we're all going crazy buck jumping and having fun Tweet

Taking it easy for once. Pottering about the house, about to cook some tastiness, and listening to Lillian Boutte in advance of making it to the first 606 Club free jazz Sunday in Regent's Park this year, should the weather allow. The plan is somewhat grander, as it includes a spot of foraging, a picnic, and a peddle boat, but it's a dark, windy day, so who knows what tomorrow holds in store.

Meanwhile, a new lot of neighbors are moving into the nearby geranium building of Mediterranean railings. They go by the names Richard this and Honey that, from what I can hear, and seem to have hoarded an impressive number of boxes, like someone else we know. They're young, unlike the majority of the residents there, and are just making the acquaitance of Nick from 24, and Deborah—or is it Honey that goes by the name Deborah? The first lot that moved in after us was an equally young couple, and busied themselves yesterday with painting the railings, so right now it feels like proper company, people with a mind to maintain and enjoy things.

Sure, it's easy to say that before we step on each other's toes due to our parties clashing or our kids getting into a fight, so I'm hereby reminding myself not to get too excited. After all, the only neighbors that somewhat got us interested while in the previous flat, have forever stayed nicknamed Sandra and David. They only lived across the street, but none of us ever made a step further than smiling and (very very rarely) waving, and that only after they got the gardening bug.

Back to Lillian, though, before I lose that train of thought entirely. Her MySpace page heralds: Known as The Musical Ambassador of New Orleans, for the past 30 years Lillian has been capturing the hearts and ears of listeners from the
Mississppi Delta to Bondi Beach performing her special brand of R&B, Jazz, and Gospel and hosting singing workshops for adults and kids of all ages. She can be seen in Stevenson Pallifi's award winning documentary "Piano Players rarely play together" featuring Professor Longhair, Toots Washington and her friend and mentor Allen Toussaint. She can also be seen in her cameo appearance in Allen Parker's film "Angel Heart" and is featured on the soundtrack with the Blues great Brownie McGee.

Now, of course, the first musician to be known as a music ambassador for New Orleans (and jazz in general, around the world even) is none other than Louis Armstrong, who was so fond of the cajun and creole cuisine that he signed his letters red beans and ricely yours—thanks, Wikipedia! Funny that, on the very morning when I wake up to reading that Louis and wife had an awesome kitchen, on which you can virtually drool here.

It's no surprise that jazz and food have been going hand in hand in New Orleans, pretty much the only place I've always wanted to visit (if not live in, rather) beyond New York, in The States. Some of that longing finds an answer in Treme, the HBO show off The Wire's David Simon. Speaking of which, heard of Kermit Ruffins? He plays himself in the first season, and the first time he appears he's making a baaaaaad barbecue at his place as Antoine pops in and dares asking for an advance on that night's gig so that he could pay the cab.

So, while on this, here's a tad of Kermit Ruffins, too, another likely ambassador, and excerpts from the introduction to an interview taken by Rock Off at the start of this month: ​Many people say that going to New Orleans feels like being in another time. In fact, the city's current slogan for its tourism TV spots [...] is "you're different here." Listening to Kermit Ruffins [...] has that effect too. Besides a voice that is the spitting image of Crescent City icon Louis Armstrong, the jazz served up by the lifelong New Orleans resident and his Barbecue Swingers is as Louisiana as dirty rice. He's not a bad chef, either, owning his own bar, Sidney's Saloon, in the Treme, where he can often be found behind a ten-foot "baaaaaad barbecue grill."

And since today feels very blessed and I've learned a lot that I enjoy sharing, what do you say about Treme's theme song, Down in the Treme? It is performed by jazz vocalist John Butte, Lillian's very brother! And as of today it has replaced my morning alarm song of the past two years, the theme song of The Sopranos, Alabama 3's Woke Up This Morning. I think I've just registered a welcome change of mood, as I'm moving from got yourself a gun to buck jumping and having fun.

All MySpace embeds courtesy of the marvelous Myspace Band Player Generator, as before.

just like that Tweet

He sets on to read, but really does just share the pillow with his shiny iPad. Once I'm done with my iPod readings, I gently wake him up, so that we can get devices out of the bed, turn lights off, and spoon into oblivion or somesuch. Except gentlest gesture never quite does it, and hardly an evening goes by without a peak into his early dreams. When I don't report them, it's only because I'm beyond the point of forming detailed memories myself. He never fails. Only I do, repeatedly.

Chris: What about the whistle?
Me: What about?
Chris: Did it blow?
Me: Yes.

Smart cookie, am I? Then why the hell did I not answer 'no' and get more of it?

the search continues Tweet

Chris, startled into awareness: You want what?
Me: What?
Chris: What do you want?
Me:...
Chris: The magnifying glass?
Me: Yes, please.

Chris turns to his tall bedside shelf and starts fumbling for something. Various items fall in the pitch dark of the room, he attempts to find them, nearly falls out of bed, has another go, and another, while I gently convince him that it's best we sleep and find the magnifying glass tomorrow. He didn't seem very happy, but he was oh sooo tired.

pick a thing. or two. Tweet

Lately, there's a bath before bedtime, an essentially quick dip to remove the dust, sweat, and frustration of unpacking boxes, assembling furniture, fitting standard size items in random size cupboards, bruising knuckles, grinding joints, pressuring vertebrae to the point where we can barely crawl into said bath. Chris would often get in first, more battered than our age would suggest, while I drag my feet painfully doing some last minute sorting around the house (I haz dishwasher! I haz terrace! the joy! the faff!) and smoking that quiet cigarette I had envisioned all day long. By the time I have a wash and dry myself enough to jump in bed, Chris is fast asleep, glasses on his nose, iPad on his pillow, reading lamp on. Gentlest attempts to remove props still stir him, though.

Chris: Err... quick a thing!
Me: ?!
Chris: You said pick a thing.
Me: No, I didn't.
Chris: When do we go to the office in the morning?
Me: We agreed ten o'clock.
Chris, randomly picking at the duvet cover: You asked me to pick a thing.
Me: No, I didn't. Must've been a dream.
Chris, sad he couldn't pick a thing off the duvet cover: Will you pick a thing if I pick a thing?

daily nonsense: pizzeria base Tweet

While insisting to use the Ocado iPhone App on the train back from Ipswich tonight, in spite of unreliable network reception (across various commuter heavy zones, so there, a double layer of nonsense), I learned that we could order a whole pizzeria base in a box, topped with spicy pepperoni and spicy tomato sauce. I don't have anything against eating whole building foundations, especially if edible and with a jalapeno twist, but where are we EVER going to find an oven big enough to bake that?

a whole new level of quirks Tweet

This is definitely not my kind of dog (on top of me being a cat person, until proven otherwise), but what a life! And while the moment solved the mystery of the ring in the wall, I felt like offering the poor creature a smoke (as I don't carry bones or dry food). But I'm told smoking is bad for you, and the doggie seemed to already have a bad Sunday: Oh, yes, we're going for a walk! Oh, no, we're going to Waitrose again?!



Then this scene later in the day, on the South Bank, made me smile. The same kind of fortune teller parrot that amused me as a child commands a lot of attention in the heart of London as it did in a random theme park in Bucharest ages ago. As the child is fairly unimpressed and the woman is laughing out loud, could it be that she's reminded of her childhood, as well?



One of those guys on the poster is Chris's cousin, and that's how I met him years back in Edinburgh: Nic was on stage with The Magnets, and I was in the audience of my only a cappella show ever—great stuff, check out these videos. From the dates on this poster, though, we were busy packing boxes while they were on. Thank God no one beheaded us for it!

painters on the south bank Tweet

Chris often tells me horror stories of the South Bank ten years ago (and further back, but it gets gloomier, so I won't take you there) and how much better it is today. I find it OK overall, with a couple great areas/ places, and try not to think too much about whether its real potential will be reached within my lifetime. Yesterday I really enjoyed seeing some painters, and decided it was irrelevant whether the mayor had included them in some week-of-the-arts-thingy or they just showed up because they felt like it. I'm not saying I was taken by their art—only that it was refreshing to lay one's eyes on different people than the usual crowd, and I'd love to spot occurrences like this each time I'm on the South Bank. And who knows, maybe one day I'll be taking an easel there myself, and see how the Thames muses guide my hands.

come to the beach! Tweet

The weather turned out really nice once we got back from the Farmers' Market, and we quickly left everything homey behind (think lots of unopened boxes) and went for a wonder on the South Bank, to stretch our legs and enjoy the sun. The most striking view of all was the London skyline as a backdrop to Bojo's beach. No idea what the point of the live sand sculpture intervention was, which is to say I hardly ever read the posters about the place; it's Chris's pleasure, so much so that I end up waiting for him—goes without saying it's normally the other way around. But today he simply sat on the bench with me, seeping a coffee in the sun and laughing about how small and irrelevant the skyline felt from this angle. How glorious the beach take over.



It wasn't all castles, and castles weren't impressive either, so here you go, have a seat instead :) The beauty of a tidal river is, as experienced before, that quite a few such beaches show up alongside Thames in the city, and many can be accessed by foot. I wish we had come prepared with beers, peanuts, flip-flops and all that.



As we walked back towards civilisation, we spotted quite a few fishermen. Here you can see the oldest of them just before police stopped to have a word with him. From the ensuing fret we assume it wasn't all peaches, but as we stood in the sun again, somewhere close, we could see the fisherman return soon after.



See, I bring you the quirks of London, not just its (often lovely, often enervating) stereotypes.

the strange berries and the ancient rose Tweet

I couldn't resist gooseberries and cranberries today at Farmers' Market in Marylebone, though I've never cooked either before and so, I have little idea what I could do with them. Then again, the berries seem less of a risque pick next to a second vine, when the resident one hasn't produced more than pretty leaves so far, and one of the most ancient ancient roses in the world, fragrant Rosa Mundi—known since the 16th century, at least, and ordered by Thomas Jefferson for his garden in the 18th century.



And once again, although we live further away now, I found myself having a smoke outside Waitrose and guarding the treasures while Chris picked the odd cupboard items that farmers don't seem to stock. But once home, I took a second look at the marvelous fruit. And you'd better do, too, because there's no way to warrant that you'll hear about it ever again.

back with the same track Tweet

We made it! Not all the way through, but the house holds under twenty closed boxes right now from an initial hundred—movers' estimate. My back hurts, and my knees are yet to wake up. Eight hours of sleep seemed godsent. Chris's back of knees complain, but worst, and funniest, one of his ankle creeks, so he's been pacing around the house for a while now, trying to make it stop. But all in all? This place is awesome. And today is the first day we take off in any shape or form in the last four weeks. The weather's still glorious, so in a few minutes we'll be off to roam the city, knowing we'll come back to something more than a shell. A home. Very few people around us understood that we were moving HOME, not HOUSE. To them dear, wise ones, we raised a glass of ice tea yesterday, in a break from assembling furniture and unpacking boxes. If I'm not totally—and pleasantly—wasted at the end of the day, I might publish a host of specific draft posts that detail how various bits are coming along.



This particular ice tea came out wonderful due to last year's peppermint, foraged in Regent's Park. Another trip is in order.