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Ivananov, Laughter in Bookish Places, YHA
Oct. 2nd, 2008 01:02 pmYesterday I saw Ivanov, with Kenneth Branagh. I liked it very much, although the first bit was rather dragging. However, the theatre was absolutely freezing, and I probably missed some of the subtler bits due to wondering if I would ever be warm again and trying to regain feeling in my fingers.
Then I met![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
huskyteer and we went to Chinatown and then the Laughter in Odd Places gig at the Borders in Charing Cross. Sadly, Stewart Lee had cancelled, but there was still Terry Saunders, Andrew O'Neill, Tim Key and Josie Long. Josie Long specifically said if we didn't like her we were not to write a blog post about it. I had a lovely time, although when Tim Key's assistant swallowed a balloon I was rather terrified, and probably overly impressed.
I chose St Paul's YHA to stay in as it was reasonably central and claimed to be in an area both safe and quiet. I had to switch rooms after the first one I was allocated overlooked a hugely noisy bar. When I asked to change rooms, the surly staff member (which is actually the only type I've ever encountered at the city YHAs) first insisted that all the rooms were on the same side and then grudgingly gave me a key for one that miraculously wasn't.
It was, however, equipped with a snorer. A snorer who was loud and arhythmic, who would occasionally give a blissful few minutes of peace, sufficient to lull you into thinking that might be it, but never long enough to get to sleep. "Accidentally" shining my phone light on her didn't help. (I thought that it might make her turn over to get away from the light without properly waking up. It wasn't just nastiness on my part.) Turning over very violently myself occasionally helped, but only for a moment. I had gone to bed at 11.30pm, after three hours I gave up and listened to music. She drowned out Feist, Rilo Kiley and The Beatles, so I listened to Rancid for a few hours. I like Rancid, so it's okay, but they're not very relaxing. Eventually at 4.30am the generator-sounding thing outside kicked in and I was able to doze fitfully until 8am.
In the morning she looked at me sympathetically and asked if I'd had a bad night, so naturally I apologised in case I'd kept her awake.
I'm supposed to be going to see Six Characters in Search of an Author this afternoon, but I'm worried that I'll fall asleep. I'm in the British Library, taking advantage of their free wi-fi and actually quite hurting my back on the weird seat thing. I had intended to work, but now I'm pretending that it'll be better to do that on the train home anyway. I wrote over 1000 words on the train yesterday, and read two chapters of the book on feminist methods I took out of the library.
Then I met
huskyteer and we went to Chinatown and then the Laughter in Odd Places gig at the Borders in Charing Cross. Sadly, Stewart Lee had cancelled, but there was still Terry Saunders, Andrew O'Neill, Tim Key and Josie Long. Josie Long specifically said if we didn't like her we were not to write a blog post about it. I had a lovely time, although when Tim Key's assistant swallowed a balloon I was rather terrified, and probably overly impressed.I chose St Paul's YHA to stay in as it was reasonably central and claimed to be in an area both safe and quiet. I had to switch rooms after the first one I was allocated overlooked a hugely noisy bar. When I asked to change rooms, the surly staff member (which is actually the only type I've ever encountered at the city YHAs) first insisted that all the rooms were on the same side and then grudgingly gave me a key for one that miraculously wasn't.
It was, however, equipped with a snorer. A snorer who was loud and arhythmic, who would occasionally give a blissful few minutes of peace, sufficient to lull you into thinking that might be it, but never long enough to get to sleep. "Accidentally" shining my phone light on her didn't help. (I thought that it might make her turn over to get away from the light without properly waking up. It wasn't just nastiness on my part.) Turning over very violently myself occasionally helped, but only for a moment. I had gone to bed at 11.30pm, after three hours I gave up and listened to music. She drowned out Feist, Rilo Kiley and The Beatles, so I listened to Rancid for a few hours. I like Rancid, so it's okay, but they're not very relaxing. Eventually at 4.30am the generator-sounding thing outside kicked in and I was able to doze fitfully until 8am.
In the morning she looked at me sympathetically and asked if I'd had a bad night, so naturally I apologised in case I'd kept her awake.
I'm supposed to be going to see Six Characters in Search of an Author this afternoon, but I'm worried that I'll fall asleep. I'm in the British Library, taking advantage of their free wi-fi and actually quite hurting my back on the weird seat thing. I had intended to work, but now I'm pretending that it'll be better to do that on the train home anyway. I wrote over 1000 words on the train yesterday, and read two chapters of the book on feminist methods I took out of the library.
