The last few days have shared a spaced out and dreamy mood that's I've been floating through, managing to get a few waitressing shifts in here and there, in the midst of experiencing living with 2 other guys in the middle of London. So when you live with people, there are a few habits, or quirks that start to matter. Cooking, cleaning, bedtime, routines that everyone's experienced differently having come from different families and cultures with different ways. It's interesting when you combine them - does the result work? Yesterday at lunch time, it didn't. We all 'assigned' ourselves various tasks - I can't recollect what mine was but the majority of it was spent relaxing in the garden on the phone to 'flu-camp' answering mindless questions about whether I was 'healthy' or 'had taken any recreational drugs lately' - Woops. But that's a story for later, the kitchen was a beautiful site. Glasses half full of 'Echo Falls' Rose, dorito packets scattered, cereal bars, chocolate wrappers, egg shells and no milk. If someone fancied a cup of tea - it would require a minute of manual labour or a 30 minute wait for the half broken dishwasher. No cups, cutlery or plates were available and the floor was covered in tobacco and crumbs. It's funny how fast a mess accumulates between a few people, but it can disappear just as fast when everyone gets their gloves on. The mid-work spliffs probably didn't aid motivation or the speed at which we completed the seemingly simple job. We joined the boys in the kitchen at lunch time - one of whom had been in-charge of food. The grossness of it didn't really hit me until I left the house, when you're hungry you'll eat anything. It was an oily pile of mash - what was in the mash you may ask? Frozen chips, fish fingers and chicken breast baked in a vat of oil. I chopped up a bit of lettuce just to delay the oncoming heart attack, and left the house with a nauseous feeling that has lasted until this morning. Besides the current lazy lifestyle, that you have to grab at while it lasts, the majority of our days are usually sunny and well-spent. Empty suitcases upstairs still await packing for our three day festival tomorrow, 'Creamfields' - setting ourselves up for a non-stop techno/house adventure in the woods.
London's an interesting place at the moment, the patriotic Olympic spirit still lingers in the streets, the night-life is slowly wittering out, Wednesday nights in Camden are no longer buzzing, now a more mellow vibe has washed over the city. I feel slightly sympathetic towards the para-olympians actually, the Olympic torch has been put out (yes they may have another one but isn't it slightly degrading?) and the thousands of american, Spanish and French tourists that roamed the streets of London are now dispersing to their corners of the globe. But apparently this is the first time the tickets for the p.o games are all completely sold out so there's a pat on the back. I've had numerous recent discussions regarding what constitutes a 'para-Olympian' and what disabilities are more 'limiting' than others. The athletes are identified by the sport they play not the disability they have, yet isn't it more advantageous to be a deaf runner than a blind one? Where does the line actually end - I'm sure there's a long and boring rule book answering my question that's very closely followed and monitored but when you see it all from an objective standpoint without understanding the fine-print, these questions are bound to arise.
So following on from my earlier sporadic mentioning of 'flu-camp', a concept that had not even entered by realm of thought until 2 weeks ago when the prospect of earning 3 - 4k in 11 days made all my senses heighten. You basically sign up for a clinical trial in which you're a 'human guinea pig' for 11 days. You're given a mild strain of the flu, followed by treatments that 'cure you'. You're placed in a suite with wireless, flat screen TV, playstation and all the other gadgets and techy things you can think of - and fed three meals a day, in isolation. On mention of this to my dad (which I have been constantly reminded wasn't the best idea), he retaliated with a very well thought out argument. Stuck in isolation for 11 days, having to endure a nasty virus, getting random unknown drugs injected into your body, and the potentially awful yet unknown long-term side-effects. So this is my current battle, the money vs. the risks. It's that moment of temptation when it could all go wrong for a bit of money, but if it goes right, you would spend forever looking back at the decision with fond memories and a smile on your face. I think a pro's and con's list is in need.
It's midday, I'm the only one who's made the bold move of getting out of bed, meanwhile we're wasting another beautiful day indoors.. walking into the kitchen is like deja-vu, I'm avoiding that section of the house for the time being, with the slightly doubtful hope that when everyone wakes up our productive juices will start flowing. The plan of action today is move out of this house and leave it 'just as it was left', an image i struggle to visualize; rewarding ourselves with the current 'Damien Hurst' exhibition at the Tate Modern. Some of the features are said to include a room full of thousands of butterflies, a carcass being eaten by flies and various other gruesome but fascinating depictions of nature. The last exhibition I went to at the Tate a few weeks ago was in the new section by the 'tanks'. Various underground rooms have been built to showcase the talents of various Korean, German, Dutch etc. artists that have a flare for the disturbing. I was with a friend when I went to see this, we observed individuals in the queue being pulled out and ordered to sit down in a corner for no apparent reason. We were approached and led out of the long line directly to the exhibition. It was all part of the act, the artists desire to show how workers and labourers desired freedom yet were constantly held down by their 'class' and wealth-status. So much of the art was open to interpretation and some I found leaned further towards the abstract 'could mean anything' type of art but you had to appreciate what the artist was trying to share.
I think breakfast is on the cards - the one safe meal that doesn't require any effort (if there's any milk left that is.)
Recipe of the day: Rice pudding
http://allrecipes.co.uk/recipe/157/easy-rice-pudding.aspx
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