SomersTownLisa

London Life
2022-01-07 16:34:41 (UTC)

Sun to Wed: 'Folk' / ‘The Ocean At The End Of The Lane’

On Sunday. as Jack wanted, we got a train to Severn Beach. As soon as we got out of the train we saw a lovely and evidently very popular café, Shirley’s, which has been there since 1940. We asked for a vegetarian breakfast without the sausages, but they found some vegan sausages, though they overcooked them. We set off for a walk along the river towards and under the Severn Beach, but its started raining. I’d seen last night that this was forecast during that part of the day, so I don’t know why I left my rain-trousers and socks in the hotel, or I could have even brought a longer skirt and boots on holiday. So part of the walk was a bit miserable, as I had wet tights and feet. However the views were good and we had time to get a coffee in the café before our train back. Jack bought some home-made marmalade and pickle, then had to run back to get his hat before the train left.

We went to pick up our bags from the hotel, and although we’d left earlier and it was now well past our leaving time, they let us go in their first-floor toilet to get dry and change our clothes. We then walked past large old properties to Redland, to get a bus to Stokes Croft. Kino was shut but we found a place called the Canteen Bar which did Sunday nut roast, though my first choice wasn’t available. We returned to the bar on the boat where we’d had a nice vegan pie yesterday, and got a coffee.

As always seems to happen on holiday, I was fixated throughout the trip on the local girls, picking out the sexiest ones. I particularly noted a slim girl in Bath looking stunning in a red dress, black jacket of the same length, over knee stiletto boots and bare legs, but saw more great legs belonging to a waitress on the boat and several girls in Bristol centre, as well as several at Avon gorge common.

On Monday, after we’d had a cuddle and Jack went to see his parents, I wanted to catch up on things at home, but spent a lot of time looking at pictures of girls online. I did a task in the evening, running via Highbury and meeting Simon and others on the way, then clearing leaves from the entrance to the gardens in Islington. I chatted to Sally but didn’t make the most of Eilidh; Emily was also there, and a new bloke, but maybe I was too tired from lack of sleep on holiday, to make the most of conversation opportunities. I spent a lot of time looking at jumper dresses; now we’re working from home they are my daytime apparel of choice and I really need one or two more. However once again I was overwhelmed by choice and as usual was tempted to get sexy-looking micro-short ones, when I really need mid-thigh length to be comfy working.

Tuesday was back to work; I’m going to do a session from 08:00 each morning as I seem to be able to concentrate well at that time. There were comments this time about the Top 100 of the year, from Perry, Roger, Cheryl and surprisingly Ros, who asked where I sourced the material and wanted to tell me about Wet Leg, until she realised they were already featured. It was hard to avoid them in 2021 if you followed new music. We returned to Elie’s for lunch, where the proprietor was explaining that he isn’t allowed to cook food on the premises, but is going to open in the evening. At 17:40, Jack asked me if I wanted to see ‘The Ocean At The End Of The Lane’ at the National Theatre. We actually had time to try a new vegan restaurant in Parkway before getting the tube back down there.

The play was based on a novel by Neill Gaiman, presumably for children. It was about a shy boy who was taken by a girl across to another universe, bringing back a monster from that place, who posed as a sexy lady lodger. The first act set-up was quite intriguing, but the denouement involved a lot of explanation from his girlfriend about how to defeat the lady, with no indication of how she’d come by the information.

Jack went out to lunch with his friend on Wednesday, so I went on a run round Regent’s Park. After work we went on a long-planned trip to Hampstead Theatre to see ‘Folk’, a true story about Cecil Sharp, after whom Cecil Sharp House in Camden Town is named. Both the story and the musical theories were interesting; he was looking for English folk songs to build music around and redress the balance against the Italian and German musical dominance of the time.

It was reviewed in the Evening Standard the same night but they weren’t impressed. The Guardian gave it was much better write-up but stated that he “manipulated” the girl. I didn’t feel that at all. He genuinely seemed intrigued by her and glad of her assistance in his quest. It’s true that he printed her songs, with his name on the front, but he thought she’d be pleased about it, as it meant the songs would stay alive. He didn’t even have to tell her.; she never would have even known otherwise. She fell out with him, as she thought that printing the songs meant they would remain fixed and never change. But what they didn’t mention was that recorded music was emerging then (in 1903) anyway.





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