Up the Spout

Not literally obviously. I'm talking bout my blogging, which has been abandoned of late in favour of stressing out, flying off, feeling sick, getting drunk, lazing on my sofa, thinking bout the world. So here's the latest low-down:

• Cutthroat Cottage grand opening went plenty well. Discovered that drinking vats of Bucks Fizz does not leave you with a hideous hangover (unlike G & T eh schwesty?!). Also discovered that despite Libdem's best efforts, lighting a BBQ with firelighters right next to the house in windy conditions, will not burn the place down (even if the flames do seem rather too high for comfort).
• Found out Helsinki is a very quiet capital. Fair dos, it was out-of-season, but chilled would not even cover it. I wondered round of the evening, wondering where everybody had buggered off to. There were nightclubs and bars evident, but all with darkened windows, so you could not tell if they were rammed or empty. And there was a lot of clean clean blue air, and stark, functional modern architecture. I liked it, against my better judgement. It was very relaxing, and I liked staring at the big cranes, and huge Talinn-line boat moored in an iced-over harbour. Oh, and the men are more than averagely cute. Mostly dirty blonds, with sharp features. And despite their reputation for Northern-reserve, the Finnish are a very pleasant and friendly folk....
• Proved spending five hours in re-circulated air does make you ill. Currently feel very snoddy, very insomniac, and very tired. But glad that the working week is over, and looking forward to my massage tomorrow, and lunch with Choc Chip and Bems. Bring it one please...

So that's about it really. Probably should get me some sleep. But the night-owl in me, has got the better of my judgement. Oh well.

Helsinki or Bust

Blogging has taken second place to everything the last couple of weeks. A lot of work, tooooo much work, but finally there is light at the end of the tunnel. Have Friday off, then Cutthroat Cottage is opening its doors for a lil house-warming, then off on Monday to Helsinki to pick up some life-giving gunk.

I've always had a notion for going to Finland, though I've no idea what it has to offer. Maybe they're all like Kimi Raikkonen - strong, silent monotone types. No doubt all I'll get to see of it is the inside of a hotel room, and the inside of a hospital. But when it's all paid for who can complain??

Plus April is looking like a fine month for gigging. Currently planned is:

• 21st April - Tim Van Eyken at the Cellar Upstairs
• 29th April - Nancy Kerr and James Fagan at Walthamstow Folk Club

Am feeling quite pleased with my little Walthamstow patch at the mo, and quite neighbourly and grown-up. Was invited to a Neighourhood Watch meeting on Tuesday. Was feeling very unenthusiastic about it really (imagining that it would be populated by middle-aged men getting worked-up about graffiti) but actually it was nice to meet a few neighbours, and they all seemed quite normal, even if most of the meeting was spent trying to shout above the enthusiastic foot-tapping of Flamenco dancers in the studio above.

And today spent several hours pummelling strands of wool and making my first ever piece of felt. It was an amazing feeling (strange though it seems) to make a piece of fabric from scratch. Bluddy hard work, and quite messy, but today I have been mostly adoring my 10' by 10' piece of blue and green fuzz, and wondering what other wonders I can make with my own hands....

Tables and Chairs and Sparrows and Hares

Haven't blogged for a while. Been snowed under. Have had a tension headache since the end of last week, which is finally easing, though me shoulders are up near me ears, they're so tight. Luckily Choc Chip and Bems have persuaded me to go to the spa, and I'm gonna get me a very expensive massage. Don't really have the money to throw around, but sometimes you just need to do something nice for yourself, otherwise you'll be miserable...

Don't think the shoulder thing has been helped by my attempts to build my own table using things I found in the garden. Having barely any carpentry skills, and barely any carpentry tools, it's been quite hard. However, I'm hoping that I might be able to pass off the finished product as "rustic" (i.e. gaping holes, bent nails, and wonky legs).

In the meantime, I shall hum little tunes about sparrows and hares, to try and oust "(I've Had) the Time of my Life" which has inexplicably been buzzing around my head all morning. A more inappropriate song for work I cannot think of!

Train Spot of the Week ~1

A big fat rough-looking (in a workman sort of way) white bloke giving a saucy wink to a pretty young Asian lad on the train. Returned with a rather lovely smile. Ahhhhhh

In on a Saturday Night (Looking at the Lunar Eclipse)

This is perfectly normal for moi (not the eclipse part mind). Going out on Saturdays is for social butterflies, and people with energy. Possibly. Plus you can't beat sitting in and watching MOTD. Though maybe not everyone would concur.

Had a lovely Satur-day though. The olds dropped by, and we went for a Tapas lunch in Stow Village. Yum. Then went on a London walk from Finsbury Park to Alexandra Palace. There's a lot of surprisingly pleasant walks through the stinky big city. And this fairly gentle amble was along a disused railway line. Sort of wished I'd had my wellies on, as this had become one long mud-pit thanks to the abundant rain of the last few days, but was really enjoyable nonetheless. There's even an abandoned station at one point, near Crouch End. The trainspotter in me enjoyed getting up onto the derelict platform, and shouting "boop boop" at the top of my voice. Reminded me of Gort station in Galway, which I visited some years ago. At that stage it was much more intact (rails and signal box still present) and this made it even more eerie. As you stood on the rails, you wondered if one more locomotive might be charging down the line towards you...and there it's easy to imagine all the great literary figures that might once have graced the platform - W.B. Yeats, Lady Gregory, Sean O'Casey, George Bernard Shaw all peering into the distance, to see when their train might arrive...

Having been raised (by "green" parents) to catch public transport wherever possible (and we did go absolutely everywhere on the train) I am very sentimental towards this kind of travel. Unless I really really need to get somewhere on time, and British Transport is failing me miserably, I positively enjoy catching a bus, or taking a train. I also feel very creative at these times. I think it is because you can sit back, look out the window (or at your fellow passengers) and see anything and everything. A sombre example of this was on Wednesday evening, when I was passing through Tottenham Hale, at close to midnight. Opposite me, on the bus, was a horribly thin woman. She was swamped in baggy clothes, with skeletal arms poking from the sleeves, and the skin across her face was stretched so tightly, that all you could see was the skull underneath. Compared to her tiny frame, her eyes seemed huge, but she was blinking very slowly, as if even this was an effort. She must have been an anorexic, or very seriously ill in some other way. Simply sitting down was causing her pain, and she was shifting in her seat, grimacing, presumably because her own bones were digging into her. I was trying not to stare, not least because it was bringing me close to tears. She was just going from A to B, reading a book, and doing what millions of people do every day to get home, and yet she was clearly very close to death. I don't think I will ever forget her face.