Apparently an "arts and crafts" day is being planned for the third Sunday of every month, but sadly I’m not invited after my disparaging remarks about decoupage in an earlier blog. But I desperately want to go, so will need to find myself a craft; one that I can talk about passionately without sounding sarcastic... hmm
Unfortunately, I can’t think of anything that might fit the bill. I just googled the word craft, and found a picture of a pathetic-looking finger-mouse made of paper, which made me feel a little bit sad. But what else is there? Watercolours make me want to hurl. Knitting is for girls, men called Sam and reverends. Macrame? Well that's a craft isn't it? Crumbs, I just looked it up. I thought it was something to do with paper but it's wool and it's revolting and the thought of it makes my fingers itch. All those weird owls staring up at me...
Perhaps I could decorate eggs. I used to do that as a kid. We'd blow out the contents via a couple of little holes at the top and the bottom, (a sort of Egyptian brain scenario) and then we'd cover them with all sorts of interesting faces and swirls and... Who the hell am I trying to kid? I'm obviously just not a crafty person.
The Olympic ice dancing was phenomenal and made me wonder why I bother to watch Dancing on Ice. The winning dance came from Canadians, Virtue and Moir, whom I hope are no relation to the hatchet-faced, homophobic, grot-bag columnist Jan Moir. They danced to the slow movement from Mahler’s 5th Symphony, better known as Death In Venice, and it was as close as I’ve ever come to the spine-tingling joy I felt as an 8 year-old watching Bolero. Ah Torvill and Dean... Why do you dance to pop music nowadays?
My god. Anyone reading this would think I was gay.
On the way back home, I dropped Nathan off in the West End. He’s performing Naked Boys Singing tonight... And thrillingly for the next two weeks, he's performing with a real life porn star. Dean Monroe has starred in countless high-art films including The Raspberry Reich, Disco Bang, Bang Bang and Blackballed 5 (which I assume is some sort of thriller set in a prestigious gentlemen's club.) Perhaps fortunately, he's only joining the cast for one number, but apparently he knows how to sing in tune... And here he is holding a gun...
Here’s the revolting Jan Moir* disappearing into her own neck...
And the delightful Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir...
Oh yes, and here's some macrame... (Told you it was sinister)
Tuesday 20th March 1660, and just like today, it was raining. Pepys was hoping that tomorrow would be the day he’d go to sea, but the weather would need to improve significantly and 17th Century forecasting (banned under the Puritans) was not the most precise science. Nevertheless, he was up early doing paperwork for Montagu. At lunchtime, he met up with some of his mates, Luellin and co, and he gave them his foy – which seems to be a traditional meal, which someone who was leaving a place would buy his close friends to say goodbye. He was pleased to report that they all promised to write to him whilst he was at sea.
He then took a trip into the city to say a “melancholy” goodbye to his parents. His mother had a very bad cold, and because this was a time when people died of very bad colds, he was worried he’d never see her again, which methinks is sad, and Pepys probably bethought sadder.
The weather got so bad by the early afternoon, that the Thames started to burst its banks, and an easterly wind took the water into Westminster. It flooded Pepys’ house and many others in Axe Yard and people were going up and down King Street round the corner on rowing boats. Before anyone gets too worried about Pepys’ worldly belongings locked into that dining room, it’s likely that this particular room was on the first floor as ground floors were usually used for businesses only in those days. Whatever the case, Pepys doesn’t seem too bothered, so we can assume all was okay.
And if anyone doesn't know who Jan Moir is, this article (written before she angered the entire gay community with a piece of filth about her perception of homosexual lifestyles) pretty much sums it up. I'm particularly fond of its title...
Macrame is in fact Japanese for owl.
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