The last month was a particularly busy one and I haven’t had much of a moment to think of any kind of writing proper. We moved into our new home in West London and have all but gutted the place, taking a sledge hammer to the cheap IKEA furniture with which the previous tenants had burdened us. We hated everything they had done with the place and wasted no time in tearing down, trashing and burning anything that could remind us of them ever existing in here. The landlord tells us they had been crummy tenants, and when we showed him how they had irrevocably butchered one of the light fittings, he called them a pair of stupid bastards and said he was happy to see them go.
Just when the place was starting to look our own, the plumbing went to hell and the heating packed in for reasons known only to the universe. Then we found that a mouse has made itself a home somewhere in our kitchen. We got the radiators and sinks working again, but our uninvited guest continues to elude our best efforts for an eviction.
We were at the Barbican on Saturday to listen to some classical musical as part of the Sound Unbound festival. It was an incredible day: we saw the BBC Symphony Orchestra belting out Liszt and Berlioz, watched a live recording session of Stravinsky’s The Soldier’s Tale with the London Symphony Orchestra, and enjoyed piano pieces by Chopin, Bach and Rachmaninov as performed by the concert pianist James Rhodes. But enough of that culture nonsense. We saw this sign outside a bar on the way to the venue and got a kick out of it. I hope you do to.