Whether you know me in the real world or through that of Twitter or Instagram, you'll know that I often joke about never leaving the house. If only you knew just how true that actually is. We're all creatures of habit, sure, but I'm more of a homebody than most & in between work, food shopping & mornings in bed with novels & a pot of tea, I'm rarely to be found elsewhere. Especially elsewhere outside. This week, however, I made a series of very worthwhile exceptions to that not-so-much-rule-as-routine. After work & a quick dinner of new potatoes, puy lentils & swiss chard sauteed in garlic & chilli flakes (my latest go-to dish), Andrew & I headed to something of an old haunt of ours, namely 'The Garage' in Islington for a rock show. A math rock show, that is. Settled in front of one of two support bands with lukewarm pints in hand, we eagerly awaited the San Diego duo of 'El Ten Eleven' that were soon to set the whole venue bouncing heads with their ridiculously infectious, instrumental guitar music that rapidly switched time signatures & pedals but never got any less awesome. I bankrupted myself in my first year of university going to gigs every night of the week & while I can't say that I follow the scene with anything like the same commitment (my other 'Blogger' entries are mostly for my regular review postings of live shows & EPs), I still think that there's nothing like live music if you're looking for a good time. Feeling like real old fogies leaving the venue with ears ringing ('I feel as if that was definitely too loud'...'Naaah, I think we're definitely just getting old, y'know') we wound our familiar route through Highbury Corner & back home in time for bed almost before midnight. Well, I suppose some things do change.
I didn't need an exceptional amount of sleep for the next day given that I was so giddy with excitement anyway because that Friday evening I was due to see none other than Karl Ove Knausgaard speak at the London Review Bookshop (or rather St. George's Church just around the corner) I've raved about this Norwegian author enough on this blog (see, err, any 'literary lately' post for a mention) & I would similarly highly recommend that any bookish types sign up to the LRB newsletter for first news of events they're holding. I, quelle surprise, bought my ticket as the email landed in my inbox precisely mid-bicycle ride in Padstow, Cornwall, knowing that I would rearrange pretty much anything to allow for my participation in such an evening. Excitedly perched on the steps of St. George's at half past six, it wasn't long until I was settled in a seat pawing through my goody bag (kudos to the LRB for knowing that back issues of literary journals & branded pencils go down a treat with bookish types) & craning my neck to avoid the ponytail in front that was obscuring my view of the author himself. While the pairing of a heavily (dreamily also, I feel I should mention) accented Norwegian & a similarly broad Glaswegian wasn't perhaps perfect, it was rapt attention that I listened to the admittedly little that Karl Ove had to say. I wasn't disappointed by the author's lack of cohesive answers to questions asked of him & the impression he gave was actually in keeping with the books - an honest & careful desire not to construct any pretence with which to frame his books or, indeed, his personality. I was very happy that I decided to stick around & chanced upon him perched behind the signing table just before heading for the tube later on. He very kindly dedicated the two tattered volumes that I handed him to my name that his publisher had written on a post-it 'for spellings', scribbling the date & city in the top right-hand corner. I skipped through Bloomsbury Square afterwards & found myself too overwhelmed with the heady immediacy of having met the face on the cover to read my book for a couple of days. Finally reopening it on a train platform at the beginning of the next week, I found myself consuming it whole once more.
Inevitably coming down with a change-of-the-seasons cold, it should be considered fairly miraculous that I made it out on Saturday night. More miraculous still was the amount of fun that I had as a result. First stopping at home after work for beyond delicious leftover 'proper chilli' from Anna Jones 'A Modern Way to Eat' (I am hopeless if I skip a meal, truly), Andrew & I schlepped our way over to my old friend's Emily's new house in East Finchley & soon began to catch up with slovenly souls that had been there BBQ-ing (i.e drinking) all afternoon. A group of us were soon bus stop bound & wound up at 'The Boogaloo' just before midnight where we stayed until gone two o'clock, dancing to the Beach Boys, Aretha Franklin & other classics from the 1950s & 1960s. The next day left the two of us not feeling particularly clever so shrugging on plaid shirts, we went to 'E5 Bakehouse' in search of coffee & a loaf to accompany my very favourite vegan baked beans from Ava of Guac & Roll's recipe & a heap of heal-me spinach to conclude a busy & brilliant week.
Care to share your ultimate hangover cure?
Still, not sure that I'll need one for a while, phew.
Speak soon - O.
No comments:
Post a Comment