Flexi-things I can do:
Bend and lay my hands on the ground
Do a back arch on my toes
Stand on my head for, like, ages.
If you’re not sure where you want to land, lean forward
Prepare to make contact
Let the ground take your weight
It will hurt
Make the flats of your feet sting
Dirty your hands in the mud
Bruise your knee
But you only have to do it once
Try not to think
Pick your spot and hold your gaze
Pump your arms
Pump your legs
Pump your lungs
Your footing is important
Do a skip
Change beat and
No going back now
The ground slaps you hard
Makes you crumple
The pain jolts your calves
But not as bad
Not nearly as bad
You wipe your hands
You wipe your nose
You look behind
You wipe your hands
Come on now Rosie, she says, trundling the pushchair
You wipe your mouth
Big day for Rosie, she says as she lifts you and places you in the seat for the ride home.
Here are some leftover photos from my Banksy review
(this - which is obvioulsy not a Banksy - I found by chance at Portobello Road Markets an hour later)
p.s. The Londonist drink was good fun. They’re all extremely clever and nice. Lot
’s of Americans too. Who’d a thought?
p.p.s. The weekend with my brother felt a lot like hard work. I have too little patience to be a very good entertainment manager, especially when my idea of fun right now is sparkling clean kitchen linoleum. I love the word linoleum. Linoleum. Linoleum. It would make a good name for a bar.
20 Fast Ones
• We now have a washing machine that washes. Never before has white wear make me teary.
• I got a lovely email today from Breanna over at the Austinist
– welcoming me to the –ist
family. Feel the love.
• Speaking of – I’m having a drink with the Londonista tonight. Never really met any real bloggers (Lizzie, Christopher, you don’t count). Hope they don’t make fun of my syntax.
• Speaking of – I reviewed the Embankment at the Tate Modern
. (What? You’re complaining I write for them more than I do here now? It’s the same old words, just on a website that doesn’t have design aesthetics circa early 1999…)
• I’ve gone off verdana 8.5, 1.5 lines. I’ve written almost everything in this font for two years. I’ve gone all Times New Roman 12. Oldschool.
• I can’t finish the Time Traveller’s Wife
. I tried. It just didn’t do it for me.
• My brother is coming to stay this weekend.
• I am going to try not to say oldschool again, especially in his company.
• Columbia Road Markets (where I went last Sunday) is the only place you’ll hear a right cockney geezer yell “Pansies! Come and get yer pansies!”
• There is a shop
that sells fairy cakes on Columbia Road too. The cakes are delicious but cost an arm and a leg.
• I still managed to eat two.
• In New Zealand we call regular tea “gumboot” tea. Over here it’s “builder’s” tea. Anything herbal is just “lezza tea”.
• Oh, and I didn’t give up coffee because coffee didn’t give up on me.
• It’s good having Daisy
• If you email me, I’ll buy you one for Christmas
. Choose a style now to avoid disappointment.
• Today it’s officially Autumn. Officially to me.
• The pigeons in Soho Square are reaching plague proportions. When a car backfires the air swarms with them and I pretend I’m Tippi Hedren.
• I now have enough matching socks. This is quite a defining moment in my adulthood.
• This is my first Winter in 18 months and I’m going to splash out and buy rakish scarf.
• What if the best is yet to come?
The Monday Hangover
- You will never drink again
- You will feel sorry for yourself on the tube ride home. Yes, it is hot and crowded. You should have thought about last night, drinky boy
- You will go to the supermarket and suffer the crowds to get yourself something healthy for dinner - some type of raw bean and/or tofu curd salad
- You will not write because we don’t want our first novel to be penned by someone who is almost certainly a drunkard, they have to drink on a Sunday. The book does not deserve you. If it could, it would spit at you
- You will have a long shower and almost fall over twice. The shower curtain will save your life
- You will have an early night. You will not stay up to watch Six Feet Under or some other popular US television show. You will sleep. Sleep will forgive and restore. And you will dream sober and unchallenging dreams
Another Londonist quicky here
. I'll have my name attached soon, but until then I'll link.
As if the blog Gods were eavesdropping and decide to play a joke…
1.54pmHi I thought it be polite and tell you I’m alive… and you? Alba
2.06pmI see, you must be dead. This would be a horrible joke if you really are dead... Alba
The thing is, even though I can see how carefully he’s phrasing himself, I still mangle the messages to mean whatever I want them to.
Experiments in XXXX
22 August, 10.22amHi,
I've moved house. I didn't take the place in Streatham. I moved into a bigger two bedroom house in Bethnal Green instead. My bedroom looks out over a children's playground, which isn't as creepy as it sounds. I can see Tower 42 and the Gherkin. I've watched as the scaffolding changes each day while they clean the glass on the outside of the Gherkin. It must be amazing spending all day up there, cleaning glass, suspended from a rope and gazing at all of London around you.
I have more time on my hands now, even though all my friends want to come over to see the new house. I write and write and watch movies. I walk down to Brick Lane with Amy and we buy all our fruit and vegetables. Yesterday I found a picture of James Dean at the market for a pound and the DTPM CD for £4. Afterwards I went home and scrubbed the floors, polished all the counter tops and washed the windows. I had my sleeves rolled up. I was in my bedroom cleaning the windows and listening to my ipod (I have an ipod) humming along to "Me and Mrs Jones" and trying the clean the corner of the window panes so they didn't look streaky, thinking about what I was going to have for dinner (pita bread and hummus) when I realised I was in XXXX with you and I had been for a very long time.
I tried very hard not to be. I kept myself busy, I didn't dwell on things; I took every day as a new opportunity. I wanted to get over you and get on with my life. I'd managed to do that with every other boy I'd ever met, so why not you?
Anyway – I was cleaning the glass and making sure there were no streaks and humming to myself and I decided I was going to write this letter. There it is. I XXXX you, Alba. Silly I know.
22 August, 10.44pmI don't exactly know what to say...I’m very tired now... and I don’t like writing like this... but I’ll try andmake myself clear.I must say that I’m not in XXXX with you... but I on the other hand, I’mfinally not in love at all...There’s been many changes since I haven’t seen you... I got a new job, I made nice friends, and I decided I’m staying for longer,at least till September of next year... I feel brand new... well not really, brand new, but starting a whole new phase...In a way, I feel I managed to do this by myself... and I’m very proud ofthat... when I called my house and told my dad I was working in one of the10 best companies to work in the world according to the Sunday times, hecouldn’t speak cause he was crying... it’s been one of my happiest moments inmy life...Anyway... what I mean to say, is that right now I need to be by myself... atleast I think I need that... I would really like to see you... I miss you... But I’m not able to tell youthat I XXXX you... I don’t want to be in a relation, but I definitely don’twant to play with you in any way...I just read what I have wrote... I sound to hard... it’s because I’m tired...I was really happy when I saw a mail from you, more happy to see that itdidn’t say something like "stop sending me txt messages you f**kingforeign"... but quite overwhelmed by what it said...Let’s meet and see what happens... but everything is starting... lets keepit that way... we are no strangers, but we had our problems... may be morecalmly, more slowly than the last time... it was quite intense...thank you
The Monday Mystery
Guess who’s a new writer for the Londonist
(and now has yet another excuse to go out drinking