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Gentles, this morning I am tired. I really wanted to stay in bed until at least ten.
Last night’s Leonard Cohen concert at the O2 was excellent – I would review it properly, but I am not familiar enough with his work for meaningful analysis. I attended on an ‘I know what I like’ basis. Suffice it to say that for a man of 73 years, who had intended to be semi retired now (until his long-time and trusted business manager stole his song publishing rights and most of his retirement fund), Cohen can still put on a show. He has assembled a small group of talented musicians – who he is happy to introduce to the audience every second song or so (every time, in fact, one of them does something fancy on their chosen instrument!) and plays a two and a half hour set of some of his most famous songs with wit, humour and humility.
I was struck by his resemblance to another Leonard of the same approximate vintage, a resemblance he seems to have grown into with age.
The only blight on the evening was the hassle of getting back to Whetstone from Greenwich. The show finished just before 11.30 and crowd control meant that we didn’t get a train until midnight. This brought on the usual London anxiety about getting the last train home, but in the end we were all right on that score. Nonetheless it was 1.00am by the time we got back and after a snack, a cup of tea and a shower, close to 2.30 by the time I got to sleep.
Furtle has the day off: I don’t. She has the wise; I have the wherefores…
MY consignment of Snus has arrived unexpectedly quickly along with the two books I ordered from Amazon just two days ago. I was not expecting the latter until next week and the former until tomorrow.
The books, packed together, have proven more peaceable than their authors would have been in such strict proximity and there is no sign of damage to either. I shall now have to flip a coin to see which I read first. It is fitting that the gods of chance should choose for me, for I should not wish to upset either the Prince or the Duke by consciously choosing the one before the other.
Last night’s Leonard Cohen concert at the O2 was excellent – I would review it properly, but I am not familiar enough with his work for meaningful analysis. I attended on an ‘I know what I like’ basis. Suffice it to say that for a man of 73 years, who had intended to be semi retired now (until his long-time and trusted business manager stole his song publishing rights and most of his retirement fund), Cohen can still put on a show. He has assembled a small group of talented musicians – who he is happy to introduce to the audience every second song or so (every time, in fact, one of them does something fancy on their chosen instrument!) and plays a two and a half hour set of some of his most famous songs with wit, humour and humility.
I was struck by his resemblance to another Leonard of the same approximate vintage, a resemblance he seems to have grown into with age.
The only blight on the evening was the hassle of getting back to Whetstone from Greenwich. The show finished just before 11.30 and crowd control meant that we didn’t get a train until midnight. This brought on the usual London anxiety about getting the last train home, but in the end we were all right on that score. Nonetheless it was 1.00am by the time we got back and after a snack, a cup of tea and a shower, close to 2.30 by the time I got to sleep.
Furtle has the day off: I don’t. She has the wise; I have the wherefores…
MY consignment of Snus has arrived unexpectedly quickly along with the two books I ordered from Amazon just two days ago. I was not expecting the latter until next week and the former until tomorrow.
The books, packed together, have proven more peaceable than their authors would have been in such strict proximity and there is no sign of damage to either. I shall now have to flip a coin to see which I read first. It is fitting that the gods of chance should choose for me, for I should not wish to upset either the Prince or the Duke by consciously choosing the one before the other.
