Not the most eventful of weeks. That’s probably a good thing at the moment.
Work continues with a small ethical quandary and, still, some rather long days.
Yesterday 1.2% of the adult population received their first vaccine shot. That is incredible. But this week the UK surpassed 100,000 deaths, which is utterly unforgivable.
How will people remember this time, when it’s all over?
I will remember Heather, a family friend who died this week at just 46, and my uncle’s mum who passed the week before.
I will remember thinking about all my friends in New Zealand and Taiwan who went back to life as normal from June 2020.
Mixing together a virtual choir recording of Snow Patrol’s Run using Logic Pro has been a surprisingly lovely escape, and I’m getting reasonably fast using the editor. 33 audio tracks and my computer is barely breaking a sweat. Back in the day, this would have been Crashy McCrashtown and/or submix galore.
Finished It’s a Sin. I’m still as emotional as I was about it in last week’s post. The last episode in particular. Why it got squeezed from an eight-parter to a 5-parter I’ll never understand.
Enjoyed Julie, a National Theatre remake of the 1888 play by August Strindberg. The themes of class and power are timeless and the acting is utterly brilliant but the script sticks out quite a lot in a number of places. I really enjoyed the staging too.
Also watched Valley of Love, starring Isabelle Huppert and Gerard Depardieu grieving in Death Valley. It’s beautiful and ridiculous and flawed and I would watch it again.
Accidentally watched the end of Independence Day again while eating some crisps. Sometimes empty calories are the best.
Slowly allowing some zoom socialising into life again – made better by trying to be more natural; chatting to friends while fixing a drink, doing something else, but still interacting. Continuous partial attention rather than full attention.
My bike is, I have suddenly realised, a wreck. While fitting some new mudguards, I realised that everything is rusting, the chain feels strained and the derailleurs are temperamental at best.
Booked it in for a service at the local place, whose website suggests they are fighting for survival because commuters have gone.
London Zone 1 really is on its knees.
Put the winter duvet on, two thirds of the way through winter, and realised just what I’d been missing.