Friday nighttime was Sexy Breakfast's third and final last gig, and while not as cut up as the hordes of weeping tweenies who flooded the toilets (freak me out, 14+ gigs) it was still an important one for me as the time I saw them support Fuck Off Batman marked the real beginning of my painfully ambivalent relationship with the Oxford music scene. Whilst being beaten out of the mosh-pit by obnoxious snogging boy, I had a plot breakthrough in the Big Story I'm Not Writing, which I then proceeded to drown in many buckets of cocktails and inappropriate behaviour. Still working through that creative block, it seems.
Saturday daytime tried and failed to make me late for the bookshop, although I was a little sore and hungover when I got there; oxfordhacker and mr_snips had also been at the same gig, so we got to compare headaches and mosh bruises while the bookshop somehow managed a fantastic afternoon's sales around us. We're hoping to do even better before christmas, so come, local friends, shop! At the Oxfam bookshop on St Giles. We have many new and old books ideal for christmas presents!
Saturday evening finally gave in to damiancugley's perpetual refrain of "shall we watch some Inu Yasha"? It is such a good story (Medieaval Japan, many horrible crow/spider/storm demons, likeable teaming of strong-willed schoolgirl, stroppy dog-demon, priestess ghost, talking flea and wee fox-spirit, and oh such beautiful backgrounds) but each episode ends on a cliff-hanger and we have, what? Fifty episodes? A lot, anyway.
Sunday daytime the gentleman housemate and myself gardened like mad things until lunch, then badgered tinyjo into taking us out to Yarnton Nurseries to get mulch and manure for the hedges. Over cocoa shells, cheap blue garden chairs and interesting shrubs, things strung out, like they do when you get out beyond the ring-road, and we eventually put down the last of the plants by moonlight. I considered baptising the hedge with beer, but the temperature was dropping fast, and I had wary thoughts about ice and roots.
Sunday night I went to a modern classical concert for the first time in a while; the Latvian Radio Chamber singers, and Gavin Bryars on wonderfully funereal harmonium. Part of my motivation was the venue, the Catholic church in Jericho, whose bells chimed in during the encore (a bizarrely descriptive piece called Carnival*) but also the music, which did not disappoint. I might say more about this later, or I might not; there's not a lot of point in me rambling about plastic shapes and scaffolding trees, slow-res flow, skeining colours and jetting lights from my internal world of (nutter!) irreproducable experience.
And on the way home, as ipod on random played me a fantastic modern classical comedown mix**, I heard a tapping noise and turned to see a boy throwing stones up at somebody's window. Awwww.
And when I got home I scripted a couple of weekly strips, though one's for the no-publish-me pile. Was there anything I missed? Oh f***. Christmas cards.
*I'm not sure what language it was in, so carnival may or may not have accents or an extra e.
**purple (a tribe called quest edit) - crustacean
woke up this morning - alabama 3
kyrie (miss solemnis op 123) - Beethoven
bond back in action again - john barry
fix it - freaks
into the fourth dimension - the orb
hum - superstar
the stars, the moon, and the sun and the clouds - the french
remind me - royksopp
meltdown - orbital
presence of presents - kid crayola
crawlspace - beastie boys
benedictus - mess es-dur
earth mark ii - hitchhikers soundtrack