Sunday, February 19, 2006

What, Two Dos?

It is a yucky, cold, rainy, dark day. As it is Sunday I don't feel that I have to go out, even though all week I've had on my list these necessaries: sugar, olive oil, loo rolls, laundry detergent...

Here's the deal: I'll do it tomorrow.


Sooo...went to Gil Darby's retirement reception at Christie's King Street on Thursday with Mr B. The only other alumnus we recognised was Tom. (He's a porter there now, bless him. Rebecca and Rox he says he saw you at the Harrow School exhibition there last month.)

Mr B and I mostly enjoyed hanging out with former tutors Richard, Peter, Andrew, and a bit of pazzi Patsy*. She was excited that Peter (also quite pazzi) was wearing a jacket and made me take an awful photo of him with my phonecam. Only he wouldn't keep still, he is so animated when he talks!

Mind you, Andrew was wearing a rare jacket too. He made much of my Russian bolero jacket, and seriously thought the fur was real *rolling my eyes*.
Rebecca said he tried out for the part taken by Adrien Brody in The Pianist. I am sure he plays well, but can't figure the acting bit at all.

There was nice champagne and canapes - and this is not a lazy use of the word "nice" because over the past few years the quality of finger foods offered at these events has slipped a little. My favourite was grilled beef with a spot of blue cream cheese on a pastry cracker.


Last night after 9pm (the latest I've ever gone out) I set out for The Boisdale of Belgravia, a twee jazz and cigar club founded in the late 80s by Ranald MacDonald (banish all thoughts) the laird-in-waiting of the Clan McDonald. I got there before the 10pm 10 pound cover charge after getting lost for a while at Victoria station, using all the wrong exits before finding the one that would get me onto Eccleston Street.

When I got to The Boisdale and attempted to open the door, the older gentleman who had entered before me refused to help out as he stood in the reception and watched my little hands repeatedly slipping every which way around the stupid doorknob.

The place was smaller than I'd expected, but I still got lost in the crowds and the only dense spot I skipped was the one where Rebecca and her entourage, including Rox, were sitting. So the usual: a few familiar faces and a few new ones.

Rebecca was tickled that 3 of the Italian guys in her party talked to me at the bar while I ordered my mint julep, not yet knowing I was with her.

I know jazz clubs are smoky, but long absence from them makes one forget how smoky "smoky" really is! (id est, more smoky than the pubs I've visited lately.)
Plus I was a bit put out that there were more cigarettes than cigars...

But it was good pre-1960s jazz, with even a few Cole Porter numbers in the mix.

And I got home at nearly 1am, the latest yet.

I don't know what I was thinking. When I set out, I planned on calling a car as I usually do at such hours, but as I left and realised I could catch one of the last trains, I decided to do it. Je suis une folle.

I saw the stupidest things, things that really make me wrinkle my nose at the human race:

1) Got hooted at by some fellas.
2) Saw a girl re-applying makeup on the platform (at half past midnight, come on!)
3) Passed a girl sitting in a corner being sick. London Transport staff must *hate* weekends.
4) Got off at SJW with one couple, the guy had the most bowed legs I've ever seen. Nearly 45 degrees, seriously. He'd fit right on a horse.


*The use of pazzi to describe Patsy originated when she lectured on Brunelleschi's Pazzi Chapel in Florence. Richard piped up to quip that pazzo meant "crazy" in Italian.


Rox said...

Eww London transport! Bad enough during the day but at night it's horrid and a lil scary, for girls especially. Tu es vraiment un peu folle. Or very brave.
Sorry to have contributed to the smokeyness of the room. But do you really prefer the smell of cigars to cigarettes? I find the latter much less stingy and strong smelling. But then the cigar I bought for Nick at the Boisdale on the recommendation of G really was quite nice and not nearly as smelly as his usual Montecristo ones. It was a Cohiba Siglo II. Quite small and mild.

Olivia said...

Rox - oops, thanks for the gender correction. I don't know why I only get French right when I am brushing my teeth.

And I concede, *that* many cigars would be torture. I've never been around more than a few.

Prerona said...

hey! what error are u getting at my site?

M. said...

The Boisdale looks and sounds lovely despite the smokiness. Will have to keep that on our list the next time we visit London.

I don't know, applying makeup at midnight isn't half as stupid as applying mascara while you're driving down the highway...


Olivia said...

Prerona - it's all your streaming music! But mostly my problem as my browser hangs a lot nowadays, and my virtual memory runs low. Laptop, you know.

Hey Mers, the next time you visit London we are so meeting up!

M. said...

w00t, sounds fun! :) And the next time you happen to visit my side of the Atlantic, you'll have to let me know!

Rebecca said...

Hey, Olivia, thanks so much for coming Saturday, it was great to see you albeit in a noisy crowded situation. At least we got to say hello. And thank you for your card and gift, readers: this lady matched her card to the gift superbly and both are gorgeous! Very very sweet thought, so thanks.

I hope you had a good time. And yes, my buddies did try to chat Olivia up at the bar, not knowing she was with us! Ha.

Olivia said...

Rebecca - and thank you for the invitation. It was great to meet some of the friends you are always talking about :) I hope to return the favour soon.

Actually...funny thing: the vase is art nouveau and the card is art deco. Ha!

Olivia said...

Merserene - P.S. I replied to your computer question below.

Rebecca said...

Ah well, there you go, I could never muster enough of an interest in anything post 1880 (and had some difficulty with anything post Mannerism, to tell you the truth, except for occasional pockets) to bother to learn the details.

But hey, they certainly matched aesthetically anyway.

Olivia said...

Rebecca - yea...close enough. And I thought *I* was traditional. So you'd probably faint if I told you I don't mind Kandinsky now...

I remember you and Mannerism, I used to think you should be in a Mannerist painting.

moritheil said...

If only we could make such deals with all necessities.

I confess that most of my understanding of London Transport is derived from the song 'London Underground,' which leaves me singularly unqualified to comment on your transportation.

Rebecca said...

My friends at Uni would say that they never knew what to expect of me, that I was completely 21st century in lifestyle and general thought, but was immovable about certain issues, or suddenly unexpectedly traditional.

You thought I should be a Mannerist painting? Because I am in some way deformed, a-symmetrical, or simply break the rules?
My mother always says I look like a Parmigianino. "Strange" she says. It's not a compliment. Aaah, la mamma!

Olivia said...

It's slightly exciting to be able to surprise your friends, do/say/believe something they don't expect.

Aaaah la mamma indeed!
But no no, if you look at the Mannerists as a bigger-picture, less critically...They make striking poses - but never mind *how* they do it. There is an elegance there, though theirs is unusual. A naturally striking pose is a nice thing to make. Think of Louise Brooks's swan neck.

Hard to explain but I hope you got the drift.

Now, after a crying session, my Dad would say I looked like a Botticelli. He once had me laughing through my tissues at the thought.

Why? I think it's their eyes. I guess mine get like that when I cry!