Yesterday I had a meeting over in York with a chap who’s setting up a creative agency. I caught the train and at the start it was a most pleasant journey, pulling out of frozen Manchester and winding into the foothills of the Pennines, but then first stop was Huddersfield and the train filled. The guy sitting next to me firstly ate a bag of stinking chips, then shouted a conversation in whatever African language he spoke into his mobile. He perhaps didn’t grasp the concept that the phone saves the need to shout.
But then York looked like a film set in the snow. My man took me to the Minster instead of lunch. An odd, but inspired choice. We contemplated the years of man hours that went into even small elements, let alone the amazing whole. We then went to his office to talk work with our heads truly on a different level.
I’ve probably been there before, my parents took me most places of significance when I was a lad, but kids don’t care when they’re young and it dropped from memory. Yet I think at any age I’d have been fascinated by the gargoyles in the chapter house. We watched a young guy cutting in a piece of stone with amazing precision, and checked out a goblet with a 32 carat diamond encrusted into it. Surely it was a replica we were looking at?
It’s a different world in York, a special place and I was delighted to spend a few hours there.
Ah I just wish I had the vocabulary and requisite mental capacity to describe just what an amazing morning doggo and I experienced earlier today.
It’s going to be a busy day so we left for the park at 7.00 ish, just getting light. It was cold. Like really really cold, in fact the cars that are in the shade are still well frozen outside. The frost was thick on the ground and the grass unyeilding, but we walked fast and loved every minute.
Strangely the dog seems to find her ball far more difficult to find in this weather. Perhaps the contrast is reduced for her, even though for me the bright orange ball stands out even more on a white background than when it’s against grass. Fortunately she enjoys the chase and her whole back end wags when she’s doing her sad impression of tracking. A spaniel would have the ball in seconds.
It was even good to be at the desk far earlier this morning. I’ve already done as much as it usually takes until 11.00 o’clock to do, but that in itself was a necessity, I need to leave at ten to get the bus to town to get the train to York for a meeting that will hopefully lead to some work later in the year, and then a gentle time ambling around the beautiful town that I can never get Mrs G to visit.
Right that’s it. Let’s hope we don’t tuck into the ales too seriously, I have a semi meeting this evening too. It’s a meeting in a pub, but it’s another that may well end up in a couple of us considering some work together.
Missing Mother’s birthday is usually what makes me feel suitably guilty to nip out and grab a Valentine’s Day card and thereby avoid badly upsetting both the women if my life.
I used to get up tight when people forgot to send a card on my birthday, but actually I don’t care much any more. Perhaps I’m secretly hoping they won’t notice that I’m ageing if they forget it’s my birthday? Sad, but probably true.
But this year I’d quite like to stay in the good books of both and have been onto Hello Turtle (thanks for the suggestion Sis) to buy both their cards and create something cheesy, but at least just for them. You get a selection of hundreds of personalised cards that you then drop names and greetings into. Easy.
They don’t even leave you with an excuse for not buying a present either – there’s all sorts there on the site, but I’m more into buying stuff that they wouldn’t expect so I didn’t delve deeper into the gifts section.
Outside the snow has all gone, even the grey sludge has melted, but the gritters are out on both the roads and the pavements. We’re in for another cold night I reckon, well, that’s OK with me. Just need to take the dog for a pee before bed and we’re all done. Sometimes it’s just hard to wait late enough!
Well it snowed. But not much.
And it keeps going above zero and gets slushy.
If it does get properly cold later there’ll be road chaos.
Manchester isn’t pretty in these conditions. People look drab. Streets are brown and grey. Cars covered in salty muck.
But for today the pub looks like a very tempting option. No real idea of what it’s like outside once you’re toasty within.
Perhaps the Green where there’ll be two fires going at least, or The Parlour where the food will be better, but no fire. Funny that, people who have been tend to think it has a fire because it’s the sort of place that would. So maybe they don’t need to bother, folk come away with the glow of thinking they have sat by one whether it’s there or not.
And perhaps a touch of domestication about the home. Having a dog makes your place so dirty just by running in the park a couple of times a day. She’ll come home looking OK, but she’s black, so the dirt doesn’t show until it all dries and falls off all around the place. Then she comes in wet and shakes mazing Pollock splatters up the wall. That and the naturally dusty nature of cities.
Makes us sound like we live in a student pit.
That’s definitely not the case.
Jon and Mrs G are just back form the big smoke and a great wedding of two lovely friends.
Rik and Annie have been together for seventeen years, and have just tied the knot at The Polish Club on Exhibition Road where all the museums are. Getting down to town was a drama as there’d been a train derailed and so we had to get off at Milton Keynes, then Mrs G got us a car to share between us and an American woman who is new to England and some fellow who’d otherwise have missed the meeting he’d caught the train for.
We stayed at The Pelham, a boutique hotel just opposite South Ken station. Heaven knows how much that cost us, I didn’t dare look.
But, while it was probably costly, it was also very nice. A reasonable sized room, with a huge and magnificently comfortable bed, and a view of the top of the V&A which is even more stunning looking at from a similar level.
We drank, ate, bantered, laughed, danced, drank, and drank. Met old friends, met new folk. Mrs G got pawed by a few older guys – she always attracts them. Then just a short stagger down the road to the hotel, and this morning a great breakfast and a walk around Chelsea, including an hour dreaming over the gorgeous furniture in the Conran Shop.
Train back to Manchester and slushy snow and bloody cold. I’m sure it’ll settle in for the night and might even make teh city look pretty by the morning.
Bit on the fragile and tired side now, but a great night, in fact day and night.
I sat up late last night and read Smut, Alan Bennett’s latest little book with two short(ish) stories.
You have to listen to Alan Bennett reading his work on the radio or something before reading any of his work to get the best effect.
I try to read him with his voice in my head. It makes a funny story even better.
These two were both hilarious and unexpected, especially picturing the man himself in his country clothes and slightly whining Yorkshire accent. The language is beautiful and perfect. His ability to write a long sentence is unparalleled. By which of course I mean he can write a long sentence that works as such, rather than something that should have been broken up into several shorter ones.
Trouble is it was just after 2.00 when I put the light out and so hopping up at the crack of dawn this morning wasn’t the easiest, and then of course it was so bloody cold earlier. Beautiful with frost covering the fields of the park. But how the dog can happily run on that cold ground for an hour or so I can’t imagine.
Well it’s time the little thing had another pee, so I’m about to pile on the layers again and set off into the big chill.
Dogs.
Ah. Just back from two wonderful nights in the Brecon Beacons.
I’d forgotten that we booked up to stay at this place instead of giving each other Christmas presents. And what a top present it turned out to be. The hotel is owned by two brothers who also have two in Cornwall near where we stay when we’re at Lou’s place.
The Griffin is a big red painted house that looks as French as it does Welsh. It’s a very laid back kinda place with a big fire between the dining rooms and lounge/bar area, and comfortable rooms with no TV! Brilliant.
The only slight drawbacks for us were that our lovely room, room 3, was close to the road and so considerable more noisy than our flat in central Manchester, and that for the three days we were there the water was only hot enough to shower with on the last morning. That apart I’d recommend it to anyone looking for comfort rather than luxury.
The high point is definitely the food. We were on a fixed dinner B&B deal that wasn’t restricted on the menu and everything was great. The chef has a heavy salt hand, but so what, we loved all that we ate.
I intended to do a lot of work in the morning before Mrs G woke, but the complete lack of internet put pay to that cunning plan. I didn’t mind too much, and indeed they do tell you in the promotional information which of course I didn’t read.
The best recommendation I reckon is this – will we go again? Yes we will!
Brilliant.
Man just turned up at the door with a nice box. My books from Taschen.
Good packaging with those huge air bubbles and all the books in perfect order despite being supposedly damaged stock.
So far I’ve glanced at the book on Tado Ando, the Japanese architect, and I’ve in love with it already.
There’s one called Trespass which is a sort of ode to the Banksy brigade of urban art graffiti artists and then Brand Identity Now, which will be with me on the train to London in a bit, in fact very soon.
I hope the weather down south is better than here, bloody great hail stones hammering down on Manchester at the moment. They suit my mood though. I feel a bit thundery myself, no doubt in part due to the large number of beers imbibed last night in town before an excellent curry at East 2 East, which I reckon is Manchester centre’s finest.
Better pop a couple of pills and order a cab. No time for taxi now. Silly arse that I am.
Sat on the train now, unusually empty and I’ve got a table seat to myself. Not that I’m going to work though. What I really need is a pillow. It won’t be a difficult meeting, but nonetheless I need to be on the ball. In my memory print suddenly gets a whole lot cheaper when the buyer starts to walk away.
I love books. I buy more books than I read. I love book shops. And even though I think I’d love a kindle for reading at night, or for the convenience of just popping it into my pocket, I reckon I’d still buy a hard copy of most of the books that I read.
I got carried away on the Taschen website on Sunday night and popped several into my virtual basket, but knowing the danger of shopping after a few drinks I was sensible enough to not go to the checkout until Tuesday. But then I went for it. Architecture, branding, art. Yee ha! Hope the delivery comes before the weekend, and when I’m here alone so I don’t have to justify my frivolous purchasing.
I’ll take the branding book with me to London next week to swot up on my way to the printers in london which I found through the city visitor site, but who turned out to be hugely helpful. they’re going to be doing some work for a client who seems to be using me as his marketing manager as well as business advisor. Have to admit I quite enjoy it as I get to practise a bit more of what I preach.
But back to the books. I don’t care for paper diaries, but Taschen say they’ll send a free one of theirs, I guess they have a few thousand left that they need to shed. I reckon I might even start using it for a retro feel.
This morning I got up at 7.30 which is about usual.
Took the dog to the park and wandered around on our own for a while, and then met a few friends until there were seven of us. Seven dogs can make a fair old rumpus and ours were doing their best to make their presence felt today.
There was a fairly big terrier that’s probably the only dog I don’t like around here, not helped by the fact that I don’t like its owner much either. I love the dog’s energy and the distance he shrinks with his bounding gate, but what I don’t like is the way he plays – seriously hard. He usually has a bleeding ear and often a bleeding leg from where it has got too much for his unwilling play mates. His technique is to either bite ears or actually bite the other dog’s mouth.
They’re pretty well immune to pain and mine somehow puts up with this treatment every now and then, but today she was having none of it. She fought back hard and there was some awful noise. Then her biggest friend, a massive newfoundland, starting body slamming the terrier to great effect, The little fellow soon got the message and sloped off to annoy someone else.
But as I watch her sleeping beside me now it doesn’t seem possible that the aggression and speed could be so completely contained just an hour later and sleep be all she cares about.