(no subject)

King's Lynn is a funny place, as I may have mentioned occasionally.

I braved the "town" bit to get lunch, which was as ever a Heironymus Bosch masterpiece of gridlocked pushchairs, building work, screeching chavettes [should a Chavette drive a Chevette, I wonder?], and old ladies grinding to a halt right in front of you.

A wshiole later, I went for a short walk along the riverfront, and it was an entirely different story. Lynn's waterfront is industrial (as one would expect from what was once an important port), but still the river lazes along, the seagulls heckle, and there is a tang of sea-salt air. The buildings of Kings Staithe Square and Purfleet are handsome, and in places (the famous Custom House, for instance) quite beautiful. Looking downriver, the land opens out into an empty horizon, as you look to the Wash, and beyond it the open sea.
At such times, my soul sings - there is romance, and adventure, and the promise of a new life along that walkway. There is also, perhaps, hiding behind a shadow, a version of Kings Lynn that remained a great port, and led the times rather than being swept along with them, and is now a great place to live. I'd like to think so, because for all its manifold faults, Lynn still has pockets of considerable charm.

The other thing to note about the riverfront is that, even on warm and sunny days, it is almost deserted. After all, how could the residents of the town risk being borne by their imagination, when they have Labels for Less and TK Maxx (the Vancouver Centre's latest opening) laid out right here?

(no subject)

Today, aside from the rare sight of two emails I actually want to read, I have spam mails from:

Ane Vang, and

Mr Vladimir Timinski

Evidently Bach Vu has company in his endless search for the Fat Boy.

For the majority of you who won't know what the hell this means, please see pbprincess for the source material, and chronographia for the picture.

Oxford thing

Don't suppose anyone fancies joining me for a stab at The Importance of being Earnest at the Oxford Playhouse this Saturday, do they?

The only problem with travelling places on your own is that the evenings can drag - a spot of theatre will close the gap nicely (and, if I've got my geography right, the Playhouse is just round the corner from where I'm staying).
[Admittedly, my getting my geography right when I'm in Oxford is a rarity indeed, especially since it's three years or so since I was last there, and that time the main thing I saw was the interior of the Turf]