Friday, 25 November 2011

Poultry. And Grayson Perry.

I haven't felt inclined to write much this last month. Grappling with a series of deep seated, stubborn emotional achilles heels, all of which have been strummed with the urgency of a coked out rocker these last two months, well, it's been the kind of introspective, ugly, basically really fucking depressing stuff that I find hard to share even with my Lovely Boy at times. Never mind manage to write about in a vaguely pithy manner. Sadness, hurt and disappointment are really enervating emotions and not much fun to read about so less conscious decision and more lack of will has meant less of blog. But things are a'changing.

There have been some lovely outings and moments in the midst of it all, and several significant work accomplishments too, but it's been an otherwise quiet time. And as is often my way I've been quietly and inadvertently stockpiling small moments of wonder, beauty and occasional humour as the seasons have done their thing and sacrificed warmth for colour for cold....

Yellow leaves that radiant sunshine
against a rare blue sky...
Proof apparent that I'm not the only cool person who
hangs out in the backstreets of Hammersmith...
A totally bizarre, low hanging, Blue Mountains-esque cloud formation
Home is all but imminent - three weeks tomorrow until we fly out and I Cannot Wait. I really am feeling a physical ache for home and can already feel the regenerative powers of sunshine, light, family love and friends start to stir. I'm just so excited.

Wedding bits and pieces are all coming together. Decorations are now sorted, the ceremony has been written, my name card craft project is under way and the RSVPs are drifting in. We've chosen the music, sorted the rings and my triceps are shaping up nicely...

I went to the gym with Tor yesterday morning and we doubled up on our cardio by talking AND cross-training before she put me through my paces with some serious weights. Every grimace, every stifled whimper was tempered by one very persuasive whisper from the woman with magnificent muscles of her own: "bride arms." "World peace" couldn't be two less potent words compared to "bride arms."

Think of the dress. Be the Dress.

The blooms I bought with the surprise
"flower allowance" Lovely Boy put in my account
The tree in the SLG courtyard with but 10 leaves left.
The other exciting wedding-related activity is the looming party season. The "I'm getting married party" Version London and Version Sydney. I can't bring myself to call it a hen party because it makes me think of a) dumb sluts wearing L plates and sashes and b) a gaggle of noisy idiotic chooks and neither vision is especially complimentary of the female sex. It both baffles and bothers me that men get to be stags and bucks while women get to be a rotisserie meat that has the option of a side of chips.

For me, when I think about my girlfriends, when I think about all the love, support, encouragement, comfort and hilarity they have brought to my life and given me over the last ten years, farmyard animals don't even come close.

"I'm Getting Married Version London" is happening this weekend. Cleo is flying in from Cologne tomorrow and has planned a very fabulous, very fun, very grown up, penis paraphernalia-free celebration for seven of us and I can't wait. I'm hoping it will be the start of a really happy, special next six weeks and permission to finally let myself embrace the whole experience and not feel sad or anxious about wanting to be happy and for it to be happy. It should be a brilliant, very special, highly memorable weekend. Bring It On.

I have tomorrow off work in honour of Cleo's arrival and am looking forward to a three day weekend. Work has been really busy and exciting and as a result, hugely satisfying, and I'm excited about what next year holds and all that I'm going to get to see, do, experience and learn. And who I'm going to meet.

Grayson Perry, The Tomb of the Unknown Craftsman, British Museum
Today was a classic case of ilovemyjob. We ran an opportunity last month for people on the website to win a private tour of Grayson Perry's major exhibition at the British Museum by Grayson himself and today we got to go. The sun even shone it knew it was a special occasion.

Grayson explaining that the first feedback he got
from the Museum about the image of the pot for the
poster was that he'd spelled "titillation" wrong...
The exhibition was extraordinary and it was such an incredible privilege to meet Grayson and hear him talk about how he approached the show and about his own practice. And to hear his thoughts on everything from photography to celebrity culture to shamanism and sex. I've always really appreciated his work - for its self awareness, its defiant beauty and magic in the face of ugly themes like addiction and consumerism, and its wit.

Seeing his work in the context of 170 objects from the British Museum's EXTENSIVE collection only enlivened the already sophisticated notions of value, artistry, history, craftsmanship and contemporariness that exist in his work. It could have so easily been glib, or worse, fashionable, but for me it really drew on my understanding of Perry as a sort of visual-social anthropologist.

Little bit starstruck....
It could have gone down hill after that but the rest of the day was productive and I left at six, went to the gym and came home to a clean house courtesy of Lovely Boy. A day for the books really. And there's still the weekend to come. Chickens, hens and all.

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