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Way out in Lancaster

  Sat 10th July 2010

The night at the avantgarde art and music event with Felicity went very well.  I got the times a bit wrong, so we got in without paying, to a room with a stone flagged floor where everyone who had been at the preceding academic conference was about to sit down for the dinner they'd paid for. That is, "dinner" in Lancaster University's understanding of the term, so it means motorway service station-standard catering. Fetch it yourself and enjoy the warmth of the heat lamps nurturing the bacteria on aluminium trays of lasagne. The man sitting next to us asked the waiter for a second glass of wine and was told he'd have to pay for it.

Firstly we had a flickering set of cartoons being displayed to a dance-lite soundtrack, then a multi-vocal poem about walking through some North American city, then someone who looked a bit like Giant Haystacks who played an electronic drum kit whilst an only slightly less plump girl in black jogging trousers did an abstract painting. In between there were long gaps while people fiddled interminably with leads and settings. I felt very working class and said out loud at one point "Get on with it". Felicity shushed me.

Felicity got talking to Helga the Milkmaid, this German woman from the Uni who turns up at everything in her blonde plaits and a dirndl.


Yesterday I was the only male helper in my daughters' class's night out: pizza place and then cinema. The women were brilliant, herding them all in, getting money together, settling the bill, sorting out who's having Margherita and who's having Quattro Formaggi. I managed to get a sit next to a married acquaintance Olivia: a beautiful Suffolk accent and ragged blonde hair, an asymmetrical grey dress, possibly black underwear, black tights and purple heeled shoes. Walked with her back to her car, wishing I could ask her out for a drink.

Off to London tomorrow to have 24 hours with Kitty (from Dubai) and Helen (from Lagos) where they are teaching. They're going to have to sneak me into their Travelodge room. If previous form is anything to go by it will involve drugs, overeating, talking to strangers, and them drinking me under the table.

2 comments

Comment from: Tony [Visitor]

Hope you have booked a family room in the Travelodge.
Will your erect cock be getting to work its tricks again one wonders ha ha.
Have a good one down in the smoke.

Sat 10th July 2010 @ 22:31
Comment from: [Member]

Yes, we are staying in a Travelodge actually :) But no, there’ll be no hanky-panky with those two - despite having slept in the same bed with Kitty a few times!

Sun 11th July 2010 @ 02:37


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M / 60 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.


There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic

I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008

The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
James Meek

Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

I hate the iPod; I hate the idea that music is such a personal thing that you can just stick some earplugs in your ears and have an experience with music. Music is a social phenomenon.
Jeremy Wagner

La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings--ideally a long way from home--are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes.
George Szirtes

Using words well is a social virtue. Use 'fortuitous' once more to mean 'fortunate' and you move an English word another step towards the dustbin. If your mistake took hold, no-one who valued clarity would be able to use the word again.
John Whale

One good thing about being a Marxist is that you don't have to pretend to like work.
Terry Eagleton, What Is A Novel?, Lancaster University, 1 Feb 2010

The working man is a fucking loser.
Mick, The Golden Lion, Lancaster, 21 Mar 2011

The Comfort of Strangers

23.1.16: Big clearout of the defunct and dormant and dull
16.1.19: Further pruning

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