got live, if you want it

Sometimes you'll be in a situation where there s conversation that you just wish it was possible to hit 'record' to capture all the ideas.

Not the full 30 minute blow-by-blow, but a much shorter segment usually, a two or three minute sound bite that really works and resonates.

I had one of those on Tuesday, when we were sitting in an Italian restaurant eating lunchtime ciabattas and savouring the charcoal flavours all the time in a conversation about 'the now'.

Including whether to write about things as they occur or to wait and reflect.

Rösti in Yorkshire

So, here we are in York.

Betty's for a fizzy early supper with the blend of Yorkshire and Switzerland.

I'll go for the Rösti (mit Bratchäs), but don't need the offered chutney. Raclette cheese on roughly grated potato works for me, even if there's arguments raging amongst others.

I know which side of the Rostigraben to stand, even in Valentine's Yorkshire.

in the future everyone will be private for 15 minutes

seen whilst walking in Ouseburn

humorous carnage in tyneside

We didn't need much of an excuse to visit the famous old Tyneside Cinema in the early part of an evening. Its down a side alley and holds its secrets to unfold as you walk into the small foyer but then discover the delights beyond.

Originally built in an art deco style by Dixon Scott, a true movie enthusiast, there's also an area dedicated to showing the evolution of the movies. And Dixon's nephews include both Ridley and Tony Scott so there's quite a lineage.

We were going to see the comedy of manners called 'Carnage', from Yasmina Reza's play 'God of Carnage' which has also been on in the West End.

It's a tightly wound piece, which Polanski pretty much 'filmed in a box'. When it starts you think two of the four main players are about to leave the apartment they are visiting. An hour and a half later you've seen them explore ever more spirited arguments, blended with middle class manners and sensibilities which are then progressively pared back.

There's not a dull moment, in this 'play on the big screen' and aside from the many humorous parts I also found it kind of exhausting baed upon the attitudes of the sparring families. The underpinning argument was about a playground tiff that ended in a blow and loose teeth. The adults did it with somehow more finesse, but similar outcomes.

Tyne

We picked a surprisingly quick route to the north east where we soon fell into a lively Italian restaurant to begin catching up on various events.

After London, it's as if all the bridges in central Newcastle have been somehow compressed together, along with the elevated scenery, all juxtaposed into a compact series of three dimensional puzzles.

This makes it a great city for walking, so except for the end of a long evening, when a taxi came in useful, the rest of the time has been on foot.

a pint of bitter in a thin glass

No prizes for guessing where we are bundling ourselves off to in a car this weekend.

Well, OK then - Newcastle and Gateshead.

We won't see Carter there, but I may just take the DVD.

midnight diamonds

It's way after midnight and too late to expect new tyre tracks in the fresh snow.

I've cleared the pans of courgettes, tomatoes and some kind of garlic kicker.

Nearby I hear an argument about money or alimony but doubt that George can beat Catherine.

There's red wine threatening me in the glass, but I've already decided clarity will assist the morning's early start.

I look back to the diamond glitter and wonder whether the route north will be clear in time.

another evening in town

A place near the main drag all lit in neon, with shadow glass and five types of chrome. Someone planned for us all to be here although sushi had given way to some kind of Chinese French. I'd got a spare seat next to me for a late arrival, so she'd be near the middle instead of out on the edges.

We'd already played out quite a few hands during the afternoon, so the permanent nighttime of the bar gave excuses to pretend leave the real business by the door.

Place some clarinet around the bass backbeat. Click a few fingers near the candles.

Not dark enough for some though; wearing shades to hide their expressions.

furnished with blue lights, baby

I've still got to clear half an apartment's worth of 'why?' to make some building space.

There's less than four weeks until more things arrive and there needs to be somewhere intermediate.

Old stuff out. New stuff in.

Then more old stuff out.

And that's just the holding space.

It's a good theory.

i smoke my friends down to the filter

Sometimes you have to pick a corner so when the bar fills you can still spot the friendly faces. The smile that might not be complete recognition but you know its the right person. The one that tells you the dreams are still alive and they don't all belong to someone else.

So yesterday, we'd picked to meet in a barroom I'd never visited and I arrived so early that the barman was kneeling, lighting log fires in the hearths.

I'd already checked my overcoat pockets for burned out ferris wheel lights or other tell-tale signs of recent misdemeanours. My hands came out clean and ready to wave in the candle-light.

We were both forward lookers so after only a glance or two over our shoulders we moved it right along - fun going forward. Of course there were secrets but none that the wine won't protect or another day can't provide for a slow reveal.


Picture : Anders Petersen - Cafe Lehmitz - 1960

shilling installments

It's been both a cold and foggy evening with shapes melting away after about 20 feet* of distance.

It all seems right and appropriate on the eve of Charles Dicken's 200th Anniversary and I'll celebrate the various cliches about London Town and fogs for the occasion.

Like many, I studied Dickens back in school, with the text of Hard Times as a set piece along with Shakespeare, Chaucer and George Orwell. The names of Thomas Gradgrind, steeped in Facts, Sleary the lisping circus owner, Bitzer and Bounderby are enough to conjure plot lines even before the first pages are turned.

Everyone knows 'Oliver Twist' and 'A Christmas Carol' but there's plenty more of Dicken's stories out there, written as serials, the affordable soap operas of the day.

Weird then, to be asked a couple of days ago about whether I had any use for a set of Dicken's novels. They are one set that I'd happily make a space to enjoy in shilling installments.


* non metric in context with the rest of the post

a thin kind of snow

We were walking around the low-water Thames tide at Ransome's Dock yesterday, just before the snow arrived. We'd already pressed our noses to the windows of The Albert, but decided instead to make our way back across the almost deserted park.

The pub was jam-packed as if everyone had decided to go somewhere ahead of the ever more excited weather forecasts.

So maybe today invites a chance to contemplate. This morning's few footprints can tell stories but it's mainly that everyone and their cats are adjusting plans.

And this snow without flurries is already fast melting. A freeze frame moment just before hitting Play.