annanotbob's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Yakitty yak I've been a woman with a mission this weekend. Several missions, really, little ones, but mainly solo events needing careful consideration and preparation. Yesterday was about getting some books from the library, buying lots of different coloured ribbon and some of that white fabric stuff that sticks things together and getting myself signed onto the mosaic course. Ren came round in the morning, all agitated about his end of year exams which start tomorrow. 'On a bank holiday?' 'Yes, on a fucking bank holiday - why is that the only thing anyone can say?' Ooh, stressy. He was OK, really, just a bit taken aback to find how much he wants to do well and how much effort he's prepared to put in to achieve it. He was rambling on about phenomenology (apparently) and Husserl, but he lost me at an early stage and all I could think was that Husserl isn't in the Monty Python philosophers song. His line could be 'that Husserl was a great big girl,' but I don't really like it and can't think of anything about being pissed that rhymes with girl. Or indeed, Husserl. In case there's anyone who hasn't seen it: By the time he left I was pretty chilled and happy, bit of a proud Ma, that kind of thing. Set off for town quite pleased to be bimbling about on my own. Not thinking that this is a bank holiday weekend, the last of the festival, a nice warm sunny day - the place was heaving, packed solid with people out for a good time. I may have managed that all right, if there hadn't been sirens going off all over the place - police cars and ambulances tearing through, lights flashing, several times. It was like walking down off my quiet hill into the middle of a nightmare. But I needed a book - my unread pile is all too demanding at the moment. I don't want anything that requires me to think - I need a good thriller that will stop me thinking by grabbing me on the first page and spitting me out several hours later. The library was open but the whole street and the square in front of it was packed with buskers and street theatre and their audiences. I couldn't see what was actually happening, but people were really engaged and there were lots of them. At this point I had three options. Turn round and walk back up that fucking hill in the heat of the sun, push right through the crowd all the way to the taxi rank and go home, or push through a bit and go to the library and at least have a book. Easy. The library is a beautiful building and very peaceful. I calmed down immediately until I started to look for a book. I've just read a couple by some woman writer, British, what's her bloody name, why can't I think of her name? She's a bit like Nikki French, what is her name? Gone. Completely. So I start to get a bit agitated, then when I do remember the names of some thriller writers with books I haven't read - John Sandford, Lee Child - I haven't a clue which ones I have read. I look at the blurb, a bit of the front page - nothing. Not from any of them, not a flicker of recognition, but I know I've read all but one or two, I must have read some of these before. So it goes a bit tits up at this point, but I eventually choose three books and flee to the sanctuary of the fabric shop. I hadn't realised it was going to be a sanctuary, but of course it was. The haberdashery section was full of fabulous bits and pieces (kind of like a stationery shop) and the only people in there were slightly bonkers middle-aged women. I blended right in at once and even more so when I started grabbing all the rolls of pretty, sparkly riibbons I could find, dropping some which unrolled across the floor, then knocking things over with my bag when I tried to pick them up. Everyone helped and admired the ribbons and one woman showed me the buttons she was getting, which were so lovely I nearly bought some myself. They gave me all sorts of advice for my project and explained that the white sticky fabric is called interfacing. Lovely. The mosaic place was the other side of town so I got a cab, but then got lost and walked round in a huge circle, realised I'd forgotten to put a bottle of water in my bag, started to have hot flushes, thought I'd left my purse in the cab and arrived at the exhibition all hot and twittery and talking bollocks at people. The mosaic was absolutely fucking brilliant - awesome, inspirational. I don't want to put a link because I signed up for a course and don't want other students googling it and coming here, but if you were to put the words inspired and mosaic together with .co.uk at the end, you'd get there. I cannot believe I'm going to be taught by someone that good. Grateful for: Suddenly remembering just now that I've got a panna cotta in the fridge; a drink in the pub with Jane and two old friends of hers; a visit from my brother yesterday - I was out but he left a note; the sweet peas have finally put on a growth spurt; feeling OK Sweet dreams xx |10:43 p.m. - 25/05/2008 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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