several times) bitten after barely making it back from negotiating an endless procession of cancelled trains, engineering works with lengthy diversions on far too many occasions over the last few months, I decided to quit while I was ahead and stay put for this weekend too (I might even join in the Trouserless Tube Ride tomorrow – watch this space!) The coming week is hopefully back to business as usual, and with only two weeks left of my forties to go, the birthday countdown can start in earnest; plans are being made, but nothing is finalised – after New Years Eve, going with the flow on the day may well turn out to be the way forward.

Never was there a more fitting Song Of The Week, even had I not been looking for an excuse to include it for as long as I can remember. You can never have too much Led Zeppelin, after all.

More soon! I’ll maybe see you in the week…

And with Tree long since collected and safely back outside with the other trees until next Christmas, the Christmas food almost done with bar a spare pudding that I bought by accident, plus a few frozen leftovers (and their days are numbered given that I’ll be hoiking them out as soon as the fridge is looking a bit thin) and everybody’s lights put away for now, the air of normality is settling in nicely and a return to the usual routine is actually quite welcome, for me at least.

The trouserless tube ride went off without a hitch but also without me in tow after I decided to give it a swerve, not least because I’d forgotten to top up my Oyster card and I wasn’t sure how many actual entries/exits were included. Given the number of pictures posted all over the national press I’m happy with my choice, although it seems a shame that apparently nobody can do anything or go anywhere fun now without a photographic record being posted all over the internet whether we like it or not. And I don’t like it.

My lovely gym is finally back to it’s proper opening hours; the London Winter Run beckons in three weeks’ time and whilst treadmill running isn’t my thing, hot yoga, HIIT classes and lifting heavy things very much are, and it all helps (as does lying around the pool with occasional sojourns to the steam room, and even the odd bit of actual swimming). It’s been a few years; my last crack at the LWR was in 2019 and I’m looking forward to getting out among the penguins and polar bears to run a Sunday morning 10K pretty much (as it’s since turned out) around my own neighbourhood.

Meanwhile the birthday planning for next weekend continues! Saturday brings the Tube 160 Treasure Hunt, marking one hundred and sixty years since the first ever ride on the London Underground (or at least last Tuesday was), comprising a poke about the seven original stations of the day; I’m less interested in what the prizes are than I am in the chance to bugger about on the Hammersmith & City line (certainly via the German Gym for breakfast, since Kings Cross St Pancras is also on the itinerary) looking for Tube Clues, but I will do my best to win one anyway! And as it’s Chinese New Year on the actual day I’m waiting to find out whether the Trafalgar Square celebrations are on or off this year, but either way the makeshift plan so far is to eat dumplings until I can’t walk.

A pre-match visit to the London Transport Museum is on the cards too; after two infuriating trips to the (predictably mobbed) V&A and the Tate Modern last year on my actual/Saturday birthday, I’ll be making sure I do that during office hours. My tolerance for crowds isn’t what it might be and I have still yet to have a go at driving the Northern Line train on the simulator there purely because my timing has always been atrocious. Setting off in good time for opening and smug as fuck one weekday morning just to turn up at exactly the same time as a school trip was probably the pinnacle.

Back to the now, and Song Of The Week is a sigh of relief! The temperature is finally dropping again, the afternoons are slowly but surely getting lighter and everything is peaceful. How long it will last is anybody’s guess.

More soon. Business as usual this week – will see you there! Or preferably here, since it’s definitely getting cold.

And Happy Birthday to me!

In addition to being both my birthday and Chinese New Year, today is apparently National Hot Sauce Day, National Polka Dot Day, National Blonde Brownie Day and the (inordinately twee-sounding) Celebration of Life Day, but I didn’t find these out until just now, so the brownie will have to wait until I’m next passing Konditor. C’est la vie.

The last few months of my forties have definitely been some of my better ones; seeing Prodigy at Brixton Academy on a July evening so hot I wound up dancing in running shorts and a bra just like we did the nineties only without the gear. Also without the broken collarbone I sustained falling off a speaker stack the first time I saw Prodigy in 1992 (when I was nineteen, and thankfully more bouncy than I am now). Hopefully they’ll be back soon, although Lord alone knows what’s happening with Brixton.

Other highlights include the pork pie from Mrs King I bought at Borough Market on Thursday 22nd December and had already demolished by bedtime on Christmas Eve (it was not a small pork pie), ditto unexpectedly finding out that I live in palatial luxury, rather than a lovely but otherwise unremarkable 1 bed flat – admittedly with aircon – a discovery made when viewing other ‘luxury apartments’ in the same price range a few weeks ago. But my favourite thing without a doubt, has been my gym. Worth every penny of the (not inconsiderable) membership fees if only for the means to wash my hair somewhere with a water softener, and throw weights around without being glared at by Serious Weight Training Men. And less than five minutes’ walk from my front door!

Not that I’ve spent much time there this weekend; I decided to start early with a Friday night walk over the bridge to check out the new(ish) Everyman cinema at Borough Yards and Babylon, which turned out to be even longer than one of my favourites of last year – Elvis, which took me two attempts to get through without falling asleep (the 8.30pm start was a definite rookie error). Despite Babylon having no plot, wafer thin characters and some seriously woeful rippings off homages I thoroughly enjoyed it, and this is bearing in mind I hated La La Land to the extent that I kept my coat on for the first twenty minutes in case a sharp exit was necessary to avoid wasting any more of my life on Damien Chazelle than I already have. The setting (including superior toilets, presenting the German Gymnasium and The Wolseley with some stiff competition) definitely helped, as did the hot dog and ice cream sundae delivered to my armchair.

A scant twelve hours after getting in, I was on my way up to Farringdon station armed only with my Oyster card, a bottle of Evian and a reliable pen for the TfL treasure hunt – yay! This also took me through Paddington, Edgware Road, Baker Street, Great Portland Street, Euston Square and Kings Cross St Pancras looking for clues; since the latter is the only one I’ve spent any amount of time in, many exciting discoveries were made and after a couple of hours exploring I was finished, answers checked and ready to claim the bounty that is my new Love The Tube shopping bag (above). Hopefully there will be more events – there were plenty of others joining in and after a pit stop at the big M&S on Moorgate (which also gave me a change to try out my new bag) I was back by four o’clock, and asleep on the sofa after a mug of tea and a couple of scones by five. Result!

At the time of writing, I’m preparing to head off to Trafalgar Square for some New Year celebrating and a dragon or two – possibly. After a late night on Friday, over twenty thousand steps yesterday and given my advanced age, the sofa and well stocked fridge may turn out to be the best birthday options after all. The clothes are on, the water bottle is filled and the bag is packed, but the wavering has started. Update next time.

Song Of The Week has no particular birthday connection – I just picked an all time favourite which came on the radio earlier, because I’m in a rush, it’s my birthday and anything with Mark E Smith is pretty celebratory, after all. And I’m old enough to have had the Inspiral Carpets cow T-shirt back in the day.

More soon! One way or the other I have dumplings to get on with, whichever way it turns out.

And whilst a trip to Canary Wharf wouldn’t be anybody’s most people’s first suggestion when deciding where to round off birthday activities, the Winter Lights Walk provided a fitting end to mine, even if wandering around the ever-dystopian cityscape for an hour and a half in the dark (and in January) didn’t sound like a great idea on paper. But I have never and would never pass up the opportunity for a ride on the DLR, and after as leisurely a stroll as the temperature permitted I was very glad I gave it a chance.

This week – as annually demonstrated by the snowdrops at the bottom of the Walkie Talkie – has reverted back to almost-Spring, thankfully for the heating bills! Despite the conditions, tomorrow brings my first London Winter Run for three years and with it the accompanying prayers for cold dry weather (I think the last time I did it it was minus 2, which was perfect) and no shenanigans from my dodgy back, or at least nothing that a couple of decent painkillers and a Crosstown donut or three won’t fix.

I have have had a couple of mini practices as well as my usual week-in-week-out regime at the gym, not to mention three weeks of Hyrox training which has by turn made me want to cry, puke and jump up and down (and there’s another nine weeks to go) so fingers crossed for a personal best. That would be the personal best I always plan to aim for, and then get overexcited on the day and lose at least a minute or two waving at spectators and hi-fiving giant huskies and penguins on the way round, but by then it never matters. The completely unnecessary but wholly enjoyable carb loading has started in earnest, and will likely continue for a couple of hours yet.

The week ahead is looking straightforward but busy; I will be setting off earlier than usual on Friday and there are a couple of evenings out in the offing, but the remainder of the week is all as it should be. After looking on in horror at the prices of first Madonna and now Beyoncé tickets, nights in are likely to be the norm for a while, although the posters for the ABBA thing out at Stratford are drawing me in every time I get on the Northern line, and I suspect resistance is futile (plus I have many sequinned clothes that don’t get aired often enough AND it means another ride on the DLR. Hmm). Maybe once it warms up a bit more…

Song Of The Week, alongside the title, was going to be a celebration of the shiny tickets I had to see Queen B herself, but not at those prices – long standing readers will remember that I already had my turn almost ten years ago (back when £4.80 for a plastic pint was outrageous to the point of barely acceptable), so I will be gracefully sitting this one out and the song can stay anyway in the spirit of tomorrow. And neither of us have aged a day!

More soon! And I will try to leave the huskies alone this year.

Well I couldn’t pass up a chance to immortalise the best final words of any film!

An unexpected free ticket for a Valentine’s Day trip to watch Some Like It Hot at the BFI presents as good an opportunity to do so as any, hopefully preceded (or followed, or even possibly both depending on how hungry I am) by dinner somewhere nearby, which means one of my old Waterloo haunts (realistically either Ping Pong or Black and Blue) unless everywhere is horribly full and Option 3 – a mini-rampage around the M&S at Waterloo Station – is invoked. Any or a combination will do me fine; no massacres, please.

After the energetic goings-on last weekend (and for anyone who wants to know, I made it round in under an hour despite a dodgy earbud and a few lapses in concentration to have a bit of a wave), the February half term week is upon us! This is a traditionally peaceful and non-hectic week which may or may not provide me with the opportunity to catch up on some housekeeping and admin, as well as a planned wander down to the National History Museum to see Dippy now she’s returned for a visit.

One of my earliest memories of London is seeing the dinosaurs (and the blue whale!) at the NHM some forty years ago, and it will be nice to catch up – I still have my much-prized balsa wood model from the shop, albeit with a few less-than-crucial bits missing. I may even head back over the river for a walk round Battersea Park, a look at the new BPS shops and a ride in the chimney lift followed by a ride home via Battersea Power Station Station; all of this is working on the assumption that I’ll be able to stop watching Physical 100 on Netflix for longer than the time it takes to get more sofa food and make a brew. Yeah, right.

Meanwhile, it’s still only Monday and I’ve already had a trip up to Angel, one of my favourite old stomping grounds and home of both my optician and one of my favourite cinemas; sadly I didn’t have time to call in at the Screen On The Green as my Pilates class beckoned, but a reminder that I still have a chunk of Everyman gift voucher to spend was handy. Maybe this weekend, since I’m in town anyway!

Song Of The Week is by tribute to Trugoy aka David Jolicoeur of De La Soul, whose 3 Feet High And Rising provided a backing track for my (fairly rare) mellower teenage moments spent painting daisies on my flared jeans with yellow and white acrylic paint, and still stands up to a repeat listen (in full, please) today. May he rest in peace.

More soon! The week ahead beckons, for those of us still here and not getting in everybody’s way at the UK’s many travel hubs or pissing people off in the tourist towns. I’ll be here all week…

And the above is possibly the most exciting and desirable photograph I have ever posted online anywhere; I should point out that no tomatoes are kept on the premises overnight (or for any length of time beyond that which it takes me to eat them), just in case anybody was getting any ideas.

The past few weeks have brought plenty more by way of excitement and new things to do, despite the onset of Spring definitely taking a back seat these last few days and the temperatures falling all the way back down again. At least the snow is pretty even if my electricity bill won’t be.

I have been to (in?) a soundbath, which included an actual proper gong as well as singing bowls and more tinkly/boingy/generally noisy things; this was added onto my yin yoga class as an extra relaxation aid although an hour was a bit much as it turned out, and whilst I settled down with all the best intentions my attention wavered before the halfway mark after getting a bit cold and being unable to avoid turning my focus to the apple pie I had in the fridge. Probably best to stick to spinning, at least at tea time.

In the where-did-the-time-go category, the twentieth anniversary of Oldboy, heralded a very fitting first visit of the year to the Prince Charles cinema, since I last left at around quarter past eight on New Year’s Eve. More are already booked, including a Bong Joon-Ho all nighter which I will need to survive until the end to see Parasite again; many peanut butter sandwiches and cans of Irn Bru will be required. Korean entertainment has loomed large in the popularity stakes recently and no one could be happier about that than me, even if I will never be on Physical 100 for as long as I keep on with the apple pies.

The vigilant will have noticed an increase in Saturday availability of late, and this is likely to continue for at least as long as the trains continue to be an expensive, time consuming pain in the arse – not least this very evening when a power failure earlier meant multiple cancellations and standing all the way to Kings Cross as a result, although I’ll get a refund at least. I have never looked forward to getting on the Northern Line quite so much, partly because of the opportunity to finally sit down for ten minutes but also because it afforded my first chance to check out the long-awaited new Bank station entrance at Cannon Street – yay!

Every other weekend is the current MO, and whilst I like a Saturday morning lie in as much as everybody else, there’s also a lot to be said for making hay while the sun shines (plus when the sun is shining at this time of year it’s really bloody cold, so it makes sense to keep warm in any practical and available way). Plus I can just go back to bed whenever I like, because weekend.

Back to the week ahead and I will be here throughout; I have contingency plans Luther on Netflix in the event of quiet spells in and out of the strikes and crap weather forecast, and a bit of peace and quiet won’t hurt. I may even (finally) get the new bloody photos done.

Song Of The Week is an old favourite and go-to livener, since I will soon be settling down to watch the Academy Awards until silly o’clock. I may need to listen to it again later on.

More soon! Let the mad dresses and even madder speeeches commence…

With apologies to David Hockney for nicking his title when I’ve still yet to buy the print I’ve had my eye on for at years.

It’s been busy! The extra-long puffa coat which makes me look like a Dalek is (probably) put away for another year and the average daily temperature has very much taken a definite turn for the better. Leaving aside the occasional blip hopefully it’ll be full steam ahead until Easter, when appalling weather is guaranteed under the Bank Holiday Act (thankfully the Act also includes the requirement to have an array of dodgy old films on TV for the duration, so with that and the chocolate the weather isn’t important).

The warm weather has offered a few more chances to get out and about for the purpose of sitting in a dark room, and I am currently taking any opportunity to run up to the Genesis where all films (in all screens, including the ones with the little armchairs) are £5 per ticket until the end of the month. The Prince Charles is also keeping it’s end up with Fantasia on Tuesday (with a look at the Ramadan lights on the way home) and a couple of marathons well worth the ticket price; the previously mentioned Bong Joon Ho all nighter is preceded a few days before by the Wong Kar Wei all dayer on Easter Monday, classic Hong Kong cinema being the perfect way to spend a Bank Holiday.

The original plan for last weekend was a trip over to Kew to see the Spring flowers – including my annual quest to find the best place to look at cherry blossom in London – then sanity prevailed and I will be leaving it until a far quieter weekday. It will definitely be soon; crocuses wait for no man (or woman) and a nice peaceful train ride with a book, a sandwich and a can of Irn Bru will amp up the outing even more, but in the meantime an evening walk along the South Bank with Pokémon Go and a packet of Maltesers was a very fair substitute.

The annual punishment that is the clocks going forward an hour means the onset of lighter nights which will make a change when it comes to the sustained after hours Pokémon playing necessary to progress to level 46 (which will mean nothing at all to most but is a deeply serious matter to me); the wandering about outside in the rain paid off last Friday evening outside Fenchurch Street station with an unexpected visit from the beautiful Routemaster bus pictured while I was battling something or other next to a skip. I was delighted to see that the buses are available for hire but sadly only with a driver; the chance to take the controls of a vintage bus and razz around the Square Mile unbridled by passengers, routes or timetables would be worth it’s weight in gold, but not terribly sensible (especially given that I don’t have a driving licence). Maybe one day.

Song Of The Week is in celebration of Sister Sledge’s upcoming visit in June; I and my sequins will be there! Until then, the Fall definitely do the best covers. All is well for the week ahead – yay!

More soon. Bedtime yoga beckons, and I haven’t even had my tiramisu yet.