Last Saturday morning we enjoyed The Shaftesbury Premier London Paddington Hotel’s breakfast once more, the only difference being that we were sitting listening to Sally Morgan on the next table the whole time. The woman at the next couple was with another lady and her voice just seemed to ring through the dining area, the same accent and tones as Fulham born Sally Morgan, or ‘Psychic Sally’ supposedly Britain’s best loved psychic. The only difference was this woman was not pretending to be talking to dead people, only the taller, glammed up woman sitting next to her and she talked on and on about how she was content with her life, how she felt that she was quite happy without a man and how her cat had died.
“Did you not know Jeffar had died?” she asked of her friend, shocked. If she had been Sally Morgan she may not have moaned so much about her cat dying as she’d still be able to talk to him.
The breakfasts in the hotel were great though. Full English breakfasts, all laid out in big silver trays, buffet style. Sausages, eggs, hash browns, you name it. Along with the healthier options of course of fruit yoghurts, fruit juices, toast and croissants you were each given a whole pot of the caffeine preference of your choice. All fantastic. And for us still free, due to the ‘inconvenience’ of the hotel moving us.
The whole stay was pretty damn close to being the best hotel stay I’ve ever had anywhere. The only complaint I’d have would be the single glazed windows which enabled us to hear the constant drone of traffic from the busy street outside. Not that you noticed it so much after a while as you lay on the bed on top of all the quilt layers, pillows and cushions, watching all the television programmes you’d never usually watch at home, whilst drinking all the tea and coffee sitting alongside the kettle, eating all the biscuits, eating all the fruit you’d picked up from the buffet table at breakfast time, using as much toilet paper as you liked and nonchalantly throwing towels about on the bathroom floor when you were finished with them, knowing full well that everything would be back to it’s neat and tidy state by the time you got back in the evening.
Saturday afternoon was cloudier but still dry as Ka and myself made our way to the Ambassadors Theatre to see Stomp.
Stomp is a popular theatre production of dance, rhythm, noise, a little more rhythm and a lot more noise. The production is not a story but a variety of different scenes with the performers and set design all dressed giving the impression of the setting being in some sort of junkyard. The scenes all involve the participation of eight dancers who perform with no, or very little speech, using only the noises and tunes they make to create music using only various everyday objects such as bins, tubes, tins, newspapers and even kitchen sinks. Such scenes involved the clacking of a wooden brush against the ground, for example, the thumping of a trash can, the banging of a giant rubber ring or the emptying of a kitchen sink full of water, (which is not particularly good if you’re now suffering the after effects of a couple of pints).
It was a great show, admittedly not one I would have rushed to see before, but Ka had always wanted to see it, probably because it was all based around people brushing up, using dustbins and tidying rubbish away whilst making as much noise as possible. If you were to sit and close your eyes whilst in the theatre it almost reminded me to waking up on a normal morning in Kenilworth listening to Ka rattling about the kitchen. Or those moments on the couch when you’re trying to watch an episode of Spooks and Ka decides it’s a great time to clean the kitchen cupboards out.
Before hand we’d went for an afternoon tipple in The Marquis of Granby, just across the road from the big, old Palace Theatre, currently adorned in colourful, open umbrellas for the running production of Singin’ in the Rain. A cackle of older ladies sat at the window table to the side of us, all downing the wine and gabbling like geese, prime suspects for the Singin’ in the Rain show. A couple in the other corner rowed quietly. Arguing over the menu with fierce eyes and the odd comment muttered through gritted teeth.
We had had to seek out the theatre early and managed to get lost in the West End streets in the effort, after Adventure Ted made another brief appearance in Trafalger Square under Nelson, we got momentarily sidetracked in Charing Cross Station and we spotted more Faberge Easter eggs.
We eventually found the small theatre on the corner of a block in the middle of West Street just across from the Club of the Ivy, which we recognised as the restaurant that week’s winners of The Apprentice had just dined in a couple of nights before. After finding the theatre we wandered off for a stroll and got lost once more and ended up milling around the town looking for somewhere to get an afternoon drink when we eventually found the Marquis of Granby. As I ordered our drink I asked the barmaid if she had any idea where the Ambassadors Theatre was.
“Go out there and turn left” she frowned slightly at me over the taps. I quickly went back out into the narrow street outside and looked down to see the familiar white fronted theatre not sixty meters away. That was handy, I thought, considering our circular route around the West End.
If you don’t know the West End well it would be easy to get lost in, going round in circles, through the streets filled with their shops, boutiques, small galleries, coffee shops, theatres and pubs.
After the show, and a quick walk around Covent Garden, at which we seen the largest paella known to man, an abundance of silk scarves and some artwork by Bob Dylan and Billy Connelly, we enjoyed a meal in Spaghetti House, served by Sacha Baron Cohen. The tall, dark waiter with the large eyes and high forehead serving our meals grinned from ear to ear at Ka all the while gesticulating with his hands whilst shouting in his thick, almost exaggerated Italian pronunciation. He looked very much like Baron Cohen in yet another cartoon like extremist character. Ka and myself had to have a quick look around for other actors and hidden cameras but seen only the other far more stressed looking staff members, all running around the restaurant floor in the Saturday night rush all putting on the same, overly pleasant but less enthusiastic or actorly performances on for their own tables.
The next day we were back at Euston, jumping on the train back to Glasgow Central, our weekend trip coming to an end but with a whole other week off lying ahead. Unfortunately there’d be no more Shaftesbury breakfasts or room service but as I awoke on Monday morning to the sound of Ka in the kitchen and a glass of orange juice on the bedside table waiting for me I thought, there’s no place like home.
Sabtu, 07 April 2012
Selasa, 03 April 2012
Aunt Ann, Adventure Ted and Big Ben
King Geogre III founded the Academy way back in 1768 with the help of the portrait painter Sir Joshua Reynolds and Scottish architect Sir William Chambers, who became the Academy’s first President. The membership club, known as the Friends of the Royal Academy, was set up back in 1977 to provide the museum with financial support whilst giving all it’s member unlimited access to the exhibitions housed within. My Auntie Ann is one of those friends and with her membership managed to get us some tickets for the current David Hockney exhibition, ending on the 9th April.
After arriving in Burlington House’s courtyard, Ka and myself stood in the sunshine, alongside the massive queue for tickets that had formed outside the building to await Ann’s arrival by bus.
Ann eventually turned up looking around quizzically under the large archway for her visiting relations after Ka almost surprised and cuddled a complete stranger who was innocently making her way up to the exhibition entrance, and who only had a passing resemblance to my Aunt. After a quick cuddle, (with Ann, not the passing resemblance), we quickly got the introductions over with, introducing Ann to Adventure Ted. Ann obligingly met Ted with a big smile before giving us our tickets for the exhibition pointing out she’d already seen it twice and was quite happy to sit in the sunny courtyard and read her book for an hour.
So Ka and myself battled our way through the crowds into Burlington House to view Hockey’s landscapes. The exhibition wasn’t what I had been expecting as Hockney is famous for being one of Britain’s first big celebrity artists, a bit of a rebel, famous for painting scenes of LA, splashes in swimming pools, portraits and creating photo collages of streets, highways, buildings and people.
With this exhibition Hockney shows a more traditional side, concentrating his painting on the landscapes of Yorkshire, collections of paintings depicting the same location over and over but in various seasons and months of the year. There are brief glances at works from different parts of the world, the giant ‘A Bigger Grand Canyon’ being the biggest, brightest, and boldest of the lot but most of the exhibition is taken up by the trees, blossoms, fields and hills of Yorkshire, some mad, brilliant, lurid, luminous and surreal and others, such as some of the smaller sketches, not quite as impressive. Not all of it worthy to be under the name of one of Britain’s most influential artists anyway.
The crowds were unbelievable. The Hockney exhibition had already been on since mid January but yet the halls were still heaving with people. A lot of rude old folk in suits and scarves made up a good portion of the crowd, seemingly believing they had a right to elbow, stop directly infront of you or ignore the few people in wheelchairs politely asking to get by from down below.
After an hour and a half we made it back out into the sunlight and after a brief stop at the local Pret a Manger made our way to Green Park for a picnic.
Looking out over the bottom half of Green Park, Buckingham Palace obscured by trees to the south, we sat in the grass, surrounded by fellow picnickers, Adventure Ted sitting in the daffodils behind.
“I think we should get Adventure Ted to Buckingham Palace!”
So off we went to get the kids of ELU their photograph of Adventure Ted outside the Queen’s house, passing two large colourfully decorated Easter eggs on the way through Green Park.
London is hosting an event over Easter named the Faberge Big Egg Hunt in which over 200 large easter eggs, each decorated, painted or designed by famous artists and designers have been positioned at various points over and across Central London. Following the opportunity for an eggciting (gawd!) egg hunt the eggs were to be gathered in Covent Garden where they were all to be auctioned for charity. Ann, Ka, Adventure Ted and myself came across around ten or so on our walk on Friday. If we’d known about it we could have attempted the whole 200 and got Adventure Ted’s picture taken with all of them. Fortunately, we hadn’t known about it.
After a few shots at the gate we approached a policeman guarding one of the barrier gateways. Chancing her arm, Ka started explaining Adventure Ted and her quest for the ELU. The poor guy was obviously the unlucky one on tourist duty at the time as two of his buddies pottered around behind him, further back in the palace’s front grounds.
Before Ka could finish her explanation as to why she was offering the guy a polka dot teddy bear, the policeman quickly interrupted with a quick “I ain’t holding the teddy!”
After the pics at the gates Ka talked me into climbing up one of the statues surrounding the Victoria Monument for a picture. A task I accepted with a shrug until half way around the groping of the bronze lion on the Statue of Justice, I nearly slipped back into the fountain of water four feet below my behind which I had thought to be pavement not dissimilar to the side I had started climbing from. I felt like Doc Brown shuffling along the front of the clock tower.
After Ka took the snap and I made it back on to paved ground in a rather undignified landing, Ann insisted that Adventure Ted see Big Ben next. Ka and myself looked at one another wondering who was the more excited about this whole trip. Adventure Ted or Ann?
So I led the way through St James’ Park, through the willow and blossom trees up into Westminster, avoiding some brawling ducks and scary looking geese, and passing more Faberge eggs, which were attracting mild interest from similar tourists passing through the park. The only difference with other tourists was that they didn’t excitedly produce a polka dot clad teddy bear to get it’s picture taken next to the giant oval.
Back over the bridge we went, stopping briefly outside the gates of the Houses of Parliament where a couple of coppers were guarding the barrier in a small, sparse huddle of Japanese tourists. Ka reached in to get Adventure Ted back out for another pic but stopped when the two coppers gave some rather blunt, bored and almost angry responses to some little Japanese ladies requesting photos alongside them with Big Ben in the background. These coppers obviously were not as tourist friendly at the Buckingham Palace lot. The Parliament coppers simply shook their heads gruffly and grumbled “We’re busy”.
So, leaving the Parliament coppers milling around at the gate twiddling their thumbs, Ann led us onwards to Westminster Abbey, our final stop before we jumped on a busy tube back to Fulham where we made a pit stop at Ann’s place to see a rather grumpy Bandit the dog and discover how red and burnt my balding head was. Within an hour we were walking again, now along to Putney and Ann’s favourite Tapas restaurant.
Our last and best stop of the day. Well, before Ka, Adventure Ted and myself headed back to Paddington, of course. And no, I don’t mean the bear.
Senin, 02 April 2012
Going Underground with Adventure Ted
5 minutes to midday late on a Thursday morning and I’m standing at the bar ordering a pint. Possibly the earliest pint for a long while.
Ka and myself were in the Arrol Bar in Glasgow Central awaiting our train, due to leave at 12.40. It was the start of our holiday weekend in London so we thought we’d while away the half hour awaiting the arrival of our Virgin train with a pint and a glass of wine. Adventure Ted came out of the handbag for a tipple too. She came out for a sip of Ka’s wine as we sat in the pub’s front window watching the early afternoon world go by.
Yep, I did say ‘she’ as Adventure Ted is a girl. Her usual abode is, of course, the ELU Nursery, Ka’s work, but as one of the current projects for the kids involves London, the Queen and all things Jubilee, Adventure Ted thought she’d make the trip to London with us, her weekend goal to get her picture taken outside the gates of Buckingham Palace.
We perched Adventure Ted on the stool at the side of the table, moving Ka’s glass of wine to within her grasp, and snapped a photo of her with the phone, texting it to Vicki, who was hard at work back in dreary old Hamilton in the Early Learning Unit. There were a few fellow early drinkers in the bar around us but none seemed to even bat an eyelid at the appearance of a medium sized teddy in an all in one red polka dot outfit and sunhat perched, smiling on the barstool close by. Then again, perhaps the appearance of a bear in polka dots drinking at the next table is not a particularly strange sight for some of the folks that drink around midday in the middle of town.
As the announcement was made over the Central Station tannoy, we made out way out and up to Platform 1 where Adventure Ted obediently posed with our luggage, sitting before another of Richard Branson’s wonderful machines, one of the 390 Pendolino’s, which would deliver us successfully, in around 4 and a half hours, to our destination of the country’s capital.
Once we arrived in London Euston it was around half 4 and by the time we got down into the Underground to make our way to our hotel in Notting Hill it was the height of rush hour as we shuffled our way through the London crowds with our two cases.
Tuts, sighs, conversations, murmurings, all in various different languages, circled us as we made our way through the claustrophobic tunnels and trains of the London Underground, all with their own fantastic fashions, faces and furrowed brows. Singing and guitars echoed along a few of the more acoustic tunnels with the occasional announcements from the tannoys overhead as escalators struggled to ascend to the various different warm station levels carrying the massive crowds piled on top.
It always takes a few wee trips to get back into the London Underground mode when you visit the capital but nothing much has changed.
Spinning adverts and movie trailers on digital screens have now replaced some of the Underground’s escalator posters which follow your ascending or descending to the next level which I thought was quite a cool change though a pretty pricey one, I would have thought.
Never mind the aged track and train replacement, let’s get some 50 odd flashy digital display screens installed on this one escalator.
That can’t be very cost effective surely?
Anyway, after finally arriving at the Shaftesbury Premier Notting Hill Hotel we were helped up into the reception with our cases by a concierge and greeted by a friendly receptionist who got us to fill out our accommodation form and then informed us that we could not stay.
Ka and myself had been ready for a spanner in the works. We had been gearing up for it. Something had to go wrong.
Apparently there was a problem with the air conditioning in our room and, as a result, we would have to be moved to a sister hotel. The receptionist swiftly called a taxi.
A large merc soon pulled up and swept us along to the Shaftesbury Premier Paddingstion Hotel and after a short ten minute drive, in which we seen a biker get his moped trashed after braking too heavily at a corner infront of a car following it from the rear, we were dropped off in the middle of the far busier Westbourne Terrace, five minutes walk from the Paddington Underground station and it’s surrounding shops and restaurants.
The room, and hotel in general, was very nice and we had been promoted to a higher bedroom and would now be welcomed to breakfast on the three mornings of our stay, for our inconvenience.
After quickly unpacking and getting ourselves settled, we hit the streets of Paddington for dinner, ending our walk in the Villa Rosa restaurant on Craven Road, greeted by a pair of stinking armpits and salads with no lettuce. The cannelloni was good though. Ka, however, was put off by the mince being a suspicious grey colour. In retrospect, perhaps not one of our best choices of restaurants.
After our wonderfully average meal we jumped on the tube and headed into town, aiming for Covent Garden. Unfortunately I mistook the Victoria line for the Piccadilly line and we ended up disembarking at Oxford Circus surrounded by shoppers heading home. Moving onwards we ended up in Carnaby Street eventually finding a small bar and a couple of seats for an after dinner beverage.
Another short walk later, we ended up in the bustling Piccadilly Circus where we were to return on our first stop the next morning on our trip to the Royal Academy where we would meet Ann in the sunshine filled courtyard, see some David Hockney, whilst battling pensioners, go out on a tourist quest to see as many sights as possible with Adventure Ted, annoy many a policeman, watch battling ducks, argue over whether it was a pelican or a stork, stand in red telephone boxes and come across more than a few Easter eggs on our way.
Ka and myself were in the Arrol Bar in Glasgow Central awaiting our train, due to leave at 12.40. It was the start of our holiday weekend in London so we thought we’d while away the half hour awaiting the arrival of our Virgin train with a pint and a glass of wine. Adventure Ted came out of the handbag for a tipple too. She came out for a sip of Ka’s wine as we sat in the pub’s front window watching the early afternoon world go by.
Yep, I did say ‘she’ as Adventure Ted is a girl. Her usual abode is, of course, the ELU Nursery, Ka’s work, but as one of the current projects for the kids involves London, the Queen and all things Jubilee, Adventure Ted thought she’d make the trip to London with us, her weekend goal to get her picture taken outside the gates of Buckingham Palace.
We perched Adventure Ted on the stool at the side of the table, moving Ka’s glass of wine to within her grasp, and snapped a photo of her with the phone, texting it to Vicki, who was hard at work back in dreary old Hamilton in the Early Learning Unit. There were a few fellow early drinkers in the bar around us but none seemed to even bat an eyelid at the appearance of a medium sized teddy in an all in one red polka dot outfit and sunhat perched, smiling on the barstool close by. Then again, perhaps the appearance of a bear in polka dots drinking at the next table is not a particularly strange sight for some of the folks that drink around midday in the middle of town.
Once we arrived in London Euston it was around half 4 and by the time we got down into the Underground to make our way to our hotel in Notting Hill it was the height of rush hour as we shuffled our way through the London crowds with our two cases.
Tuts, sighs, conversations, murmurings, all in various different languages, circled us as we made our way through the claustrophobic tunnels and trains of the London Underground, all with their own fantastic fashions, faces and furrowed brows. Singing and guitars echoed along a few of the more acoustic tunnels with the occasional announcements from the tannoys overhead as escalators struggled to ascend to the various different warm station levels carrying the massive crowds piled on top.
It always takes a few wee trips to get back into the London Underground mode when you visit the capital but nothing much has changed.
Spinning adverts and movie trailers on digital screens have now replaced some of the Underground’s escalator posters which follow your ascending or descending to the next level which I thought was quite a cool change though a pretty pricey one, I would have thought.
Never mind the aged track and train replacement, let’s get some 50 odd flashy digital display screens installed on this one escalator.
That can’t be very cost effective surely?
Anyway, after finally arriving at the Shaftesbury Premier Notting Hill Hotel we were helped up into the reception with our cases by a concierge and greeted by a friendly receptionist who got us to fill out our accommodation form and then informed us that we could not stay.
Ka and myself had been ready for a spanner in the works. We had been gearing up for it. Something had to go wrong.
Apparently there was a problem with the air conditioning in our room and, as a result, we would have to be moved to a sister hotel. The receptionist swiftly called a taxi.
A large merc soon pulled up and swept us along to the Shaftesbury Premier Paddingstion Hotel and after a short ten minute drive, in which we seen a biker get his moped trashed after braking too heavily at a corner infront of a car following it from the rear, we were dropped off in the middle of the far busier Westbourne Terrace, five minutes walk from the Paddington Underground station and it’s surrounding shops and restaurants.
The room, and hotel in general, was very nice and we had been promoted to a higher bedroom and would now be welcomed to breakfast on the three mornings of our stay, for our inconvenience.
After quickly unpacking and getting ourselves settled, we hit the streets of Paddington for dinner, ending our walk in the Villa Rosa restaurant on Craven Road, greeted by a pair of stinking armpits and salads with no lettuce. The cannelloni was good though. Ka, however, was put off by the mince being a suspicious grey colour. In retrospect, perhaps not one of our best choices of restaurants.
After our wonderfully average meal we jumped on the tube and headed into town, aiming for Covent Garden. Unfortunately I mistook the Victoria line for the Piccadilly line and we ended up disembarking at Oxford Circus surrounded by shoppers heading home. Moving onwards we ended up in Carnaby Street eventually finding a small bar and a couple of seats for an after dinner beverage.
Another short walk later, we ended up in the bustling Piccadilly Circus where we were to return on our first stop the next morning on our trip to the Royal Academy where we would meet Ann in the sunshine filled courtyard, see some David Hockney, whilst battling pensioners, go out on a tourist quest to see as many sights as possible with Adventure Ted, annoy many a policeman, watch battling ducks, argue over whether it was a pelican or a stork, stand in red telephone boxes and come across more than a few Easter eggs on our way.
Rabu, 28 Maret 2012
Good day sunshine
The sky is a brilliant blue over East Kilbride today. Who would have thought that driving around the streets of EK on my first week off could be so wonderful?
With the job still up in the air, Friday was my last shift for two weeks. I’ll have to pop by the office at some point during the next two weeks to attend an interview, but I’m free from the office during all the time in between so I finished my shift on Friday with a spring in my step.
Not only that but Ka was going out on the Saturday to her pal, Louisa’s, 30th birthday night out so I was free to do what I liked.
Watch what I liked. Eat what I liked. Drink what I liked. Go where I liked.
Until I remembered it was Mum’s birthday and something had been said about dinner on the Saturday night. So I gave up my chance at the remote control (it’s overrated anyway) and went out for dinner with Mum, Dad and sis, Lynsey Ann, to the local Steak house where we enjoyed a slap up meal and a few glasses of house red. Afterwards we enjoyed a few drinks in the lively Monty across the road where we took what looked like the last empty table, which just happened to be situated next to a table occupied by Mum and Dad’s old neighbours, from their first flat in the Greenhills, who were out with their daughter. Apparently I used to go to playgroup or nursery with their son. Memories obviously long fizzled out by alcohol abuse or age, or both. I did recognise a few faces as I sat in the bar though. Faces from school, long forgotten about, mostly deliberately.
All this while Ka was out on the town for Louisa’s cocktail filled birthday for which they’d managed to book themselves a booth in Mansion House and a couple of nice rooms in a central hotel by the name of the Alexander Thomson Hotel. There was a little uncertainty regarding the location after suspicions were aroused when some local ladies of the night were spotted in and around the hotel’s vicinity, perhaps attempting some arousing of their own. Not the kind of neighbours you wanted staying in the hotel room next to you.
I clambered out from my taxi, happy with red wine, and downed a cup of tea at around one in the morning with a slice of toast not forgetting to put the clocks forward by an hour and thus eventually begin the British summertime.
Since then it’s been blue skies all the way. Temperatures of 22 and 23 degrees. The green emerging slowly from the trees. The tops and t-shirts starting to get taken off at the first sight of the sun. Bikinis making appearances on the pavements again. The slamming on of the brakes as you turn to realise the driver infront has actually stopped.
With the car heater on ‘cold’ and the electric windows fully down to let some air circulate, it’s almost like driving around in a foreign country. The streets feel different.
Sitting in the flat with the windows open I can actually hear footsteps in the street outside.
Not rain. Not wind. Footsteps.
Neighbours walking by. The occasional conversation echoing up as they pass, their voices seeming to travel further in the warm, quiet street. Blue skies must be good for echoes too.
Bikes cycle past, their tyres whirring and ticking. The cars going up and down the road seem louder as if they’ve all souped-up their exhausts with those ridiculously stupid sized versions you see on cars roaring by with before breaking at the lights along with everyone else.
The kids are slowly emerging from the surrounding houses, out playing for the first time in months, like animals coming out of hibernation. Shouts and yelps echo around the street as they once more start to hang out, kicking balls about and hanging around the large hill of uncut grass directly opposite us which stands alongside the ruins of the old college that was demolished to make way for flats at least three years ago (needless to say the flats never turned up). This long grassed hill is particularly popular for sledging down. Not when there’s snow about though, no, that would just be silly. When the sun’s out and they slide down the grass on their hind ends, straight into the large, mangled, rusty old fence which stands at the grassy slope’s end. Hours of entertainment. Their Mum’s must have a great time with the Vanish.
The daffodils are out in force too. The front garden of our block as an abundance of green and yellow climbing up out of the usually weed filled soil.
Where did they all come from? Who planted them? It wasn’t me. Daffodils just jump up out of nowhere when spring comes around. Those pesky phantom daffodil planters must have been round again.
I’m sure the grey clouds will roll back in at some point though, casting doom and gloom over the days to come. I’d better just enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.
With the job still up in the air, Friday was my last shift for two weeks. I’ll have to pop by the office at some point during the next two weeks to attend an interview, but I’m free from the office during all the time in between so I finished my shift on Friday with a spring in my step.
Not only that but Ka was going out on the Saturday to her pal, Louisa’s, 30th birthday night out so I was free to do what I liked.
Watch what I liked. Eat what I liked. Drink what I liked. Go where I liked.
Until I remembered it was Mum’s birthday and something had been said about dinner on the Saturday night. So I gave up my chance at the remote control (it’s overrated anyway) and went out for dinner with Mum, Dad and sis, Lynsey Ann, to the local Steak house where we enjoyed a slap up meal and a few glasses of house red. Afterwards we enjoyed a few drinks in the lively Monty across the road where we took what looked like the last empty table, which just happened to be situated next to a table occupied by Mum and Dad’s old neighbours, from their first flat in the Greenhills, who were out with their daughter. Apparently I used to go to playgroup or nursery with their son. Memories obviously long fizzled out by alcohol abuse or age, or both. I did recognise a few faces as I sat in the bar though. Faces from school, long forgotten about, mostly deliberately.
All this while Ka was out on the town for Louisa’s cocktail filled birthday for which they’d managed to book themselves a booth in Mansion House and a couple of nice rooms in a central hotel by the name of the Alexander Thomson Hotel. There was a little uncertainty regarding the location after suspicions were aroused when some local ladies of the night were spotted in and around the hotel’s vicinity, perhaps attempting some arousing of their own. Not the kind of neighbours you wanted staying in the hotel room next to you.
I clambered out from my taxi, happy with red wine, and downed a cup of tea at around one in the morning with a slice of toast not forgetting to put the clocks forward by an hour and thus eventually begin the British summertime.
With the car heater on ‘cold’ and the electric windows fully down to let some air circulate, it’s almost like driving around in a foreign country. The streets feel different.
Sitting in the flat with the windows open I can actually hear footsteps in the street outside.
Not rain. Not wind. Footsteps.
Neighbours walking by. The occasional conversation echoing up as they pass, their voices seeming to travel further in the warm, quiet street. Blue skies must be good for echoes too.
Bikes cycle past, their tyres whirring and ticking. The cars going up and down the road seem louder as if they’ve all souped-up their exhausts with those ridiculously stupid sized versions you see on cars roaring by with before breaking at the lights along with everyone else.
The kids are slowly emerging from the surrounding houses, out playing for the first time in months, like animals coming out of hibernation. Shouts and yelps echo around the street as they once more start to hang out, kicking balls about and hanging around the large hill of uncut grass directly opposite us which stands alongside the ruins of the old college that was demolished to make way for flats at least three years ago (needless to say the flats never turned up). This long grassed hill is particularly popular for sledging down. Not when there’s snow about though, no, that would just be silly. When the sun’s out and they slide down the grass on their hind ends, straight into the large, mangled, rusty old fence which stands at the grassy slope’s end. Hours of entertainment. Their Mum’s must have a great time with the Vanish.
The daffodils are out in force too. The front garden of our block as an abundance of green and yellow climbing up out of the usually weed filled soil.
Where did they all come from? Who planted them? It wasn’t me. Daffodils just jump up out of nowhere when spring comes around. Those pesky phantom daffodil planters must have been round again.
I’m sure the grey clouds will roll back in at some point though, casting doom and gloom over the days to come. I’d better just enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.
The waiting game
At the moment I’m waiting to find out when the interviews will be for the one available studio position in, the now flitting, S&UN prepress.
Barry and myself took a trip into Glasgow on last Wednesday after being invited over to Central Quay to visit the Daily Record building, S&UN Prepress’ new home. It’s more than a little odd going over and being giving the guided tour before you even know if you have a job.
We overestimated the journey time and we found ourselves waiting outside the building in the warm sunshine to go into the large office block on the Central Quay, looking out over the sparkling waters of the Clyde. It was around lunchtime so there were a few people milling about. Some smokers hanging around the corner of the building and some runners enthusiastically jumping out from the office block’s revolving door, people leaving the office on their lunch break to go out for a quick jog up and down the riverside. Barry and myself watched wondering how they managed to fit it all in, in a half hour.
When the time finally reached the fifteen minutes early marker, a reasonable amount of time to be mega early we thought, we went through the revolving door and gained our visitors’ passes from the front desk before heading into the canteen to wait for Kirsty, our host and tour guide. As we sat waiting I couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen in the coming weeks. Would I be lucky enough to continue with my employment at the newly formed Media Scotland, would I be leaving with a redundancy payment, were there other jobs out there and was the lasagne really worth £3.50? I can make great lasagne but I wouldn’t charge someone £3.50 for a bit.
A canteen in a place of work that actually sells hot food?
I’ve never worked in such a place. The last time I was served a hot meal on a weekday lunchtime by a canteen was probably in Primary school. The meal was always spooned out from the large steel containers by the line of dinner ladies on to those all in one plastic trays, sectioned off in bevelled shapes for each course.
Getting school dinners was always a rare thing for me. School dinners were only a very occasional Friday treat, if treat is the word for it. The chocolate Rice Crispie cake was about as good as it got. Chaz always reserved his piece of Chocolate Crispie cake early morning, chatting up the dinner ladies, probably giving them some sort of sales pitch, even at that age.
Whereas, I was a packed lunch man. A couple of pieces, a packet of crisps and a fun size mars bar if it was Friday. You had to make sure you ate all your pieces though. Mr Stevens, the Janitor, stood over the large bin, eyeing you, and everything you chucked away, up suspiciously, whilst maintaining a constant vigil over the goings on over the whole lunch hall. If you even attempted to chuck half a sandwich away he would launch into a barrage of abuse, his voice echoing throughout the giant room, shaming you before the whole lunch hall and sending you back to your table with your tail between your legs and your unwanted piece that your Mum had apparently spent so much time over making that morning. Nobody was sure how Mr Stevens knew it was your Mum that had made your pieces that morning, not to mention how long it took her. He was always a highly suspicious character himself, if you ask me.
Anyway, in the Glasgow canteen, after a talking with one of the sales girls, who had moved over from the Hamilton building a few weeks before, Kirsty soon turned up and after a short chat gave us the tour of the building, going from the top, second level, where Prepress would now be based, all the way down through the busy floors, to the all important basement car park. There’s even a gym for when you’re wanting to run off some executive stress or pump some iron, handy for when you’ve had too much lasagne in the canteen.
An interesting visit but all slightly uncomfortable considering I have no idea yet on whether I’ll actually be working there or not.
Barry and myself took a trip into Glasgow on last Wednesday after being invited over to Central Quay to visit the Daily Record building, S&UN Prepress’ new home. It’s more than a little odd going over and being giving the guided tour before you even know if you have a job.
We overestimated the journey time and we found ourselves waiting outside the building in the warm sunshine to go into the large office block on the Central Quay, looking out over the sparkling waters of the Clyde. It was around lunchtime so there were a few people milling about. Some smokers hanging around the corner of the building and some runners enthusiastically jumping out from the office block’s revolving door, people leaving the office on their lunch break to go out for a quick jog up and down the riverside. Barry and myself watched wondering how they managed to fit it all in, in a half hour.
When the time finally reached the fifteen minutes early marker, a reasonable amount of time to be mega early we thought, we went through the revolving door and gained our visitors’ passes from the front desk before heading into the canteen to wait for Kirsty, our host and tour guide. As we sat waiting I couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen in the coming weeks. Would I be lucky enough to continue with my employment at the newly formed Media Scotland, would I be leaving with a redundancy payment, were there other jobs out there and was the lasagne really worth £3.50? I can make great lasagne but I wouldn’t charge someone £3.50 for a bit.
A canteen in a place of work that actually sells hot food?
I’ve never worked in such a place. The last time I was served a hot meal on a weekday lunchtime by a canteen was probably in Primary school. The meal was always spooned out from the large steel containers by the line of dinner ladies on to those all in one plastic trays, sectioned off in bevelled shapes for each course.
Getting school dinners was always a rare thing for me. School dinners were only a very occasional Friday treat, if treat is the word for it. The chocolate Rice Crispie cake was about as good as it got. Chaz always reserved his piece of Chocolate Crispie cake early morning, chatting up the dinner ladies, probably giving them some sort of sales pitch, even at that age.
Whereas, I was a packed lunch man. A couple of pieces, a packet of crisps and a fun size mars bar if it was Friday. You had to make sure you ate all your pieces though. Mr Stevens, the Janitor, stood over the large bin, eyeing you, and everything you chucked away, up suspiciously, whilst maintaining a constant vigil over the goings on over the whole lunch hall. If you even attempted to chuck half a sandwich away he would launch into a barrage of abuse, his voice echoing throughout the giant room, shaming you before the whole lunch hall and sending you back to your table with your tail between your legs and your unwanted piece that your Mum had apparently spent so much time over making that morning. Nobody was sure how Mr Stevens knew it was your Mum that had made your pieces that morning, not to mention how long it took her. He was always a highly suspicious character himself, if you ask me.
Anyway, in the Glasgow canteen, after a talking with one of the sales girls, who had moved over from the Hamilton building a few weeks before, Kirsty soon turned up and after a short chat gave us the tour of the building, going from the top, second level, where Prepress would now be based, all the way down through the busy floors, to the all important basement car park. There’s even a gym for when you’re wanting to run off some executive stress or pump some iron, handy for when you’ve had too much lasagne in the canteen.
An interesting visit but all slightly uncomfortable considering I have no idea yet on whether I’ll actually be working there or not.
Minggu, 18 Maret 2012
Weapons of choice
Just about finished Al Pacino this weekend. Ka hit the shops yesterday with Claire and Olivia leaving me in the flat to my own devices. The devices in question being my easel, acrylics and paintbrushes in an attempt to finish the Pacino portrait I have been working on, on and off, for over three months. Thankfully, it’s just about finished now.
It’s not bad for a first attempt anyway.
Even though Mum thought it was Bob Marley.
Mum and Dad popped in for a cuppa last Saturday afternoon and after a few minutes pondering the portrait before them in quiet contemplation, they eventually started muttering some compliments, being careful not to say what was obviously on the tip of their tongues.
“Who’s that supposed to be?” being the main phrase that springs to mind. I could tell the two of them were struggling to contain the words escaping from within their mouths as I stood back before going into the kitchen to switch the kettle on. Hopefully a cup of tea would enlighten them.
Yesterday I gave the portrait it’s finishing touches – hopefully. Though I’m sure I could fuss over it for a little longer if given the chance. Like a mechanic with a prize car in the garage, I’ll probably go back to it and tinker at small niggly bits now and again.
I’ve still to give my Christopher Walken portrait it’s finishing touches also, something I also meant to get round to yesterday.
Another portrait I started more than a few months ago, long before Rowland Rivron even considered the idea of defiling the great man’s brilliant dance routine which accompanied Fatboy Slim’s fantastic ‘Weapon of Choice’ (It is for the Sport Relief charity though so I suppose we should let him off). Just as I was about to pull the portrait out from under the dust covers I was interrupted by an unexpected phonecall from Oz.
Ka picked up the phone, not long after returning from the shops, expecting the monotonous tones of a computerised female ‘Important message’ or the slightly over friendly tones of a 3 salesman, (3 have suddenly been calling trying to sell us mobile phones repeatedly for the past few weeks) but was surprised to hear the unexpected tones of my happy brother calling from the other side of the world.
It was 10 past 3 at night over there which meant it was now the 18th of March on their side of the world. Kenny had hit the grand old age of 29 and was now on his way home to his hostel after a celebratory few drinks in the pub. Tequilas being the drink of the day apparently. Kenny’s in Sydney now and once more enjoying the Australian city life after a few weeks on the quiet Gold Coast.
He sounded high spirited (in more ways than one) but keen to get on and find a job whilst in the big city although he wasn’t particularly enamoured by my own job situation.
S&UN Prepress is being moved to the Glasgow offices on the Clydeside but unfortunately for Dave and myself there is only one Studio job. We were each given the dreaded brown envelopes on Monday so it’s either apply for the one post or take the money offered. It wasn’t a great start to the week really but hey, life goes on.
Recently I’ve been helping with the organisation of a ‘Charity Hat Disco Night’, a brainchild of DJ William Rae. On the 26th May, DJ William Rae will be hosting a disco night in the upstairs lounge of The Salmon Leap at which all who attend must wear a hat, the best of which will win a prize! Raffles, rock ‘n’ roll bingo and games will all be interspersed within the music and all proceeds are going towards Sands (Stillbirth and Neonatal Death Society) and Cancer Research UK. At the moment we’re fishing around for some raffle prizes and myself, William, Ka and Jane (DJ William’s better half) are all selling tickets which are going like hot cakes so if anyone out there is interested in attending please see here or contact me at mike@reidnet.org.uk.
I’m not sure which hat to go for on the night. I have a rather battered looking trilby sun hat from Ibiza which I could wear but I don’t think that’ll win me any prizes.
Ka suggested I wear my Boba Fett helmet but I pointed out to her, as the title suggests, it is a helmet, and I’d probably find myself getting disqualified if I wore that particular piece of headgear. Still, it would be a laugh to see a shirted Boba Fett throwing some shapes in the middle of Calderwood’s Salmon Leap.
After DJ William’s best hat disco the following crazy party idea came from Jillian who hits the big 3-0 in September.
Obviously inspired by the recent trip to the flicks to see the new Muppet movie, Jillian thought it’d be a great idea for everyone who attends her birthday party to go as their favourite Muppet. Ironically enough, the party is to be held in the Kirkintilloch Rangers Supporters Club. I’m not sure if that’ll go down well with the regulars to be honest. I suppose I could always play it safe and go as the Cookie Monster.
It’s not bad for a first attempt anyway.
Even though Mum thought it was Bob Marley.
Mum and Dad popped in for a cuppa last Saturday afternoon and after a few minutes pondering the portrait before them in quiet contemplation, they eventually started muttering some compliments, being careful not to say what was obviously on the tip of their tongues.
“Who’s that supposed to be?” being the main phrase that springs to mind. I could tell the two of them were struggling to contain the words escaping from within their mouths as I stood back before going into the kitchen to switch the kettle on. Hopefully a cup of tea would enlighten them.
Yesterday I gave the portrait it’s finishing touches – hopefully. Though I’m sure I could fuss over it for a little longer if given the chance. Like a mechanic with a prize car in the garage, I’ll probably go back to it and tinker at small niggly bits now and again.
I’ve still to give my Christopher Walken portrait it’s finishing touches also, something I also meant to get round to yesterday.
Ka picked up the phone, not long after returning from the shops, expecting the monotonous tones of a computerised female ‘Important message’ or the slightly over friendly tones of a 3 salesman, (3 have suddenly been calling trying to sell us mobile phones repeatedly for the past few weeks) but was surprised to hear the unexpected tones of my happy brother calling from the other side of the world.
It was 10 past 3 at night over there which meant it was now the 18th of March on their side of the world. Kenny had hit the grand old age of 29 and was now on his way home to his hostel after a celebratory few drinks in the pub. Tequilas being the drink of the day apparently. Kenny’s in Sydney now and once more enjoying the Australian city life after a few weeks on the quiet Gold Coast.
He sounded high spirited (in more ways than one) but keen to get on and find a job whilst in the big city although he wasn’t particularly enamoured by my own job situation.
S&UN Prepress is being moved to the Glasgow offices on the Clydeside but unfortunately for Dave and myself there is only one Studio job. We were each given the dreaded brown envelopes on Monday so it’s either apply for the one post or take the money offered. It wasn’t a great start to the week really but hey, life goes on.
Recently I’ve been helping with the organisation of a ‘Charity Hat Disco Night’, a brainchild of DJ William Rae. On the 26th May, DJ William Rae will be hosting a disco night in the upstairs lounge of The Salmon Leap at which all who attend must wear a hat, the best of which will win a prize! Raffles, rock ‘n’ roll bingo and games will all be interspersed within the music and all proceeds are going towards Sands (Stillbirth and Neonatal Death Society) and Cancer Research UK. At the moment we’re fishing around for some raffle prizes and myself, William, Ka and Jane (DJ William’s better half) are all selling tickets which are going like hot cakes so if anyone out there is interested in attending please see here or contact me at mike@reidnet.org.uk.
I’m not sure which hat to go for on the night. I have a rather battered looking trilby sun hat from Ibiza which I could wear but I don’t think that’ll win me any prizes.
Ka suggested I wear my Boba Fett helmet but I pointed out to her, as the title suggests, it is a helmet, and I’d probably find myself getting disqualified if I wore that particular piece of headgear. Still, it would be a laugh to see a shirted Boba Fett throwing some shapes in the middle of Calderwood’s Salmon Leap.
After DJ William’s best hat disco the following crazy party idea came from Jillian who hits the big 3-0 in September.
Sabtu, 17 Maret 2012
A Dings birthday
We had another family gathering at the McGarva household to celebrate Ka’s big sister’s birthday. Angela celebrated another birthday an evening early last Friday night with Grace, Dougie, Jillian, Colin, Kelly Ann and myself along with Steven, Morgan and Joshua.
Even though it’s not her birthday Ka was given a present too. Colin gifted Ka with a book called ‘Hollow Earth’ written, and signed by, none other than John Barrowman (and his sister). Colin and Jillian had made the trip to Waterstones in Glasgow one Monday, not too long ago, to meet the man himself. Photographic evidence on facebook shows Jillian leaning over the desk before the television and theatre star, grinning up at Colin’s shaky camera.
“Grannie, help me hide the cake!” Morgan shouted as she ran through the front door before her Mum had even got out on their car.
The Leckie’s had arrived and Joshua ran straight into the centre of the living room and spun around on the spot excitedly and almost immediately started throwing Iggle Piggle repeatedly up into the air. As everyone shouted and chatted with one another Dougie brought out the Ding’s take away menu.
Ding’s is a small Chinese takeaway on Uddingston’s Main Street, which is now traditionally called upon on a McGarva birthday. The shop itself houses a large open kitchen in the centre of the room in which various cooks shuffle their woks, toss their onions and boil their their noodles over the gas hobs, the large extractor fans hanging from the ceiling humming with exertion. Ding’s serves up some great takeaway grub including a rather brilliant szechuan. This time round I went for the Hong Kong style Sweet and Sour Chicken, another favourite. A favourite introduced to me by Chaz, who always used to order it on Sauchiehall Street at the end of a night out.
As the menu was passed from person to person Joshua jumped, spun and flung himself around the room, occasionally tickling peoples’ feet, looking up at you expectantly with a big toothy smile on his face whilst. He did look at little uncomfortable at one point though as he walked over to the coffee table with his plastic cup of water and stopped. A look of mild worry came over his face as he realised all the coasters were taken by all of our various cups of tea, coffee and water. He’s obviously been well housetrained. Morgan, who was feeling, and looking, a little peaky, chilled out taking a break from the games for a change settling instead for her colouring book.
After dinner the traditional cake and sing-a-long was carried out and a few photos were taken, Angela giving Morgan and Joshua big, birthday hugs. Recovering from her slightly peaky self briefly for a piece of the birthday chocolate cake, Morgan then went back to her colouring book at the dining table and Joshua went back to his toy cars, which he’d won in the all too brief game of pass the parcel.
Perhaps even the best game of pass the parcel as I managed to win a parcel without even passing!
I was sitting in the other room, at the dining table, suffering a slight headache from the strange whistling, squealing noise the living room tv had been making (a noise that caused a minor debate earlier in the night), chatting to Steven about Angela’s still secret Birthday present (an iPad!!!) as Morgan feverishly worked at her colouring book and Joshua delivered my freshly unwrapped present.
A DVD. ‘Hitch’ starring Will Smith. A little sceptical at first I soon realised Eva Mendes is in it so I accepted my prize more than gratefully before being admonished by Dougie who had been listening from the kitchen behind me.
After Steven took the two kids home to bed the McGarva siblings whiled away the remaining hours with glasses of wine, reminiscing about old times. After talking of the various drunken exploits of youth the conversation went on to Colin and Ka’s employment in Poundstretchers through their early working lives. They talked of the old Pounstretchers boss who found herself being attacked by a shutter one night, the life size dolls, Ka chasing the shoplifters, the old man that bought the condoms, and Colin entertaining the passing Hamilton shoppers in the street with his microphone and speakers.
Grace and myself listened intently as Dougie quietly tried to watch Lee Westwood play golf on the whistling television from the depths of his armchair and didn’t show much concern when Grace confessed her love for Patrick Swayze. Unfortunately she doesn’t have much of a chance now. Not a chance in hell.
Heaven, now that may be a different matter. Grace nodded excitedly when it was suggested the two of them could hook up in heaven.
“You better make sure you go first Dougie” I told Ka’s Dad. “She’s having ideas over there!”
Before long it was time to go home again and Ka and myself drove Angela up the road to her bed, well, her doorstep anyway.
Angela got out the car and sauntered up the garden path to the front door, swinging her birthday bottle of Halcyon wine (one of our favourites) at her side and pressed the doorbell. Ka and myself politely waited in the car for the front door opening, just in case there was somebody waiting in the bushes to jump out on her. After a few minutes of waiting politely Steven eventually opened the door and with a quick wave we were off home.
Even though it’s not her birthday Ka was given a present too. Colin gifted Ka with a book called ‘Hollow Earth’ written, and signed by, none other than John Barrowman (and his sister). Colin and Jillian had made the trip to Waterstones in Glasgow one Monday, not too long ago, to meet the man himself. Photographic evidence on facebook shows Jillian leaning over the desk before the television and theatre star, grinning up at Colin’s shaky camera.
“Grannie, help me hide the cake!” Morgan shouted as she ran through the front door before her Mum had even got out on their car.
The Leckie’s had arrived and Joshua ran straight into the centre of the living room and spun around on the spot excitedly and almost immediately started throwing Iggle Piggle repeatedly up into the air. As everyone shouted and chatted with one another Dougie brought out the Ding’s take away menu.
Ding’s is a small Chinese takeaway on Uddingston’s Main Street, which is now traditionally called upon on a McGarva birthday. The shop itself houses a large open kitchen in the centre of the room in which various cooks shuffle their woks, toss their onions and boil their their noodles over the gas hobs, the large extractor fans hanging from the ceiling humming with exertion. Ding’s serves up some great takeaway grub including a rather brilliant szechuan. This time round I went for the Hong Kong style Sweet and Sour Chicken, another favourite. A favourite introduced to me by Chaz, who always used to order it on Sauchiehall Street at the end of a night out.
As the menu was passed from person to person Joshua jumped, spun and flung himself around the room, occasionally tickling peoples’ feet, looking up at you expectantly with a big toothy smile on his face whilst. He did look at little uncomfortable at one point though as he walked over to the coffee table with his plastic cup of water and stopped. A look of mild worry came over his face as he realised all the coasters were taken by all of our various cups of tea, coffee and water. He’s obviously been well housetrained. Morgan, who was feeling, and looking, a little peaky, chilled out taking a break from the games for a change settling instead for her colouring book.
After dinner the traditional cake and sing-a-long was carried out and a few photos were taken, Angela giving Morgan and Joshua big, birthday hugs. Recovering from her slightly peaky self briefly for a piece of the birthday chocolate cake, Morgan then went back to her colouring book at the dining table and Joshua went back to his toy cars, which he’d won in the all too brief game of pass the parcel.
Perhaps even the best game of pass the parcel as I managed to win a parcel without even passing!
I was sitting in the other room, at the dining table, suffering a slight headache from the strange whistling, squealing noise the living room tv had been making (a noise that caused a minor debate earlier in the night), chatting to Steven about Angela’s still secret Birthday present (an iPad!!!) as Morgan feverishly worked at her colouring book and Joshua delivered my freshly unwrapped present.
A DVD. ‘Hitch’ starring Will Smith. A little sceptical at first I soon realised Eva Mendes is in it so I accepted my prize more than gratefully before being admonished by Dougie who had been listening from the kitchen behind me.
After Steven took the two kids home to bed the McGarva siblings whiled away the remaining hours with glasses of wine, reminiscing about old times. After talking of the various drunken exploits of youth the conversation went on to Colin and Ka’s employment in Poundstretchers through their early working lives. They talked of the old Pounstretchers boss who found herself being attacked by a shutter one night, the life size dolls, Ka chasing the shoplifters, the old man that bought the condoms, and Colin entertaining the passing Hamilton shoppers in the street with his microphone and speakers.
Grace and myself listened intently as Dougie quietly tried to watch Lee Westwood play golf on the whistling television from the depths of his armchair and didn’t show much concern when Grace confessed her love for Patrick Swayze. Unfortunately she doesn’t have much of a chance now. Not a chance in hell.
Heaven, now that may be a different matter. Grace nodded excitedly when it was suggested the two of them could hook up in heaven.
“You better make sure you go first Dougie” I told Ka’s Dad. “She’s having ideas over there!”
Before long it was time to go home again and Ka and myself drove Angela up the road to her bed, well, her doorstep anyway.
Angela got out the car and sauntered up the garden path to the front door, swinging her birthday bottle of Halcyon wine (one of our favourites) at her side and pressed the doorbell. Ka and myself politely waited in the car for the front door opening, just in case there was somebody waiting in the bushes to jump out on her. After a few minutes of waiting politely Steven eventually opened the door and with a quick wave we were off home.
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