I started writing this post..
Sep. 24th, 2011 04:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sebastienne..on a train out of Brighton, full of cinnamon toast and sea air.
I had a few days' leave to use up before the end of September, and wanted to check out potential venues for Lashings gigs. I've ended up blissed out and smiling and very, very content. Brighton is.. Brighton is.. it's exactly as they say. I went down there with no particular plans, very keen to chill out and just go with things; but I couldn't have had a kitscher, more contenting few days if I had planned every moment.
A recap, for the benefit of my future self as much as anyone:
On Tuesday evening, I travelled to London. I cooked for my mum, who's been having a hell of a time recently, and we played lots of scrabble.
On Wednesday morning, mum had some appointments, so I curled up on the sofa and watched The King's Speech. It was just as nicely done as everyone said; even I, with my absolute lack of literacy in cinematography, could see there were some beautifully put together shots. And, of course, some wonderful performances.
On Wednesday afternoon, we took an exciting expedition to Westfield Stratford City, "Europe's largest urban shopping centre", which had opened just ten days previously. It is situated in the middle of the under-construction Olympic Village, so we were subject to random vehicle searches and an incredible building-site safari. The scale of the building work was such that I kept having to remind myself that it was not CGI! I noted that this exceedingly large complex did not contain any plus-size clothing retailers (ok, this is the UK, that basically means "there was no Evans"), and the M&S café would not sell me soya milk coffee. A rather resounding message that the place was Not For Me, I felt (as if it was ever likely that such a shrine to consumerism ever would be).
On Wednesday evening I travelled to Brighton, where I visitedsugar_and_space, gin_gerkitten, and thewhybird. I had not seen A or K since I stopped living with them in 2008! They all seem so content in Brighton, it is very pleasing to see. K made some very tasty pasta (with veggie Worcestershire sauce, how bourgeois he is these days :p) and we sat up and nattered for hours. Eventually I fell asleep on their very comfortable sofa, and barely got eviscerated by the cat at all.
On Thursday morning, I had a meeting with a potential Lashings venue: very pretty, very pricey. I wandered around Brighton for a while, and eventuallylilka arrived. We made straight for the seafront, and walked down to Hove where we visited a second potential Lashings venue - lovely, lovely, lovely. I've not actually spoken to them about prices or availability yet, but this is much more standard "room above a pub" fare - only it's actually a room next to a pub instead! Completely flat! This is a level of gig-accessibility that Oxford can only dream of.
On Thursday at lunchtime, we checked into our hotel room: O. M. G. I knew this was a post-Edinburgh luxury (for the past six months I've been channeling every spare penny into funding Lashings; I'm finally starting to see some of it back), but even so it far surpassed my expectations. And yet, it did not feel at all uncomfortable, as luxury tends to when it collides with my politics; it was so beautifully kitsch that any potential discomfort was completely bypassed. Feathers and plastic flowers and painted plyboard and faux-everything.
On Thursday afternoon, we visited the Brighton Pavilion. Now, I had no idea that this was anything other than a consituency, so I'll give a quick primer; sorry if everyone but me already knew this. The Brighton Pavilion is an awesome, wonderful, orientalist's dream-palace. (Catching glimpses of it before the whole thing came into view, I thought, "ooh, Brighton has a pretty mosque"). It was built by George IV (aka Hugh Laurie in Blackadder III) and is just magnificent. Dripping with ornamentation throughout every inch of its extensive interior. I am not a scholar of art, architecture, or even history, so any attempts I might make to describe this experience come back to the wow factor. But - uh - wow?
On Thursday evening (after an extended interlude of drinking fizzy pink wine in our hotel room - well, wouldn't you?), we tried to do a bit of networking; ongin_gerkitten's suggestion we dropped in on a "Brighton Bothways" pubmeet to hook up with some kickass bisexual activist types. Any pretence at 'networking' fell by the wayside as I realised that this was, in fact, Hanging Out In The Pub With A Bunch Of Awesome Queers, an activity that I happen to be very good at. Mutual acquaintances, bisexual-fail bingo, and the seal of rassilon all contributed to an excellent evening meeting all sorts of brilliant people, and we finally made it back to the hotel a little before 1am.
On Friday morning, it was "bi-visiblity day". But we'd forgotten to bring any men with us, so we had to make do.
On Friday afternoon, we hired some bikes and cycled around on the seafront. So very, very pretty! After we'd returned the bikes (andlilka had skilfully deflected a charming piece of fatphobia: "actually, she can cycle twice that most days, it's me who's out of practice"), we bimbled around on the beach, eating ice cream and getting our feet wet.
On Friday evening, we femmed up and somehow upped the kitsch even further with a trip to 'Little Bay'. (The website is a flash monstrosity, but if you can bear it do click through and try to find the photos that go with this story - there's no way to direct-link!) This place was like nothing I have ever experienced - the food was glorious, despite being at the 'cheap' end of 'modestly priced' (two courses, wine, and port for <£25 per head - that's less than Pizza Express!). The decor was like a pastiche of a theatre, with red velvet and gilt scalloping everywhere. There were even tables done up like theatre boxes - with some on two levels! We had, of course, booked a secluded top-level box to ourselves (these images are the best I can do) - no point in doing these things by halves. However, the relative "datiness" of our choice of table did not stop some pretty heavy audience participation when the entertainment showed up - free opera. A soprano and a baritone camping all over the place with well-known arias and a gloriously accessible way of engaging the audience with the less super-famous ones ("this Musetta is another minxy character.. I like playing those"). Clambering over chairs and tables (and not just the unoccupied ones!), engaging the audience as silent partners in the story-telling, this was gloriously anarchic entertainment. If anyone wants to check out one of the four restaurants from the same chain in London, I am so there.
And now it's Saturday, and I am back in Oxford. I'm curled up on a minimalist black leather sofa in a minimalist white-walled living-room. (Clutter notwithstanding - I'm describing the interior decoration rather than the overall aesthetic.) In a little while,crouchinglynx will get home from work, and there will be Doctor Who. The excess of the last few days has invigorated me, and I feel good.
An endnote - I first came across the concept of consensual non-monogamy in Angie Bowie's generally feculent memoir "Backstage Passes" in about 1998. There was a chapter called "The Bisexual Boogie" where, whatever her other failings as a writer, she wrote very articulately about why she and David chose an open relationship. It was half my life ago, I've never picked the book up since, and I still remember how her words made whole new avenues in my brain light up. Thanks, Angie.
I had a few days' leave to use up before the end of September, and wanted to check out potential venues for Lashings gigs. I've ended up blissed out and smiling and very, very content. Brighton is.. Brighton is.. it's exactly as they say. I went down there with no particular plans, very keen to chill out and just go with things; but I couldn't have had a kitscher, more contenting few days if I had planned every moment.
A recap, for the benefit of my future self as much as anyone:
On Tuesday evening, I travelled to London. I cooked for my mum, who's been having a hell of a time recently, and we played lots of scrabble.
On Wednesday morning, mum had some appointments, so I curled up on the sofa and watched The King's Speech. It was just as nicely done as everyone said; even I, with my absolute lack of literacy in cinematography, could see there were some beautifully put together shots. And, of course, some wonderful performances.
On Wednesday afternoon, we took an exciting expedition to Westfield Stratford City, "Europe's largest urban shopping centre", which had opened just ten days previously. It is situated in the middle of the under-construction Olympic Village, so we were subject to random vehicle searches and an incredible building-site safari. The scale of the building work was such that I kept having to remind myself that it was not CGI! I noted that this exceedingly large complex did not contain any plus-size clothing retailers (ok, this is the UK, that basically means "there was no Evans"), and the M&S café would not sell me soya milk coffee. A rather resounding message that the place was Not For Me, I felt (as if it was ever likely that such a shrine to consumerism ever would be).
On Wednesday evening I travelled to Brighton, where I visited
sugar_and_space, gin_gerkitten, and thewhybird. I had not seen A or K since I stopped living with them in 2008! They all seem so content in Brighton, it is very pleasing to see. K made some very tasty pasta (with veggie Worcestershire sauce, how bourgeois he is these days :p) and we sat up and nattered for hours. Eventually I fell asleep on their very comfortable sofa, and barely got eviscerated by the cat at all.On Thursday morning, I had a meeting with a potential Lashings venue: very pretty, very pricey. I wandered around Brighton for a while, and eventually
lilka arrived. We made straight for the seafront, and walked down to Hove where we visited a second potential Lashings venue - lovely, lovely, lovely. I've not actually spoken to them about prices or availability yet, but this is much more standard "room above a pub" fare - only it's actually a room next to a pub instead! Completely flat! This is a level of gig-accessibility that Oxford can only dream of.On Thursday at lunchtime, we checked into our hotel room: O. M. G. I knew this was a post-Edinburgh luxury (for the past six months I've been channeling every spare penny into funding Lashings; I'm finally starting to see some of it back), but even so it far surpassed my expectations. And yet, it did not feel at all uncomfortable, as luxury tends to when it collides with my politics; it was so beautifully kitsch that any potential discomfort was completely bypassed. Feathers and plastic flowers and painted plyboard and faux-everything.
On Thursday afternoon, we visited the Brighton Pavilion. Now, I had no idea that this was anything other than a consituency, so I'll give a quick primer; sorry if everyone but me already knew this. The Brighton Pavilion is an awesome, wonderful, orientalist's dream-palace. (Catching glimpses of it before the whole thing came into view, I thought, "ooh, Brighton has a pretty mosque"). It was built by George IV (aka Hugh Laurie in Blackadder III) and is just magnificent. Dripping with ornamentation throughout every inch of its extensive interior. I am not a scholar of art, architecture, or even history, so any attempts I might make to describe this experience come back to the wow factor. But - uh - wow?
On Thursday evening (after an extended interlude of drinking fizzy pink wine in our hotel room - well, wouldn't you?), we tried to do a bit of networking; on
gin_gerkitten's suggestion we dropped in on a "Brighton Bothways" pubmeet to hook up with some kickass bisexual activist types. Any pretence at 'networking' fell by the wayside as I realised that this was, in fact, Hanging Out In The Pub With A Bunch Of Awesome Queers, an activity that I happen to be very good at. Mutual acquaintances, bisexual-fail bingo, and the seal of rassilon all contributed to an excellent evening meeting all sorts of brilliant people, and we finally made it back to the hotel a little before 1am.On Friday morning, it was "bi-visiblity day". But we'd forgotten to bring any men with us, so we had to make do.
On Friday afternoon, we hired some bikes and cycled around on the seafront. So very, very pretty! After we'd returned the bikes (and
lilka had skilfully deflected a charming piece of fatphobia: "actually, she can cycle twice that most days, it's me who's out of practice"), we bimbled around on the beach, eating ice cream and getting our feet wet.On Friday evening, we femmed up and somehow upped the kitsch even further with a trip to 'Little Bay'. (The website is a flash monstrosity, but if you can bear it do click through and try to find the photos that go with this story - there's no way to direct-link!) This place was like nothing I have ever experienced - the food was glorious, despite being at the 'cheap' end of 'modestly priced' (two courses, wine, and port for <£25 per head - that's less than Pizza Express!). The decor was like a pastiche of a theatre, with red velvet and gilt scalloping everywhere. There were even tables done up like theatre boxes - with some on two levels! We had, of course, booked a secluded top-level box to ourselves (these images are the best I can do) - no point in doing these things by halves. However, the relative "datiness" of our choice of table did not stop some pretty heavy audience participation when the entertainment showed up - free opera. A soprano and a baritone camping all over the place with well-known arias and a gloriously accessible way of engaging the audience with the less super-famous ones ("this Musetta is another minxy character.. I like playing those"). Clambering over chairs and tables (and not just the unoccupied ones!), engaging the audience as silent partners in the story-telling, this was gloriously anarchic entertainment. If anyone wants to check out one of the four restaurants from the same chain in London, I am so there.
And now it's Saturday, and I am back in Oxford. I'm curled up on a minimalist black leather sofa in a minimalist white-walled living-room. (Clutter notwithstanding - I'm describing the interior decoration rather than the overall aesthetic.) In a little while,
crouchinglynx will get home from work, and there will be Doctor Who. The excess of the last few days has invigorated me, and I feel good.An endnote - I first came across the concept of consensual non-monogamy in Angie Bowie's generally feculent memoir "Backstage Passes" in about 1998. There was a chapter called "The Bisexual Boogie" where, whatever her other failings as a writer, she wrote very articulately about why she and David chose an open relationship. It was half my life ago, I've never picked the book up since, and I still remember how her words made whole new avenues in my brain light up. Thanks, Angie.
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no subject
Date: 2011-09-24 05:02 pm (UTC)Judging from the entrance prices for events at the Brunswick, it can't be very expensive to hire the venue.
I'd be well up for visiting Little Bay in London - it looks and sounds amazing!
Tee, I never cease to be delighted by the word "bimbled".
no subject
Date: 2011-09-24 07:42 pm (UTC)