Yesterday was a day of mixed feelings and fortunes. Once I had had some small rest it would have been immoral and frustrating to waste a beautiful day. It had been 2.5 degrees C on the way home but warmed up enough to validate the sunshine. We decided to go to a Pizza Hut for lunch and were there for under 10 seconds before wishing, on balance, that we had not. There was nothing wrong with the food or the service but the average age of customer in a near full restaurant was about 7. Shrill boys and girls, vocally indistinguishable from each other at that age and in a state of perpetual pizza fuelled motion between mouthfuls. Somewhere on a list of top ten nightmares I did not even know I had made. I was so downcast I could not face the trio of pannacotta. That is not really true. Actually I was full up but I wanted to write something as fatuously pretentious as Michael Winner.
The beauty of English which, frankly, is wasted on many of my colleagues is that that can be read two ways. 'As fatuously pretentious' as Michael Winner, the person, is or 'as fatuously pretentious' as what he writes. His quasi restaurant review in today's Sunday Times was in fact a report of his 75th birthday party at The Ritz. The guest list was possibly designed to facilitate subsequent name-dropping and the consequent article an inadvertent and ironic aid for a bulaemic. You're never going to need goose feathers or a tactically long finger when MW is around. I did not even read the centre spread in this week's Top Gear supplement simply because A A Gill is not Jeremy Clarkson. My routine, whether you are interested or not, is to buy the Sunday Times, complain if necessary about the latest price increase (the last was 10%) and then dismantle it in a predetermined order.
The supplements of interest are (in ascending order) Money, Top Gear and Travel. I save Culture for later and focus on the book reviews via any interesting theatre or exhibitions. In Money I read 'Fame and Fortune' possibly because I have achieved neither but am willing to take advice. In Top Gear I read only the centre pages and only if they are penned by the delighfully provocative if nicotine stained Jeremy. Whereas A A Gill suffers only rejection, I am tempted to shred Jay Leno, another occasional substitute, rather than simply recycle him. In Travel I read almost everything and find myself strangely and sympathetically drawn to Readers' Rants.
Today's supplements lasted fortuitously about the same length of time as the pizza and the sun still shone which meant that the attraction of nearby Portchester Castle was all the greater. Braving a busy car park, I found my aspirations far exceeded by the photo opportunities available. To my very considerable annoyance the roof level of the keep is closed until further notice. This, it seems, is due to a recent suicide and a further attempt by a different individual within a week. As a consequence the police have imposed upon English Heritage a restriction which brands us all as potential suicides. I have to say that as our police come up with one repressive and irrational measure after another I begin to see attraction of tall buildings myself. Being fairly wealthy though I shall probably travel Club Class to Zurich for my glass of green liquid. Having quieted my anger I used my remaining reserves of patience, which tend to be lower than the national average, to wait for each of the many photographs I took. The castle, its grounds and immediate surrounds are a popular leisure area. I should not begrudge the enjoyment of them to others but I was especially grateful to the couple of people who showed some awareness of my camera.
My own pleasure impinged somewhat on potential rest but, at home, I balanced sleep with processing and my pictures are now on Facebook and Flickr. Also on Flickr, by kind permission of an enlightened management, is my contribution to the 4am Project (http://www.4amproject.org/) . It is, in itself, an unexciting image but, together with its notes, is indeed my view of the world at 4am on 17 October. It received an encouraging 32 views on the first day of posting. I would like to thank the one person who viewed it 32 times.
Culture comes to life for my days off. We travel to London tomorrow to see Lea DeLaria sing David Bowie at Pizza Express, Dean Street. Staying overnight we have the choice on Wednesday of any or all of two photographic exhibitions and the latest Turbine Hall installation at Tate Modern, the now inadvertently infamous "Sunflower Seeds" by Ai Weiwei. I feel sorry for Mr Ai; it is difficult to make political or social statements from behind a roped perimeter whether physical or metaphorical.
I shall report on my experiences later in the week to my surviving readers. Spread the word (please).
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