Alex Neilson’s #LateJunction mix tape was a rousing start to Friday morning. Alt-folk, psych and chamber music.
It’s got to beat the bloody breakfast show.
I seemed to spend longer cycling along the Trail than I did in the gym at the other end.
It was a spectacular estuary wilds weather display; brilliant bright blue skies reflecting down on the outgoing tide, plus glorious autumn leaves in varying states of hallucinogenic states of transformation.
Mr Cormorant was also sitting proud on his perch down at the Hythe.
LOVE that fella.
And so no swim, but another Gym Bunny session instead.
Swimming is SO yesterday, Comrades.
I think that it is probably the Downtown Soulville podcast catch ups that are making the gym so enjoyable.
One hour each week of vinyl 45’s, superbly curated, and with as little chat as possible.
They wouldn’t make sense as stand alone singles, but played in sequence and there is a certain soulful flow that is perfect for a fitness work out.
I then f-ed it all up by playing Crass’ Feeding of the 5,000 during some particularly heavy, grunting lifting.
The bicycle ride back was just as beautiful.
I had LUBED up my bicycle bits and pieces the day before. The MTB felt smooth along what is now a dry Trail once again.
Even the ‘misunderstanding’ of me signalling to go one way, and a clueless pedestrian still trying to walk straight into my path, didn’t deter the mood.
It was another relatively lightweight working day. This could all change next week.
Remarkably a couple of flies found the energy in late November to get off their arses and start to irritate us indoors.
This is the first time that the kittens have experienced the annoyance of flies.
I ended up being more annoyed at the kittens trying to catch the flies, rather than the flies per se.
Work pressed on.
Anna was in true corporate mode for her conference calls whilst working on the desk from the Raj / Colchester.
I didn’t like to tell her that in the very next room I was having some further work training from a rival Pharma company. I put on the headphones and took a vow of no pillow talk.
She wouldn’t hear me anyway through her bloody snoring.
And then something very different for Friday evening: poetry.
Oh Lordy.
The temptation was to simply get sloshed on the settee watching the Forest match.
But Penny Rimbaud had a ‘performance’ over in Sunny Colch at firstshite.
Another evening, another @firstsite visit. Penny Rimbaud and his war poetry this evening. ACE. pic.twitter.com/fFjETVgm3N
— Jason_Cobb (@Jason_Cobb) November 25, 2016
Gongs were promised, and gongs we got.
Aw Gawd.
Anna managed to sleep through an entire 70 minutes of war poetry and avant garde jazz.
AMAZING.
There was a lovely twist at the end of the performance.
LOVELY twist at the end of Penny Rimbaud's @firstsite performance: There is no authority but OURSELVES. Beautiful. pic.twitter.com/0g2zfe6db1
— Jason_Cobb (@Jason_Cobb) November 25, 2016
Tell It Like It Is, etc.