Memories are made of this
Sometimes the simplest-seeming briefs are the ones that sap your soul. I worked on the train this morning, and after an hour I thought I had cracked it. But got into the agency and the Gnome pointed out that I'd got the product name slightly wrong, which meant I had to start again. Going through a phase of making silly mistakes like this. Perhaps a couple of weeks off showing Sprinkles the delights of England will be the refresher my brain needs.
In the office slogged against the clock till lunchtime with the Gnome and then we went for a pleasant walk upriver into Chiswick, stopping in the Black Lion for a few minutes where we glugged some sparkling mineral water and cranberry juice.
After work, I met First Matie and Matty on the terrace of the Riverside Studios, as it is still unseasonably hot. We ate and had a quick drink, with First Matie and Matty drinking the infamous pink wine. We three, the FB and others all took part in the infamous Summer of Pink Wine which really should be in wikipedia by now. It was a summer full of agency trauma, redundancies, major life crises for most of us, and long hot lost afternoons drinking pink wine in the sun. And, oddly, tremendous amounts of fun too.
Kate told us how her agency has been sad and subdued due to the accidental death of one of her colleagues last weekend. On a happier note she's planning some sort of birthday bash next weekend, although sadly the Gavster will be in Senegal making a film. Matty meanwhile has been having a lively time with the ladies and is poised to move into a place on Strand on the Green which is where I used to live. His will be very close to the Bull's Head which was my local for about eight years and holds many memories.
Left quite early and finished listening to The Time Traveler's Wife on the train. Really enjoyed this book which has faithful love at its core. It has made me think a lot about time while I've been listening to it.
It was also making me think how we can all time travel through involuntary memory (such as famously described in Proust's, À la recherche du temps perdu) those moments when a smell or sensation somehow short circuits your brain and takes you vividly to some time in your past.
And other people are time machines too. Like in a Ray Bradbury story, perhaps Dandelion Wine, where the Grandfather is described as a time machine able to tell you stories which take you to other times. And of course books, film, art and even blogs can do it too you too.
Home and phoned La Sprinkles who was unaccountably shopping again, and seemed very relaxed and happy doing so. After getting off the phone to her, I was going to indulge in a pre-Sprinkles tidying session but instead boofed happily into bed, knowing that when I get home tomorrow there will be loads of cleaning to be done.
Sometimes the simplest-seeming briefs are the ones that sap your soul. I worked on the train this morning, and after an hour I thought I had cracked it. But got into the agency and the Gnome pointed out that I'd got the product name slightly wrong, which meant I had to start again. Going through a phase of making silly mistakes like this. Perhaps a couple of weeks off showing Sprinkles the delights of England will be the refresher my brain needs.
In the office slogged against the clock till lunchtime with the Gnome and then we went for a pleasant walk upriver into Chiswick, stopping in the Black Lion for a few minutes where we glugged some sparkling mineral water and cranberry juice.
After work, I met First Matie and Matty on the terrace of the Riverside Studios, as it is still unseasonably hot. We ate and had a quick drink, with First Matie and Matty drinking the infamous pink wine. We three, the FB and others all took part in the infamous Summer of Pink Wine which really should be in wikipedia by now. It was a summer full of agency trauma, redundancies, major life crises for most of us, and long hot lost afternoons drinking pink wine in the sun. And, oddly, tremendous amounts of fun too.
Kate told us how her agency has been sad and subdued due to the accidental death of one of her colleagues last weekend. On a happier note she's planning some sort of birthday bash next weekend, although sadly the Gavster will be in Senegal making a film. Matty meanwhile has been having a lively time with the ladies and is poised to move into a place on Strand on the Green which is where I used to live. His will be very close to the Bull's Head which was my local for about eight years and holds many memories.
Left quite early and finished listening to The Time Traveler's Wife on the train. Really enjoyed this book which has faithful love at its core. It has made me think a lot about time while I've been listening to it.
It was also making me think how we can all time travel through involuntary memory (such as famously described in Proust's, À la recherche du temps perdu) those moments when a smell or sensation somehow short circuits your brain and takes you vividly to some time in your past.
And other people are time machines too. Like in a Ray Bradbury story, perhaps Dandelion Wine, where the Grandfather is described as a time machine able to tell you stories which take you to other times. And of course books, film, art and even blogs can do it too you too.
Home and phoned La Sprinkles who was unaccountably shopping again, and seemed very relaxed and happy doing so. After getting off the phone to her, I was going to indulge in a pre-Sprinkles tidying session but instead boofed happily into bed, knowing that when I get home tomorrow there will be loads of cleaning to be done.
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