Disappointments and Joys
17 July
So, it had been a quick week when I got on the train from Wigan to London on Friday evening.
The week had been broken up by a general feeling of crapness that led me to take Thursday off work and languish on the sofa watching videos of Miss Marple as rendered by Joan Hickson and the BBC. I shall have completed the oeuvre by the time I leave. A day of rest, vitamin C, a little paracetemol and a lot of echinacea and I began to feel much better.
Anyhow, I got to London for about 9:30pm and headed down Tottenham Court Road for Chris's leaving do. He's also quit UCL for a more lucrative, more high powered and more high profile job in the digital world of 21st Century librarianship. Why do the good people go? Because we can.
Chris did not know that I was going to be there. And, in fact, he had been deliberately misled into believing that I wouldn't be there. So it was a delight to see the pleasure and surprise in his eyes when I showed up. He is a treasure.
It was a joy to see former colleagues such as Jan (absolutely pissed out of her brains and deeply in mourning for Chris's parting - and I think it did go that deep, I think she saw the end of a professional era as they had not been able to hold on to Chris and certainly would not be able to attract anyone like as talented to do the job nowadays in a traditional University), Anne (who was delighted to see me and made my heart ache by revealing that she still picked up the phone after a bad meeting with view to chatting with me) and John (who was charm personified as ever - I really must get him up to Merseyside as soon as I can).
There was also David with whom I have crossed paths and swords previously. Basically, the man's a twat. And you can use your find feature and discover that, in over four and a half year's of writing, I have never used that word before. He's a lumpen, sulky, egocentric bully of a man-child whose left-wing politics is based on envy, anger and hatred. I hate the man. There, I've vented.
I sped through the night via tube and DLR to my
Rossi's bed. He claimed to be exhausted
as we snuggled up together. He certainly was by the time I'd finished with him.
Saturday was quiet. Ross's Chris cooked a Sunday lunch on Saturday and then I headed in to Covent Garden to attend the Kirov Opera's performance of Prokofiev's War and Peace. The last time I saw the piece was at ENO in 1975 when I was a student and the idea of glasnost and perestroika or the possibility of the removal of the Berlin Wall were simply not imaginable.
I stood. For four and a half hours. It cost me £25. It was good and it was an occasion and I'm glad I went. But it wasn't good enough to warrant £25 to stand for four and a half hours. All credit to the company for a massive achievement, to Gegam Grigorian for providing the moral centre as Pierre Bezukhov, to Olga Guriakova for absolutely splendid singing as Natasha and to Valeri Gergiev (given a standing ovation) for steering the ship.
Sunday we relaxed with a meal out in Docklands and then round to the multiplex for MI2.
This was, frankly, a disappointment. Lots of action, yes, but then lots of action is what many other films involve. The whole MI thing on TV and in the first film was that there was suspense and surprise. This time out both elements were severely lacking. Tom looked good though.
Back home on the train and, as I arrived at Wigan station at 9pm, the sun was joyful and radiant, low in the sky, straight down the tracks, pouring its warmth and its light over me, drawing me out and on.