Parallel Lines
Here’s a bit more new music. (Now with #11, ’cause sometimes I like to Jobim it up.)
Naming them Charlotte does NOT make them cute
Last night a spider the size of a mouse sauntered across the floor, casual as you please.
It was quickly caught, barely fitting into the largest glass in the kitchen, and released into the garden. Hopefully it cherishes its freedom enough to never ever set foot in this house again.
I use the passive form of the verb ‘to catch’ because I didn’t do the catching myself. I would have, but only after the requisite amount of screaming and shivering had been achieved. Really! I was going to let it go myself. But having my boyfriend do it was just quicker.
Mind you, I wasn’t always so nice to spiders. With maturity, I have developed the opinion that non-human creatures, like humans, have the right to a full life, one that doesn’t end in being smashed under a book. (These rights are suspended in wartime, of course, such as in the on-going Formic Wars in the kitchen.)
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Start Again
So, I’ve finished another bit of music. This song was begun around New Year’s, when everyone needed a fresh start, myself included. (And I’ve finally finished it now.)
No no, you’re supposed to haggle!
Today I spent some quality time at the Deptford Market. That’s in Deptford, South East London.
This thrice-weekly street market reminds me of nothing so much as China. Or Brazil. It’s also been compared to Fiji…I think you see what I’m getting at. It’s a little piece of the developing world, but within easy walking distance of the Docklands Light Railway.
And it’s totally awesome.
I don’t get much out of the plastic home goods, the marked-down groceries, the piles of rotting fish, or the designer knock-offs (though I did buy a maxi dress…I’m “being the trend” at a fraction of the price!). It’s all interesting to look at, but I wouldn’t want most of it in my house…plus I started to hear arguments break out about incorrect change–slightly frightening.
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Culture Beer Shock
Oh, Newcastle Brown Ale.
I didn’t appreciate it when I lived in America. It’s so easy to come by there. Not only is it readily available in the supermarket (unless you live in certain Southern counties and it’s a Sunday), but I even used to work at a bar that had it on tap!
On tap! I’ve never seen it on tap here. I’ve never drank it at a public place. I’ve only ever enjoyed it at home. When I lived in America, and it was everywhere, I never tried it. It was too dark, and I’m a girl, so it scared me. Now that I’ve realised how delicious it is, and I’m much, much closer to Newcastle, it’s only there if you look for it. (It’s the Narnia of ale).
A classic case of not appreciating what you have until it’s gone.
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