This afternoon we went to an arts-and-crafts fair in a bar near Boat Quay; a place where hipsters congregate to buy and sell t-shirts with owls on them, antique trinkets, and obscure footwear. A friend of ours who makes jewellery was selling some of her pieces, so we wanted to show our support.
Since the event is held in a bar, I drank two pints of strong lager, and having not had much for lunch, and being well out of practice at drinking, I was quickly ruined and by the time I got home at 6, pretty incapable. I did buy a t-shirt with a picture of an octopus with a gas mask and an afro on it though. I think.
Tonight was another Chinese New Year celebration, this time classic golden songs, for four and a half hours. With the windows shut and the sound echoing from the buildings around us, it sounded more like somebody playing the Pet Shop Boys version of "Go West", underwater.
This displeased our child, who had been quite tolerant of hipsters earlier, and so she sobbed and howled, despite our best efforts to comfort her. However, when the firecrackers and rockets went off around, she settled right down. She likes loud banging noises, and not people singing, apparently.
Even if I hadn’t been drinking, I would have been exhausted. I woke at four this morning on the sofa, where I’d fallen asleep last night, and then couldn’t sleep until six, when I was meant to get up for a run, but failed. All morning I was brainrottingly tired, cross eyed with fatigue, almost passing out when I went to get my haircut at eleven. I napped for most of the afternoon, but never felt properly refreshes – probably because I didn’t run this morning. I hope tomorrow I’ll be back to full power.
The only real achievement I had was to read the London Review Of Books – a particularly engaging issue, encompassing mental health, Egyptian mummies, literary analysis of the Bible, cosmology and much more. Quite good to be able to read it all, and not have Felicity eat any of it.