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alexsarllB Movie eighties night - always a joy. As ever, I recognise a lot more of the music than I could name. Sometimes it's good to dance to songs where you don't recall their name, don't own them, aren't comparing them to an album track by the singer's previous band - this goes for Soul Mole the next night too. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Before I start dancing (and once I've started, that's most of the rest of the evening covered) I have a conversation about trepanning in which, being Asperger's Boy, I take the subject to be literal trepanning.
The usual suspects are tonight joined by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
verlaine (clearly cherishing the door staff's "You do know this is an alternative club, mate?" and the uncharacteristic role of Least Goth) and miss_newham, who seems to find the music/clientele juxtaposition puzzling. I can see her point; if one doesn't know the history of the club, of Whitby and various other things (and to be frank, I have only a skimmed grasp of it all myself) then there's no immediately obvious reason why a room full of goths should be dancing to Michael Jackson.
The next day there's just enough time to shower and watch the (as expected, brilliant) first episode of Nathan Barley before it's out to the pub again to beginperfectlyvague's birthday treasure hunt. I am teamed with p_dan_tic, wilteddaffodil and the day's token non-LJer; while the girls demonstrate a surprising flair for cryptography, Dan and I nip off to get a picture of a parrot for scavenger hunt points. As we're en route, we pass a car doing a three point turn. Dan mentions that Marie du Santiago was in it, and waved to him. We keep walking. "Hang on - wasn't a picture of a celebrity worth 10,000 points?" About turn, and peg it.
(The parrots, on the other hand, were all in hiding. But we don't need their gaudy squawking anymore, so in their parrot faces)
So onwards! Transport problems mean we miss the next two locations, but we visit the third twice. Our art installation in the Tate Modern Turbine Hall p1sses all over their current official exhibition, which is the tape from an Eerie Pub Co loo with delusions of grandeur. We dash around London in search of Cap'n Vague and her equally piratical lieutenants. We rock at this. We catch pigeons, and touch the Thames, and are basically total scavenger hunt point wh0res. We are first to the Ambassadors in the National Gallery while Team Flid are busy finding the Ambassadors Theatre. I very nearly make the final destination, Reformer's Tree, before the pirates do, even though I detoured from the quest to pick up my comics. Allow it. We win the treasure hunt and the scavenger hunt. If there'd been any other prizes we'd doubtless have won them too, unless of course they were Most Gracious In Victory where we would have been stuffed.
I should have been reaching the limits of human fun tolerance by this point, but I steel myself, for the evening's Soul Mole. As ever, a bunch of fey indie kids attempting to dance in either a Street or booty-shaking fashion is ridiculously enjoyable. The only slight problem is that CCPs of cider cease to be available at normal last orders time, butangelv and I think strategically ("They should let us run wars!") and prepare for this - even if one of mine does subsequently vanish. Gah. But that is the most minor of blotches on Soul Mole's escutcheon. Apparently it's to be every six weeks now; I think this a fine frequency.
At the end of the evening I am still too buzzing to go home and sleep; fortunate, then, that I bump into a mob of the recently departed waiting for a cab and am invited back tofugitivemotel's for illegal vodka and controversial absinthe.
One day, all weekends will be this good. For about three months. And then I'll die.
The usual suspects are tonight joined by
verlaine (clearly cherishing the door staff's "You do know this is an alternative club, mate?" and the uncharacteristic role of Least Goth) and miss_newham, who seems to find the music/clientele juxtaposition puzzling. I can see her point; if one doesn't know the history of the club, of Whitby and various other things (and to be frank, I have only a skimmed grasp of it all myself) then there's no immediately obvious reason why a room full of goths should be dancing to Michael Jackson. The next day there's just enough time to shower and watch the (as expected, brilliant) first episode of Nathan Barley before it's out to the pub again to begin
perfectlyvague's birthday treasure hunt. I am teamed with p_dan_tic, wilteddaffodil and the day's token non-LJer; while the girls demonstrate a surprising flair for cryptography, Dan and I nip off to get a picture of a parrot for scavenger hunt points. As we're en route, we pass a car doing a three point turn. Dan mentions that Marie du Santiago was in it, and waved to him. We keep walking. "Hang on - wasn't a picture of a celebrity worth 10,000 points?" About turn, and peg it. (The parrots, on the other hand, were all in hiding. But we don't need their gaudy squawking anymore, so in their parrot faces)
So onwards! Transport problems mean we miss the next two locations, but we visit the third twice. Our art installation in the Tate Modern Turbine Hall p1sses all over their current official exhibition, which is the tape from an Eerie Pub Co loo with delusions of grandeur. We dash around London in search of Cap'n Vague and her equally piratical lieutenants. We rock at this. We catch pigeons, and touch the Thames, and are basically total scavenger hunt point wh0res. We are first to the Ambassadors in the National Gallery while Team Flid are busy finding the Ambassadors Theatre. I very nearly make the final destination, Reformer's Tree, before the pirates do, even though I detoured from the quest to pick up my comics. Allow it. We win the treasure hunt and the scavenger hunt. If there'd been any other prizes we'd doubtless have won them too, unless of course they were Most Gracious In Victory where we would have been stuffed.
I should have been reaching the limits of human fun tolerance by this point, but I steel myself, for the evening's Soul Mole. As ever, a bunch of fey indie kids attempting to dance in either a Street or booty-shaking fashion is ridiculously enjoyable. The only slight problem is that CCPs of cider cease to be available at normal last orders time, but
angelv and I think strategically ("They should let us run wars!") and prepare for this - even if one of mine does subsequently vanish. Gah. But that is the most minor of blotches on Soul Mole's escutcheon. Apparently it's to be every six weeks now; I think this a fine frequency. At the end of the evening I am still too buzzing to go home and sleep; fortunate, then, that I bump into a mob of the recently departed waiting for a cab and am invited back to
fugitivemotel's for illegal vodka and controversial absinthe.One day, all weekends will be this good. For about three months. And then I'll die.
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no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 03:19 pm (UTC);)
oh and please. no-one worth their salt pronounces it "allow" it. "'low it".
trus'.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 03:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 03:44 pm (UTC)but that one is more fun to say 'correctly'!
tree-panning
Date: 2005-02-14 03:21 pm (UTC)Re: tree-panning
Date: 2005-02-14 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 03:28 pm (UTC)Who said about wars?
no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 03:36 pm (UTC)I doubt I shall be CCPing it, since you lot will all leave to eat chicken after not that long, no?
no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 03:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 03:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 04:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 03:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 03:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 04:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 04:37 pm (UTC)The Office was, like most attempts at 'realism', more boring than real life itself. And there's never room in my world for that.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 04:49 pm (UTC)Both shows depict the same levels of realism; it's just that the media world is inherently more ludicrous than that of typical 'office' jobs (or the paper industry...not that I've worked in it mind).
no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 05:04 pm (UTC)Plus, I just don't think Gervais has the same way with words as Morris and Brooker.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-14 07:42 pm (UTC)This is true. But in Barley thus far I don't think we've seen too many examples of the brilliant word-play of Morris or Brooker...certainly not compared with their previous efforts anyway.
Plus, what Gervais/Brent lacks in word-witticism ability, he makes up for with customary twisted aphorisms, mangled metaphors and general Partridgisms.
I still thought Barley was fairly funny mind, it's just that the creators have such high standards to live up to.