So, after about four weeks of building work, I'm pleased to announce that our new-look bathroom is finally finished.
This is what it looked like before the wreckers came in and destroyed it all. Notice the lovely mould on the grout and ceilings!
We saw Liam Finn's second London gig last night. This one was at Cargo, a live music venue in Shoreditch, in a much larger concert space than last week's gig.
We were at the back surrounded by a lot of TALL people, so I didn't get to see much beyond the occasional blur of Liam's beard. But the sound was AWESOME and the set list impressive. He basically played the entire contents of his album, I'll Be Lightning, along with a Neil Young cover and quite a bit of free-fall prog-rocky type stuff that wouldn't have been out of place on a (late era) Split Enz album.
There was also quite a lot of (meaningless but lighthearted) banter between him and EJ Barnes. Both appeared to be having fun (he was drinking whisky, she was on the vodka and lime) and seemed genuinely thrilled that so many people bothered to pay a tenner to turn up to hear them play. (Yes, along with his musical talent, he's also inherited his father's modesty.)
Unfortunately my enjoyment of the gig was hindered by two factors:
1. It was really bloody hot in the venue ("It's a bit muggy in here, isn't it?" EJ Barnes said between songs), to the point where I could feel the sweat rolling down the back of my leg!; and
2. I was wearing uncomfortable shoes -- high heels, if you must know -- and the balls of my feet were stinging like you wouldn't believe. I kept trying to shift my weight, but it had absolutely no effect whatsoever. I couldn't wait for the gig to finish so I could go home and put my feet up!
That aside, it was an impressive performance, and well worth the pain and discomfort!
Subject: Liam Finn
Place: The Cross Kings, London
Date: Wednesday, July 16, 2008.
Camera: Sony Ericsson K800i phone.
There were four bands on the bill -- two upstairs, two downstairs in the cellar bar -- but we were there to see just one person. He was the last on stage so we had to wait until 11pm before he strutted his stuff in front of a small, enthusiastic crowd. But he was wandering around the venue beforehand, drinking at the bar, and later on setting up his musical equipment, which is how T took this picture.
(I have to point out that I was too shy to approach him, although T kept egging me on to "go up and say hello" and "go and tell him you remember when he was born"!! Umm, I don't think so.)
I'm not sure why I find Simon's Cat so funny, because I am not a cat lover by any stretch of the imagination. But there is something so very realistic about this portrayal of the relationship between a cat and his human owner that you can't help but smile. This particular cat is a greedy little bugger and annoying as hell but he is so damn cute you'd forgive him (almost) anything -- just like a real cat!
Place: Thames River, near Blackfriar's Bridge, London.
Date: Friday July 11, 2008.
Camera: Panasonic DMC-TZ3.
Can you guess what it is yet? Because it's certainly stumped me. And judging by the number of pedestrians walking over Blackfriar's Bridge or along Jubilee Walk stopping for a look, there are plenty of others as perplexed and fascinated by this mysterious object sitting in the middle of the Thames as I am.
It's been there for about two weeks now, and always seems to be alive with activity. Men wearing hard hats dash about on the platform, and there's usually a boat or two nearby ferrying workman to and from it.
This morning when I walked past I noticed it seems to have moved overnight. It was sitting much closer to the rail bridge (pictured there on the right) than the road bridge (on the left). Then, tonight, it had inched closer to the middle of the river than the southern bank where it had previously resided. How on earth does a big heavy thing like that move?
I'd really like to know what the whole thing is about. Are they drilling for something? Is it testing water quality? Riverbed quality? Is it seeking dead bodies? I mean the imagination could really take off here. I'm sure it's something exceedingly dull, but inquiring minds want to know!
Place: Beach near Gabriel's Wharf, Southbank, London.
Date: Friday July 11, 2008.
Camera: Panasonic DMC-TZ3.
Who says you can't build sandcastles on the banks of the Thames?
This chap was especially busy last Friday afternoon building a giant hand and some weird abstract object under the watchful eyes of a steady stream of tourists.
Note the white plastic sheet masquerading as a begging cap in which the generous could drop a coin or two for the privilege of watching a grown man mucking about with buckets, shovels and a bit of wet sand.
Funnily enough, this wasn't a one-off. During the summer this little beach is home to sand castle builders on a constant basis, although I can never figure out if it is the same person or a host of different people on a roster system.
Place: King's Reach, Southbank, London.
Date: Friday July 11, 2008.
Camera: Panasonic DMC-TZ3.
On Friday afternoon I took a stroll along the river, from Borough Market to Festival Hall, dodging the tropical downpours. At one stage the sky turned a thunderous black, but the sun was out, casting a curious greenish glow over everything.
I took this snap at Gabriel's Wharf. I'm not sure what this stretch of sand is called. But I do know I spent several years working in that dastardly skyscraper in the background. The only good thing was the view over St Paul's Cathedral that I enjoyed for two years when I had a desk on the 20th floor.
For about five years I've been carting my book and umbrella -- all the stuff that doesn't fit in my little leather handbag -- in an A4-sized black bag that was a freebie with Marie Claire magazine. Recently I've been thinking it looks a little worse for wear; both handles are on the verge of splitting.
So yesterday when I walked past Accessorize and saw this bag in the window I didn't even think twice about buying it. Fortunately it was only £12.
I am now the proud owner of a chocolate-coloured Fair Trade cotton "shopper" that sits comfortably over the shoulder or can be held in the hand. It's a good size, more than capable of holding those bits and bobs I take on my commute, but also suitable to double up as a grocery bag should I decide to pick up a few pieces from the supermarket on my way home.
Perfect.
Earlier in the week I thought it would be a good idea to buy some new furniture for our "new" bedroom.
I opted for flatpack furniture from Argos, on the basis it was about £500 cheaper than John Lewis for a chest of drawers.
I am currently about one-third of the way through building that chest of drawers. It has taken me about two hours to get to this point. I have a back ache and a nasty looking blister on my right index finger.
When I initially ripped open the box, pulled out all the parts -- a confusing array of timber planks in varying widths and lengths, combined with two plastic bags filled with an assortment of screws and "plugs" -- I almost gave up.
A glimpse at the instructions -- an elaborate-looking diagram with no explanatory text -- made me wish I'd paid that extra £500 for something already fully assembled.
Now I realise why flatpack furniture is so cheap!
But what am I telling you all this for? Back to work, me thinks.
The walls have been painted Farrow & Ball tallow.
The ceiling, radiator and skirting board are eggshell white.
The door has been painted and a new chrome door handle put in place.
The mouldy built-in-robe has been demolished and a brand new one, built on a different wall, has been put in place.
New Berber-style cream-coloured 100 per cent wool carpet has been fitted.
And a new king-size bed with a chocolate leather headboard and a memory foam mattress has pride of place.
Yes, the bedroom has now been completely refurbished. It looks like a hotel room. And seems much more spacious now that the wardrobe is in a new position.
Unfortunately, because the entire room looks so fresh and new, our existing bedside tables, in whitewashed pine, look a little on the scruffy side. I've now ordered a new set in a chocolate coloured stain, along with a chest of drawers.
I'll post photographs when it's all in place. In the meantime, I cannot wait to sink into bed -- under my new summer-weight duvet (£8 from Primark!!) -- because I haven't had a proper night's sleep in three weeks! Zzzzzzz.
After two-and-a-bit weeks living out in Chiswick, our "booking" in the house-share ran out.
We spent Wednesday and Thursday nights staying at a hotel opposite Waterloo station, a pleasant 10 minute walk from the office!
We moved back home last night, only to find the bathroom is nowhere near complete. The bath's in, the cupboards are in place and half the tiling has been done. BUT the shower doesn't work (apparently our pump isn't strong enough to push the water through the valve) and the basin mixer is still to be connected to the pipework, which means we have to brush our teeth in the kitchen sink.
The bedroom isn't much better. The fitted robe is finished, although the doors are still to be put on, and the decoration is done bar a few touch ups here and there. BUT the carpet isn't down and the new king size bed, which arrived yesterday afternoon, can't be put up until the flooring is sorted.
Last night we camped out in sleeping bags on top of the mattress, which was still encased in plastic. Every time one of us rolled over the crinkle-crinkle of the rustling plastic woke the other one up!
Tonight we'll be staying in a hotel.
Ten years ago, as I was plotting and planning my backpacking adventure to the UK, several people warned me about the "Heathrow injection". This is a euphemism for getting fat based on a lifestyle of British beer and stodgy foods. (Ben Groundwater, writing on The Age travel blog, calls it the "Heathrow spread" and writes about the subject as if he is the first to ever discover it. I'm pleased to see some people have put him right in the comments.)
Given I was a little on the chubby side at the time, I didn't think I had much to worry about: I couldn't possibly get any fatter.
And I didn't.
At least for the next year or so.
In fact, I lost more than a stone over the first three months of my stay, mainly because I was hauling around a heavy backpack, up and down the country, to London and Scotland and back again. And because I was watching my pennies, I wasn't buying as much food as I might have liked.
It was only when I settled down in London, got myself a proper job and acquired a "man friend", that the weight piled on again. But for almost 18 months I was a rather slim size 10.
A steady diet of nightly pints -- mainly Guinness but I do have a penchant for English ale too -- meant my weight rose gradually to my current (healthy) size 14. Over the past eight or so years, it's fluctuated slightly, tipping size 16 at times, dipping down to size 12 at others. But on the whole I'm probably the same size I was when I left Australia all those years ago. (I figure this is my "natural" weight, because even when I do vast amounts of cycling my size stays the same although my muscles become very toned and I lose a little bit of flab from around my waist.)
Do I believe in the Heathrow injection? I'm not sure. I don't think the British diet is any less healthy than an Australian one. But the cold, wet weather does make it very conducive to sitting in pubs drinking fattening beer -- and even when it's sunny there's nothing finer than an English beer garden! But I could probably say the same about Oz, couldn't I?
The weather this past weekend was lovely and summery, perfect conditions for making the most of our last weekend here in Chiswick before we move back to the flat at the end of the week.
Living out here, two-and-a-half miles further west than we're used to, has been a little bit like being on vacation. The sort of vacation where you eat out (almost) every night and have a fun time exploring all the eateries and pubs you've never seen before.
We spent Saturday afternoon/evening doing just that. We started off at Gordon Ramsay's new pub, The Devonshire, and had a pint sitting in very comfortable arm chairs with the sun streaming through the windows. It was far too early to eat anything on the menu, but the prices seemed entirely reasonable for this part of town where the average price for a pub meal seems to be a rather expensive £15.
Later we sat at an outdoor table at a cafe on the Chiswick High Road for coffee and shortbread, and watched the world pass us by. The street has a very Parisian feel with tall, leafy trees and people parading up and down, most of them pushing babes in prams and speaking all manner of foreign languages.
After a little book-buying splurge in Waterstones, we called in at the Old Pack Horse for a cider over ice, before heading to the river for what we hoped would be a lovely meal at the Bulls Head. It seemed like everyone had the same idea and there was not a table to be had. We took a short stroll further along the Strand and called in at the City Barge for a fairly average feed of fish'n'chips.
En route back to our house-share, we called in at a local wine bar (where I indulged in a delicious frozen margarita) and sat outside as the sun went down, the perfect end to a lovely relaxing day.
Elbow has been one of those bands that has been around for donkey's years but I've never paid them much attention. Then suddenly I hear this song -- Grounds for Divorce -- and I'm wondering what else I've missed out on.
But before you press the "play" button it's only fair that I should warn you: this is one of those songs that will get trapped in your head and never leave. Listen at your own risk.
Who needs to brave the mud and rain at Glastonbury when you can watch the music festival live on BBC interactive?
You can pick which stage you want to watch, so at the moment I am currently enjoying The Hoosiers' set. I love the fact that I don't even have to leave the comfort of my sofa! This is what TV was made for.
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