Saturday, 30 April 2011

Notes from a room, part XI

It's almost as if there's a pattern emerging (btw the lower note means that Yumiko and Dom are not allowed in Belle's room, it's not a note to Yumiko to tell her that Dom is not allowed in Belle's room).


Friday, 29 April 2011

Notes from a room, part X

Belle, please don't call the please. Especially not today. There's a big fat big society wedding going on and the please are all bizzy arresting people for thought crime.

Thursday, 28 April 2011

Wednesday, 27 April 2011

Notes from a room, part VIII

I discover way too late that some people in this haus are in fact looking forward to this imminent royal wedding hellfest.

Saturday, 23 April 2011

Chansons du prolétariat révolutionnaire

Now the world don't move to the beat of just one drum..... but, you know, maybe sometimes it should. 

Photographs by Yasmine Bourhane















Friday, 22 April 2011

What really went on (we only have this excerpt)

To the South Bank to meet Bron Jones and Mark Webber (no, not that Mark Webber). They have a new film project, some might use the word multi-media, but I don't really like words like that, so let's say mixed media, film, opera and live performance, and muslin drapes. It sounds awesome. But I may have made up the bit about muslin drapes, you know what I mean.

Unfortunately I was little bit late and it was hot so I forewent the mint tea I had anticipated and instead we had extra-cold beer from the outset. I say unfortunately, I could equally have said serendipitously. We discussed the project but perhaps not with quite the same amount of zeal and detail as if it had been scones and cornish cream, you know what I mean.

Gary arrived early and Lorna came by to drop off a very important package (alas Lorna did not stick around long enough to be photographed). I obliged Bron to sign a couple of her prints and she was very dear about it. And one thing led to another and soon the tone of the day was set when it emerged about Mark's backstory with Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth. His fault, not mine, you know what I mean.

And a bit later Nicki arrived, kind of like Zebedee, but on a bicycle. And of course she was super-tolerant of the giggling, messy bunch of adolescent wiseguys we had become by that point, you know what I mean.

I love days like that. Though of course I'm paying for it in spades, clubs broken hearts and diamond mines right now. Thank goodness for the double bank-holiday weekend. Not that you necessarily need a bank-holiday to have a holiday, you know what I mean.