Level of conviction in own genius: 7
Amount of creative activity achieved in last 24 hours: 3
Reading: Just finished Owen Sheers' 'Resistance'.
Hair Day: nae bad
So BBC London's ENTIRE 30-minute report yesterday was on the snow and the CHAOS it cause to the transport network and WHAT were the head honchos doing about it apart from failing to grit the drives up to the bus depots, whilst Boris, his hair the colour of snow just lightly pissed on, made light-hearted remarks about having nice snow but too much of it. Aforementioned stolid transport honchos repeatedly droned no about adverse 'weather events'. WEATHER EVENTS? It's SNOW!
Frankly Andy and I watched the flakes cascade down, as if we were being seasoned from above with vast amounts of Maldon sea salt, with absolute glee and wide-eyed pleasure on Sunday night, and marvelled at the twilighty, not-darkening sky as the streelights reflected the thickening snow below. We opened the curtains on Monday morning to see what we'd hoped for, our road caked, the big trees laden wantonly, and not a car going by. We marvelled that there would be a day where the roads were not thick with buses, when most of the tubes had shivered and got stuck. Of course, my meeting was only a mile down the road, which meant I positively ACHED to get out, clad in my never-worn-in-London walking boots and silver parka, crunching on the pavements. I crammed with my artist colleague Nick into E Pellici's for a red-cheeked late breakfast and then we walked to the Rich Mix. That so-satisfying chomp of boot on snow! The turfed-up snow that looked like flour, sugar and butter rubbed together: the beginnings of shortbread. My meeting consisted of experimenting with a Wii controller wrapped in a scarf and put into a hamster ball, and rolled around to pitch-shift the string sample it picked up through bluetooth; and singing into a tin can with a stretched bit of balloon on the end and a reflected laser, the laser twisting into circles on the wall as I sang. Such is the good end of my huge educational piece/project, happening in March. Then back through increasingly slushy gunk to Museum Gardens to meet Andy, fall straight down onto my back to make a flailing angel, chuck lumps of finely sifted snow at him, watch the Muslim family in hijabs do the same, and a pair of 12-year olds hold onto high tree branches in order to perfect the top of their snowman. Who CARES if no-one could get to work? Why did you BOTHER!? We have days like this once a decade so why can't the government declare an National Snow Day, turn off every engine and let us all go sledding?
Hhm, it is rather funny that juice cannot get together today to rehearse Elizabeth Lutyens' hardcore serialist-ish vocal trio, 'of the snow', because of... just that.