Now that London is firmly Tier 2 (stage 2? level 2? what is our frame of reference now?), I’m taking stock of how to get through the next few months. With work continuing to fill all the light hours (and some dark ones), the focus otherwise has been on self-preservation in a few ways.
Cultural: Pippin at the Eagle garden theatre in Vauxhall was energetically performed, even if the musical itself is a hideous mess. An outdoor triumph, preceded by a bonus covid-safe espresso martini beneath some light fittings that a friend once got barred for pulling down during some 3am dancing about twelve years ago. Anyway, I’ll be back seeing everything they put on over the winter.
Familial: attended a wedding, which truly was four hours of relative normality with fourteen other people, a lot of smiles and some delicious food and fizz.
Corporeal: several recent proddings have revealed that the plantar fasciitis that I’ve been wearing insoles for since 2017 has now morphed into PTTD. On the other hand, my research brought me to my favourite diagram of the week, of a skeleton doing calf raises. Appropriate for a middle-aged, socially distant halloween.
Outdoor: lowering the blood pressure with weekend cycle trips has been such a joy this year that I’m buying proper winter cycling gear and starting to tentatively side-eye proper bikes and kit. Is this it? Is this the first mid-life crisis manifesting?
Sofa-bound: loads of tele. Finished series one of I’m Not OK With This and I’m a bit fed up of forty-something white guys making reminiscent coming-of-age stories about their high school experiences in 1986. Selfishly, I’ll be delighted (horrified) when there’s some sort of edgy nineties equivalent sponsored by Lynx Africa that speaks to me. On the other hand I’m really glad Discovery is back. I wish there had been sci-fi queers when I was younger. Would’ve saved all kinds of heartache. And it’s much more hopeful than the Netflix revival of Boys In The Band which is well-made and beautifully 60s but, by design, leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.
Finally I can recommend not scrolling back through WhatsApp to see what you were chatting about in March.