Featured Post

Death becomes her: A Brief List Of Everyone Who Died @finborough

For a natural process, death is not a topic that comes up naturally for people. We ask how people are doing but expect the response to be “I’m great”, not “I’m not dead yet”. And so for the main character in A Brief List of Everyone Who Died, Graciela has a death issue. Starting with when she was five and found out only after the matter that her parents had her beloved dog euthanised. So Graciela decides that nobody she loves will die from then on. And so this piece becomes a fruitless attempt at how she spends her life trying to avoid death while it is all around her. It’s currently having its world premiere  at the Finborough Theatre . As the play title suggests, it is a brief list of life moments where death and life intervene for the main character, from the passing of relatives, cancer, suicides, accidents and the loss of parents. Playwright Jacob Marx Rice plots the critical moments of the lives of these characters through their passing or the passing of those around them. Howeve
Wake up and smell the coffee
Aside from the aromatic smell of piss as I meander through the subways from the Elephant & Castle tube to my place of work (you can see why there are underground walkways when you click this link), upon arriving I am greeted with other interesting aromas. The fire stairs have that smell of old fat from a greasetrap. A colleague said it reminded her of her grandmas house as in between chain smoking she used to always be frying something up. It is probably the same unmistakable lard and smoke combo that one is experiencing here. The other interesting aroma is from the coffee machine.

Where I am currently working has a tea and coffee machine that works on packets. You stick these packets in a draw and place a cup on a tray and gurgle gurgle gurgle later you have a cup of something. The tea tastes like tea and the coffee tastes like coffee, but the more interesting setting is the 2 packet process of making a "cappuccino". You place a packet called "frothy milk topping" into the machine first, and then you place a packet of coffee in there. The end result is nothing like a cappuccino and the taste is a little odd. It has led my colleagues to label it the "monkey spunk coffee". There is something milky-ish and creamy about it, but you just can't put your finger on it.

National Film Theatre
But anyway, I digress. Since tonight the Bakerloo tube wasn't working properly (which is the one I take to get to and from Elephant & Castle) I decided to hop off at Waterloo station (two stops north) and go to the National Film Theatre at Southbank to see Madame Sata. The whole National Theatre complex with its design and layout made me feel so much better about the concrete bunkers that pass for the cultural centre back home, but I guess this design was from another time and place. At least it was easier to navigate than the Barbican. Anyway I settled down to watch a film that almost held my attention. Naturally the musical scenes were better than the rest.

Around 8pm the film finished and it was still light. It was also unusually warm. So I decided to walk it back to The Strand via the New Hungerford Bridge. The view on that link is exactly what I saw (only a little bit darker). Very sensible and very ambient. Well I figure there are not that many more warm days left here so I should make the most of them!

Ongoing to do list
* Find a doctor and work out what National Insurance is
* Spot a celebrity (that isn't attached to David Blaine or who hasn't sold their story to The Sun)
* Try to work out what I am supposed to be doing at work while still appearing intelligent
* Eat more Turkish food (since it is so handy)
* Try and get tix to Bea Arthur
* Make note of the weekend when England play Turkey in football and get the hell out of Haringey
* Stay home on the night when the next season of Jamie's Kitchen starts

Popular posts from this blog

Opera and full frontal nudity: Rigoletto

Fantasies: Afterglow @Swkplay

Ramin Karimloo: the unstoppable beast