Trying to Save My Pennies

With months of spending with no income looming, I decided that I desperately needed to start getting into conservation mode. Thus, I cancelled on two outings for the weekend in the effort to become a hermit. So on Saturday, I went with Hugo to the design museum to see a Zaha Hadid exhibition (excellent, as was the Graphic Design exhibition) intending on being cultured and cheap, but we ended up going via Borough Markets and ginger ice cream, and the pub en route home. What can you do!

Up the road in Clapham Common the Ben & Jerry's festival had been going on all weekend. Adam, the lucky fellow, had scored a ticket, so Miriam and I lay in the park listening to the music and watching the drugged up crazy woman fling herself around, and waited for Adam and Co to bring us out free ice cream. (We had already had an Ecuador Magnum, mmm, that morning so the desperation was not so insistent but then, you can never have too much ice cream). For dinner Miriam cooked some sort of Spanish chorizo/sausage/mince thing that you fry and eat with eggs and bread. It was a delish!! Our wine rack is currently filled with ginormous sticks of Choriza due to Miriam and her trip home.

It had been a bit of a uncertain week with the renovations to our flat coming to an end, the scaffolding coming down, and everyone speculating that we would get kicked out upon the sale of our caravan. We were relieved to find out that this was not to be the case, and now the facade of our flat looks so lovely we barely recognise it when we come home, and have been found to walk right past it. So no longer will we be directing people to the charred, scaffolding wrapped flat!!

Loving the Weekend

I've always thought that entering into the weekend with a new look is the best way, so Mish and I took the day off on Friday to get a haircut at the Tony & Guy Academy which, as usual, was a lengthy affair, especially when the building was flooding and water started coming through the lights. A class full of male Greek hairdressers made for an interesting show, especially when upon finishing with us got straight onto the important affair of doing there own hair. I had a lovely Russian guy from Moscow dying my hair; he spoke no English so there was a translator on hand to let me know what was happening.

That evening, complete with no money, multicoloured hair, and a burning desire to have a long drink, we played on Graeme's new Wii; how great are they, and the next morning I woke up with rather sore muscles.

Saturday brought with it a surprise birthday drinks for Miriam's birthday, and even though Adam is a terrible liar, and the plan was foiled by the fact that no one knew anyone else so were unable to stop any strays from early entrances, she was still suprised. We ended up joining a Monopoly pub crawl, and I eloped to Fran & Thea's hat party later in the night.

Despite this run of events, I was still able to kick it up at the Lovebox Weekender on Sunday. Although Mish and I were a little late and missed Nouvelle Vague, argh, we had a wicked time dancing the day into night.

Tour de France

As one that never watches sports or has any vague idea of who plays what, I was strangely excited about Tour de France. As the crowds lined the streets, the lines to cross the street grew; the available overpasses were more like an afterthought rather than a functional decision. It was a miracle that the sun was shining, and people were smiling like stepford wives as the cyclists warmed up. The French police were in attendance with their spiffy hats riding motorbikes ahead of the cyclists, whist the team car loaded with spare bikes yelled encouragement, (or insults, most of it was foreign and sounded a little demeaning, although Miriam informed us that the Spanish car was belting "move your ass") from behind like a Chinese torture camp. But as it was the time trials, it was a strange schizophrenic experience where you only cheered every 59 seconds as you caught a glimpse of pink, blue or white, and the rest of the time looked strangely placid.

By the time we made it home, pimms was on the cards, and a barbecue in the neighbours backyard. Mister Mister (the cat) was not too happy with the invasion! We discovered the disposable barbecue had legs and was in fact a good way to stop the underside catching on fire; there so much food that we could have fed all those incy wincy cyclists twice over!

Drowning in sorrow

I know I sound like a complete grump, but this weather is the complete pitts!! So far this week, the rain has caused me to forgo a bizzarre sing-a-long (don't ask), watching the tennis at Wimbledon, having some semblance of exercise regime, and seriously inhibiting my ability to keep my tan on, literally. The days pass in a blur of miserable people and wet socks, and a mild condition of depression. On one such lovely days, the signal at Clapham Junction station was struck by lightning, meaning that my 12 minute journey home turned into a 90 minute palava, and my friend had to wait for me for over an hour!! To complete the package,as we walked to The Goat, I got completely drenched by a truck as it passed. I thought it was really funny, but several people around me weren't finding the humourous side of it; I geuss having a shower in the grime infested road waters of London isn't exactly the most ideal way to end the day. It is at times like this that I think back to the man jumping around in the giant balloon at the Burlesque bar last week and have a little giggle.