Tomorrow is already here
Soundtrack: Ys by Joanna Newsom
I'm currently wishing my time away. Every second I'm sat at work seems to take a year. Every minute outside work zips past like a split second. The weeks of this year appear to have vanished like mist.
I have just over six weeks to go in my job and I am simultaneously extremely busy and bored out of my mind, which is the very worst kind of combination for me. I'm clicking my ruby slippers together - there's no place like July - but part of me doesn't want to be in July at all, out of my comfort zone and jobless. Very odd.
Last night I participated in a quiz for work and my team came second. I was surprised how well we did. Best answers given by me:
the only capital city that begins with a Z;
beef;
"Roads? Where we're going, we don't need roads".
I've been watching the slow creep of
Anthony Gormley's Event Horizon on the buildings near Waterloo bridge on my half-awake mornings with interest. I'm also really looking forward to the Royal Festival Hall re-opening. We have tickets to see the
Rites of Spring in 3D. Which will hopefully be both odd and interesting...
Anyway.
This time isn't going to waste itself.
Requiem for a geezer
Well, this post
was going to be about the party, and I do intend to talk about that for a bit. Something rather less fluffy has happened today which needs recording here.
The do itself was pretty odd. I still haven't decided if I had a rip-roaringly brilliant time or a shit time. For the first hour it was like being stuck in an appalling school reunion. I had spent the whole week getting excited about all the old faces I was going to see; but I hadn't fully prepared myself for the number of people there that I would cross the road to avoid. The booze started to flow and things slowly got easier. There was some good dancing. It was excellent to see
Mrs Green, as ever, and I think herself,
DL and me made a good job of looking after the lovely
Bell of the Ball who was very pissed and belligerent by the end of the night. I guess if I were in her shoes I'd feel like that too. I was also wazzzed, but held it together better than I could ever have hoped. No fights were started, put it that way.
I've had a weekend-sized hangover, thank gawd for the Bank Holiday.
I received a phone call this afternoon to tell me that my cousin Roy died in Bangkok last night, following complications after surgery on a blood clot on his brain. He was 52. Two weeks ago he suffered a heart attack and stroke while on holiday with his wife, and had surgery for that. I can only assume his heart wasn't strong enough to cope with the stress of a second round of surgery.
The last time I saw him was at my Auntie Sylv's funeral six years ago, where he made a heartfelt but also very funny speech about his mum. The terribly sad thing is that my Uncle Alec outlives him, and given that he is one of the loveliest people alive, that's hard to take.
Roy packed a lot into his time here, and there will never be anyone like him. Athlete, punk, wide boy, he had a go at it all. South London will be a quieter place without him.
