Last Seen

I'm always interested in the last times we see characters in fiction: not the main characters, usually, cos their fates are normally spelt out pretty clearly and are often quite boring. But, for example, the last time we see Esme Squalor in A Series of Unfortunate Events, she's on the second floor of a hotel that's on fire. The last time we see Ludo Bagman in Harry Potter, he's on the run from the Goblin Mafia. And the final time we see Screwy Squirrel on Looney Tunes, he's just been crushed by a dog he'd been tormenting for what seemed like time immemorial. Fun fact: they originally planned to make more Screwy Squirrel but the animators were afraid of him and so we are left to assume he died.
Those are all rather morbid, or at least perilous, examples and I hope to God none of the people mentioned in this post find themselves in the situations above but whenever I'm about to move, I'm powerfully aware that I won't see some people again, even if I want to. When I came back from Australia, I just honestly presumed I'd see Moe again, but even after I acquired his phone number, he never reappeared in my life. Sometimes, people get lost.

Anyway, that was a rather indulgent and ultimately tangential introduction to a pretty long post about the 'goodbye period' before my move to Japan. I haven't been updating this blog due to a mixture of indolence and preoccupation, so I'm going to have to get through a lot in a short time.
First off, I went to visit my sister in her new flat and new job just before she left both of them. Not much happened during that trip because the town where she was living, Bottesford, was boring as hell and smelt faintly of dog poo. Still, it's always nice to see Moi and we watched a lot of documentaries so at least I came away smarter.

Then, the day I arrived back from Bottesford, Grace came to stay and it was just magical. We talked for two days straight and never ran out of conversational material. We cooked, went for walks, gave each other nicknames and drew each other.

My picture of Grace, as she pointed out, ended up looking slightly...Quasimodoish. But then she left it at my house anyway so we both hurt each others' feelings.

A few days later, Tom Lee (who has previously been referred to in the narrative as just Tom, but now there's another one, so I've given him a surname, and chosen to honour late actor Christopher Lee) and I went to see The Merchant of Venice by the RSC. It was great but I actually saw Tom Lee again, so won't describe it here.

Then, Tom Jennings (who was, of course, named after Alex Jennings, who played Prince Charles in The Queen)- an old school friend who now works in the village- and I went for drinks. It was strange, catching up with someone after nine years; he knew me before I was out and before uni took its various tolls on my personality and general outlook, so I can only imagine how I appeared to him. But Tom Jennings seemed quite unchanged- he was still high-spirited, analytical and with his finger on the cultural pulse: he recommended a Netflix series which I have been rabidly devouring instead of packing, much to the chagrin of my parents.

Next I said goodbye to Husnain, Ella and Patrick, at a small gathering at Ella's which was ostensibly to celebrate Paddy's birthday but really just involved lots of cake, booze and random in-jokes between us. This is, I think, the perfect way to sum up my friendship with these guys (well, ok, not the booze for Husnain): Ella was cool and calming, Husnain was mellow and considered and Patrick was somewhere on Mars, waving down at us earthlings. I stayed the night at Ella's and then went shopping around Shrewsbury's finest tat shops looking for gifts to give my Japanese colleagues. This is what I got:

All of English culture for under £5.

They're gonna love me.

The day after that, I went to the zoo with my parents. I'm not gonna lie, I know it's not a hip thing to say but I freakin' love zoos. And Chester zoo, where we went, is huge and conservationistic, so one doesn't have to feel guilty. What I love about it especially is there's always something new to see: for example, this time the two animals that stole the show were the chameleons- surprisingly active and cute- and the birds- amazingly up close and personal. I never usually spend that long watching either of those two animals, but this time they held my attention for a really long time. Sadly, this meant there was less time to fawn over the penguins, but I'll make up for that in the future when I own several of my own and keep them all in my house like that film with that guy that no one saw.

Then, I saw Tom again and this was actually our final rendez-vous. We drank and discussed the woes and being young and creative in an area which is not designed for either of those categories. Tom is at least finding an outlet in his work: I have not updated my writing blog for several days, and I imagine it will be a while yet due to my impending move.

And then finally today I said goodbye to my neighbour Norma, who is something of a surrogate grandmother for me (I'm not sure she'd appreciate me saying that). Norma is the way I want to be when I'm seventy- she's fun and funny, with a twinkle in her eye and a lust for life. She went to the same RSC production as Tom and I and we had a very spirited discussion about art and realism and accents and acting: I hope these are still things that concern me when I'm older.

And so yeah, that's pretty much it. It'll be August in a couple of minutes and then I move to Japan.
Holy shit.
Wish me luck.

Londinium

I headed down to London on Wednesday for a pre-departure training session for the new job I'll be starting in just under three weeks' time- just enough time to completely forget everything they told me.

I arrived a day early, partially because the thing started ridiculously early (and there was a planned tube strike) but it also afforded me the opportunity to see my eldest sister one more time before I leave for a year. I was also meant to get to see Laurel, but sadly this did not work out (bloody tube strike).
However, someone had organised a pre-pre-departure meet-up for folks who will be doing the same teaching scheme as me. Since I was in London, I decided to tag along. It was a scavenger hunt, and I arrived on the sixth clue in the dead heat of the day. We galloped through galleries, breezed over bridges and circled around sun dials, in the pursuit of miscellany and digital validation from an unseen but all-seeing Big Brother, doling out rewards and penalties to the citizens who dared to play its deadly game. By the end, we just resorted to guessing and were actually fractionally more successful. Sadly, there were a lot of names said to me over a long period of time and I only remember three: Will, Josh and Nick. Still, it was nice to meet new people and see parts of London I hadn't glimpsed before.

After this, I went to meet my elder sister at Oxford circus: earlier in the day, I'd scored (i.e. bought) tickets to Death of a Salesman. We went to get a bite to eat and then to the play. I think Orla was quite taken with my new haircut and suit: she said after years of trying I'd finally achieved a 'smart casual' vibe and seemed generally less ashamed to be seen with me.
Death of a Salesman was terrific, but I don't advise seeing it with your much more financially successful older sibling. Sadly, the tube strike ruined the evening as we had to wait forty five minutes for a bus that was then too full to take on new passengers, meaning that by the time we got back, we had time only for the must summary goodbyes before we both had to go to bed.

The next day, I actually managed to reach the venue without too much trouble (one of the overground trains I tried to get was too full to allow people on, but that was all.) However, once I got to the venue, I was really in trouble because the place was massive and we were needed in one specific part. Luckily, I ran into Josh, who'd had the presence of mind to bring a map; we got there at 9.20 but didn't manage to register until 10.10, such a queue was there. Another twenty minutes and we would've been thrown off the programme, according to the official literature.
I'm not going to describe the various lectures and workshops we attended there, I'll just say that it was very hot and some of the talks seemed honestly unnecessary (Will remarked that we' just given two days to being told not to do drugs).
However, in the evening after the first day, we all went out for drinks. It was a bit like Freshers' Week only this time I had some semblance of social skills: I kept meeting new people and asking where they were going and what they'd studied and making jokes about the programme and drinking vodka. It was terrific. At one point we actually left the pub and went back to the accommodation (we were staying in student halls, heightening the Fresher vibe) to play the Pokemon drinking game, which is possibly the most student-y thing one can do.

After the second day finished, I went to see War Horse: I'd seen it before, years ago, on a school trip with Tom, and it was at the time the best piece of theatre I'd ever seen. I don't know if I've changed or the production has- actually, I know for a fact that we've both changed- but this time it didn't hold the same frisson of excitement. It's still a good show, but it felt much more staid this time around; maybe it's because I knew what was going to happen, or maybe I've just experienced so much more theatre- both fore- and back- stage- that it takes more to impress me. The horse remains amazing, though: I think the National Theatre has actually just discovered the secret of Golemry and the 'puppeteers' are just there to maintain the illusion. It's too lifelike. Naturally, Spielberg's decision to eschew this dark wizardry in favour of CGI was part of what doomed the film version.

On the Saturday, I met Poppy and oh, the time we wasted. Eleven hours, all told, and all of it gloriously, extravagantly meaningless. We talked about so much- politics and the human condition and psychology and culture- but with such childish interjections and sophomorish tangents that it was a bit like a PPE syllabus as dictated by a toddler. We also wondered all around the covent gardens area, popping into Forbidden Planet and taking I think the definitive picture of Poppy Dillon:

You're just jealous cos I'm a genuine freak and you have to wear a mask.

We also at one point broke into Somerset House, curious about a random string of numbers glaring at us from the front facade in neon pink. Sadly, no one in there could assuage our curiosity and they all seemed to want us to leave ASAPP- As Soon As Plebbishly Possible.
I commented to Poppy at the end of the day that I thought that this would be the form into which our friendship solidified: we'd meet semi-annually, spend an entire day together, doing nothing and conversing everything and then part, feet aching and hearts lightened. I hope I'm right.

I did nothing of note on the Sunday and then returned to my life, much as it ever was. Still, it was a fun diversion.

No One Is Alone

My parents went away for a week to sunny Spain, coming back this Thursday. During that time, I had the house to myself, which is always a bittersweet affair: on the plus side, I can eat what I want when I want and hang around in my pyjamas all day; on the down side, there can be days at a time where I don't talk to anyone and I often get nothing done (when my parents are here, I still don't accomplish anything, but this is different from doing something.)

However, I wasn't alone the entire time, as I have friends who will travel vast differences and brave the indignity of travelling with Arriva just to come and salve my aching breast.
First up was Jari, who arrived early on Friday and departed late on Saturday. As ever with Jari, he was completely taken aback by the verdancy of the surroundings, even though he lives in Edinburgh, where there is a lot of greenery to be found, if one knows where to look. He arrived with a smile, a giggle and, that most precious of commodities, gossip from my extended friendship circle. We went to get lunch at a posh cafe, a treat from me as he's put me up so often in his flat, and then for walk. Jari's always had a thing for the cooling towers of the power station, so we walked up to the base and gazed to the alpine peak, and I remembered one of my trademark Barely Interesting Factoids: the cooling towers are orange because when they were erected they were painted to camouflage

Like in this picture, where you somehow magically can't see them.

and the landscape was scarred and barren due to all the industrial work; however, in these lush, modern times when most of the valley is forest, they stick out like a carotenaeic thumb.
After this, we returned to my house and spent some time dilly-dallying in the woods (foolishness can happen in the woods) and then cooked dinner and watched Paddington, which Jari enjoyed almost as much as my mother, who I think would actually go to live with the little bear if he Purple Rose of Cairo'd her.
The next day, we went for an even longer walk, taking in a lot of the valley, including the bit that's slowly sinking into the river, and then had cream tea in the village. After this, we went to watch some of the boat race that was happening on the river and returned to my house for an early dinner. Eventually, Jari had to leave and I was on my lonely ownio once more.

But then, two days later, Patrick, Ella and Husnain arrived en masse, despite assurances that they'd be staggered. It was fine though as, after some misorientation hijinks involving frantic phone calls and a good deal of hill-walking, we were all united and so decided to get our drink on, except Husnain, of course. Patrick and Ella had bought some lovely Champagne from Shrewsbury and we drank this in the wood, while I lit a fire using the dried grass that I'd cut from the garden the week before; we sat in the sunshine and ate Ferrero Rocher and posh crisps and joked and chatted and it felt beautifully estival. After this, I still had the Champagne that I was given as a leaving present in France, and we drank it in the front garden, feeling blissfully hedonistic and not a little Gatsbyesque. We sat on the grass and drank and afterwards, we left the champagne bottle sitting in the middle of the lawn to remind ourselves of our glorious excess.
Patrick and Ella had promised to cook and as they made a bolognaise the kitchen was filled with music and laughter and dancing and photographs and supping, just as kitchens always should be.

Some of the aforementioned photographs. All credit (including the one of the valley above) to Ella Ruth Cowperthwaite.

Once we were done with dinner, we started playing Cranium, which always involves a lot of animation on the part of the players and is best played fairly drunk and not really paying attention to the rules. We rocked it, is what I'm saying. Halfway through, the men felt restless, so we decided to go for a walk while Ella stayed in and lounged on the sofa. We walked in the dark, discussing, bizarrely, the sociopolitical implications of name orthography as we crashed through the crepuscular overgrowth. We then returned and played long hours of charades before finally retiring to bed, with Patrick insisting on taking my sister's old high bed before becoming that kid at the sleepover who's never spent a night away from home and has to stay in someone else's room.
The next morning, we went out for breakfast and then down to a little secluded beach on the river severn, where we threw stones in the water, with Patrick scoring many skims when no one else was looking. Ella gave me a henna tattoo and we baked in the heat. Finally, they all had to depart and I was left alone once more.

However, my parents returned on Thursday, and the next day I went to see Mel in Wales, for some conversation and light Godfathering. This time, Travis was in school, so I actually got to talk to Mel and catch-up on what had been happening. Then, we went to pick the munchkin up, and the school fair was on, so we watched as he jumped on a bouncy castle and then clamboured into a Police van (Mel and I both silently prayed that this would be the only time he'd be in a Police vehicle). In the van, they were kind enough to let Travis ink his thumb and then press it onto some paper- what Travis called his 'PingerFrint'- and then put in on a keychain for him, so he now carries his identity on his schoolbag.
I must now confess a small bit of sadness: when I tried to say goodbye to Travis, knowing I might not see him for a long time (possibly five years!), he wouldn't even look at me and kept brushing off my attempts to hug him. I know he doesn't understand and doesn't intend to be cruel, but it still hurt- I wanted a moment with him before I left and the most I got out of him was 'bye!'- less valedictory and more frustrated- but when I asked him where he thought I was going, he answered 'Australia' (quite smugly, I might add), so I guess he occasionally pays attention to what I'm saying. 

And finally, last night I saw Daniel for the first time since Christmas and met his girlfriend for the first time ever. Daniel is as Daniel ever will be- nerdy, intelligent, just this side of being a mad scientist (he certainly has the hair); seeing him is always slightly like stepping back in time, we talk about people I haven't thought of in years and laugh about things that happened eons ago. I imagine the next time I see him, it will be exactly the same, as will every time after that. And I'm very glad about that.

All in all, it was a lovely week and even though I was actually alone for a lot of it, I haven't felt so flushed with friends for a long time. It was really nice to be able to host some of my closest buddies in my house and feel beloved, if not especially by Travis; may that champagne bottle rest there eternally.