Weekend Wonderland

I wouldn't normally post anything on a Sunday, being my day of rust, where I allow cool salt water to drip down the steep steel sides of my abandon, but I have had a weekend of such beauty and pleasure I feel I must share it with you.

Yesterday I went to Brighton with GGF where we walked on the beach until the sun came out. I found a box of bullets washed up on the shore. We talked seriously with the tide as out as it crashed smoothly on Brighton's steep pebble beach, washing away the week's tensions; I collected shell fragments and pieces of smooth green glass (as you do) which now litter my living room.

Then we went to the Brighton Dome where we witnessed a remarkable event - Harold Budd's last concert. He was joined by a list of numinous notables including Bill Nelson, Robin Guthrie, Jah Wobble, John Foxx, and the The Balanescu Quartet. The first half (actually two hours) was just sublime. The audience were rapt, one subtly evoked mood following another, with the great man pottering on and off stage like a friendly old music teacher, bringing on his pop collaborators. The second half was a 35 minute arthouse ambient jam which veered from crazy to inspired to painful (feedback problems), with Jah Wobble who played the most sexy bass line in 5 time that I have ever heard in my life. The audience cheered at the end, and I have been high ever since. Thank the funk for video-equipped camera phones - a lo-fi bootleg I shall treasure. [Budd fans: ask me.]

On the train back to London, yesterday being the FA Cup Final (the most watched sporting event in the world, which I ignored, having given up football) there were so many pissed up teenagers that the journey took an extra hour - it normally takes around an hour to complete - because the little darlings insisted on pulling the emergency cord. Lovely. It didn't matter. We were entertained by a group of women of certain ages and states of inebriation who took to telling the teenies that their hoods were illegal and hitting on the nice guy opposite us who tried desperately to read his book, A History of Medieval Torture, without interruption.

Today, after sleeping in, enjoying a wonderful late breakfast of mushrooms, tomatoes and halloumi on toast, and returning to bed once fortified to examine each other's finer details, we went to Hampstead Heath and viewed the rhododendrons in full bloom in the Kenwood House garden. A riot of colour and smell, we were intoxicated by them, we drank tea and ate nutty flan, yoghurt and berries and made happy observations about life the universe and our fortunate place in it. Now, I am going to cook tuna steaks to go with new potatoes and salad. Marvellous. What a way to truly unwind.