London Days

So aside from the obvious reading, writing and whathaveyou, I spend more time in London outside than I have in any city in the world. I've lived long-term in four, so I think that this is pretty revolutionary. Most of it is to do with biking, which I discovered partially through necessity in Dublin. Whenever I reveal that I cycle through London most days, I'm met with astonishment- so dangerous, so nasty in bad weather, etc. I've found the eponymous small pleasures of this blog hard to come by in London, but cycling in London is something to smile about. Sure, Florence wasn't half bad either, for sheer beauty... but cobbles, ach. Although the tube goes practically everywhere, the buses are fantastic and the overground connects you to everything, public transportation here is hideously expensive and relatively time-consuming. I mean, Hell, I'm in work in less than fifteen minutes, and much more importantly, I could be home by 5.45.

The same was true in my last job, which had the (only) added benefit of a daily roundtrip down Regent's Canal.

It was all coots, geese and ducklings.






Good stuff, and sure beat Hampstead Road at rush hour, but you can't complain.

But the real benefit of cycling is being outside. You get to know your way around, you see things from a different perspective and after a few months, you've soaked up enough vitamin D to keep the SADs away at least through the other side of Christmas. It also gives you great, low impact exercise, which is, as we all know, the only kind of exercise.

The Bearded One has turned to cycling, but also to sport. This surprises me, as he was not a sporting type before, which suited yours truly grand. But, like myself, he finds that London gets to him, that our semi-subterranean flat lacks light and air in the wintertime, and so cricket, football, basketball and now baseball... all are to be played, watched and enjoyed. Nyeh, what the Hell.

My other new-found hobby since moving here, related to quality has been gardening. (See photo...) "You can afford to rent a place with a garden?! On a publishing salary?!?!?" Um, no. We have a slender slice of air and sky, sunk in the middle of North London between the converted flat at the back of a shop and the whitewashed brick wall of the picturesque row houses perpendicular to us.
It's fantastic. We love it- flowers, pots, palm tree, candles, tiny table and chairs, and a laundry line.


And, meet the real cause of this rant: my renewed appreciation for the natural world has spurred on a complete obsession with Bill Oddie's nature shows. Ok, ok, so many of you will tune out right about... now. Mais bon. It's true! He's lovely. And a conservationist, and genuinely enthusiastic about not just nature, but British nature. I find this encouraging. And now, oh, yes... Mini Oddie on your desktop, ALL THE TIME. I have no words. You need it. You want it. Doitdoit.

Independent Booksellers - query!

Hey there blogland. Two items here, and a shout out for help! I know I'm hardly coming down in visitors here, but if anyone can hear me...

I recently read a feature in one of the UK national papers about a group of independent bookshops who banded together to start a collective website. The idea was that punters order a book online, decide which of their local independent bookshops they wanted it to be delivered to, got an email when it arrived, and then walked in and bought it. The idea, of course, is to redirect some A*$zon users back into the physical bookshop, while offering the convenience of 24-hour internet searching.

Any thoughts, lads? I can't remember the name of this scheme, and I'd love to start sending you their way by way of click-thrus.

Meanwhile, Irish readers, get moving! The Guardian is taking nominations for good independent bookellers in Ireland for their database. I say the Exchange Bookshop in Dalkey and Readers in Dun Laoghaire- both south County Dublin, narf narf. Natch.

Autumn

A disgraceful amount of time has passed since my last post. I never thought I'd be quite this bad this early on, but there we be.

Succeeded in seeing only one preview for the Dublin Theatre Festival, Festen at the Gate. Odd to see a play which began life as a film, and one that has made the seamless move from a Danish to an Irish setting, but it was a very fine play. Not all of the actors were up to the task, or alternately, their direction clashed when they were pitted against eachother, but all in all a success. The physical 'choreography' of it on stage was very fine indeed, with at one point three or four scenes playing simultaneously on stage- physically overlapping without seeing eachother, juxtaposing the various relationships to great effect.

The scene is set as a family joins together in a large country house in Denmark/Ireland for a banquet in honour of the father's 60th. Having just celebrated my father's 60th in an old Dublin pub, I wondered whether we'd done him justice... until the banquet scene all went sour with the promised nasty revelation of a dark family secret. Dark is an understatement, mais bon.

It was also extremely funny: it was, as I've tried to highlight, a very well-staged affair, so there was often a physical comedy element to its presentation, be it slapstick or mock-balletic. This not to mention some very funny lines...

The new RTÉ arts show, cast out to the 11pm weekly slot (RTÉ supporting the arts, ha!) came into its own when covering the Theatre Festival soon after my return. I was glad of this, considering that their debut airing was a focus on public sculpture. You do the math: sculpture, radio, sculpture, radio... I mean, ok, maybe once you have a listenership, but your debut show?? Come on.

But I digress. One of the critics mentioned that he saw one woman walk out of Festen, and to be honest, I'm surprised it didn't happen at every show. I'm trying, here, not to reveal the revelation, but let's just say it's a bit topical to Ireland's current confessional culture.

I wasn't the only one who liked it, though I suspect my companion for the evening did not- the Guardian gave it 4/5 stars.