toxicity
have abused liver and rest of innards this weekend. kal to thoda zyaada ho gaya. at 3.30 AM body took revenge by insisting on me leaving Anu's where we had repaired to for the night at 2.30 AM and taking a cab home. this meant no hanky panky with the tam bram boy who was selected over 3 others on the boy shopping bout at Anu's birthday party. I rather enjoy this sort of thing nowadays. Sky is open, opportunities around every corner types. boy was sweet in spite of what may have been a KLPD.. although he seemed too seedha to try anything on the first, um encounter (as it wasn't a date). numbers were exchanged and there may well be hope for the future.
it was an amazingly lovely autumn day yesterday by the way, which was useful as I was traipsing around the city all day, doing 'Open House London'. Saw the interior of Christ Church Spitalfields which has recently been restored to Hawksmoor's original design. (Hoped to show you pictures, but can't make myself get the transfer cord for the phone just now.) Then went to a lovely museum of Immigration, also in Spitalfields, which after all makes sense. As it's been immigrant central for centuries now. Stories of Huguenot weavers, Russian refugees, Bangladeshi restaurateurs and Somalian hunger were traced through this tiny Georgian house on Princelet Street, delicately, using words taped to walls, artefacts in suitcases, sound installations and clever lighting. The 'bathroom' was a high point, where a medley of Spitalfields urban noise was wafted through a concealed tape player... lovely subliminal message about the the bathroom sometimes being the only place where you find yourself listening to ambient noise. Too busy surving (immigrating!) otherwise. The Victorian ceiling of the crumbling synagogue part of the building was brilliant as well. it made you sympathise the rectangular wood panelled space under it.. as you could see it had once been beautful and now simply had tatters and memories. honestly, i had a thought there, deep-like. felt like when my soul becomes old, it would want to come and dwell here. no pictures, unfortunately, as photography was prohibited.
Next stop was a Victorian Turkish bath just off Bishopsgate. Silly buggers managed to set off the fire alarm somehow, making us wait outside for several minutes and then saying sorry, dunno how long this will take to sort out, after which we wandered off to our next stop. The team's composition changed after this as some of the party broke ranks having different things to see than were on my list. But we were joined by fresh troops at Dr Johnson's house off Fleet Street. By this time, the Open House itinerary had morphed into Anu's birthday festivities itinerary. After a lazy lunch at the Ye Olde Cock Tavern also on Fleet Street, we had to rush off in a cab to London Bridge to make it just in time for the Old Operating Theatre and Herb Garrett at Guy's St Thomas' Hospital. It was old, rickety, musty and creepy, quite delish.
Tired now, we went on to Southwark Bridge, thereby entering the purely party part of the day. There was a food festival happening on the bridge. It had been pedestrianised and split into 4 or 5 consecutive zones lengthwise. There was sand for a fake beach, turf and tree logs and toadstools for a fake park, and extremely corny living room and Parisien street cafe ambience areas as you went along the bridge. It was so random that I quite enjoyed it. It was clever of them to choose Southwark bridge, as it's a rarely used bridge by pedestrians, and gave most people a whole new viewline to the City on the one side and the West on the other.
Now the hangover is catching up again, so cannot be quite as descriptive. After this, there was eating drinking and being merry on the bridge and off it. A nice pub had been chosen and cakes planted there in the morning by the birthday girl. Evening turned out nice and well stocked with shoppable boys, as mentioned above.
Now I am very hungry and have been apologising to the liver and the bank balance. Both are looking very raggedy. Must drag self out of bed and to breakfast place. Should ideally go to sainsbury and buy food also. urggggg.
happy sunday, she signed off brightly!
it was an amazingly lovely autumn day yesterday by the way, which was useful as I was traipsing around the city all day, doing 'Open House London'. Saw the interior of Christ Church Spitalfields which has recently been restored to Hawksmoor's original design. (Hoped to show you pictures, but can't make myself get the transfer cord for the phone just now.) Then went to a lovely museum of Immigration, also in Spitalfields, which after all makes sense. As it's been immigrant central for centuries now. Stories of Huguenot weavers, Russian refugees, Bangladeshi restaurateurs and Somalian hunger were traced through this tiny Georgian house on Princelet Street, delicately, using words taped to walls, artefacts in suitcases, sound installations and clever lighting. The 'bathroom' was a high point, where a medley of Spitalfields urban noise was wafted through a concealed tape player... lovely subliminal message about the the bathroom sometimes being the only place where you find yourself listening to ambient noise. Too busy surving (immigrating!) otherwise. The Victorian ceiling of the crumbling synagogue part of the building was brilliant as well. it made you sympathise the rectangular wood panelled space under it.. as you could see it had once been beautful and now simply had tatters and memories. honestly, i had a thought there, deep-like. felt like when my soul becomes old, it would want to come and dwell here. no pictures, unfortunately, as photography was prohibited.
Next stop was a Victorian Turkish bath just off Bishopsgate. Silly buggers managed to set off the fire alarm somehow, making us wait outside for several minutes and then saying sorry, dunno how long this will take to sort out, after which we wandered off to our next stop. The team's composition changed after this as some of the party broke ranks having different things to see than were on my list. But we were joined by fresh troops at Dr Johnson's house off Fleet Street. By this time, the Open House itinerary had morphed into Anu's birthday festivities itinerary. After a lazy lunch at the Ye Olde Cock Tavern also on Fleet Street, we had to rush off in a cab to London Bridge to make it just in time for the Old Operating Theatre and Herb Garrett at Guy's St Thomas' Hospital. It was old, rickety, musty and creepy, quite delish.
Tired now, we went on to Southwark Bridge, thereby entering the purely party part of the day. There was a food festival happening on the bridge. It had been pedestrianised and split into 4 or 5 consecutive zones lengthwise. There was sand for a fake beach, turf and tree logs and toadstools for a fake park, and extremely corny living room and Parisien street cafe ambience areas as you went along the bridge. It was so random that I quite enjoyed it. It was clever of them to choose Southwark bridge, as it's a rarely used bridge by pedestrians, and gave most people a whole new viewline to the City on the one side and the West on the other.
Now the hangover is catching up again, so cannot be quite as descriptive. After this, there was eating drinking and being merry on the bridge and off it. A nice pub had been chosen and cakes planted there in the morning by the birthday girl. Evening turned out nice and well stocked with shoppable boys, as mentioned above.
Now I am very hungry and have been apologising to the liver and the bank balance. Both are looking very raggedy. Must drag self out of bed and to breakfast place. Should ideally go to sainsbury and buy food also. urggggg.
happy sunday, she signed off brightly!
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