Thursday, 21 February 2013

A trifecta of treats

Last weekend saw a confluence of occasions that brought together a few of my favourite things…


On Friday evening Nina and I went to the Hayward to see LIGHT SHOW. This is a sensory, almost spiritual, literally and otherwise dazzling exhibition of works that all use and explore light as a medium and an experience. 

Dan Flavin, untitled (to the "innovator" of Wheeling Peachblow), 1966-68
The expected big guns were there – early 1960s fluorescent pioneer Dan Flavin, Jenny Holzer with her flashing electronic signs conveying a whirr of political messages. 

Thursday, 14 February 2013

Surviving February

Slogging my way through this miserable fucking February I’m realising now just how important it is to leave. Normally this would be for a Sydney summer – an extended ellipses of sunny days, swimming and family to punctuate a grey, cold December and a biting, hope destroying February. Not having gone to Sydney this Christmas, Mexico was meant instead to be that break in the weather, albeit a briefer one. How that didn’t go to plan is well established elsewhere

Tuesday, 12 February 2013

Butter chicken curry

On this day four years ago I met a very nervous Lovely Boy outside White City Station. He was going to cook me dinner for the very first time. We hadn’t kissed yet, we hadn’t flirted, we’d just spent time in our respective heads wondering and undoubtedly over-thinking.

Those who know LB know he’s not a braggart – unassuming, quiet, enthusiastic, gentle and genuine, yes – but a show off? Uh, no. So when he offered to cook me his butter chicken curry and told me it would be the best butter chicken curry I’d ever eaten I was intrigued.

Sunday, 3 February 2013

Redefining memorable.

So. Mexico.

I don’t really know where to start. We’ve been back for a couple of weeks now – in fact it’s fucking February already – and I still haven’t quite got my perspective right on the whole thing.

Did I love Mexico? So very much. Hospitable people, gorgeous weather and the kind of beaches that knock the air from your lungs with their almost hysterical beauty.

Our hotel was the stuff of dreams – sea views, a large, languorous bed replete with princess mosquito nets, an authentic ocean soundtrack and an unpretentious, respectful architecture that nestled into the surrounds.

Was it the holiday we’d dreamed of? The holiday I’d spent months planning and even longer mentally packing for? In a word, no.