The other day, I went to see the best play I've seen in many years at The Royal Court, called Clybourne Park. The reviewers kept saying it was a very funny satire about race and property, and I certainly couldn't help laughing at the accurate portrayal of the ugly sides of human nature, although I... Continue Reading →
Why does no one enjoy the arts?
I am watching The Red Shoes. I am quite drunk, because today I got my bonus numbers, my sister is starting a new job on Monday, and Tesco's was selling Lanson Rose at half price. Originally I was planning to open the second bottle in about half an hour, but then my sister went off... Continue Reading →
Why not Manolo?
On the tube this morning, a lady got on at Bond Street wearing that ever more familiar red-soled shoe. I thought the shoe looked rather cheap, another of those black patent leather stilettos with a concealed platform and slightly too thin a heel for such a chunky front. Of course, being so evidently made by... Continue Reading →
Apologies on the tube
Every city probably has this divide on public transport. If you board at 8am, it's full of people rustling their papers, cumbersomely trying to sip a Starbucks at the same time, and looking amusingly bright eyed as they contemplate another day of spreadsheets. Get on at 6.45, and the carriage is filled with men in... Continue Reading →
Accessing the past with music
I am watching a documentary about a very old lady in a red jumper. “What is it like when you believe you will die in the next second?”, the interviewer asks. She is asked this a lot, she replies; and the answer is that you do not perceive any emotion – just blackness descending on... Continue Reading →
Standing still in the dating game
I've still not got around to removing this blog from my Twitter feed, and consequently have stopped updating it; it seems incredibly vain to even vaguely assume that anyone I know would want to read my bored ramblings, so I started writing them somewhere completely anonymous instead. But I suppose now I'm just more bored... Continue Reading →
Running away
I seem to have spent most of the last year taking every possible opportunity to be away from London. It seemed like the only way to enjoy living here, in small doses, with regular breaks from the long, long tube journeys, the crowds and the terrible air quality. In fact it just made me mildly... Continue Reading →
Breaking stuff – not so cool
I've spent quite a lot of time recently just slouching about the house, having broken my wrist. In some ways it's quite nice, but there is nothing like temporary disability to make you appreciate what most of us take for granted every day. The most banal flicks of the hand are either impossible or very... Continue Reading →
The Rothschilds
My bank holiday treat was a two-day cycling trip to try out my new bike. It is a Specialized Tricross, and although largely a road bike, it is by all accounts supposed to be strong enough to handle off-roading. Perhaps what the manufacturers and reviewers define as off-roading is just a bone-dry, unsealed track on... Continue Reading →
1991: A surreal six months
These are short extracts from my diaries as a 13-year-old for 1991. It was the year that we left Australia to live in Germany permanently. Reading them paints a strange picture of a very pressurised and unsettled life, and some unintended hilarious observations. March 4th 1991 Today was our school free day. At 12.00 we... Continue Reading →
The resting writer 