Tuesday was another fun and lively evening with old (but not that old, in case any of them are reading this) Oxford friends -- one, who is lecturing in Cork, Ireland, I've not seen in years. We had drinks in my favourite Alphabet Bar in Soho, then a gluttonous dinner at Masala Zone off Carnaby Street. We gorged on saag aloo, lamb rogan josh, lamb korma, Goan prawns with coconut, spicy masala prawns, chapatis and rice. Over beer and wine, we chatted about work and children and, of course, caught up on all the gossip of mutual friends not there to defend themselves: who was going out with who, who had split up with who, who was pregnant, who, who who... We also compared gadgets: my lone digital Sony Walkman with their various iPods, for example. Lots of talk of politics, lobbying and passing bills through Parliament, as some of us work, in various guises, in this area.
On Wednesday, after drinks with work colleagues, sitting outside enjoying the warm weather, I headed into town to watch the rather good Batman Begins in perhaps the noisiest cinema I've ever been to (lots of crisp packets being rustled, whispering, people getting up to go to the loo, popcorn munching) -- the Marble Arch Odeon. I had never seen a Batman film, but much like my experience seeing my first ever Star Wars -- Star Wars 3 -- recently, I really enjoyed "discovering" how Bruce Wayne became Batman.
Tonight, I'm going to enjoy a rare night in. I think I'll spend it reading again. This week I bought lots of chick- and lad-lit from my local, very excellent charity shop: Jane Green, Tony Parsons -- lots of wonderful fluff to immerse myself in over the coming weekend when I will be busy working in the office on both Saturday and Sunday and so won't have much time or energy to both read anything complicated or go out.
I'm sorry -- to myself most of all -- that my posts always seem to be lists of things I've done. I wish I would make time to reflect more on what I've done and who I've done it with, but I'm always in a rush to get the posts out before I have to get on with my day (or get to sleep). When I used to keep a paper journal (since I was 11 all the way through to 2000), I always made time to think through the things I did and thought. I gave up journaling when a major illness made me realise that I spent far more time than was healthy for me self-analysing my life and not getting on with living life to its fullest. But now I've scuttled too far in the opposite direction.
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