Month: May 2024

When I eventually clawed myself from sleep, the sun was high in the sky. I wandered out into the streets of Chelsea before my eyes had properly adjusted and let the sun beat down on my head.

I can’t spend money at the moment. Got myself into too much mess. Hence the car boots. Japan was wonderful but I’ll be making that back for a long time now.

So I pounded the hayfeverish Chelsea streets instead, and enjoyed the sun on my face. Everyone is out on the streets if they can be. The city feels different.

When I was in France I bought some canned cassoulets. I figured if they do basic food better than us they probably do lazy food better than us as well. Lentils and sausages in a tin, and at car boot I realised I had a tagine that would perfectly render the contents of such a tin into food, with the application of heat.

It was disappointingly tasty. I’m now dreaming into all the interesting things I might be able to put into that pot and then cook. Couscous or lentils at base, liquid, veg and meat. There’s cheap scran to be found in using such an implement well. And I’m living in a world where eating cheap is the whole thing. It’s gonna be a tricky summer if I can’t pull off a big surprise job, and it’s at times like that when I learn new recipes that I carry through the good times.

The day has gone round, as relaxed as I had wanted. Tomorrow I’m back in the mix and tonight I’ll likely be asleep with the sun. Life is pretty good. I just need to get resourceful again.

Back to Battersea Boot. I really wasn’t prepared. I took a box out of my attic that was labelled “Greek Wedding”. It was china. I had labelled it. Bulk crap china.

That was all I took apart from the same things I took last time that didn’t sell, and a couple of bags. I really didn’t have time to organise this, but I want to keep doing it every fortnight as this stuff needs to move on. It’s why I have it. Not to keep it in my attic until I die. To shift it onwards.

My favourite sale today might have been my least satisfying. I had a box of nine beautiful and fine Victorian bone china tea cups and saucers. An American lady from Oklahoma was there, travelling back home shortly, looking for English things. She only wanted one cup and saucer. A set of eight is as good as a set of nine, and will sell the same really at a car boot sale. So I sold her the single cup and saucer and nobody else showed interest all day in the set. I wanted to get rid of it all. Heigh ho. I like the idea of someone in Oklahoma who literally has the period perfect English bone china tea set for one. Just the cup and saucer, didn’t even want the matching side plate. I hope it flies back okay. Now I’ve got eight cups and saucers and nine side plates.

Other people bought other plates. There’s an astronomical amount of tut in my attic. It is satisfying transforming it into shiny coins. And none of us felt like working today. We weren’t prepared and two of us were hungover. My morning trip around London led to a late arrival. They charge tiered start times at the boot but they don’t honour it on arrival. I had paid £5 extra for 11 – 11:30 entry and all the 11:30 guys waiting had been let in before I arrived at 11:15. That’s bad policy. I tried not to get too shirty about it but it has caused all three of us to look for other car boot sales that get good footfall in the London area, as our pitch was bollocks this week compared to every other time despite paying for a window and getting there within that window. The footfall wasn’t what I’m used to but apparently it was a big day in the football – someone proved that sport is about how much money you can eat.

I wouldn’t be very good at sport after today, but I sold some bits and made some small money. More next time, keep it going until it’s all gone. Hooray hooray etc. I’m watching Brian play a small time feudal lord in Mount and Blade: Bannerlord, which is one of those incredibly involved games that teach you how Genghis Khan happened. You start with a small group, plundering outlaws. It grows and grows and they all need to eat and want spoils and so you have to take out bigger and bigger targets until you are stopped in your tracks or you’ve eaten everything.

Today the car boot sale. Tomorrow the world. We are both enjoying a glass of Tiny Rebel.

Saturdays are perhaps supposed to be for resting. I’m always slightly disappointed in myself when I do the thing that everyone is supposed to do, but I needed a stop so I stopped. All these events with late hours and strange requirements, meeting all sorts of people and throwing energy at big crowds. Staying alert and present late at night when everyone else is relaxing…

I crashed a bit this morning and didn’t really try to turn it around. Late lie in and then a desultory potter around the flat looking for things last minute that I can take and sell in bulk tomorrow at the Battersea Car Boot Sale. I’m going back. More frantic jumble sale nonsense. I’m not so well prepared this week though. Haven’t charged up my speaker. I could maybe go do it before sleep but I won’t. I’m naked in bed and it’s in my car.

What have I done today? Made a box of stuff to sell. Eaten toast and marmite. Read a bit. Had a pie. Dozed… Not productive. But it’s a Saturday and I’m not ashamed. Now I’m in bed post bath, and it’s early. And I’m gonna go to sleep even as the light fades from the sky. There’s plenty to do before the boot sale and I’m gonna do it all in the morning so long as I don’t sleep through my alarm.

Lou has been at Glyndebourne all day again doing the work that makes it possible for us to go and see lovely opera. Brian got home this evening as I was munching on pie. I have a feeling he is as knackered as I am. We are both in our respective bedrooms.

I can’t have too many lazy days like this with summer on the way. I want the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. But occasionally one is allowed to recuperate. Hopefully I’ll bounce up tomorrow recharged and ready for the car boot sale.

Twenty years of Al Rayan bank, and like I said to the client I’m on brand, being another Al.

A gala dinner and award ceremony at Banking Hall on Cornhill, just opposite the old lady of Threadneedle Street – aka The Bank of England. The Banking Hall is where they shot the bank scenes in Harry Potter and Mary Poppins.

My job this evening was MC. My first award ceremony was about ten years ago for The Steel Industry, and the client caught me just beforehand and took me by the hand. “The last guy was really slow,” he said. “They’re here for the party and there are a lot of awards. Give them weight but do them as quickly as you can, overlap when possible, push through.” I got a bottle of water and rattled through them. He was thrilled and got me back the next year. An early learn.

I wanted the script in advance on this one so I could get the names sorted and work out where the accelerator could be gently applied. “There’s an autocue,” said the Event Runner on the night. “You don’t need a script.” “Can you send it anyway please?” An eyeroll, but they do.

Halfway through the event the podium got taken out. No podium, no autocue. I had to introduce the band in detail. Half a page of build up. No autocue. I don’t like the autocue much anyway but it does make for a lighter workload. But nobody building the script had realised it would affect me if it was taken away.

It’s nice when you notice you’re good at something. I braved the eye roll and had the script at the start of the night because experience taught me that I might need it. I caught on just in time that I was gonna introduce the band from memory, and crammed it into my head through a hole in my ear, as is somehow possible still despite all the rubbish I keep stored up there. It took me ten minutes and I splurged it all back out in the right order and now I’ve forgotten it again. I don’t think many people noticed my heroics but for the autocue lady who looked surprised. But… I left the event happy to have added value.

Next time I’m gonna try to get into the script conversation earlier, as there were a few points of timing and follow-on that weren’t clearly thought through, and people structuring these things might benefit from an eye on practicality.

A good company though, Al Rayan, and both the chairman and the CEO were very pleasant people. I think they have a right to feel the event went well.

The Electro-Swing Project brought the thunder in terms of entertainment, and they put on a tight and fast show after the awards, really stepping into some beautifully thought through material. Excellent musicians and dancers combined. Sexy entertainment. But, you know … not TOO sexy.

A sharia bank tonight. I’ve never done one of these evenings where everyone in the audience is sober. Non alcoholic cocktails on arrival, or a lead free prosecco. A sober crowd at the end of the night, although a crowd determined to get selfies on the staircase. I got some chicken, but barely had time to eat it. When I was done I grabbed my bag and walked to Cannon Street. Then I got changed on the empty tube, out of my DJ and back into my comfy clothes for this balmy summer evening. Another nice event, and it’s really time I built a website cos I’m very good at this MC business now. A place where my natural overexcited nature fits right in.

Last night, after I helped him load his bar in, I persuaded S to leave the stock for the team. He was gonna take it but he agreed, as it made no odds to him. Rather than stash it I decided to be open and tell the whole team about it, so they could grab whatever they could carry. “I’m worried about the venue thinking this is rubbish,” said Mark. “Don’t worry,” I said, knowing that he would read the subtext. “I’ll get my car in the morning and make sure it is possible for us to take whatever people don’t want. I’m running a bar in summer for a show if things go according to plan, so the mixers and the zero stuff will be really helpful as cost saving. Plus the booze of course. I’ll gladly take as much of that as you like free of charge!” Jokes of course, he knows I want some of it. Och.

That particular pile wouldn’t have been there at all without Marlon’s relationship with S and my cheeky opportunism, so I kinda thought it was legit for me to hope to benefit after the team had picked.

So I left it all out in our room, in a pile in the middle of the floor. Nobody questioned how it got there, that pile. In the morning people grabbed what they wanted, as I had hoped. And then when it was mostly mixers and zero alcohol, Fiona announced that everything else was coming back to theirs in their van anyway and told me publicly I was greedy for wanting any of it and “no Al it doesn’t work like that”, and got it all loaded into bins for the van and suddenly she forensically monitored what I came away with and I was made to feel like a villain for having negotiated all this stock for them.

Still a lovely event, and a lovely team. I was happy to be able to get something for the London team. Marlon is a great guy and I offered to drive him home. I had to stealthily load a case of beer into my car for him. I saw Fiona looking daggers at it as she left with everything else. Marlon worked hard. We all did. It didn’t all have to go to Hereford for the back end team, surely?Even if I totally know that the events only run smoothly because the back end is good. There is also genuinely a strength in responsive live people who don’t dissolve into howling stress monsters when things aren’t exactly as planned. A good event needs both. I’m not back end. I’m front. And there were plenty of fires I put out before they caught last night. I registered back end surprise when I said goodbye to all the suppliers by name and they reciprocated. It takes different strengths to make a team.

I was a bit too unsubtle trying to get some things for the team though, knowing how hard they had been working. I had just been proceeding as normal, full open, asking people openly, wide and stupid, easy to throw things at. Memorable. People with guile often compile my behaviour incorrectly based on their constructions. I was just being a big helpful face. I had a passive aggressive public drop of a mojito mixer bottle from the Diageo guys, that I don’t think was deserved. I said “If there’s any open black label left at the end of the night, send it our way.” He then staged a drop of a bottle of mixer when everyone from the team was round the back but me. “Your guy asked for a bottle so here it is.” Cunt. Sure he’s done lots of events but that wasn’t called for, especially since I spent about four hours crushing their ice while they were talking about TV shows, and I was never asking for myself and made literally everything available to the team first and me second. I even “won” some sort of beach bag for giving my number to Asahi. Not a bad bag, but I put it in the pile and someone wanted it. Plus a hat. I don’t miss any of this stuff, I was working for the team. I’m angry though because I worked to get nice things for everyone, and ended up being made to feel like I had done something wrong for including myself in that everyone. I think that was correct and fair.

I have to examine my behaviour, or I wouldn’t be me. I tried too hard to bag things for the team, so that’s a learn. They are obviously fed up of it at such events or the guy wouldn’t have staged the mojito mix thing. I’ll call him a cunt again just to shunt a little more bad energy his way. Cunt. He deserves it. I hope a bird shits on his head.

We all worked hard though and I was completely transparent about sharing everything I was given. I was given more than most because I built relationships to help the event. I was willing to let the team take everything as my relationships on the night are only possible because of the work done in the run up. I was just being me, being present, responsive and cheeky.

I got unexpectedly slapped from a familiar slap hand just when I thought we were past that. I think it’s reflexive with her. Hey ho.

Still, a lovely job. And I’ve got some alcohol-free tiny rebel and a case of real beer and some mixers.

“I suppose you can have those mixers. They taste disgusting.”

That’s where we’re at. #Friends

Hayfever is runny but not blocked up today so I’m just occasionally having to blow my nose discreetly and hope that nobody thinks I’ve got COVID.

I’ve just crushed three bags of ice so that would make me a superspreader if I did.

This is a great big annual conference. There’s always something to do. Earlier I was on “You can’t park there” duty. Then “Where m/

…

4 hours. Dunno where that sentence was going. Back then I wasn’t even plugged into the borg, but now there’s this thing in my ear that tells me what to do. Being part of the network of walkie talkies mostly means I get to listen to other people talking about bins, but I also occasionally get to find the bell and bring it to Mark.

Lots of suppliers here and I’ve made friends with some of them which will mean a free tote bag and some interesting mixers and even the occasional bottle of something. One guy had a leaky crate of beer. One punctured can meant we got to keep the ones it sprayed. All of us will go home with what we can carry I expect.

I won’t be able to carry much though. The Club is very green and they were mowing the lawns when I got in this morning at 6, and I’ll still be blowing my nose at 2am, before coming back for 6.30. Everything has to be out of here by 8am and right now there are 300 people giving each other awards in the room next door, and it’s the time I went to bed yesterday. I’m gonna be walking wounded by tomorrow morning at 8am but I don’t have any work until Friday afternoon so I’ll have time to recover. I’ll let you know if I end up with buckets of swag.

I’m a lot better at crushing ice today than I was yesterday.

Oh God. The party has started. Two and a half hours of breaking down tables and picking up glasses. Hopefully some delegates will leave their goodie bags.

Purple Palace again. The Premier Inn on my side of Putney Bridge. It’s only an hour’s walk home from here, twelve minutes by car. But I’m staying here as the team is staying here and tomorrow we all leave at 5:45 to build this event then tear it down.

My hayfever chose today to go nuclear. I’ve been sitting in a meeting that involved food and booze, and I can’t breathe through my nose. I know it well enough just to be perplexed at the timing. I haven’t seen some of these people since the documentary in Aberdeen that sent me slightly bananas.

Now it’s twenty past nine and I’m taking advantage of the facilities. Once again I’m in the end room with an extra bed and a bath, just as I was in Jersey.

I’m sitting in the bath as it fills, hoping that an early bed will be the thing to fix the snot. I haven’t got an antihistamine but I’ve got Actifed. Steam will help too. It’s already helping. It was a year ago last time I did this job and I think I’d just got back from Uruguay. I have just been reminded that I had to record myself singing into my mobile at 4am after the main night, for an audition for Oliver! “One Boooooy, Booy for saaaale!” They recalled me. Might have got that job. Sliding door if I had. Not every job you want is the one you need.

This job is gonna be full on but surrounded by lovely people. Hopefully by the end of it the fractures between Fi and I will be filled in, cos neither of us liked the way the other one deals with stress. I think it’ll be a tonic.

Bath is run. Nose is already clearer. Only half nine and I reckon I’ll be out like a light in half an hour, ready for the morrow which will be lifting building cleaning fixing responding laughing solving breathing. The event is at The Hurlingham Club, where we had dad’s memorial dinner.

If there are leftover untapped barrels, I’m buying a pump ahead of a short term madness I have planned this summer. I’ve got two barrels that need drinking by July. Two more and sales should cover the pump.

Ahhh I feel so much better for the steam. I didn’t think my nose would ever stop being so bunged up.

On my way down to Brighton this time I didn’t think it through. There was no time to go home after pretending to be a goose. I was already in Beaconsfield so it just made so much more sense to go straight to Brighton on a Friday night. But I had no bag packed. In my car was a hat, a black velvet jacket and a jumper with more holes in it than the plot of a cheap romance novel. I stopped at my old staple, TK Maxx. Socks, pants and a couple of T-shirts. Thanks to a dozy assistant the pants weren’t rung through so I am now the proud owner of a box of extremely brief Calvin Kleins. I rather like them. I feel like Dolph Lungdren.

Lou doesn’t like the jacket which is fair enough – I last wore it at a funeral. The jumper though… I thought it was on its last legs. Cashmere but so worn and worn in with washing that the front had four holes in it. “Let me darn that,” she said, and two people I’ve run into since then have said “You look smart!” She’s a miracle worker. It only took her a few minutes and the thing has a new lease of life.

We drove to her workshop briefly, loaded up with picnic, and then on to Carmen at Glyndebourne. I think his might be my eighth different show there in two years. It’s the final dress rehearsal most of the time but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Those gorgeous gardens wake up in the summer, and the whole place is steeped in the bright energy that can only come when so many creative people come together in one place and channel the thing they channel through their bodies and voices. On stage eighty odd dancers and singers working together to tell a strange tale.

A less traditional take on Carmen, and even if I miss the joy of the huge flamenco flounce and the real period twinkles, by bringing it into a slightly seedier and more grounded world it made the interplay between characters ring out in a way it might have have done had I been distracted by petticoats. Manipulative Carmen surrounded by people worse than she is. Beautiful familiar tunes. English people pretending to be French people pretending to be Spanish people. My mum loved this opera. I remember her once telling me the story of it. It was huge and romantic in her memory. This telling of it doesn’t lose the epic sense of a big world, but reminds us that the things that feel vast to us personally don’t transfer very far from the inside of our heads. Not a huge romance of an ending. An unnecessary idiocy played out in a big world. Powerful storytelling and world building. I drove home happy.

Back to the grind now until the end of the week. I’m picking out dinner jackets to wear for an MC gig on Friday. Got to send options to the client. Man in dinner jacket is just that, no? Heigh ho.

A day free of obligation. I have been using it to try and organise my household service providers better. But there are plenty of distractions.

I took Lou into work at Glyndebourne and then drove to Lewes to buy a picnic ahead of Monday’s open dress rehearsal there. The perfect early summer weekend weather, and perhaps the right time to go to Lewes. It was The Battle of Lewes. Scores and scores of hairy men about my age in armour banging drums and wearing scavenged chainmail. One of them even brought his duck.

They ambled through the streets of Lewes for our pleasure, occasionally becoming excited about something or announcing something else. Lewes is a town for this sort of thing. There’s a pub where they do Dwile Flonking, which involves throwing a cloth at people while dancing. Nobody really understands it but they still do it. It reeks of a joke that got out of hand, perhaps people trying to confuse Americans by pretending they all knew the game as they made it up.

Today everyone got the weird stuff out of the garage again and ran around all morning shouting. By now they’ll all be Morris dancing or sozzled on real ale or maybe they’ll even be flonking that dwile. I enjoyed the battle for the spectacle but I couldn’t help feel that they were having more fun than we were. That’s kinda the point with reenactment though I think – much like a lot of amateur dramatics. It’s for the participants more than the audience, but that’s why the audience pay so little.

I moved from bench to bench in the sun, settling and making calls until something moved me. I thought I’d found a lovely bench looking at the river but a very jolly and catastrophically awful busker set up next to me. Now I’m at The Juggs – a fifteenth century inn outside town. They’ve made me a pint of shandy and I’m trying to get the right balance of sun and shade for maximum summer and minimum sleepy. Still a few hours before I pick Lou up from work and I don’t want to be tired or tipsy.

I thought I’d write this now so I can focus on doing very little for the rest of the day but for staying awake. A couple of events coming up next week. This weekend I fully intend to charge up properly. A deck chair would just be the ticket right now…