For all those at a loose end this Saturday 31st, there is a party happening at my place in Finsbury Park, for my smashing flatmate Fay's birthday. There will be music and food and possibly karaoke if people ask nicely. From 7-8-ish at 29a Stroud Green Rd - green door opposite the vaguely menacing wig shop. You know you want to - we have a Twister mat, and we're not afraid to use it...

Dear Mr Brown,

So you're spending a bit more money on education and the crippled NHS. Well done on that. A bit of cash to catch those ickle terrorists. OK, I guess. Tax on vodka has not increased. Ta muchly. And, with the jobs I'm currently set up to do (if I never get sick and never take an unscheduled holiday), I'll be 66.06 pounds better off. Um, yay, I suppose. Ish. Also, people who earn even less than I do will actually be worse off. More money for families you say. Well not all of us are, in fact, spliced, sproglet-ed and white-picket-fenced. The taxes won't balance out for everyone. People who are worse off than I am (even the families) will be stuffed. And you call yourselves the Labour Party. Thanks, Gordon, yer pillock.

Regards,

Susannah

The police just closed my street. This is because somebody just blew up one of the local pubs. A lunar eclipse shines overhead. I love Finsbury Park. It is The Uber-Surreal.

Thanks secretlondon for telling me about this.

Oh my god. I didn't get that involved in the struggle for gay rights while I was there - I didn't live there that long - but I got enough of a sense of what the people I spoke to were fighting against, and why they were doing so. They hoped it would get better, not worse. Everyone believed it would. I hope the EU puts enough pressure on the Polish government for the law to be scrapped, but I doubt that'll happen. Nothing to do except keep on fighting, and hoping, I guess.

Have gathered that various people (including myself) think in this manner:

1) The Pembury is good.
2) Stuff at the Pembury (particularly food) is expensive.
3) I am poor.
4) Therefore, I cannot 'do' the Pembury. This seriously sucks.

Have been thinking of ways to remedy this situation. I wonder if it would be possible to arrange a multi-person picnic? This would obviously require asking for permission, especially if it's for lots of people, but as long as the participants all solemnly swear to at least buy a drink, maybe it might just work? Suggestions?

On a happier note, went to see 'Hamlet' in the evening, which cheered me right up. Is Twickenham really so far away, or am I becoming insular and awful and losing my Australian sense of space? Nevertheless it was good to see people again. There was gin and tonic and discussion of The Yartz. Yay! The production was good too - loved the 19th-century military setting. Those uniforms=brilliant, and I want Gertrude's dress. Now. I'm such a magpie. Hamlet was rather good too, played it for laughs occasionally, a strategy which, if done well, can really work in Shakespeare's tragedies. (Then try squeezing a laugh out of Shakespeare's comedies.)
Most of the acting was pretty good actually. Particularly liked Polonius, this time played absolutely straight which is the funniest way to play him. The women, however, were okay. And okay is painful. Bad, you can laugh at. Good, you can applaud. But Gertrude sat there trying to look queenly and ending up looking like she'd just been to the dentist's and the anaesthetic hadn't worn off yet. Ophelia I think had been directed to play the part the way she did, which was 'perky, whimsical, modern young woman'. Unfortunately Shakespeare just didn't write Ophelia that way. Much as one might desire a feminist interpretation of Ophelia, there is no room for it in the play, and it just didn't work. It looked very, very odd. The uni production I was in featured a female Hamlet and a male Ophelia. Due to the gender role expectations still, sadly, very much around today, it showed up what a strong and three-dimensional role Hamlet is, and what an incredibly weak role Ophelia is. ('Hey! Why doesn't the independent, active bloke have anything to do?') Mad Ophelia was annoying, but Mad Ophelia always is.
But it was wonderful immersing myself in the beauty of Shakespeare's language, in the way that Hamlet has become a cliched play, but become so because it's good - because Shakespeare sums up a concept in a way no one else can match. You can give the play nearly any setting or context, and it will work, in the same way that you can never ruin a truly great song by covering it. (There's a meme: Worst Cover In The World?) And then I went home and got some sleep.

Absolutely beastly day yesterday. Pride comes before a fall, I suppose. Employer's underling phoned me up. My first month's work at smashing new job was 'part of the interview process', apparently (possibly that's legal, through some crafty loophole or other; possibly not) and I 'do not have sufficient knowledge of FASHION LABELS to be the successful long-term applicant for the position'. Just think: if only I'd been one of the airhead set at school, I'd still have that job! Although, if I had been one of the airhead set at school, I'd be stuck in Perth, married to a City Boy type and occupying my time rearranging the flowers in the hallway and organising dinner parties for my husband's slimy business associates. I love the smell of irony in the morning. Back to the CV drawing board. Yuck. Next time I see you, Mark, bring your pointy sticks along. I wish to use them on Certain HR People. Oh yes.

Further issues also, related to me Not Being A Happy Little Vegemite, No Really at the moment. But I shall not bother the general populace with those.

The Earth is made of jelly babies. I believe they are lime flavoured. Agree or refute, showing all working.

What does one do when one is extremely interested in one's friends' political and social debates, but can only contribute to said debates by pretty much agreeing with whatever they've already said? Currently I deal with it by not responding at all (not that that's a bad thing for the rest of society). Perhaps I know too many sane, broad-minded, well-informed (and, yes, mostly left-wingish) people. Should I make the acquaintance of some Right Wing Loonies (TM), just for the sake of a decent, hackle-raising argument? Baiting bigots is fuuuun! Anyone know any utter bastards I can go and be a crazy pinko at?

P.S. Nathan Barley is gone. There is now fair trade hummus and pita bread in the fridge, by way of an apology. It's rather good.

My media-employed flatmate has decided to throw a party. There are Shoreditch wankers in my attic. Nathan Barley is yelling unintelligible things in the kitchen. I left after five minutes. F*ck this. I'm going to bed.