The Happening(/s)

Posted: June 30, 2011 in Photography
Tags: , , ,

An assortment of miscellaneous, 2011 photos/events that I’d glossed over or forgotten about or some combination of the two.

My brother’s cat, Lewis, on a random trip back to Dundee in January. Also in Keith’s home: my succulent, Bertha (second from left). He’s been looking after her ever since I moved to Japan and I’m afraid to take her back for fear of causing her untimely demise. (My favourite part: those sticks in the plant pots list their scientific classifications. Hers is marked, “Bertha”.)

A misty train ride back to Glasgow. . If you were to judge it solely on the people-less stretches between cities, Scotland is really quite lovely.

The sofa for our house was delivered a day early, which left me perfectly free to meet Sofa herself the following afternoon! Sorcha had temporarily escaped Japan, having fortuitously booked flights back to the UK well in advance of – but around the exact same time as – the earthquake.

We went to Café Andaluz in the West End, where we took an inordinate amount of time trying to find somewhere to sit the camera before finally giving up and asking a waitress.

Post-tapas, we went off in search of organic toothpaste then sat in Starbucks for hours while Sorcha updated me on all the latest Akitan gossip. (Deported, you say?!) We then took one final wander to Kelvingrove before finally, sadly, bidding farewell…until such time as we find ourselves on the same continent once again.

Apropos of nothing: this is what John looks like after a full day at work. Where is the justice?

I mentioned before that I bleached my hair then fucked off to Manchester in rapid succession. Here’s the second half of that story.

We took the train down on Friday night with Sadia, during which I began to notice that my scalp wasn’t just burning: it was actually burnt. As John reprimanded me for picking at the emergent scabs, a drunk fellow passenger across the aisle told me that I should massage them to promote natural healing: a trick he’d learned from a medical student who worked with him in a garage. This from someone who’d clearly been listening to our conversation long enough to hear everything we were saying whilst somehow missing the fact that both people I was travelling with were doctors. (An impossible task, if you’ve ever heard a gathering of more than one of them.)

We arrived at our “apartment hotel” (which is to say a hotel room that functions, in all other ways, like an apartment) later that night, and were immediately assaulted by the wall of sound generated by the gaggle of skanks at the entrance; presumably on their way to a hen party. Filing our way through a sea of fake tan, bad hair extensions and banshee-like wailing to the reception desk, we first established that we weren’t staying on the same floor as them, then dropped our luggage off in the room before once again heading out into the night. To the detriment of our eardrums, their taxi still hadn’t arrived by the time we made it back downstairs.

Later, having collected Nicola from somewhere in the city centre, we attempted to sneak her upstairs into our room but were caught out by the ever-vigilant reception staff who – after some sweet talking – generously conceded to a whole hour past curfew to hang out. I mean honestly.

Dapper! And available at all good Urban Outfitters.

The following day: shopping in the city centre with brief layovers at John’s former apartment and an Apple store to assess the damage of him having dropped his iPhone in the sink a day earlier. (Verdict: irreparable.)

At Costa with Leon, who – to make up for his disavowal of Starbucks – very kindly paid for our drinks. Note that Sadia was, at this point in the weekend, still operating under the assumption that I’d eventually stop taking pictures.

Salmon, English muffins, poached eggs, hollandaise sauce. Brunch of champions.

Realising that we’d switched hair colours.

Back at the hotel, getting ready for the evening ahead. I forget why we were watching Made of Honour in the first place, but Leon was clearly overcome with emotion. Personally, I was struck by the sensitive and faithful portrayal of Scottish culture.

John’s undoing.

That evening: a night on Canal St. (setting of the British Queer as Folk) and a life lesson that paper bags are ill-suited to the task of holding vomit. Prior to this, we went to the most hilarious Lebanese restaurant where everything on the menu was marked safe for vegetarians…including the lamb, chicken and beef. (Though not, ironically enough, the vine leaves.)

The following morning, we drove to Nicola’s with a short but necessary stop at a garage to remove the indelible bird shit from her windscreen. John had spent the better part of the day sleeping off his shame hangover in Nic’s car and collapsed in her bed the minute we got to the house.

Watching Re-Animator. Judging by the expressions, I’m guessing this is around the time the decapitated head went down on Barbara Crampton. (Side note: Nic’s flatmate, Jayran? Dead ringer for Sylar amIright?)

And speaking of the walking dead. (The one benefit of a house full of medics: someone always has antiemetics to hand.) This day also provided my first – and last – experience of Come Dine With Me: a show which (like its spiritual sibling, Four Weddings) just fill me with rage. No one has any incentive not to be an A-grade cunt!

And finally, Glasgow-bound: because nothing cures a hangover like a 3-hour train journey.

Sadia’s sympathy face. Ha.

And finally: your daily dose of ridiculousness, courtesy of Alf.

I’d actually forgotten how enormous he was until the sight of our new kitten (and indeed, his normal-adult-cat-sized parents) threw him in sharp relief.

That can’t possibly be comfortable.

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