According to legend, in the 1990’s Dave Stewart of the Eurythmics invited Bob Dylan to drop in to his Crouch Hill recording studio any time he wanted to. It is said that Dylan took him up on his offer, but the taxi driver dropped him off on the adjacent Crouch End Hill. Dylan knocked on the door…
— From SF.
Sigh. I miss London.
— From SF.
PS: click through for Steve’s full BroadwayMarketTwats brilliance.
(Source: twitter.com)
Channel and Winds, Ravi Shankar and Philip Glass in Passages.
Little sister Angie took me last night to the Southbank Royal Festival Hall to the U.K. première of Philip Glass’s Violin Concerto 2 “The American Four Seasons,” composed last year for Robert McDuffie as a “companion piece” to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. McDuffie performed it beautifully with the London Philharmonic Orchestra, directed by Marin Alsop (who in 2007 became the first woman to head an American orchestra when she was appointed Music Director of the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra).
It was a wonderful evening.
— From London.
Me, hiding at the back of Legal Café, the closest one to what’s about to become my former home, trying to get some work done whilst battling hayfever and a mild case of the blues and waiting for the cleaning lady to restore my sweet little studio to its original glory so I can migrate East to my sister’s like a sheepish hobo with too many bags and bits and bobs before finally taking off to San Francisco.
— From London.
—
Paul, who used to live in Kentish Town, is remembered by old friends.
— From London.
And it was the perfect afternoon. This really great guy drove all the way from Wales this morning to pick up my mattress (I hope it gives you as much joy as it did me, Richard!). We had lunch at the Holly Bush, followed by a nice walk around my beloved Hampstead Heath. This dude, people. He’s funny, brilliant, thoughtful. It was a lovely day. Thanks for coming down here, man.
Danielle, you are one lucky lady. You two are wonderful people. I wish you nothing but the best.
— From London.
I have five days left in my flat. It feels like there are mountains of things to do, and not enough time. This is wrong, obviously. Of course it’ll get it done, and on schedule. If there’s one thing I know of, it’s life’s little deadlines. Picking up and going, from city to city, country to country. They’re such a pain, and the only way for me to move forward.
I’m leaving everything that has been my life for the past 6 years, a life I loved in a town that has felt like home since I first set foot here. It is a choice, and not once since the decision was made have I questioned why I am doing it. It’s not just that I love him, although I couldn’t dream of a better catalyst. It’s that it makes sense. It’s time. I’m ready for it.
And yet, here’s one thing they never tell you - positive psychology has ruined us all, no joke: a new beginning is always the end of something.
For something like WhileYouWereSleeping to even exist, you have to know people in different corners of the world (some of whom you’ve never actually met), to whom you talk daily and who mean… Well. The world to you.
As their friend, you would want them to sleep peacefully, safe in the knowledge that things are being dealt with by someone they can trust. You would want to ensure that they find, with their morning coffee, a quick summary of some of the nicest stuff that happened while they were snoring blissfully.
So far, so London-centric (GMT+1 - cos it’s summer, innit). From today, please welcome Melbourne, Australia (GMT+10).
WYWS,
Taking shifts looking after the universe.
