1 feb - Whirlwinds & Tumbleweeds
A whirlwind tour of freezing London with two overseas friends takes us to Shoreditch on a sat night. It is freezing but the young don't feel it and I can't see a soul over 25 in the long circular walk we take after dinner (with under 25s at the Turkish on Bethnal Green Rd.
Sunday we're back that way at Columbia rd market with the florist friend full of good advice on what to plant, what will survive, buys me crocuses and irises and stuff (I have to look at the pictures hardly knowing any flower or plant name). Florist later gamely trying sushi for the third time ever but still can't manage it, smell turns her off even that of miso soup. Me and C. pity her as we could live at the japanese practically.
I haven't seen C. for six years though we talk and nearly met a couple of times in the last two or three. She was always blessed with the most outerwordly complexion, think whiter than Dita von Teese in full make up and just buttery soft. There are still too few lines for her age group but the surprise is the chicken gullet neck. Nothing much can be done for that one. C. is moaning about the mothers of kids her daughter's age (15) who only want to do the same thing on the few nights they go out as a gang. She works for major artists in Italy, the kind who sell out 12,000 seats four nights in a row.. sort of bigger than Beyonce' but hard to fathom. Every country has indigenous big stars who don't travel (Johnny Halliday anyone?). C. has never watched an entire set. She said she had decided to to watch 6 songs per evening and work her way through long sets but only managed the 6 and that's that. Can't blame her. We met a long time ago when she was in love with Jon Moss, and she still thinks about him. See, we all get stuck to our teenage years and the followers of her major Italian rock/pop legends, got to knoe those first, are still the fans that crowd the stadiums now. I can't knock them.
Sunday we're back that way at Columbia rd market with the florist friend full of good advice on what to plant, what will survive, buys me crocuses and irises and stuff (I have to look at the pictures hardly knowing any flower or plant name). Florist later gamely trying sushi for the third time ever but still can't manage it, smell turns her off even that of miso soup. Me and C. pity her as we could live at the japanese practically.
I haven't seen C. for six years though we talk and nearly met a couple of times in the last two or three. She was always blessed with the most outerwordly complexion, think whiter than Dita von Teese in full make up and just buttery soft. There are still too few lines for her age group but the surprise is the chicken gullet neck. Nothing much can be done for that one. C. is moaning about the mothers of kids her daughter's age (15) who only want to do the same thing on the few nights they go out as a gang. She works for major artists in Italy, the kind who sell out 12,000 seats four nights in a row.. sort of bigger than Beyonce' but hard to fathom. Every country has indigenous big stars who don't travel (Johnny Halliday anyone?). C. has never watched an entire set. She said she had decided to to watch 6 songs per evening and work her way through long sets but only managed the 6 and that's that. Can't blame her. We met a long time ago when she was in love with Jon Moss, and she still thinks about him. See, we all get stuck to our teenage years and the followers of her major Italian rock/pop legends, got to knoe those first, are still the fans that crowd the stadiums now. I can't knock them.
posted by Lisa Taylor @ 6:45 AM
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