Peter is dictating a letter and and the address is incredibly silly. Something similar to "The Building of Greeting and Homeliness" - that level of silly pretentiousness. Anyway, he starts sniggering through the address and then goes:
"Terribly sorry. It is very childish to laugh at somewhere's address. [comedic pause] But I did."
As usual, it loses a lot in the re-telling. Still, it amused me.
In all the Sunset-related excitement, I forgot to actually update about Sunday...
So, on Saturday night I couldn't get to sleep for hours. We didn't actually attempt to get to sleep until about 1.30am as it was, and I think I must have been lying awake for about another hour and a half after that. I blame the Red Bull, personally - in the second pub post-show it was so crowded I couldn't be bothered to see what juice they had, so just had a vodka-and-RB instead. So that kept me awake for a start. Add to that the fact that I had the last couple of lines of "Let's Have Lunch" ("Hey, good morning / Aren't we lucky? / Going to work for Cukor / Paramount is paradise / Movies from A to Zukor." - that bit) going around my head on a constant loop for about an hour. Which was kind of annoying.
Woke up the next morning feeling incredibly rough, unsurprisingly, not just from the lack of sleep but because the squee / adrenaline had worn off and I wanted to crawl under a rock. I resisted coffee at breakfast, which I think was because I wanted to be able to sleep properly on Sunday night to be ready for work on Monday...
Got back up to the room and packed stuff up, then checked out. I got the restrictions on the ticket wrong and thought we had to use it before 11.00am, but it turned out to be afterwards. So we got to the station at about 9.30 and had two hours to kill before the first after-11.00 train. I had a coffee (tea for Paul) in the coffeeshop at Marylebone - surprisingly not that expensive - because my brain wasn't working properly, in the not-being-able-to-form-coherent-sentence
The journey back went without a hitch, though the seats were a bit uncomfortable by the time we got to Birmingham. I spent the final hour or so of the journey listening to my MP3-player and staring out of the window, which ended up giving me a really bizarre nostalgic reminiscence of seeing Cats in London in 1997, on the school trip. It was two days after my 16th birthday and my second viewing, as I'd seen the tour at age 14 and fell in love with it immediately. I didn't know anyone on the trip and the best friend of the girl who I ended up sharing a room with tried her best to exclude me, but I didn't really care, to be honest.
Anyway, we ended up with amazing seats for the performance - I was in the front row of the dress circle, two seats from the very end of the row. It was a prime position for being Tuggered (ogled by the actor, anyway) and also brilliant during "The Naming of Cats" because they went along our whole row and scared the life out of all of us. :D I can also remember that the other half of us were on the opposite side of the auditorium and the Tugger was vying for our attention during the final bows to see who could cheer him the loudest.
ANYWAY. One of my most vivid memories of that trip, aside from the show (and being desperate for the loo all the way through the first Act of Riverdance, then missing the start of Act Two as a result... meh) was on the coach journey home, when I was staring mournfully out of the window (possibly my first experience of post-squee slump) and listening to the soundtrack in my own head - I can even remember that it was "Grizabella".
So, staring out of the train window with my MP3-player was oddly reminiscent of that moment.
Upon getting back to Birmingham we were both starving, so went to the Yard of Ale for food. I don't know why we went there, as there's always a 30-minute wait on food for some reason.
Got back to the flat, and I watched EastEnders, then spent the evening sending Eni bits and pieces of SB fanfiction from my heyday of non-stop writing. There's a bit more to show her still, and I'm going through the folder of hand-written
I'm hoping I can finish the one I started some point last year. I had a go at poking it into life in the midst of my Ugly Betty fic-writing flurry, but didn't get very far because I'd fallen out of the fandom a bit. Definitely time to break that piece out again and give it another go. It's an idea I had back when I was prolific in SB-writing that stemmed from viewing the film, and basically it's an alternative version of the Paramount scene with Norma and de Mille. We shall see. *crosses fingers*
Re-reading the old stuff has been interesting, especially the bits that never saw the light of day. It definitely shows that I wrote it all between the hours of 3.00 and 5.00am (and occasionally under the influence of cold medication...) by the sheer level of incoherent FLUFF. It makes me cringe SO BADLY, but I think I'd basically written myself into this insane shippy mess by the time Buffy took over my writing... still, it was great fun at the time.
On Friday at work our team are having a Red Food Day in honour of Comic Relief - one week before everyone else's fund-raising efforts, because we're weird like that. Team meeting today is going to discuss final arrangements. We're meant to have enough food to feed our building and the other teams in King Edward House, but I don't know if we'll manage it. Should be fun, though.
Right, I'd better get back to doing some work. I have to try and leave early today (assuming there's anyone around to offer cover - I seem to be the only one willing to stay late when needed) to trek to Acocks Green and get some red paste food colouring, as the liquid stuff is useless, and obviously the supermarkets don't stock anything else. Apparently there's a cake decorating shop in Acocks Green so I'll go find it later.
Back to the typings.