All Day, All Day
Talking to James in Brasilia earlier about a dance party he went to last night I was suddenly reminded of the video to the Pet Shop Boys' Domino Dancing. If you've ever seen this video, you'll surely remember it: beautiful young people (male and female), jealousy, teasing, waterfalls, two boys fighting in the surf, and of course, people dancing in a South American street party. I've had to put on my Showbusiness video while I've been ironing, just to rekindle the memories.
Though I keep being distracted by the video for What Have I Done To Deserve This? - good old Dusty.
Why Am I So Tired?
This is unreal. I'm sleeping okay at the moment - not great but okay, and by my standards I've certainly slept worse. But I'm *permanently* tired. I had a nap this afternoon for goodness' sake.
Weekends are getting daft. I actually end up wasting more of them than is healthy just flaked out. Something is going to have to be done.
Anyway, I'm heading out to the cinema with Alison imminently, so I'm hoping not to fall asleep.
Edit - Later: I wish I had fallen asleep. Hollywood Homicide was the film of choice, and I can probably tell you everything you need to know about this variant on the cop/buddy movie by telling you that the comic twist in this one was provided by the complications caused by one of the cops' second career as (wait for it) a real estate agent.
Second Call
I'm mailing some people about it today, but for anyone who missed my original invitation - two weeks today (Friday 12th) is my birthday celebration, and I'd love to have my fellow bloggers and blog-readers come along.
If you'd like to join me and a few close friends, let me know and I'll let you have details.
The ‘Blackout’
I wasn't caught directly in the power failure last night - which is to say that I was somewhere where the lights went off, but I wasn't stuck on a tube train or anything too grim.
I did have a bit of an evil journey home on the buses, however, which were of course heaving, and the bus that I eventually got onto terminated short so that it could be sent back into the central area, where there was apparemtly a shortage.
This morning's Metro, with its 'just like New York' approach, seems to have missed some small details regarding the scale of the New York experience, however....
I’ve Refrained From Comment
...About much that's been in the news lately, because I've felt that there hasn't much I could add to the Hutton Enquiry that would make its participants appear any more ridiculous than they're making themselves.
But I wouldn't want you to think I wasn't paying attention. Because I've been avid.
And Speaking Of Family
My little brother has got engaged.
I'm a little surprised, but very, very pleased for him.
And apparently at some indeterminate point in the future, I get to be best man. Which could be interesting....
Looking For Dad
I've been watching the first part of Channel 4's new series Looking For Dad, which follows a series of people looking for their biological fathers. It's been interesting viewing, not least because when the production company was starting work on it several months ago, I actually spoke to one of their researchers about possibly being one of the series' subjects.
In the event, obviously, I'm not in it, but it might have created an interesting situation in my life right now if I had been. Apart from anything some fairly major questions might have been answered.
An Unplanned Big Night
There's a certain Tuesday night from a few years ago that lives on in infamy for those of us who (over) indulged in it. Generally, going out on Tuesdays since then has been avoided in case of unexpected repetition, but in response to a note from Philippa about a quick drink, I threw caution to the wind. What followed was not quite in the same league as the dreaded Black Tuesday, but was pretty hefty, nevertheless.
It's amazing how time can fly when four people, five bottles of wine and a bottle of champagne get together.
Sometimes, The World Makes No Sense
Not long after I first moved into this neighbourhood, back before I bought the flat and was living with Chris round the corner, we came upon the opening day of a restaurant in the area. The couple who ran the place, Ray and Rebecca, were wonderful, he was the chef, she looked after the front of house. They had set up there with a specific aim to bring something new to the community, and they certainly did - I like to think it was heart. They had a very clear vision of what they wanted for the place. Somewhere people could go to for an evening, where they didn't turn tables, and if you wanted to linger over coffee for three times as long as you had over the meal, that was okay. A place where Ray and Rebecca were likely to give you a round of drinks on the house and come and join you for a chat at the end of the evening. The food, which Ray sourced all the ingedients for from suppliers he knew and trusted, was always brilliant, and the wine list as distinctive and impressive as everything else.
Ray and Rebecca had their ups and downs, and eventually there was just Ray, his sons, and their wonderful waiting staff, led by José, from Portugal, who everyone fancied 
I haven't been in for a while - pressures of work and time and such kept me occupied, though I kept thinking I'd wander along with a book one evening and just enjoy the food and the atmosphere as I've done in the past. There was something about the place that created a sense of community and welcome. It was the kind of place that every neighbourhood should have, but few do, and it was, in a very specific way, an extension of its owner's personality.
I went past last night for the first time in a while and discovered the place closed up and messages and cards of sympathy arranged outside, with flowers and candles. Ray, it seemed, had died.
And now I've found out what happened.
Ray was murdered by someone who he'd refused to serve more wine to one night, who'd come back later with a knife and stabbed him to death.
There are simply no words to describe how I feel just at the moment. Though my toast this evening won't only be to the concept of 'home' any more.
Home
Three years ago, I moved into this flat. I became propertied. I began to live completely by myself for the first time after thirty four years. The first time I closed the door behind me and was alone in the then-empty space, it was a revelation. In many ways, the act of coming home and shutting the world outside has never lost its magic for me.
I'm a highly social person, as I think you all know, but there's a part of me, and it's not a small part, that treasures my solitude. This space, small and insignificant as it is, is what allows me to *have* that solitude, and I don't regret a single solitary moment I've spent in it.
I shall be raising a small glass of something distilled in 1976 later to mark the occasion.