16 May 2010

And I know that it was only yesterday that I posted the last, but I just feel like putting off the work that I've brought home for a teensy bit longer. And besides, I feel inspired, and surely one should seize such an opportunity.

Some of you may know and some of you will not know, that I have been running most days since the beginning of the year. Well, it transpires that I have to take a short hiatus from running because I'm actually too fit. How can one be too fit, you might ask. Just picture that woman who won the London Marathon recently. That is surely too fit, wouldn't you agree? It's definitely not sexy in any way.

No. Stop me here. That's a serious opinion statement.

I don't find that sexy, and I did ask Nick whether he would find that attractive, and he agreed that he didn't. Imagine making love to her... why, you'd just bounce right off those muscles. They gleam like shiny rubber boots. I don't find that attractive. But it's not, of course, the bounce-factor that would make one shy away from loving her physically, but the aesthetic displeasure. Having made this opinion statement, I'll qualify it with the fact that someone out there, probably a woman of similar fitness and build who can see herself when she looks at our number one runner and likes what she sees, will love her. And they'll go running together in the mornings... and at night, they'll bounce off each other...

My point, somewhere along the way, is that I don't feel particularly attractive when my rear end is solid as a rock, and believe me, it's getting that way. I had to make a decision. There'll be no more running for at least a week, whilst I try to deflate, and after that, I'll reassess the situation and maybe try for a mere two runs a week.

I'm eating a mandarin and listening to Broken Social Scene. I missed tickets by a whisker to their show tomorrow night. I probably would have bought one and gone by myself, like I did with the sonatas and the Bennett and upon reflection, I think this shows how few friends I have in London. Especially, how few I have who have the same tastes. I know you're all out there. You're all springing to mind right now. But you're not here, are you?

What on earth am I doing in this city away from you all?

Not that you're all in the same place.

I've also procrastinated today by vacuuming the house(or is it vaccumming? Oh, what does it matter in England, where it's always hoovering) followed by a mop of the floor. I don't think it's the act of cleaning that I love... I was thinking about this whilst mopping the kitchen ... I don't mind cleaning and I do it quite often, more often than most, but I think it's the result that I like the best. Therefore, surely I'd feel just as satisfied if someone else did the cleaning for me? I'll test this theory one day by hiring a cleaner. So many people in London have them. A lot of my friends who live in those flats full of ex-pats have cleaners. I prefer living with fewer people myself.

And now I'm chewing on a teacup full of pumpkin and sunflower seeds. Gorgeous. I'm still trying this fruit diet, most of the time, so that I can see whether I really need that much sleep. I think I mentioned before that the sickness stymied the experiment? I'm still trying, although not too desperately, to see what the results of such an experiment will be. I did wake up at six this morning, having gone to bed at midnight, which might count for something? It's not a "fair test" yet. All's fair in love and war and experiments conducted upon my interior.

I'll keep you posted.

Oh, a blog pun! How fantastique!

Last night, I watched Sidney Pollack's Sketches of Franck Gehry and it was very good. I like Pollack. I like Gehry. Not everybody does. Did you know that his real name is Ephraim Owen Goldberg, but he changed it partly due to anti-semitism? I find that fascinating. Ephraim... what a name... like Finghin. A name to celebrate.

I went to see the Guggenheim in Bilbao with James. What a monstrosity. I love monstrosities. I don't think we have enough of them these days. Like the Sagrara Familia in Barcelona. Stupendous creations.

And then, can you imagine, we watched Die Hard, as it happened to be showing on Channel Four. Well, some of those lines! How undeliverable! It doesn't matter how good you are at acting when you're faced with a script like that. And then there are the gems:

"Yippe-ki-yay motherfucker".

This movie is actually based on a novel. I can imagine that it doesn't strictly adhere to the actual dialogue of the book.

And it is yet another good reason why, instead of blogging, I should be writing that action movie screen play and selling out.