A bunch of us went to see Oxide Ghosts, a film that the director of Brass Eye, Michael Cumming, assembled from some tapes in his attic. It was hilarious; as Josef said, worth the price of admission to see clips of Chris Morris corpsing. Only to be seen live—though it seems like it tours around a fair bit; they were in Brighton earlier in the year too. An audience composed, as Josef observed, of Media Dads and people their children's age who discovered it through their dads' DVD collections or found it on Youtube.
The office move is almost complete; I set up some uplighters to get some slightly more diffuse lighting, the last of the desks we ordered has arrived and we got our clicky-clacky mechanical keyboards that have already started winding up CM 😎 The only thing we really have left to do is to get a table we can sit around that isn't obviously a repurposed desk. I'm really happy with the space itself (and honestly just having the space). My bedroom feels so much brighter and more open without the desk and its massive monitors hulking in the corner.
The Seagull got accepted for a social enterprise accelerator. I'm not sure if we can actually talk about it yet, but I'm excited! If nothing else, it'll be a bunch of people I can strongarm into subscribing.
We went to the newly-opened Tutto, a really nice new Italian place from the Burnt Orange/Coal Shed people. Beautifully appointed, impeccable service, and some of the best olives I think I've ever had. Just hoping they expand their vegan offerings a bit going forward.
As I draft this, I've just got back from Bristol. The travel to and from was an absolute pain but the time there was transcendently delightful. It was the wedding of one of my closest friends from school (and one of the all-round best people on the planet), Scott, and his absolute gem of a now-wife Ros. It was a thoroughly wonderful event. The ceremony was short and sweet, and the rest of the time was spent eating, drinking, chilling and chatting chatting to friends and families of friends I’ve not seen in a while. People have acquired beards, babies, all sorts. Everyone was happy; the vibes were impeccable. I do not dance but I was willing to sway a little to the music. I had the best time.
Getting there was fun, though—deciding to change my bag at the last minute lead to me making the train with a minute to spare, realising several hours into the journey that it also meant I'd forgotten my nice shoes, leaving me only with the beaten-up old Converse on my feet. As we pulled in to Bath (a very compact city, and the last stop before Bristol (where the train station is a 15-minute walk away from anything), I idly checked whether there were any shops that would sell shoes near the station. There were. Were there any trains going to Bristol Temple Meads soon after the one I was on? Yes—in fact, there was one only 15 minutes later. I jumped off the train, sprinted out of the station and into the nearest clothes shop, grabbed the closest smartish looking pair of shoes in my size and then back to the station in record time. (The next train was delayed by about 10 minutes, so it turns out I could've been choosier, but oh well). The backs of my feet are wrecked, but my friend Jon very generously gave me some of his blister plasters. They helped me get through the slog of wandering through various London stations on my way home, as all the trains on my desired South Coast route kept getting cancelled.
Other than that, though, the whole thing was magical—and the potato diet worked its magic, and I just about fit into my suit; a state of affairs that may not last. We'll see!