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Walking up the Parkland Walk at twilight on Beltane, there wasn't a soul about. Well, not a human one, anyway. But the fox that appeared and disappeared between glances, the birds, the Walk itself were positively buzzing with it. By the time I got to the Boogaloo I was so high on (super)nature that I was surprised my eyes hadn't blacked over like Willow's. It was an effort to deal with human concerns like conversation when I felt like I was giving off sparks. I earthed some of it going under Suicide Bridge, which meant I was somewhat more coherent for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
leunnammi's party than I had been for taylor_parkes'. Though the comedown combined with the aftereffects of Thursday's illegal vodka session meant I only lasted a few hours Chez Pineapple, more's the pity.
On saturday, I attended a party in Harrow where, so far as I know, I was the only person with a blog. People were being introduced by name only, not name and URL. This exacerbated the feeling, engendered by my lack of mobile, that I was living in under-ambitious reality TV show The 1994 House. This creeping unease aside, a fine night; dancing round the living room to repeated playings of 'Take Me Out' and 'Milkshake' was always going to keep me happy.
Many people described Gangster Number One as a cut above the recent wave of British crime films; I fancy they were just so mesmerised by Malcolm McDowell and Paul Bettany that they overlooked its failings. Not that one can blame them for this when both actors (playing the same character in his youth and in the present day) have quite such a brooding presence. Bettany should definitely have played John Constantine.
Walked to Golders Green in the Sunday sun to meet the parents. It's only an hour and twenty minutes from mine - unless you take a 'shortcut' just after Spaniards which takes 40 minutes via the Heath, a small English village surviving untouched within London and The Richest Street Ever and deposits you just before Spaniards. Perhaps trying to navigate by following skullcaps was my key mistake.
Straight-edged The Kennel Club, at which the presence of delegations from both SBClique and The V made me feel like a bigamist. Some people may need booze in order to punch the air to Andrew WK or assert with Zodiac Mindwarp that they are in fact "the love dictator", but I am not one of them.
As so often happens when I don't drink, and so seldom happens when I do, I woke with an appalling hangover. If it weren't for the family history of alcoholism, and my finances, I don't think I'd ever take a night off. Noticed fairly promptly that it was p1ssing down and hence assumed that plans would have changed, but bless her,insecuregoddess got drenched coming to tell me that indeed they had. So we braved the elements once more to head for perfectlyvague's, where we discovered they hadn't. C'est la vie. In spite of being the sort of place that just looks incredibly child-friendly the Edinboro Castle isn't, so we were exiled to the garden, but the rain had stopped and the sun soon put in an appearance, much to the delight of all but especially that classy bird fifilabelle. Other special mentions must go to the exhausted yet elegant kitty_collar, my_red_dream's incandescent new hair and of course thechild, whom I assisted in the dispatch of a witch*.
*Note to Friday's witches: don't worry, this one was wicked in the bad sense. Also invisible and, some might claim, imaginary.
leunnammi's party than I had been for taylor_parkes'. Though the comedown combined with the aftereffects of Thursday's illegal vodka session meant I only lasted a few hours Chez Pineapple, more's the pity. On saturday, I attended a party in Harrow where, so far as I know, I was the only person with a blog. People were being introduced by name only, not name and URL. This exacerbated the feeling, engendered by my lack of mobile, that I was living in under-ambitious reality TV show The 1994 House. This creeping unease aside, a fine night; dancing round the living room to repeated playings of 'Take Me Out' and 'Milkshake' was always going to keep me happy.
Many people described Gangster Number One as a cut above the recent wave of British crime films; I fancy they were just so mesmerised by Malcolm McDowell and Paul Bettany that they overlooked its failings. Not that one can blame them for this when both actors (playing the same character in his youth and in the present day) have quite such a brooding presence. Bettany should definitely have played John Constantine.
Walked to Golders Green in the Sunday sun to meet the parents. It's only an hour and twenty minutes from mine - unless you take a 'shortcut' just after Spaniards which takes 40 minutes via the Heath, a small English village surviving untouched within London and The Richest Street Ever and deposits you just before Spaniards. Perhaps trying to navigate by following skullcaps was my key mistake.
Straight-edged The Kennel Club, at which the presence of delegations from both SBClique and The V made me feel like a bigamist. Some people may need booze in order to punch the air to Andrew WK or assert with Zodiac Mindwarp that they are in fact "the love dictator", but I am not one of them.
As so often happens when I don't drink, and so seldom happens when I do, I woke with an appalling hangover. If it weren't for the family history of alcoholism, and my finances, I don't think I'd ever take a night off. Noticed fairly promptly that it was p1ssing down and hence assumed that plans would have changed, but bless her,
insecuregoddess got drenched coming to tell me that indeed they had. So we braved the elements once more to head for perfectlyvague's, where we discovered they hadn't. C'est la vie. In spite of being the sort of place that just looks incredibly child-friendly the Edinboro Castle isn't, so we were exiled to the garden, but the rain had stopped and the sun soon put in an appearance, much to the delight of all but especially that classy bird fifilabelle. Other special mentions must go to the exhausted yet elegant kitty_collar, my_red_dream's incandescent new hair and of course thechild, whom I assisted in the dispatch of a witch*. *Note to Friday's witches: don't worry, this one was wicked in the bad sense. Also invisible and, some might claim, imaginary.
