Feast of Fools

Friday I didn't go to work, since they called and said they didn't need me (I then had extreme, crippling guilt about it for the rest of the day, which meant I didn't really enjoy it that much. I suspect this had more to do with the previous day's strangeness catching up with me than any rational reason.)

However, myself, Maman, et le brat buggered off to Harlow for a Chinese buffet lunch (the kind where they take perfectly innocent vegetables and deep-fry them into submission with malice aforethought), although this did first require a brat-waking-up procedure involving the confiscation of duvet, pillow, sleeping bag (nice try), followed by the delivery of multiple household projectiles and two glasses of cold water.

Saturday was more pleasant - most of the family went to see the Producers in the afternoon, and we abducted herself on the way. Stopped off at Somerset House for lunch and were summoned out of it by phone (Dad was further downriver) to see the apprentices' barge race. Two blokes with one oar each versus a bloody great barge really isn't a fair fight, hence many of their racing lines had a certain sideways quality about them. We were, however, impressed by the one that was done up as the Victory, complete with admiral in uniform strutting up and down.

And the Producers was considerable fun, although I'm not sure that the musical is quite as good as the film (it may just be the lack of Mel Brooks). John Gordon Sinclair showed off his really impressive range as a Leo so neurotic Woody Allen would pass out just looking at him. I would give a lot to see John Barrowman in his erstwhile Broadway role as lead tenor stormtrooper. ^_^

And then Sunday some of the gang met up to wander London. Long, lazy lunch at Gabriel's Wharf followed by leisurely stroll into the centre. (I found the song I wanted so much!!! which was piped into Hyde Park from Live8 Johannesburg, but it took me a little while to work out what it was so I could buy it. Had to start by figuring out the genre, move on to probable artists, and then listen to samples of their entire catalogue until I found the one I want. I'm quite proud of that.)

We ended up in Green Park in time to see the flypast at the end of the National Commemoration Day celebrations, which was enough to make me regress to a hyperactive ten-year-old (I went to a lot of air museums as a child. Blame my father.) Tiger Moths (I think), Shackletons, Flying Fortresses, and several others unidentified. Plus, of course, the proper WWII flypast, and the Lancaster dropped a million poppies over the Mall which was really extremely pretty. She caught it on film so I'll put up a clip if I can. I love old planes. ^__________^

[And I crashed at her place on Sunday night, which reduced my commute by a whole hour this morning due to the convenience of her South Bank pad (really must get me one of those). It's still just enough quieter than a normal Monday that you noticed it, but only just. And I don't think I imagined a certain tension on the Tube; people aren't visibly jittery, it's just that the usual oh-god-Monday-morning zombieness is missing.]