Last night at Jool Holland was amazing. I was hungover and tired by the time that evening came around and I wasn't sure I'd last through the night. However, an evening with Jools Holland tends to wake you up and none of his magic was lost on me. My dad has bought tickets to see Jools Holand for the last few years that he's played the Guildhall (Jools, that is, not my Dad) and it's fast becoming an annual tradition. As ever the soul soaringly talented Ruby Turner was supporting the Rhythm and Blues Orchestra and the special guest was Lulu, who looked so good on stage that even I fancied her.
I got home at about eleven and thought I would treat myself to one glass of wine. Note to self, there is no such thing as one glass of wine. As the fates would have it, someone I've known for a long time was also awake and called; as a result, my friend came over, and before I knew it, it was four o clock in the morning and we were both very drunk.
I spent a gentle and relaxing next morning catching up on my equivalent of the Sunday papers, my feminist mags: Bitch, Bust, (both American feminist pop culture magazines) Mslexia (for women what write) and the younger sister in the feminist magazine hood, Subtext. Although the new Subtext magazine is a bit rough around the edges - this is only their second issue - the energy jumps off the pages and they include a wide and diverse range of articles on various subjects referring to feminism. One to watch.
In the afternoon, the ever handsome Glenn came to collect me to escort me to a nearby public house. We went to watch Chelsea play Manchester United, which as you may know or have guessed, is not a usual pastime of mine. When we arrived the place was full as the Portsmouth game was still on ( the less said about that the better, I think) with a ration of men to women of about 75:25. Although I initially found this a little intimidating, the natural relaxation of my hangover helped and it quickly became fascinating. And I think Jose Mourinho is cute. He reminds me of Yul Brynner with hair.
Watching the guys around me interact reminded me of the large amounts of time I used to spend with my brother and his mates when I was younger. And besides, there were a lot of cute guys there. The football was great and all, but cuteness always helps. And good names. One of the Chelsea players is called Didier and Glenn looked both bemused and amused when I interrupted his viewing to discuss whether he liked the name or not.
I really enjoyed it, which surprised me, and I can't think of anyone else I would have spent a similar afternoon with. He's promised me next time we can go and see a real game in the New Year at Stanford Bridge, which, I am reliably informed is where Chelsea FC live.
The evening ended gently and beautifully with a few glasses of wine at my neighbours' flat. They solved one mystery at least. The late night soundtrack I've been hearing of late has not been due to some new nocturnal habits of my next door neighbour, but the entirely new midnight requiem of new neighbours on the floor beneath me. I have yet to meet my new neighbours and would very much like to put faces to the names and noises.
Today's Beautiful Things
1. It's Sunday!
2. Talking with an old friend
3. The fascinations of football fandom