Day 71: London

Highlights:

• William Kentridge, an animated-film artist at the Tate Modern
• Jamie and Jimmy do Southend
• Some insider gossip/hearsay about that Billericay Facebook party

I had a nightmare last night. I think I've had the exact same nightmare before, so it was even worse as I knew what to expect; DEATH. It was a survival of the fittest competition meets Masterchef and/or SmART. I had a craft activity to complete but like many Masterchef contestants, I'd left myself too much to do and not enough time. I was trying to fill a box with squares of card, and the nightmare was just me and my teammate hacking through cardboard with scissors trying to make thousands of squares to fill this box. We could feel the defeat in the air, and someone murderous (Gregg Wallace?) was lurking over us. God knows what those squares were for. I woke around 3am with a genuine feeling that I was about to be hunted down and killed. I watched some Gnomeo and Juliet on my KindleFire, hoping a cartoon would settle me. It did, but just a quick comment on the film Gnomeo and Juliet (based on, wait for it...Romeo and Juliet); I appreciate the appeal of animated films with celebrity voices, but that film is ridiculously overcrowded. Virtually every single person is famous (IMDB here). I watched the entire thing just picturing Maggie Smith, Ozzy Osbourne and everyone in a studio saying their lines. You just can't take it seriously, not even when Patrick Stewart's Shakespeare statue comes alive and reels off the plot of Romeo and Juliet to a garden gnome.

I got up around 10am (what's that? You were all up for work at 7am?) and listened to some more Local Natives. I went to the gym in the afternoon, on the way passing a cyclist who was riding with no hands and wearing a badly-fitted bright blue balaclava with a lot of extra room above his tiny head*. I looked at him and as I did he let out a MASSIVE burp (more on this later).

After the gym I walked up along the river to the Tate Modern. I was planning on going further to the Oxo Tower where there's a free wildlife photography exhibition (here) before realising I couldn't give a flying monkey about wildlife photography. You've sometimes got to draw a line between your wish to absorb as much free stuff as possible and going to stuff that's ridiculously dull and doesn't interest you JUST because it's free. The Tate Modern had a free exhibition on in the Tanks by an animated-film artist called William Kentridge, called 'I am not me, the horse is not mine'. Apparently it's a Russian peasant phrase denying all guilt. I think the Tanks are relatively newly opened and they're on the same level as the Turbine Hall (still disappointingly empty). The main room is octagonal with concrete walls and flooring and broken concrete staircases which lead to nowhere. This exhibition was a selection of William Kentridge's films which he'd made in preparation for the production of an Opera based on a book by Nikolai Gogol about a guy who's nose leaves his face and starts causing trouble, I think. The films are different lengths but are played on a loop until they all sync up again, at which point the soundtrack starts again. It's an odd exhibition, with the meaning hard to gauge as there are so many different references, but it's an interesting experience. You can sit on the floor and watch the films again and again if you like, and it's never boring. The music works perfectly as well, with a Russian track turning into an African track at some point (presumably influenced by Kentridge's South African heritage). This was the style of some of the animated videos:

As I left the Tate Modern I walked past a guy in a hat and to my horror, HE BURPED AS WELL! Two in one day! I find burping gross. Seriously, it's got to be one of the rudest and most disgusting of all the bad habits. It's face level! And it gives you no time to escape! I walked a bit further thinking about how I'd probably include that double whammy in the blog when, no joke, ANOTHER GUY BURPED AS HE WALKED PAST ME. What the hell was going on? Since when did it become ok to burp in the street when you're in earshot of other people, and what has everyone been eating?!

Back home, I called my mum to compare notes on our recent Pontins experiences. She'd gone there for a gym weekend in 2010 (pre-refurb). Turns out not a lot had changed in the refurb, except the carpet in the main room was cleaner in my memory than from her descriptions. She said it was sticky and gross when you had to get down on the floor to do sit-ups. Perhaps more interesting than this was her take on the Pauline Gardens Facebook party (see yesterday's blog post), as heard from some of the kids at her school who supposedly went. They told her that someone had pooed in a bed (reminiscent of the scene in Misfits where Nathan tries to do it to the new girl) and someone else flushed a hedgehog down the toilet. The 'hedgehog' actually turned out to be a piece of Broccoli. That embellishment in mind, they also said the mum was a junkie who was drugged out of her mind. The papers have her as a church leader who provided the party with soft drinks:

I mean, I imagine those fosters and WKD were definitely lined up by the riotous, yet considerate-about-beverage-storage, party guests...I just don't know who to believe. One of the sides at least isn't all bad; either the mum had broccoli in the house (considerate about diet) or the party kids bought it with them as a healthy party snack between alcopops. Mum said the boy who fell through the ceiling was the son of my old driving instructor. He was playing on the insulation stuff in the loft. It's nice to know that that's actually dangerous, as I always used to think my parents were lying about it.

In other news, apparently Jamie Oliver and Jimmy (surname?) have taken over the cafe on Southend Pier:

We spent the evening eating a Tesco £10 meal deal (we're talking feta and spinach stuffed parcels, rather than one of those bags of Chinese food), drinking wine and looking at photos of that monkey in IKEA in Toronto wearing a sheepskin jacket:

It reminded us of this youtube video (I'm so sorry): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_sfnQDr1-o


End of day 71.

*During a conversation with Abbie later, I learned that the technical term for someone with a small head is Microcephaly. She works with a kid on placement who is considered a medical miracle, as his microcephaly has left him with an underdeveloped brain but with white and grey matter mixed together. Apparently he should not be able to function at all, though he's been going to school as normal for 10 years. 

Day 70: Camber Sands to Hamstreet to Ashford to London

Highlights:

• Taxi driver from Hamstreet to Ashford
• Showering
• Going Dark at The Young Vic

There was a somewhat optimistic check-out time of 10am. I managed to get the ball rolling and started clearing up the jelly and mulled wine remnants of the previous day. I took our keys to the pirate ship to check out; this formal process consisting of our keys just being dumped in a pile with no ticking off of the number on them. Pontins just about does ATP (though it really was a brilliant weekend. The best sort of festival you can imagine).

Chris Bunting from Farnham offered to drive us to Rye, if we didn't want a lift all the way to Guildford. We picked the former, though due to some poor navigation on his part we ended up in Hamstreet in Kent. He gave us both hugs goodbye, and thanked us for our hospitality and welcoming natures. We didn't share contact details. 

Turns out Hamstreet has an extremely irregular train service, and the next train was coming from Rye with (we expected) a packed carriage of ATP goers. We decided to try the bus, though just as we were walking to the bus stop, one pulled out. The next bus wasn't for 50minutes. We truly were in the middle of nowhere. We called a cab, and a nice Ashford local came to pick us up. He was a United fan, as his only football influence as a youngster was from his Uncle who lives up North. Definitely not a glory hunter; did you know that Manchester United were relegated in the 70s? This guy supported them throughout. He dropped us at Ashford International with some useful stats; it's only 50 miles to London from Ashford and this new Hi-Speed train takes 36minutes. I jumped off the train at Stratford International and left Paddy to go to King's Cross. He needed to get home quick to sleep, ahead of going to 'the Ryder Cup of Pool' at York Hall in Bethnal Green. Yeah, it exists: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mosconi_Cup.*

I arrived home and SHOWERED. I spent the afternoon unsubscribing myself from all the remaining mailing lists I'd been added to when I entered those competitions in late November. I received a message from my friend Lucy showing me the headline about the Facebook party in Billericay. It was on her old road, Pauline Gardens and just seems a little extreme for suburban Billericay. The article is a tad confusing (here) as it seems to suggest the mum was there for the entire party and continued to let guests in even though the house was being completely trashed. Still, I've promised Abbie and Tony that when they're away for New Year I DEFINITELY WON'T hold a Facebook party at our flat. Definitely. 

Tony came home from a long day at the Studio (11-3pm, then a few beers in the pub) and invited me to the theatre in place of his original date, Ian. Ian works at a company which (I think) consults theatres on sets, lighting and sound for their shows, and they fund him to buy a number of tickets for plays each month as research. He had to pull out last minute to fulfil Dad duties and as Abbie was out, I was third choice to go see 'Going Dark' at The Young Vic (promo photo below). 

We caught a bus which (despite usually including this mundane information in my blog posts) I understand is not at all comment-worthy, except that I think it was the first time I've ever seen Tony on a bus. It was pretty harrowing. Whilst I tried to point out the viewing benefits of the top deck and seeing London in a different way etc., Tony just seemed frustrated that we had to stop to pick strangers up. You don't have to do that in a car apparently. We had the front seats of the top deck though. Just like a couple of year 7s before they get moved on by the older kids. We got there just in time before Tony had a complete meltdown. Abbie's since told me that you have to tell him it's a big red taxi. It's the only way to make it acceptable to him. 

There's a really nice bar above the Young Vic theatre, which I'm not sure if you all know. It's called The Cut and is just quite comfortable, friendly and does a good selection of wines, cocktails and food. Good for dates, I think. There were three plays showing that night though I hadn't realised the theatre had so many different rooms. I've only ever been to the main one before, the last time being to see Bingo with Patrick Stewart (who I unrealistically assumed I'd share a taxi with back to Bermondsey; he owns a pied-à-terre there, you know). Going Dark is being shown in The Maria Theatre. As it was all a little last minute, I had very little info about the play beyond Ian's comments that a lot of it was actually in the dark and it was about the Cosmos. You're advised to leave your coats and bags outside as you had to keep them on your laps during the 75minute performance (presumably for health and safety as people could trip over them in the dark)**. There are lights under each seat to guide you on the way in, but as soon as the performance starts, the room goes completely black. You can't even see your hand in front of you, and there's not even faint light for your eyes to adjust to. 

So, Going Dark is written by Hattie Taylor with assistance from Sound&Fury to really make some powerful connections between the plot and the audio and visual experience. It's a one man play, though there's a recorded voice for another character at various points during the production. As the light came and went, you could see audience members peering to see if there was an actor behind this voice. It really is an incredible show. The limited light, this great actor (and at one point, dancer) and all the sounds around you, alongside some substantial 'accidental learning' about the Cosmos make it well worth going. One of the strongest, most unique shows I've seen in a long time. I left with more knowledge of the astronomy than I EVER picked up at school and wanting to star gaze, though sadly in London we could only see one star. But I now know how to find Polaris (follow the two stars on the front of the plough and it's the constant, though fainter than you'd imagine, star not far ahead), know that Sirius is the brightest star in the sky, with only two planets being brighter (Venus and Jupiter) and know that Orion's armpit is called Beetlejuice. I also know how and why stars turn into Supernovas and that the nearest next galaxy (which can mainly be seen as a blur in your peripherals just below the second 'V' of Cassiopeia) is called Andromeda. I'm not going to use all my knowledge now. Saving that for dinner parties over the coming months. Watch out for my astronomy chat, guys.

We caught the tube back (I could literally feel the relief pour out of Tony) with a greater awareness of sound over vision. I came up with a project for tomorrow's blog. 

End of day 70.

*Apparently Paddy didn't end up going, though he informs me the US were winning after yesterday.
** My one criticism of the performance was the naff collection point they allocated for the racks of coats. The four racks were lined up down a thin corridor with only one entry/exit point and it only allowed single file, so you had to wait for everyone behind you to pile out before you could escape. I mean, it wasn't a deal breaker on my enjoyment of the evening, but still, fix up, Young Vic. 

Day 69: Camber Sands

Highlights:

• Pub quiz, with Hannah and Leo
• Local Natives, particularly the live performance of Sun Hands
• The National! Of course. With a lovely acoustic version of Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks

I woke up feeling FRESH. I'm not sure the same can be said of Paddy and Jimmy who I think went to bed pretty late. I dressed (no bath. That ship has sailed) and headed down to the beach. It was one of those cool, crisp but bright days, and being relatively early for a Sunday, the beach was empty except for a few horses. I thought there was some sort of percussion band playing next to the doughnut hut but on closer viewing, turns out it was just the sound of the flag string hitting against the pole in the wind. I imagine some band from the festival will have sampled that.

I walked back along the sandy path to Rye Bay Cafe and took a seat. There was no menu but I took a shot, and unsurprisingly they served beans on toast. I was reading Monocle (and leaning a bit more about soft power) when some American voices piped up behind me. Clearly in a band. I spent the next twenty minutes eavesdropping and looking through my festival guide hoping to find out who they were. I narrowed the two guys down to support for Perfume Genius and the girl...well, her band was based in New Orleans, but she was from Minneapolis. Then ensued a rock and roll conversation about property prices in Seattle and wanting to settle out in a small city. Sure they're in a hip band and staying in luxury chalets, but they still talk about boring crap.

I felt pretty upbeat from the fresh air so I took a walk along the coast, intending to end up in Rye. I called my Grandma to wish her a belated happy 82nd birthday (I'd called her at 11pm the night before but she hadn't answered...) and we shared Camber Sands anecdotes. I think it was a frequent holiday destination of hers when my dad was a kid. I'd walked a few kilometres and had reached a nondescript part of the path when I changed my mind, and turned and walked back. There were lots of mini-reservoirs and normal size wind turbines on route. Really utilising that wind energy.

I walked past the Sunday 5-a-side in Pontins, but couldn't see any band members I recognised. I realise that's probably because I only recognise the four Antlers members and the front row of the National by face. 

I caught up with Paddy and Chris Bunting from Farnham and we went to the Pop Quiz being held in the Queen Vic Pub on site. Turns out we should have registered the day before to enter, so we joined a 2-man team in order to at least take part. Leo and Hannah had come down from Cardiff for the event, and we figured we could in some way share the prize of a 4-man chalet at the Deerhunter ATP. A good £720 prize. My three main contributions to the answers I don't necessarily think gave me cool points with new friends Leo and Hannah; Q. What is the name of the Buffy musical episode? and later on, Q. Who is this band?

I clawed it back by solving the clue to the band and album of 'Feline female who uses energy in an attempt to be Muhammed Ali'. 

The quiz lasted a long time, and the host (Lord Sinclair) whilst comical, probably used the 'c' word a few too many times for 2pm in the afternoon. There were a few 'guess the intro' rounds (I'd had a little practice on this when sitting and completing these with housemate Tony earlier in the week (http://www.sporcle.com/user/Kiwi_Buckle/games). After the quiz ended (I think we tied 5th) we headed back to the chalet with Leo and Hannah for some food and Lidl's own dry cider (with sugar and sweetener). Not as horrific as it sounds, and washed down with some lovely jelly they'd made. Hannah used to work on the city farm in Vauxhall, and her claim to fame was from earlier this year when the Queen had visited and Hannah had shown her a cock(erel). It was whilst working at the farm that she somehow converted her long-time vegan boyfriend back to meat-eating. She strenuously confirmed that farm rules were that you weren't allowed to eat any of the animals there though. Apparently when they died, you put them in the farm freezer, and then when the freezer was full, you went and buried/disposed of the corpses. Straight from her lips. Leo was a Medical Pharmacist at a University Hospital in Cardiff. He had just completed a PhD in Physics, so had a lot of chat with Paddy about theories/stuff that went way over my head. I could only contribute when they mentioned Brian Cox. I know him. From the telly.

Once we'd gorged ourselves on jelly, we headed back into the venue. I'd sadly missed Perfume Genius again (I missed them at Latitude as well, but really wanted to see this song Hood being performed (Perfume Genius – Hood). After a brief stop-off to see Wye Oak on Stage 2 (they were alright, but the room was too hot and stuffy to make it a pleasant experience) we fortunately arrived in time to see Owen Pallett. I have his album, though mainly know him from his work under the name 'Final Fantasy'. There's a song named 'He Poos Clouds' which is actually a really lovely composition, despite it's name (listen to it here: Final Fantasy – He Poos Clouds. Really kicks off around 40seconds). His solo stuff is good as well. He's a violinist and has really strong vocals. We then moved forward to listen to Local Natives. They COMPLETELY blew me away. Hands down the highlight of the festival. I already knew the tracks Airplanes and Sun Hands before the festival, from back in 2010 I think, and old-housemate Becky had seen them live a few years ago and been impressed, but I think I'd listened to their album before and hadn't been completely sold. But LIVE, they were seriously good. They were a five piece in this performance, four of whom were lined up at the front, and moved around each-other's instruments throughout. All four sang as well, and the impact of four voices lined up and belting out at you was really impressive. Check it out here: Local Natives: Sun Hands (Live). Really kicks off at 3 minutes). 

After their show, which included another guest appearance from one of the Dessners (I don't know which. It's difficult to know who you're watching:

We stayed close to the front waiting for The National to come on stage. It was a 2h show, starting at 11pm (the benefit of being in a venue where noise pollution isn't a problem) and so we were all pretty excited. And by all, I mean THE ENTIRE FESTIVAL. This whole event had been building to this performance. They came out, and the room erupted. It really was incredible. They played a few new tracks, along side the always brilliant live versions of Mr November, Abel and Fake Empire. Bloodbuzz Ohio was also beautiful (The National – Bloodbuzz Ohio). And then after a brief time off stage, they came back on to play a few more songs, finishing with an acoustic/no microphone version of Vanderlyle, Crybaby Geeks. Lead singer Matt stood up on a higher level at the front like some sort of ship figurehead as the band grouped behind him like a ship's crew and he just belted out the song as the entire crowd sang with him. It was powerful. A beautiful end to the weekend.

End of day 69.

Day 68: Camber Sands

Highlights:

• The kettle bath
• 4orce, Chris Bunting from Farnham's boyband
• Antlers at Pontins

So I think it's fair to say we woke up a little worse for wear. The sheets on my bed had shifted and I was lying straight onto the plastic-y urine-proof mattress. Chris was just leaving to watch the National play in the 5-a-side footie. He'd brought Paddy and I some croissants and cereal. Hero. I turned on the TV only to find our electricity saving attempts the day before now meant that every time you turned on the tv, most of the screen was filled with a box asking us to set the clock, or press 'menu' to escape. With no remote or appropriate buttons, it meant I had to watch the tops of Fraser and Niles' heads for half hour. TV fail.

Next I thought I'd have a bath. There was no shower option in this basic-grade chalet. After a few minutes of the water running, I went back in to check progress and temperature. Turns out the water was cold. Icy. A few kettles full of boiled water didn't change the temperature at all. After trying to work out how many kettles of water it would take to fill the bath, I discovered the hot water switch. Rather than wait the 30minutes Paddy advised it needed to heat up, I proceeded to part fill the bath with kettle and hob water. The kettle took forever to boil, and there was a smell of burning from the saucepan, suggesting I was probably sharing my bath with some food remnants.

It was probably the least satisfying bath experience I've ever had. Lying down, the water didn't even cover my shoulders. And after an hour, the tap still ran cold. Paddy and the others took a walk down to Camber Sands beach whilst I stood on the toilet and used the bathroom heater as a hairdryer. 

I walked over to the main venue and killed some time hoping to spot band members in the arcade. You can generally tell who's in a band by accent and attire. If you're American and/or wearing hipster glasses and a checked shirt, you're in a band (as I write this in a cafe in Camber Sands, I'm eavesdropping on some members from two different bands. One from New Orleans and one from Seattle). I'm confident in doing things alone, but it felt a bit too Alan Partridge playing House of the Dead 4 in an arcade so I drew a line at anything beyond the 2p machines. To avoid any gambling addiction, I limited myself to 20p, putting my 4p profit straight back in to the Coronation Street themed machine.

I went to the miserable looking restaurant (I don't mean to cast a negative light over the 2011 refurbished Pontins facilities, but really, restaurant was an overstatement. It wasn't pirate themed, so that was a bonus I suppose) and ordered up some chips. They'd run out of ketchup. It's that sort of place.

Next I went to see a percussion group called 'So Percussion'. With no vocals or electric instruments, it was an interesting experience and the beats and rhythms they made were really impressive but after a few minutes, you get a little bored. I think it would work as an instrumental within a larger band, but not on its own. We'd only been given two keys for our chalet, so I went to the Pirate Ship to see what proof of ID I needed to get another. None it turns out. Just my room number. If I were an opportunistic criminal, I could have put down deposits to all sorts of keys.

I met the guys to listen to Kronos Quartet and then headed back to the apartment for a well-needed nap. Blissful. I regrouped and went across to catch the end of Nico Muhny. They did a cover of True Faith by New Order. Paddy and I had an argument about the nationality of the character Jessa in HBO's Girls. I said Aussie, Paddy said British. Paddy won. I now have a little more sympathy over American confusion about accents.

We went back for a drink at the flat with Chris Bunting. He revealed he'd previously managed a boyband called 4orce. Two of them were gymnasts. We were astounded they'd never made it, with that sort of formula. He'd also tried to buy-out Guild Fest, a festival in Surrey which was now defunct, with the people who own the O2. I think the negotiations all got a bit nasty, and Chris was now sort of glad that it had fallen through.

After a session of listening to the National, we went back to the venue to listen to Sharon Van Etten. She had a great voice but there was nothing really life changing or new about their sound. Aaron Dessner made what must have been his 50th guest appearance of the weekend. I sat to the side for a bit and watched a man skidding and falling on the dance floor. The edge of the room is floored with an awful, dark, pub-style carpet and there's a dancefloor in the middle. The room is window-free and permanently lit with red spot lights. It truly is unpleasant.

Then, revisiting my 16 year old festival self, I stood at the front for 30minutes in order to be close to Antlers when they came on. Seems they had a no-roadie rule at ATP (maybe thed run out of cabins?) so I got a sneak preview of them setting up. I've seen this band about 8 times now, 4 of which were last year. What I love more than their sound and lyrics is the way they seem to have developed as a band, which you can hear listening to first Hospice (a brilliant, bleak concept album) and then Burst Apart (an album that sounds incredible live with all this grating guitar and crackling synth). There seems to be an increasing collaboration within the band and each member experiments a bit more with their instruments. The set was interrupted by some sound issues, so the keys player kept people entertained with suggestions of a beach party and QandA (girl next to me: what cabin are you staying in?). I loved their set, though some post-show analysis with two different people suggested if you're not a huge fan, you might find their live shows a bit too experimental.

I waited around for a bit to see Wild Beasts performing Smother, and then hit the hay, falling asleep to the sounds of Cold War Kids on my iPod.

End of day 68.

Day 67: London to Rye to Camber Sands

Highlights:

• Hi-Speed train from King's Cross to Stratford
• Kronos Quartet in what looks like a grimy darts hall in Pontins
• Meeting someone from Luxembourg!

During my first 6 months or so in Bermondsey I had something covering my windows which I'm not sure can be described as curtains. Beige mesh might be a better description, so generally I'd had to try adapt to sleeping in the full beam of the permanently-on balcony light. Well, I didn't really sleep. Dozed and then woke at sunrise. Tony fitted a blackout blind about a month before I went away and I now sleep like a baby and without an alarm I'd probably sleep through until midday most days.

However, today I woke before my alarm; I think I had the music festival equivalent of Christmas Eve excitement/anticipation. I got up and packed for ATP, a music festival being held at the Pontins in Camber Sands (think the Inbetweeners) that had been curated by The National. It felt great being able to pack clothes I liked for a festival, rather than clothes I didn't mind being ruined. I packed as many toiletries as I wanted, and not just my 3for2 boots packs of facewipes and I packed my phone charger. I'd always dreamed of a music festival where I could contact my friends beyond the first day.

I was all prepared to go but then decided to open my work contract, and spent the 30 minutes I'd allocated for travel to King's Cross checking what discounts I received as a job perk (I'll tell you about them on my next cheap Spa Break). I eventually dragged myself away and headed to KC to meet Paddy. I bought my ticket from a nice French lady who confused me be telling me St Pancras was an entirely different station. What? When I joked that it was only a few metres away (yeah, joked. I'm not funny) she said with all seriousness that it would still take a little while to get to. 2 minutes later I was there.

Paddy was running late. And as the train departure time approached, he really was running. I think he went to every possible station entrance OTHER than the one our train was leaving from. When he burst in 3minutes before the train left, we figured we'd take the train an hour later and buy some food for our Chalet. Useful bit of King's Cross info - there is actually a supermarket in the area! A Tesco Metro on Caledonian Road. We loaded up on mulled wine and spiced rum and then went and got our hi-speed train to Ashford. 8minutes from King's Cross to Stratford International! I'm going to be dining out on that for months. It's pushed the 'Patrick Stewart owns a pied a terre in Bermondsey' fact right out. We changed at Ashford and then went onto Rye, sharing a train with 20/30 something, middle class clearly ATP ticket holding people. Straight off the train onto 'The Wave' bus (I never really thought I'd say 'a one-way ticket to Pontins, please') and then we arrived in what has got to be the most budget holiday camp in the world. I think you get a sense of these things when your first glance sees a huge Nisa advertising three bottles of wine for £15 in your eyeline.

I went to get our wristbands from a ticket desk in a Pirate Ship (later when we asked for directions to stage 1, the guy told us to head up through the Octopus' mouth. There's a theme clearly), causing a massive amount of what I think was un-warranted confusion as I explained I'd sold my ticket online via viagogo and didn't have any contact details of the guy we were sharing a cabin with. I assumed he could just exchange his ticket for a key and get himself in that way. Apparently that's ridiculous. I got his wristband and went to the cabin where Paddy called his mate who worked at viagogo in the hope that she could get Chris Bunting from Farnham's contact details. We eventually got a message to Chris with our room number and he turned up. He felt really awkward sharing our cabin and promised he wouldn't be in our way much even as we tried to convince him it was absolutely fine. He'd bought a ticket too! I think he was just terribly British and polite. He was in his late 30s and was Director of Leisure for Ealing Local Authority (FACT OF THE DAY Ealing has 155 parks) and had just come to ATP alone because he loved the bands. His music knowledge was brilliant.

Chris Bunting from Farnham left to go see some bands, and after a little dawdling and making up the beds in our twin room, we headed out to meet Paddy's friends. Paddy had gone to school with their mate Will Priestley (he's always announced with a surname) and Jimmy, Tom and Siobhan (Shiv) had met Will Priestley at university. They were a good bunch. Tom had seen the National 27 times. This December was the ten year anniversary of his first gig. I also spent a lot of time talking to another friend-of-friend called Lauren. She ran a nightclub with a friend in Stoke Newington and had worked on the door at an old uni friend Paul Richards' club night (Scared to Dance at Kings Cross Social Club). Small world.

We watched Kronos Quartet and Bear in Heaven then headed back to the others' apartment which turned out to be immediately overhead of ours. We played music, drank lots of prosecco and I found myself having a deep chat with a guy from Luxembourg who had been invited to the party. I was a little tipsy, so I imagine my conversation was dire and probably limited to 'isn't the capital of Luxembourg, Luxembourg?'. 

End of day 67.

Day 47-57: London - Billericay - London

Highlights

• A Simple Answer by Grizzly Bear
• The Southern Blain exhibition by Tim Noble and Sue Webster
• Brixton - Feeder and the Dogstar

So after a few blog attempts over the past few weeks (which I abandoned after falling asleep when reading them back), I'm admitting defeat that my life job searching from a Bermondsey flat is no where near as entertaining as my travelling experiences. To sum it up, I've eaten quite a lot of eggs and soldiers, I've been on the Jubilee line a fair bit, I've watched tons of Masterchef and listened to Grizzly Bear's new album more times than is healthy. A longer summary than you'd probably like of days 47-57:

Day 47

Saturday morning started with Coffee Club. Hayley had given me some grief about the ridiculously wholesomeness of our weekend routine ('You've changed, man. You've changed') so I was hyper-aware of all the yummy mummies and daddies bounding about with their off-road buggies. I must have found myself in the way of at least 15 different buggies in the hour we stood around Monmouth coffee and Maltby Street. It's a middle class new parent hot spot. Ellen recognised a few of them from the colloquially named 'Milk Cafe' (the new mum Bermondsey breast-feeding club). After the Gridley-Sticklands had left to go to Bristol, we walked up to London Bridge and past Southwark Cathedral with Phil and Ellie. Ellie regaled us with a story about the love triangle amongst her 7 year old class (shy Alfie suddenly wanted Freddie's girlfriend Louella, so Freddie punched him. Prop-ah romance, innit). 

We popped into the Tate Modern shop to buy Abbie's nephew Theo a present. Theo, 7 year old chess, maths and top trumps genius, who was having a birthday party the following day where the party focal piece was an exotic animal man and his 15 pets, INCLUDING a Komodo Dragon which (minor but non essential Skyfall spoiler alert), if the new Bond film is in any way accurate, generally EAT people. Presumably the party will finish with 15 pets and three less children. I walked back along the river and spotted this cool display (see photos below. The second looks only slightly odd). I think it's to hit home the fact that whilst we have all these norms and expectations of modernity and cleanliness around going to the toilet, a lot of people round the world would just rather a little privacy and they can't even get that. The screens on the front show videos of faces to indicate the idea of going to the toilet whilst on show, and the white cubes are made up of small bathroom tiles.

I then caught the train to Lakeside to meet my Mum and Sister for Christmas shopping and then went home to Billericay. My parents were hosting dinner for a couple they've known for years, Bev and Ray. Mum met Bev on her first job when she was 17, so they've known each other for about 35 years. I find that sort of commitment to a friendship pretty impressive. It's almost as good as my Mum's pen-friendship with Penny in Australia who she's been writing to for about 45 years and has seen only once. 

Day 48
As is standard for a visit home, we went on a family car trip to Hyde Hall, which is a Royal Horticultural Society garden and centre near Chelmsford. If you like the outdoors, it's a good afternoon out and has some beautiful grounds. There are some children's info boards around the gardens so you can learn about bee keeping and wild fruits if that sort of thing floats your boat. My parents are members and so go inside quite often, but this time we only went to the cafe and shop, which is housed in a cool Grand Designs-style building: 

It sells a lot of local wines and chutneys, so I bought some Tiptree jam (supporting local jam factories since our school trip to Tiptree Jam Factory in 1999). Later in the day I walked up the high street to see what had changed since I'd last been in town. Presumably in the momentum of Britain's victorious summer of cycling, there's now a cycling shop instead of a sweet shop (though no business seems to last longer than 6 months in that space so I can't imagine it'll still be there when I go back) and Stewarts Wine Bar on Western Road, which has changed it's name about five times in as many years, is now called Vetro. Yeah, I'm sadly not kidding. I presume it's a mix between Vintage and Retro. 

Mum cooked a delicious nut roast for dinner as a run-through of what I'm apparently getting for Christmas. Christmas Day will be about 6 months to the day of not eating meat, so a good get-out if I wanted to revert to meat eating. But seriously, this nut roast is better than any turkey I've ever eaten. 

Day 49

I played 1hr 20 of Squash with my friend Vikki at the LA Fitness in Brentwood. I had convinced myself I'd bump into one of TOWIE pumping iron or working on their abs, so was a little let down when it was just a lot of yummy mummies on treadmills. We realised the court was empty after our session so decided to keep playing for as long as possible. I could feel the muscle ache after about an hour, but like squash heroes we ploughed on. God.

Day 50

I woke in complete agony after the squash. It hurt to get out of bed/laugh/cough/move. I somehow managed to dress myself, made my best attempt at a shower and went to meet an agency in the afternoon. Afterwards I had a walk around Regent Street/Oxford Circus and then went to Blain Southern on Hanover Square to visit this free exhibition by Tim Noble and Sue Webster (my photo below):

What I liked most about it was the idea that if anyone else was wandering around these artists' studios, they'd just assume these items were a selection of waste products, or they'd declare it modern art as it stood. It's only when you add the light that it turns into the intended art. Definitely influenced by the (now slightly overplayed?) Kevin Bacon EE adverts, I watched his 'The Woodsman' in the evening on my Kindle Fire. It's good. I imagine it didn't hit hard enough to win any awards, but I felt the subtlety of the story actually went in its favour. I'd recommend it.

Day 51

It was Hayley's 25th birthday, so I joined her and her friends for drinks in the Water Poet near Spitalfields. It's a nice pub though I now wince every time I'm charged £4.50 for a glass of house wine in the UK. A lot of wincing at this pub. I miss Budapest prices. I won a game of pool with my sweet pool skills, though it helped being paired with someone I imagine probably competed in youth snooker competitions. I bruised my knee on a table (there's a reason I mention this) and caught up with an old friend from university, Jason. He's now working as an assistant at a private Psychiatrists office, but has previously worked at a high-security institute and really has seen the worst parts and effects of humanity and human action. Having only just seen The Woodsman, his comments on the treatment of Paedophiles felt appropriate. He said that ultimately, you can't hope to change their preferences. They've developed in a way that means they are attracted to pre-pubescents, and so the only means of treatment is really instilling a discipline in them to not act on their impulses. Any treatment methods which are said to cure are ridiculous, as it'd ultimately be no different in trying to make a heterosexual gay and a homosexual straight. It's not possible.

Day 53

I met my school friend Lucy for coffee at Westfield in the morning, and we talked about her boyfriend Rik's recent success at making a bed frame from scratch. I mean, completely from scratch. It was just a few lumps of wood pre-Rik. He even made a table with the cut-offs. See it and weep, all you people who struggle even to put up an Ikea flatpack. I'm sure his services are for hire if anyone needs anything made. 

I went to see Feeder at Brixton with Joella in the evening. It was amazing. They've not lost it. Well they have a bit. Those two 2012 albums aren't the strongest. Yeah, two. Neither of which are Greatest Hits. But the show was good. Spotify lists them as a British pop-metal band. I don't think that's true anymore, but definitely with some of their older stuff. One of their best tracks is 'Emily' (listen here). The venue was filled with a comforting crowd of late-twenties, slightly beer bellied men and women. Lovely stuff. I followed it up with a trip to the Dogstar in Brixton with James and Matt. A lot of fun. I'd recommend it for a night of dancing and beer. It was playing Prince as we entered and then flittered through a selection of Rihanna, some club stuff and just a general danceable mix.

Day 54
I was supposed to be meeting Gurk, as she was over from Berlin for one night only. It was a wet day. I headed out of the house late in the evening, jumping over a pile of rubbish with what I imagine looked like a nice ballet pirouette. I can't quite work out what happened next, but I presume in my arrogance at the jump a few seconds earlier, I was overconfident in my stride and next thing I knew I was lying on my front, face mushed to the ground, hands grazed and a nasty sting in the same knee I'd bruised earlier that week. I limped the ten metres back to the flat on a twisted ankle to discover I was bleeding quite a lot from a nasty cut on my right knee. I sat feeling sorry for myself the rest of the evening, trying to find the most dramatic angle I could for a photo of my wound.

Day 56
I bought my weight in plasters/wound supplies. The guy in boots must have thought I was looking after a ward of burn victims.

Day 57
I met my friend Jack for drinks in the city (My housemates don't believe he's real as they haven't met him, but I swear he's a real friend, Abbie and Tony. I haven't made him up). He works for RBS and must be the company's main redeeming feature. He's just more interesting and intelligent than most people in general, let alone bankers. We talked about Europe and got a bit drunk in one of the rare nice pubs in the city, which I think is called Kings Stores.

A selection of other photos from the past few weeks (apologies for any blur/poor quality. They're all taken on a Blackberry, not known for it's creative abilities. 100% Instagram-free though):