Boatie Flatmate, with his mouth full: "Plums on toast must be a euphemism for something else..."
It's the end of my holiday and I will be returning to work tomorrow morning which fills me with no end of sadness because it's been a really swell time. I have...- run a workshop for on Edward Bond's Saved, using mainly Brechtian alienation techniques to great effect
- seen Metropolis on the flytower of the National Theatre, sitting in a deckchair with friends and fellow film lovers around me; I experienced the most hilarious toilet break so far, running through the deserted National Theatre with Fizzwhizz, pretending to be distressed silent movie stars being pursued by our overflowing bladders
- seen the third Harry Potter film (finally!) and thought it was fantastic and more than made up for the tooth-grindingly twee shite films that came before; I actually believed I was watching a film about teenagers, who were cocky and obnoxious and fun-loving rather the self-righteous, humourless little pricks that the first director decided would be Harry, Ron and Hermione
- been around the British Museum
- visited the Royal Court and met up with various people I used to work with
- had lunch with my parents and Taxloss' parents: the parents were meeting for the first time and things went very well
- enjoyed some thrilling salsa music at the National Theatre which was played by such an energetic and infectiously groovy band, myself and PostGrad N were treated to the most magnificent sight of a sea of people dancing: old, young, mental, babies... a brilliant sight to a fantastic sound
- done some great cooking
- watched table tennis with overexcited glee, squealing with joy whenever the Olympics coverage swung round to this most excellent sport
I don't want this holiday to end. But *sigh* looking at the time, it already has.
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