Active, yet chilled

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Sep 192005
 

Quite a packed weekend really. It began with Penny having a momentary Indiana Jones obsession and observing a fox in the garden. After that, Monkey Mark is back in the country for a short period of time, so Penny and I went to St Albans once more to go say hallo and to get out of Aldershot for a day or so. Quite a nice Saturday was spent talking about this, that and the other whilst picnicking in Verulamium Park, before heading off for a couple of nice pints and a lesson in poker.

Sunday began with a wander around St Albans. I feel quite like a tourist there these days, my nostalgia no pretty much gone, and so it’s quite nice to poke around and find nice cafes. I also managed to pick up a copy of Neil Gaiman’s newest book, Anansi Boys which was released on Saturday. (Review soon, but I’m already half-way through and it’s a corker.)

On the way back through London, Penny and I managed to squeeze in a viewing of the newest resident of Trafalgar Square’s fourth plinth, Alison Lapper Pregnant, the National Gallery (Renoirs, Sunflowers and Monets galore) and the Thames Bank festival (which from our point of view basically consisted of a way of eating Jamaican food).

It all sounds quite packed, but it was all at a nice, casual pace, making it quite relaxing and pleasant instead of stressy. Just as well really since I started at 7am again this morning. I think I’ll use my early finish today to try and set up an XP/SUSE Linux dual-boot on Katie.

 Posted by sandeberg at 8:05  Tagged with: , ,

Nostalgia

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May 182005
 

Last weekend was wierd. My friend Monkey was back from Italy for a week, so I toddled off to St Albans for a visit to see him, his new girlfriend and to generally reaquaint myself with the town where I had spent so many years of my life. It was strange coming to St Albans as a visitor, staying in a hotel etc.

The days activities were of course a success, traipsing from pub to pub, avoiding popular locations and going for atmosphere, talking about art (contemporary art: overly maligned or random mess), creativity (apparently living and working as an artist in Italy works better because there is no financial safety net) and whether or not Tony Blair was spawn of Satan (the jury is still out on that one). The conversation was made somewhat more cumbersome as Monkey’s Italian significant other spoke only broken English and I only speak menu Italian (Due saltimbocas e una bottiglia del chianti per favore).

But the wierd part was the overwhelming nostalgia. Memories, both pleasant and unpleasant, sometimes tinted rose, overlaid with actually seeing the place ‘in the flesh’ was certainly an overwhelming experience. I still like St Albans, but now it’s probably more in an intellectual sense. I doubt I’d ever want to live there again.

 Posted by sandeberg at 9:45  Tagged with:

Markyate, England

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Aug 192001
 

On the 2nd of July, I wrote of the sleepy village or Markyate, where I currently live. One aspect of the house I live in which I neglected to mention at the time is that any loudspeakers in the study pick up radio. Not radio stations, but taxi radios, fire engines and police radio, whenever one of their vehicles drives past.

How is this relevant in any way? Allow me to explain. I also live right next door to a pub. Minutes ago, this pub and surrounded by four police cars and a Dog Response Unit (Are you a dog? Woof! That’s the correct response.). According to the policemen and the radio which I accidently overheard via my speakers I discovered that sleepy little Markyate, middle class haven that is is, was just subjected to a major drugs bust. The police have just dragged away three people, including the son of the proprietor of the pub, for posession and distribution of class A drugs.
The excitement just never stops.

 Posted by sandeberg at 14:30  Tagged with: ,

Markyate, England

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Jun 302001
 

I bring you now the tale of Markyate, the village I currently live in. I’m only there two days a week, so I think it still counts as a travel location. Markyate is a very old village, the house I live in is three hundred years old in itself, all wooden beams and a large majestic fireplace that would have the romantics of the world going all misty-eyed. Words like ‘quaint’ and ‘picturesque’ might spring to mind. Obviously, I’m sure you’ve come to expect it, I tell you now of the downside. I begin with the doorways. Three hundred years ago people were even shorter than they are today, which is no mean feat. Hence, the doorways are so low that a limboing dwarf could still manage to get a heavy concussion, never mind people who are over six feet tall. The main benefit to these doorways is the humour value during house parties when that anguished “Oww! My head!” echoes through the house. Ah, the memories.
As for the wiring, I’m sure it was installed as soon as electricity supplies were invented and not replaced since. I’m considering buying light bulbs in bulk to cover my needs, they blow so often.
And the large majestic fireplace? It is gas driven, and although, this would still be nice, has been condemned and may not be used.

The village itself is incredibly small. It has one Indian restaurant, one fish and chip shop and five pubs. Some of these pubs are reminiscent of scenes in ‘American Werewolf in London’. Those who have seen the film will know what I mean, those who have not, ought to. All in all the biggest contribution to an evening’s entertainment in Markyate is the bus out of town, which can take you to the heady delights that are St Albans and will be described in a further episode. Stay tuned…

 Posted by sandeberg at 14:00  Tagged with: ,
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