I love weekends that are stuffed and filled. I’ve approached Monday more willingly than I would have if I had a chilled-out, quiet weekend. Saturday night, in particular was magnifique for me. I had so much strobelight-lit-fun, I am still reeling in it.
The ICA had been turned into a playground as Nightclub. As soon as I heard that Gang Gang Dance was playing and Cocadisco DJs were going to be throwing italo disco soundwaves, there was no question I’d go along.
Walking down to the Mall from Trafalgar Square, I felt the thrill of hearing the muffled music and seeing colourful lights through the windows. It shouted Dance Party. Oh how I love dance parties.
After a slight kerfuffle with getting in (confusing queues/ I bought our tickets online already-/I can’t miss Gang Gang Dance play!) we got in. I ran to see Gang Gang Dance and my ears pricked up to the high vocals, tribal beats and noise. This is what Touch Hair For Luck would sound like if we had drums and if we were still in the same country together. I shared this sentiment with Bingley using my phone as there was no chance we’d ever hear each other.
Oh what a night! I loved running around the gallery and crawling into rooms. I loved seeing the prancing legs through the cubby holes. I loved watching Heartbreak. It made me think that I have to form a Fun Fun tribute band. Most of all, I loved dancing. And that’s what I did. All through the night.
I was walking closely behind this woman this morning. I didn’t mean to but such were the pace we were walking that it appeared like I was shadowing her. So I observed her and made some mental notes.
She had long greying hair that suggested she was perhaps in her 50s. She wore a white linen skirt printed with red roses. She walked, slightly hunched, looking down. There was something about her that made me notice her.
I saw her right hand reach out, fingers spread out. They were reaching for the plants from the garden of that house. She touched the leaves as she walked past. I knew and I recognised it. She was a tactile person.
She wore a pair of wayfarers. She walked past some bins. Being tactile, she tapped ’em. Strangely, it was in time to my music.
Satisfied, I crossed the road.
The death of the motherboard has meant that there is a big gap in my life at the moment. I am so attached to the computer and the Internet that now being without one at home is a struggle.
Being the optimist, I am trying to look at the bright side of things. I am thankful that this is happening in summer when London’s full of life and the city is bursting with festivals and things to do. The weather’s been playing along, behaving itself and even giving us some very nice, clear blue skies and sunshine that warms your skin.
But sometimes, there are evenings after work, when all you want is a quiet evening at home. An evening filled with your domestic comforts like having Claudine Levy‘s voice fill the kitchen while you prepare yourself a colourful salad. You eat this in the back garden and read a book. The book is The Beautiful and Damned and it is such a joy to read that you don’t feel like you’re missing your computer that much, or feeling guilty that you’ve decided to stay in on a nice summer’s day.
That’s what a good book can do. You can disappear into the words into a different world. Thank you F. Scott Fitzgerald.
I spotted these on a little carry-case by Kongpat that was on display at the hairdresser’s and fell in love with every little one of them. This little one above, I christianed Ggrrr Cloud Monster and is now the wallpaper on my phone.
Earlier today, I thought about people’s fear of appearing simple because childishness is not your standard aspiration. Perhaps it is for this reason we over-embellish and over-complicate things. To appear more adult-like. Is this a symptom of modern life? And if it is, are we are over-accessorising ?
Sometimes I just wish for a dose of simplicity. Luckily, I find this when I read a children’s book, see some little drawings like these and listen to Childish Music.
Along these lines of simplicity, these tinkling notes lie a certain joy. I’d like to think that childhood is not time-specific and that you can return to having the ability to be happy through the simplest things. Like the time when we were at All Tomorrow’s Parties and stole into the jungle gym in Butlins and played on the slides like we were kids again.