Not content with ruining Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Walking in Memphis, the worst busker in the South East hit a new low with his rearrangement of Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl. In fact it was pretty much unrecognisable apart from the words. Still, that was but the smallest bit of today.
(Apropos of nothing, I just want to include a photo of how we look every morning, listening intently to the Today programme on Radio 4.)
Shortly after midday we were headed up to Bath. Mirinda had an appointment to meet with her DBA supervisor and then we were due to pop around to see Sophie and Tom for dinner.
The drive up was horrendous. I’m not sure why we think it only takes an hour and half because it never has and today was no different. Three hours it took! The road works on the M4 were the worst bit except for the traffic into Bath which is ALWAYS awful.
Still we arrived at the University and turned into the short term car park and, would you believe it, we nabbed the only space. That’s the sort of thing that rarely happens to us. It’s so rare that I want to bask in the reality of finding a car space without any form of hassle at all. I am amazed by how wonderful it feels. George Costanza, I understand your euphoria.
So, Mirinda went off to her meeting and I headed for the Costa’s in the Student Union. It was a bit noisy and stuffy so, having finished my coffee and learned a bit about the Malayan Emergency (1948-1960) I headed outside for some air and a bit of a read.
I didn’t last too long given the cold and the noise. I reckon I had decided to come outside just as every single class decided to swap rooms. I don’t think I’ve seen as many people outside of Oxford Street on Christmas Eve. The only difference here being that the average age was about 19 and nearly all of them were wearing earplugs of some description.
You’d think the inclusion of the listening things would have made it all quiet but, like most things youthful, this only made them louder as they all attempted to be heard over whatever noise the people they were with were listening to.
I went back to Max and sat in the peace and quiet and watched the rest of episode two of The Lizzie Borden Chronicles. It seems to be a recurring feature that there is a number of murders by the end of every episode. I guess she didn’t learn. Still, most of her victims deserved it. (Christina Ricci is excellent, by the way.)
I’ve started watching it at the gym during my bike ride and it definitely gets the heart rate up…but back in Bath…
Mirinda finished her very satisfying meeting and we climbed into the car for the relatively short drive to Sophie and Tom’s. In fact, the uni is just on the hill behind them. Very handy, particularly given we will be doing this trip quite often now Mirinda is up to her final thesis.
Arriving at the house we were greeted by a decidedly grown up young man. It took a while to ascertain that it was actually Tom. He’s only been at high school for about a month but already he seems to be maturing. The most astounding thing is his voice. It has broken.
Having known Tom since he was but a wee baby, it’s fascinating to watch the changes he goes through. Seriously, in six years he’s gone from this cute little chap:
To this almost teenager:
I have no idea why he’s hiding behind the golden skull. Perhaps it’s the beginning of the sulky teenage phase he’s sure to start going through. Actually, he was very entertaining tonight and not at all teenagerish. Though possibly not quite as entertaining as his mother who gave us a rendition of her new-found hobby: playing the saxophone. (That should more accurately be written as an attempt at playing the saxophone.)
To be fair, she has only had two lessons and she did manage to almost play something closely resembling a tune that we could nearly work out.
What she has managed to successfully master is cooking. I remember when she was obsessed with machines. Machines for bread, for cupcakes, for garlic. Nowadays she’s gone all hands on and it makes such a difference. Tonight we had a bit of a Persian feast with dishes of lamb kofta (with a delicious amount of fennel), lamb and garlic, chicken, sauteed vegetables…and so many more. It was delicious.
The men then retired to the lounge room where we watched the second Guardians of the Galaxy movie while the ladies sat about, talking real estate, teaching, saxophony and whatever else they wanted to talk about. That was probably quite a bit because the movie was over two hours long.
The film was a total cack. I pronounced it better than the first. Tom wasn’t quite as certain though Sophie agreed that it was more watchable than the first which she thought was just a lot of noise. The both of us laughed a LOT which more or less means it’s brilliant.
(I wonder if we’ll keep watching movies as Tom grows even older? Will we be watching movies when I’m well passed the point of understanding what I’m actually watching…or who he is? I hope so. And I hope we still love Marvel.)
Eventually, as all things do, the night came to an end and we climbed into Max and headed home which, again, and even though it was downhill, didn’t take an hour and a half. The puppies (alone with bones for almost 12 hours) were, it would be safe to say, delirious to see us. I stayed up for an extra hour just calming Emma down with a bit of her favourite game, Ball up the Corridor.
Here’s a short video at Sophie and Tom’s:
PS: Mirinda read my very short story and while she enjoyed it she reckons there’s no way it would win the Farnham Short Story Competition, mainly because of the content. I should have reminded her of the play I wrote and directed for the Port Macquarie play festival, which included swearing and both female and male complete nudity which, not only managed to get through the censorious play committee but also earned me the Best Director award. Ha! We shall see.