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Is OK
A unfamiliar mobile number; the man on the other end has a barely comprehensible Eastern European accent. He wants to see the room "now."
Twenty minutes later there are two tall, quite handsome men at my door. They introduced themselves and we shook hands. "So who wants the room?" I ask. "Both of us." "Oh I see, come in."
One of them has a Christian name common in Romania, so I venture that they're from that country. "No, Moldova." I ask them if they are from Chișinău. Surprised, one of them says "You were in Moldova?" "No, I just know the capital of Moldova," I say. "Yes, we are from Chișinău." They are joiners, working on one of the endless building projects for which Lancaster University seems to have bottomless pockets whilst being unable to fund either of my old Departments--Music (abolished) and Philosophy (merged)--neither of which can match the contribution to culture and learning of Marketing and Accounting.
"Yes, so, here's the living room," I say. "Is this the room?" they ask. "No, no, it's up here." I walk up to the first floor assuming they'd follow but they stay standing at the foot of the stairs. "You can come up," I say.I have warned her that someone will be coming round. Her room is boiling hot. They say "is OK." They don't even want to see the bathroom, which is a relief, as the lack of a proper shower doesn't sell the place.
Downstairs, we discuss terms. They're outgoing and chatty and straightforward and my gut instinct is that it'll work and that they'll get on with Ned and Tess.
They break off to talk privately amongst themselves. I was hoping I might understand some of it, given Romanian's closeness to Latin, but apart from some numbers and the word for "deposit" which is almost identical to the English one, it's lost on me. He gives me twenty pounds to take the advert down and not show anyone else round. I ask them if they've anywhere to stay until Saturday, when the room becomes free. At a pinch, they could have slept in the living room. But it's OK, they're in the Travelodge. I go to write him a receipt but he waves it away and shakes my hand instead.
I am exhilerated with relief and ring Trina to tell her all about it. Trina and I have made up, but more on that later.
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looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person
M / 61 / 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
Rummage in my drawers
The Comfort of Strangers
23.1.16: Big clearout of the defunct and dormant and dull
16.1.19: Further pruning
If your comment box looks like this, I'm afraid I sometimes can't be bothered with all that palarver just to leave a comment.
63 mago
Another Angry Voice
the asshat lounge
Clutter From The Gutter
Crinklybee Defunct
Exile on Pain Street
Fat Man On A Keyboard
gairnet provides: press of blll
George Szirtes ditto
Infomaniac [NSFW]
Laudator Temporis Acti
Leeds's Singing Organ-Grinder
On The Rocks
The Most Difficult Thing Ever nothing since April
Quillette
Strange Flowers
Wonky Words
"Just sit still and listen" - woman to teenage girl at Elliott Carter weekend, London 2006
5:4Bristol New Music
Desiring Progress Collection of links only
NewMusicBox
Purposeful Listening (né The Rambler)
Resonance FM
Sequenza 21
Sound and Music
Talking Musicology defunct, but retained
