helenic: (Default)

I've had "Write dw post about Glastonbury/OG/EVERYTHING" on my to do list for two weeks now, and I need to do work in the remaining computer hours of today rather than write one, and those of you who are on Twitter and FB know the gist anyway. But I've just written a catch-up email to a friend, which I thought I may as well copy and paste bits here as a placeholder sort of thing:

--

Glastonbury: I was there! It was awesome! Pendulum rocked my little world. Although I came home with no phone, which I don't really mind except when I need to make calls. The only thing I'm really gutted about is that all my Glastonbury photos were on it, including all the ones I carefully took of our art installation because I forgot to take decent pics of it last year, and really regretted not having them for my website. So that's a bit shit. Waiting to hear back from the lost property people before I declare it properly lost, but I have insurance, so I should be able to sort out a replacement as soon as I decide it's worth doing.

I am indeed well: I discovered on Monday that my long-term design contract with OG is still ongoing, despite my premonitions of doom, and they didn't try and lower my rate or anything, I just got a bit of a telling off for putting them bottom of the priority list during the last few hectic months. Which was perfectly fair, and now they're my only contract hopefully the next few months will be less hectic? Although given Denny is relying on me to go into business with him, and expects me to do a reasonable proportion of the work, when I already have a zillion careers and he's relying on this for his sole income, I suspect that hope is a vain one.... still, going into business with Denny! I have been trying to talk him into teaming up with me for web development awesomeness for ages, so yay for that. Now I just need to make the website, which I am in fact meant to be doing right this second.

Speaking of boyfriends though, Glastonbury was AWESOME for me and Chris, we just sort of walked around in a dazed whirl of me going "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ARE HERE" and him going "I'M SO GLAD YOU BROUGHT ME" ,and he had a whale of a time making benches out of split log with his BARE HANDS (v manly, esp considering a week's growth of festival beard), and we spent ages in the green crafts field learning to turn wood with pedal-powered lathes and make paints out of earth and similar hippyish pursuits, and mostly we were just looking at everything going "we can do that! in fact, we will!" and working out when is the soonest we can afford to move out of London and build an eco-home. It was awesome.

And then I got back to London and, rather than last year when I had total culture-shock and got really depressed at how my life is totally unlike Glastonbury and I just wanted to live there forever, this year I came home to my blooming shady garden and good career prospects and Denny being sweet to me, and my mum gave me homebrewed elderflower champagne and John Seymour's book on self-sufficient farming and homemaking for my birthday, and reading that totally eased re-entry. So, I am feeling actually kind of well-adjusted and like my life is going in the right direction, which is brilliant.

--

Now, I should get cracking with that website. There's lots more to say about Glastonbury, but I don't actually know if anyone's interested, so if you're desperate to know more let me know, and I will try to find the time and energy to write something. Perhaps even before next year's festival. Miracles might happen.

helenic: (tales of gods and monsters)

Excerpt from last night's pillow talk:

me: Hell is a small, isolated, fluorescent-lit room where you're desperately trying to use the internet to send an urgent message but your connection speed is so weak it takes about 45 minutes to download a text-only email.

Chris: Oh god. I think I've been there.

me: And there are millions of tiny windowless identical rooms, all unaware of each other, and the air con vents over your keyboard so your hands are freezing and you're using a virus-riddled Windows machine -

Chris: One of the ones you get in public computer rooms running Windows 3.1.

me: Whereas in heaven, everything runs on Linux.

Chris: Apple Macs. Has to be Macintosh for heaven, nothing else has the graphics support.

me: With high-speed broadband and unlimited bandwidth. And Internet Explorer doesn't exist. Nor does MySpace. And you can have any domain name you want.

Chris: Yeah. Domain squatting is definitely illegal in heaven.

helenic: (branches and air)

When I got into work this morning I knew how this entry would begin. The first sentence was going to be There is a kind of wildness in me. A freshness, fierce and fleet of wing. I stayed in London last night and adventurously commuted to work from Kings Cross, on the Cambridge stopping service that wanders through fields and past small, misty, sunlit villages. I finished my book just moments before the train pulled into Meldreth station.

I've been re-reading the Earthsea quartet, which my parents gave to me when I was ten and which I must have read at least fourteen, fifteen times over the next few years. I found it the other week in one of the old boxes my parents brought up for me from home, and opened it for the first time in at least six years. To read it now is like revisiting any of one's old haunts of childhood; it seems smaller somehow, more familiar and less momentous, and fragments of it rise up before you like remembered glimpses of dream, the patterns of plot and character slipping comfortably and rightly into place as you progress through it. And yet the sweet keen of escapism is as poignant as it ever was, the yearning awoken by her prose for wind and forest and sky, for the old songs. And then there were the wholly new discoveries, the adult references and socio-political themes that I failed to really notice when I was reading it as a naive, self-absorbed, daydreaming pre-pubescent.

So, I finished it as the train drew in, and I manouvered the bike I'm borrowing from [livejournal.com profile] elise onto the platform with some difficulty and started riding it with surprising ease, considering the after-effects of the more rigorous of the weekend's activities and that I'd got up at 6.30am that morning. And flying down the High Street in Melbourn village, the only vehicle on the road, the ending of the novel singing in me still, aching and satisfying and sweet, I felt a delicious sense of freedom rising in me, an exhilaration.

Unfortunately, three hours in work has pretty much deadened it. Tiredness, computer hum and caffeine are making my head throb; I've switched roles to cover for someone's leave and have barely anything to do, and what I do need to do, I can't, because I can no longer receive my emails. My new piercings managed to get themselves slept on and pulled over the weekend, and hurt like buggery. My entire right ear is pulsing. But. The memory of that lightness this morning, flying on a borrowed bike through the cool summer morning of an English village, that's worth holding on to.

April 2016

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