The side entrance to liverpool street

I arranged to meet rachel for lunch, at 'the side entrance of liverpool st station.
lp st is a tricky one; it should really be called bishopsgate station, as that's actually quite a big road, compared to lp st itself which only runs the length of it's namesake station. I suppose lp st defines it's location better, but it's far too tiny a road to name such a grand station for. Perhaps bethlehem, which it sits on top of, or simply 'spital? I think 'spital station' has a nice ring to it.
so i've always thought of the front entrance as the epic one on bishopsgate. This would make the side entrance the one on lp st. I warn't aware of the other two exits, a tunnel off to the other side and an undercroft leading out to a hideous work of iron and some kind of large circular restaurant, which according to the above definition, would be 'rear'. There must also be some debate as to whether the entrance on lp st, with it's kindertransport memorial, is really the front entrance, in virtue of the station's silly name, if not it's size.

needles to say, rachel and i had different conceptions of what constituted the 'side' entrance


Excuse me sir, you're doing it wrong

On my way back to the office at lunch yesterday, i came across a gentleman of some years dragging a trolleycase. I have a mild dislike of such trolleys - unusual for me, as my dislikes are usually raging - as their owners never seem to take responsibility for their cumbersome metal tail, and they always get in my way. In this case, however, the man was dragging it up side down, so that the wheels were in the air and the metal or plastic case was scraping the pavement. Such an opportunity for actually saying to someone in real life, 'ur doin it rong'. But i didn't take it. I said excuse me enough times that if heard me and stopped, when i pointed out he had his case the wrong way up. Surprisingly he ignored me and shouted down the street, '[name more often heard in half man half biscuit songs], this man's complaining'. A younger man i hadn't noticed, far enough down the street for me to think him unrelated, turned with his bag and came back for the gent. Ah, i thought, that explains it. I pointed out he was doin it rong, the younger man smiled, and on i walked.
Next: grilly bumps into someone on the street, says 'fail'.


it's been a good month

since i've written. no, a _good_ month. i've had the month off y'see, to pursue 'other projects'. unusually, an album is not one of them. the band and i have so much material to work through, and absorb so much musical energy, that i really don't have much time for new works, although having my acoustic down now means that side is satisfied again. i recorded a four minute uke improv yesterday, and listening back it's a bit aimless so i won'tbe putting it out there. there's a new acoutsic feel to my myspace.

i got wind through a friend of a friend that there bach's b minor mass was being performed (featuring her naturally - we're all so talented. i took rachel and it was a proper date. it was at the church at trafalgar square, where they've turned the crypt into a restaurant (well it's a bit of a touristy cafe but it looks good - like those incredibly spacious places you see in american psycho). great reverb - just about a second and a half. utterly brilliant performance. stamina and talent. alison described it as 'phat liturgy' which i can't really beat. afterwards rachel and i went into soho for pizza and wine. at a cool, good place, somewhere off the main drag.

my contract at UCATT finished without much of even a whimper; i've never felt so good about finishing work. i usually get a little upset; despite not finding the work dull, i'm usually terrified by the insecurity, the fact that it could be weeks before i see anymore money coming in. this time, i knew there would be weeks, and i was prepared; i had an interview at east london uni for a pgce (teacher training) to prepare for, i had an interview to volunteer at a playscheme, i had lesson observations. i even cancelled a gig because it was the friday before tuesday's pgce interview. unheard of! absurd! this was a month i didn't want other obsessions to get in the way of.
the interview at kid's city, the playscheme, went actually well. there were two lovely people interviewing me, who really seemed interested. i went purple once when they asked me about teamwork, but i didn't go too far south and they didn't seem to mind. i booked myself in for a week.
being free, i was able to come and meet rachel for lunch, often as part of work experience, and usually not at all. but we did have a couple of lunches, curries natch.
i spent alot of time in doors, preparing for the big interview - the questions, the hilarious interactive interview, the curriculum. i prepared the presentation on my chosen subject - averages - and thought and thought (and played some pc games, but not enough to get in the way really).

then was the 'introduction to playwork'. an interesting slightly 'aura'ish woman led three days of ideas and facts about working with children compressed into a weekend. it really felt exhausting being so squished up, with lots of scary stuff about what to do if a kid tells you they're being abused. and it turns out that step is incest after all. just in case there was any confusion.

the pgce interview was a shocker. i arrived at stratford station with ten minutes to spare, what i thought would have been plenty of time given the map... with some running, i got to the front desk right on time, to find that my department was somewhere in the campus, follow the signs. i jogged along prettily where i could, through oodles of building work, and got there; no one seemed to notice my apparent lateness and i never know whether to bring it up. they sat me in a room and gave me some maths questions (about maths rather than of maths) and a comprehension. i had no idea how long i was meant to have; when the man came back in i;d only finished the maths bit. i think it was just because the interviewer was waiting, but i just don't know. the interviewer reminded me of a guru-type figure; big hands and floppy hair. it seemed short, i fumbled some questions although others he said 'good' at said i was obviously an idealist. we disagreed over whether a square is a rectangle or not. he asked me how i would introduce a class on angles. i completely fluffed, i hadn't prepared this, i'd prepared a presentation on averages, a fact that totally slipped my mind until i was on the bus home. i had no further questions. someone came and hooked up the pc so i could type out the comprehension. it was a piece from some paper about klondike kate; i got most of the way through, but stuck on the last question: ' write about a personal hero or villain of your own.' i blanked.

next: my week at kid's city.



so right now, i'm sitting at home on my laptop.
this will make sense in respect of the previous (forthcoming) post, but i'm listening to dillinger escape plan's 'calculatinginfinty' and it's makingsense,

i went out with james to this night that the girl he's moving in with runs. we walk, and buy beers (lech) on the way, then hang out at the george and dragon, shoreditch, talkingpolitcs,until the other girl he's mpoving in with turns up, one piece denim dress with a serious backline, then head ovwer to catch 22 for the girlcore night. downstairs is not girlcore, they're playing wierd 80's disco tunes, we go upstairs. there is hardcore porn stuck to the walls, then i realise it is cut out an darranged into the words 'fuck my cunt'. we meet james' friend off of gaydar, who is catalan and nice (i swap spain stories and conject (amnd he agrees) upon catalan being the ireland of the english and the belgium of the french). upstairs is... heavy. it's bsiaclly dance music and i'm not comfortable, no matter how many lesbians (apperently girlcore started as an exclusively female night and now lets men in)

i haven't mentioned that i'm wearing some sort of hybrid nurse/tenis player outfit. sweatbands + nailvarnish and eyeliner and that shit.

so then the other girl he's moving in with gets on the keyboard with her band and groooves away a bit - real good music. we're enjoying the black budvar. it's my round and i order everybody's drinks plus my double tequila.


we're downstairs now. they were playing better music - 80'ser, more danceable. some girls were trying to dance with me (bless ''em) taking photos and i really hope i can find them online, i am dressed somewhat like a nurse. i get the drinks in, james and ueldald go back upstairs where it's crowded & popular. after a fashion i follow them and eventually we go outside for a breather. i drain my liquid. some ciggerettes are passaround. it's almost ilicit, but dammit i want one. now my throat is shit. so we're all outside trying to make lighters work. all of assudden its like some kind of crzy shit currency. i'm leaving, i need to go home and listen to dillinger escape plan and throw myself around the living room, and i just want a fag for the journey home. try it, it's hilarious; "i've only got two left" or " i literally just bummed this off someone else". so eventually i'm waiting at the bus stop for what seems like ages, and eventually some guy turns up, with beer, and then reappers from behind (tramps?) with a fag. i ask him if i can bum a drag - fuck knows where this notion came from - and he, the kindest man alive, says 'sure, you can have some of my beer too', i say, 'ah, grolsch - import or exort?' he doesn't know, but adds that i can have a bus too - there just happens to be one coming around the bend. what a gentleman.

i get on the bus, but i only last a stop, the alcohol that has builit up is too much and i'm getting motion sickness. i jog home, slowing whenever i cross anyone, some black girl comments but i keep her awsay with a 'sure' and speed walk on. soon enough i'm home, after priming mslef for all these facts. 'mustn't forget to write about', 'secret of the universe discovered', &c. will that do?

so i get home and put on 'calculating infinity'; and try as i might, dancing fallsafoul of blogging. i'm now on track 10, 'weekend sex change'. a;ll i wnated to do was dance. man, ciggarettes are rubbish.and so is too much tequila. it's baaaaaaaad. no matter how fun it was in 1998.