Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney
rozk

When everything works just right

Sometimes a day just goes perfectly, not in terms of everything being entirely wonderful, just in terms of everything you meant to do getting itself done with a minimum of inconvenience. Which is why there are two entries today after several days with none.

I got up, and ate breakfast while I rewatched 'Mars Attacks' which I realized I needed to see again before writing about it, because I could not remember whether it was Glen Campbell or Slim Whitman whose music exploded the alien's brains and I could not remember what Pierce Brosnan smoked. (And of course the original script had it be Tom Jones whose music did the business, but he was not all that keen on this, so they changed it and had him in the film anyway. Very cute he is too.)

There was just enough gravad lax for my toast - allergic to most fish, I have to get my fatty acids somewhere and salmon is one of the more convenient ways - and just enough marmalade and just enough coffee. It was a leisurely breakfast with my feet up on a pouffe - which is the word meaning a sort of stuffed footstool which Spike keeps saying when he means a pouf which is an homosexual.

Work went well - I got reports done and managed eight hundred words on Mars Attacks, and when I got in this evening I managed another four on Signs. (This is the invasions chapter for the movie book).

A bunch of Angels and a Buffy came this lunch time, so I watched Dirty Girls and oh! poor Xander.

Then I went across town to go and hear my friend Graham's new girlfriend play in a piano trio with her sisters. I believe in the congestion charge because I got to South Kensington from Hackney in just over an hour in the rush hour - it took about the same coming back. There is a bliss when public transport works - I have fallen back in love with buses now I have one that stops outside my flat.

The concert was OK - a very lush version of the second Rachmaninov trio, which is like any other Rachmaninov, ie broody and with big tunes. There was a contemporary piece of no great worth - but decent enough in its way. They finished with shameless encores - the Spartacus adagio with just enough spikiness to keep it from being soupy, a version of the Petrushka Russian dance that actually had my foot tapping and a Brahms Hungarian dance that gave new meaning to the words arch, camp, and old rubbish. Still, a pleasant enough evening and Graham seems happy about her...

And now to talk to friends and maybe watch some Angel- what bliss life is.
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