Interactive version of Oliver's Poetry Garret
Tongue and Groove
Monday, 19 June 2006, Blog 15
6.22am. The Runaway, Lewes Station Great start to the working week - I have missed the 6.07 despite getting up at 5.25am! What a waste! I have, however, had a chance to chat to the legendary opera-singing Vic - Friend of the Commuter - who runs the station cafe to almost universal approval.
Lewes's salsa club SalsaMagic was good last night. I did the lesson (Larry's Cuban steps, having demoted myself to Intermediate Class), and then went upstairs and had a chat on the balcony with Larry and the girls. Made it more sociable.
9.04am. London Marylebone concourse. Chiltern Railways has screwed up yet again. Don't you just love them! All the trains to Leamington, except the 9.20am, have been cancelled because of signalling problems. Beyond a joke! I pity anyone who has to commute on Chiltern on a daily basis.
9.16am. London Marylebone Warwick train. It comprises only two carriages and is packed to the gills. The Voice of Chiltern has spoken his weasel words, explaining the alleged reasons behind this particular cock-up.
I am seated next to a text message maniac and opposite an obese man in a Chris Moyles T-shirt (could be Chris Moyles for all I know). The old haddock next to him appeared to blow me a kiss as she sat down. And people say life is good!
This is what I wrote in the garden yesterday afternoon: Lewes Garret. 4.30pm. It is wondrously fragrant out here among the roses with the birds chirping and the sun still hot on the brow. It has been a good weekend. Friday night was superb. My Beloved and I went to the Mid-Summer Retro Ball at the All Saints Centre, featuring Tongue and Groove. It was an amazing, themed night.
They had organised everything in the most minute detail. They and their gang were the band, the special effects people, the food sellers, the prize-givers, the bar staff, the cocktail crew, the ticket sellers, the chill-out area providers. You name it, Tongue and Groove had thought of it.
The good folk of Lewes had turned out in some extraordinary outfits. Big wigs were everywhere as were white suits, psychedelic dresses, hair bands, and flares. The music played by the band was eclectic. Lots of hippydom with the odd Oasis and Clash number thrown in for good measure. It was a shame I felt too exhausted to do it justice.
I particularly liked the effort the band put into the production. After the interval, for instance, the lead singer appeared outside among the tombstones, wearing just Y-fronts and a pair of ski's, to invite the audience back in. I thoroughly recommend these dudes. You can check them out at Tongue and Groove.
On Saturday, we watched the Lewes Carnival go by with me taking pictures with my 1961 Kodak camera and my Nikon EM (I need the latter to know the exposure for the former) - and then went on a tour of the Gundreda chapel at St. John's, and Lewes Priory itself. Very interesting.
Not much of great significance survives of The Priory; mainly the ruins of an old toilet block and servants' accommodation, although, to my surprise, the guide pointed out an almost intact altar from an ancient side-chapel.
I walked over and laid my hands on its surface. Extraordinarily I could feel a feel presence there and an image flashed into my mind of it enclosed and candle-lit with the monks singing Mass in Latin.
I turned to look back at the small group of mainly elderly tourists and that magical image was gone.
Radio Radio (Flashback to Thursday, 18 May 2006)
6.54am. Lewes Garret. The slapper and the oik on a Coventrian radio station are discussing Paul McCartney's and Heather Mills' impending divorce. Their thoughts on this subject are a combination of ignorance, bigotry, and good old-fashioned Coventry greed. People like this should not be allowed near a microphone.
The quality of local radio in the Midlands is abysmal. If it was not for the music, it would not be worth listening to at all. The presenters can hardly speak English, let alone intelligently inform their listeners' views.
6.29pm. Warwick-London train, between Leamington and Banbury. Damn! I have lost or mislaid my memory stick. I am sure I put it in my trouser pocket this morning because someone (my mate's girlfriend, I think) had remarked that it looked nerdy when worn if clipped to my top pocket (where it would have been safe). Now it seems to have slipped out.
My guess is that I will find it in the car when I return to Warwick in some 10 days' time. Or sitting on my desk. It is annoying.
8.24pm. London Victoria, Brighton train. The carriage is almost empty, yet three youths have come to sit near me. They are play-punching each other, arguing in appallingly bad English, and taking photos using flash with a tiny digital camera. Why did they have to pick me?
I am sober after one can of Boddingtons. The good thing about having drunk a can of Boddingtons is you feel not the slightest desire to purchase another one. If it had been a can of cold Stella Artois, it would be very hard to resist the temptation to go for seconds.
I am looking forward to seeing my Beloved. I went to the cashpoint at Victoria Station to take out enough money to buy her the biggest bunch of red roses available.
I must spoil her.
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