Me
Because I know everyone hates the kind of blogs where they, apocryphally, “tell you what they ate for breakfast”, I will proceed to give you a little guided tour of my life. It is kind of like the drawing above, but not as good. (I had toast for breakfast. There’s a surprise.)
In the past several days I have:
seen the Francis Bacon exhibition at Tate Britain (on which more later maybe) (a bit overwhelming; I had to sit down on a bench at one point and felt as if I had been pinned there by Bacon himself) (no kindness there, as someone said)
bought a book called Francis Bacon in the Fifties
rejoined the Tate, & about time too
got a good price on four lovely boxed Folio Society Shakespeares
discovered a great French deli in Lower Marsh, called Le Café Traitteur, full of fatty roasted duck legs & pots of paté (which I did not eat)
got the archive boxes
cooked a slap-up meal to a recipe by Elizabeth David: Toulouse sausages in cider, and the secret is the bay leaves: best if you have a tree really
been cheered by a roomful of people reading a wonderful play
eaten a lot (of Toulouse sausages and haricot beans)
drunk quite a lot (of tea, coffee, wine, water, diet Coke)
sorted out quite a lot about my upcoming virtual book tour to promote Me and the Dead, coming up, details very soon – I’m going to be guesting at a really exciting line-up of websites
emailed the web guy (hi Mark)
seen the Saul Steinberg exhibition at Dulwich Picture Gallery, and let me tell you! you should get down there tout de suite
thought a lot, but clearly not within the little square in which I am currently typing
slept not quite enough
thought of one really great pun, but you had to be there
not written (anything much)
not read anything (much) (not even about Francis Bacon, or by Shakespeare, or by Sir Francis Bacon instead of Shakespeare, or even eaten any bacon)
not watched anything
cleaned the kitchen
coffee
heavy bags
Morrisons
more heavy bags
filled the archive boxes, but I need more, bigger, more
filled the pepper mill
is that enough?
Strangely I think I remember a couple of conversations which I think might not be conversations, but dreams instead. I have these weird, vague impressions of things people have said and I can’t remember if they were real. Dear me.
Strangely, my virtual book tour has a title: “A conversations about dreams…”
Tomorrow: crack on. And now I’m going to bed. Book, or movie? The lady, or the tiger? Or a Steinberg crocodile?
I have a tree, but alas no French cider.
Or, for that matter, Toulouse sausages.
Hi Ms Baroque
Sounds like fun to me. I DO miss the Tate.
xxx
Pants
Bacon, definitely the Bacon.
Toast for breakfast too. Tesco not Morrison. Rothko not Bacon. Do have a bay tree, don’t have Toulouse sausages (but want some). Could recommend something for you to read, but am so intimidated by the fact that all your readers seem to be writers that I hestitate to (Oh, very well. The AL Kennedy story Frank in Zadie Smith’s The Book of Other People sent me to sleep in tears last night.) Thanks for the blog – it’s one of my favourite pieces of work avoidance!
Not watched anything…
I could do that most of the time, but find it hard to do without Have I Got News for You.
I was also struck by the fact that you filled the pepper mill. This is quite an event, as it only happens rarely (unless you get through an improbable amount of pepper, or have a very small pepper mill).
Was Elizabeth David the one who went swanning round the med/italy/france before teaching the british how to cook? If so I had her recipe for delphainoire (sic) tatties at the weekend which were ace.
Followed the link through to Austin Mitchell MP who reads like a good guy. If I see him I might even say so.
Toast & Bovril & I was nearly knocked over by Martin Creed’s Work No. 850 a while back…