I'm back. I'm home. I slept in my own bed last night (I mean, I like holidays, but I like coming home, too). I had a lot of post, and I mean a lot. A small EU paper mountain, at the very least.
Yesterday, I went to J&R's leaving (as in leaving the country) do, and J's thirtieth - he is, bizarrely, exactly the same age as Tom, although they don't know each other. Not that there's any reason that two people born on the same day should know each other.
J's party was great; stylish and well-dressed people sipping wine and beer discussing interior design, typography, Hoxton, other people and literary theory. I kid you not. I like it when my friends have really interesting other friends. He's bought so much furniture from Atomic Antiques - on Shoreditch High Street, no webpage - that he invited the guys who own it.
J&R's party was more of an all day/all night affair, so I only saw the afternoon/bring yer kids bit. I put my kids out to dry and forgot to take them. But caught up with lots of interesting people, used my new para-digital camera to take some truly awful photos - I've realised that I'm neither photogenic, nor a good photographer, whatever the camera - and watched M wire a new light fitting.
You know how it is; your house is imperfect, and then you're going away for two years, and renting it out, and finish all the things you've been planning to do for ages. So M was standing on a chair in the living room, wiring the fitting, and it was for all the world like a piece of performance eletrical work. Sadly, my photos are shit.
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