Tomorrow could be boring

'tis the time for scanners and printers to explode!

We've moved to Farnham. It's an old market town, fairly rural, but still close-ish to London. Timo's new journey to work will take about an hour by train and another half an hour by tube. My trip to Poole will be shortened significantly and will take similar sort of time if all goes well. So geography certainly influenced our choice.

Yet there is an extra quality about this place - something I was trying to explain to Timo before he'd been - it's a little bit out-of-time, an imaginary England not quite stuck in the past, but neither apparently present in our world. It's how I imagined England to be before I came here, almost 18 years ago. Of course my ideas were quickly crushed by Streatham, Old Kent Road, Elephant & Castle, New Cross Gate, Peckham, Morden and all those lovely South London places. Years living in greasy flats above chip shops, damp basements and ex-council blocks made me hate London. I'm sure I would have loved London a lot more, had I lived in a W8 terrace.

And I do love London too. I love its theatres, museums, colleges, parks, shops, buzz, ideas and people. The mishmash of cultures and languages. But like a rich pudding, it can only be enjoyed in small doses. I have always had a tendency to absorb a great deal from my surroundings and it's useful when creating because inspiration and ideas seem to fly out of my head with ease, but there is a saturation point. This point is reached very quickly in London these days. It's too stimulating. Exhilarating in small doses.

Our new home is a dinky one bedroom house. We're renting it for (what what we hope for is a) shortish period before buying our own place around here. The mortgage and housing market is scary at the moment, so these plans are not much more than hopes for now.

There are beautiful woods and parks, cobbled streets, old architecture, friendly people and nice little shops. We do now live right next to the train track, so the current nuisance (still preferable to a chip shop) is the house-train-effect. Every time a train goes past, the building vibrates. There are several cracks on the walls and ceilings, which the owner pointed out to us when we moved in. I definitely wouldn't buy this place.

Timo and I have decided that at night, when we're drifting off to sleep and the train rumbles and the house vibrates, we imagine that we're on a big sleeper house-train, journeying somewhere new and exciting. It's that, or constantly stress about the noise. 

We seem to be on a neighbourhood cat-path. There's a tabby, black, bushy ginger and a half-moustachioed Poirot cat. They skulk past our patio doors to the woods opposite.

I finally have my new computer. We can't get broadband connected until mid-January, so it's been a little ironic to stare at the shiny new machine without being able to do much on it. Not to mention the irritation of troublesome new printer installation. Well, we've not managed to install it, put it that way. It's driven Timo to declare he never wants to see another bit of technology again (a threat which was immediately broken as he hurried back to his game of Civ).

And there's another kind of headexplody-risk around here - this one for the idea-rich/time-poor/impatiently wanting to try and learn and do too much-type Barbara Sher calls Scanners. At my fingertips in this town, I have opportunities to rekindle Russian (something I've wanted to do for a long time), learn to ride a horse (something my mother promised me when I was a child, but then never followed through), go on drawing and illustration classes, learn yoga, go to theatre, go see sock puppets, opera streamed directly from The Met, learn pottery, fabric printing, jewellery making... and I could go on. I have had to force myself to put all this to one side for now and argue that it'll all be still there once I've completed my perfumery and chemistry studies, written my nonfiction cosmetics industry novel and finished my picture book. I am wearing a wry smile as I write this, but the crazy part is that there is a crazy part in me that believes I can do all this stuff. This place is a scanner's dream or nightmare. Depends on your outlook.

In which I convince my husband that "höpö höpö" is an acceptable answer to everything

Quite some time ago, I bought my (then) new half-Finnish man a Finnish language CD-rom and course book. He'd expressed regret at never having learned the language at home. His mum spoke it and Timo and his two brothers did make some Finnish noises when they were children, but the language didn't really stick.

He didn't really get very far with the course materials. His version is that I was too bossy when trying to correct his pronunciation and whilst learning all the swearwords was of some use, he didn't feel inspired enough to continue.

Now that we're married and the course materials have gathered quite an impressive layer of dust on the top shelf of our bookcase, the greatest thing ever has happened: Katja's newly minted husband has declared he wants to learn Finnish. He's English through and through. Voilà, my husband now feels like this is some sort of challenge; the gauntlet has been thrown.

With his mind thus properly focused, Timo has made impressive leaps towards being able to understand the finer points of Viivi and Wagner and can't be too many years off being able to understand the other great literary W - the Finnish national treasure, Mika Waltari.

Current progress is still mostly focused on greetings and suchlike. So, okay, we're some distance off reading Sinuhe (The Egyptian) in the original language. But I'm convinced with his new found motivation, he will get there!

Whilst reading out loud some words intended to stretch the foreign mouth's ability to handle Finnish vowels, Timo fell in love with "höpö höpö" (which roughly translates to "poppycock" or "nonsense"). It's one of those delicious words (well, a pair of words really) that sounds appropriate for the intended purpose. Just like the English "poppycock".

The following chapter - on questions and appropriate answers - was highly entertaining because, in the style of "that would be an ecumenical matter", I suggested "höpö höpö" could be used as an answer to everything. Just try it and see!

Meanwhile, we've been trying to think of where to take Timo's Finnish cousin and his girlfriend when they visit London in November. I don't really want to see Avenue Q again (as brilliant as it was, we've got the soundtrack now and may have over-played it juuuuust a little. But then, can you blame us? "The internet is for porn" is even on my iPod). Anyway, I've suggested Monkey. Now that it has moved to its dedicated venue, maybe we'd stand a chance of getting tickets. I was so gutted for having missed it the first time.

Oh yeah, we went to see Chinese acrobats do Swan Lake at the Royal Opera House (instead of, erm, Mamma Mia, the film)

When Katja asked whether we'd prefer to see the Chinese acrobats instead of Mamma Mia we didn't hesitate for long. Well, Timo did, a little, because he thought he'd never been to a ballet before, but then I reminded him that he'd been to see the Sadlers Wells Edward Scissorhands production (which was a ballet) and that actually, this performance was likely to be more about the circus and less about the ballet.

So we went - and it was gorgeous, entertaining and extremely corny. It felt as if the group knowingly hammed up the sections likely to cause titters from the more serious audience members - such as the slow-moving stuffed camel ridden by the lead dancer during the glittering harem spectacle, or the mechanical giant swan bumper-car that slides into view right at the beginning and reveals a dancer from its innards amidst clouds of smoke machine vapour. You'd have to be a little dead inside not to find these additions funny. I just hope nobody went expecting to see an evening of traditional ballet.  It was a great circus performance with some ballet influences.

The breathtaking highlight of the evening was the en pointe dancing by the lead ballerina on the leading male's head. Yes, balancing on one tiptoe. Apparently this was the heart of the original concept of the show, around which the rest of if grew.

The next thing I'd love to see is Monkey, which WAS showing at the Royal Opera House. It was sold out  and the run had ended last time I checked, but if tickets will become available again, I'm there!

After that, it might be wise to float down from the trapeze and see a proper play again. Or a proper opera for that matter. But I've got to admit, for the time being, these musical and acrobatic spectacles are just what the doctor ordered.   

Perfumery tour of London, anyone?

I'm almost on holiday again (in the timeline of my blog entries, "again" seems appropriate, as I tend to update more when I'm not buried under worky things).

I'm going to spend some time with my close, old friends Katja & Tuulia next week in London. We're probably going to make some museum trips (Tuulia likes museums even more than I do and she's visiting only for a few days). Science museum is always cool and we'll pop over to the V&A museum too.

On Wednesday evening, we're planning on seeing Mamma Mia in the cinema. Timo groans when I mention this. I can understand... we went to see Avenue Q on our wedding anniversary recently and Mamma Mia, the movie, is hardly in the same league. Still, Katja really wants to watch it and I do too. So there!

However, I'm probably the only only one of our little group who would love nothing more than to devote an entire day to a perfumery tour of London. I might just set out to do that on my own sometime. I even made a Google map to help.

What I did on my holidays (or: orcs in my face and lemon verbena up my nose!)

I've had a week off and now that it's coming to an end, I am just about starting to twig that this is a ho-li-day. Having said that, I've had a really good time; going to the theatre, planting herbs and flowers in the garden, reading books, playing Lego Star Wars (the complete saga) on PS3, baking and cooking... and making perfume. What I haven't managed yet, is a single entirely leisurely day. No, I'm not surprised either. But then again - if doing nothing = boredom and if boredom = torture, then why should I have to subscribe to the idea that relaxation means doing nothing. Maybe I've misunderstood. Maybe the relaxing kind of doing nothing is in fact, intensively focused meditative "doing nothing", in which case it really is "doing something" after all.

So, about the orcs. We went to see Lord of the Rings musical at the Theatre Royal (Drury Lane, London) on Tuesday just gone. The stage design, lights, choreography and circus skills were breath-taking. The whole stage (and some of the viewing boxes immediately around it) were encased in twining wood-like structures. We sat on the second row off the front and the effect was particularly strong; it felt even more participatory than theatre normally does (and, erm, more about that aspect of this experience shortly).

Some of the more challenging aspects of the LOTR story - the riders, Balrog and Shelob - were shadow-puppet-like, live silhouettes on stage, aided by excellent puppetry skills, smoke, light and sound. The battles were similarly stylised; some more circus-like, but all adrenaline-inducing and a joy to witness.

There were some oddities that snagged on the otherwise beautifully put together tapestry. The ents (always my favourite in this tale) were cleverly executed and the costumes were a fun interpretation, but they seemed to be on stage for a disappointingly short time, considering the effort that must have gone into putting them together in the first place. I didn't understand why the actor playing Frodo had adopted an oddly strangulated, nasal style of delivery (is that what Hobbits are meant to sound like? None of the others spoke that way). I wasn't sure about some of the casting choices. And the story and dialogue were delivered in a kind of a hurry; I wondered how hard it must have felt to tackle this epic at the beginning of the script writing process: "Guys, we have to squeeze thiiiiiiiiiiis many words into, cough, a couple of hours."

Having said all that, the cuts and adjustments they'd made were good and what they'd done towards the end in particular, by keeping in some of the important symbolism and commentary present in the original work, was excellent.

One of the most delightful elements of this LOTR version was the music. Although only one gorgeously melancholy and contemplative song seems to have stuck in my head like a song borne out of true musical theatre would, and the others have just left behind a general impression rather than their melody - nevertheless, the musical portion of this theatre production was superb. It added Tolkien's folk-song flavour, the elves' melodies and the atmosphere of ancient lore told through music and only imagined in our heads when reading the original books. Involving the Finnish ensemble Värttinä in the production of the score is a lovely correlation to Tolkien's love of Finnish mythology, although according to the members of the band, their addition to the project happened more by chance (scouring world music and chancing upon this song) than by intent (on being true to the roots of Tolkien's folklore research). Influences of Indian music could be heard throughout, which is not surprising, as the other half of composing came from the famous A.R. Rahman.

There were two intervals, the second of which was not long enough for people to get out of their seats, so instead... there was some interval entertainment in the form of orcs galavanting around in the audience! I was sat by the aisle on row 2. When the level of hubbub-hubbub-hubbub of general interval noise had raised to normal sort of standard, I spotted an orc about 6 rows behind us, staring down some poor tourist. So I turned my back to the aisle and said to my husband:

"Look! Look! There are orcs in the audience!"

Husband: "Um, honey?"

Me: "Look...loo... what?"

Husband: "Behind you."

Me: (turning to face the aisle): "AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Everyone within 2 mile radius: "Ahahahahahaha!"

There was an orc wearing one of the best pinhead-meets-hobgoblin theatrical make-up and costume ensembles RIGHT IN MY FACE, growling and drooling. Ok, maybe not drooling.

Afterwards, husband couldn't stop laughing: "I swear he enjoyed that."

Me: "Well you certainly did!"

(The orc actually came back to me for round 2 a moment later! For some reason I couldn't entirely concentrate on the show for the first few minutes once the curtain lifted for act III).

LOTR musical closes on 19th of July 2008, so you can still catch it! I recommend staying alert during the second interval.

For the rest of the week, I've not gone on any great outings, but I've gone a bit Bree Van De Kamp and baked, made food from scratch, tidied and brought in some cut roses from bushes I've grown over the last 2 years from little stumps in my garden.

And most evenings, I've allowed myself to indulge in perfume making (I say allowed because due to the still-quite-unbelievable-have-to-keep-pinching-myself turn that my career has taken, perfume making could now be considered "work" and I'm supposed to be on holiday. But I am too obsessed about scents to consider it work in the sense of "something one should ever stop thinking about". And I've been too busy on more important things with deadlines during working days, so I haven't really had the time or energy for concocting much).

The result is a scent I feel quietly hopeful about. I like it very much, but wonder whether it would be liked by others. I'm hoping to finish it soon and put it to the test. It's a heady mixture of Lemon Verbena, Orange Blossom Absolute, real Nectarine essence, Jasmine Absolute and soft woody amber notes. The opening is like lemon sherbet and summer fruit. It then warms to a sweet, honey-like floral (like a night garden full of white flowers) and dries to the smell of sexy, sweet skin. There is a home made perfume strip with today's batch notes written on it hanging from the makeshift "clothesline" above my computer. As it's a pure, undiluted concentration, the whole room smells of it now. Oops. I wish I had a lab.

I'm off to make some muffins now!

Turns out the Chinese invented Breakdance

Shaolin Monks was great. A mixture between Martial arts prowess, energetic dance and stagemanship; it was a Martial arts circus. Definitely something to see (I could add the nauseating: for the whole family). There were spectacular shows of well-practiced moves, the circus-element of brick-breaking and balancing on sharp spikes seemed to appeal to the younger audience and there were moments when the cartwheels and rolling on stage held a striking resemblance to Breakdance.

The highlight of the show was a double-act by two very young boys - they looked like they were under 7 years old, but their size might have been misleading. They effortlessly sparred, skipped and hopped through complicated Kung-Fu moves with the sort of ease that usually follows years and years of tireless practice. Watching them was like an optical illusion that made the audience gasp time and time again; it was like watching miniature adults.

We did notice one thing - the audience was completely different from the last Sadler's Wells production we went to see. Yes, lots of families, but also people who looked like they'd never set foot in the theatre before. Many people arriving really late. Or talking during the performance. I don't care if it's your first time when you're 48 years old, but you could at least observe some polite common sense rules on how to conduct yourself.

Heheh. I know. I can be so snooty. But seriously. Granted, not everyone was taken to their first concert/opera/theatre performance at under 5 years old, taught to sit still and focus, taught to figure out the plot of an opera sung in another language from looking through the programme booklet, but I do idly wonder whether common sense about certain things has to be taught too. Is common sense something you can, or have to teach?

It seems that many Finns still value opera, classical music and the theatre in the sort of way I was used to. In that you don't have to be wealthy, or in any kind of particular social category to take yourself (and your kids) off to see the latest production of The Magic Flute. At least that's the impression I get from the delightful film "Pelikaanimies" (Pelican Man), a film we watched yesterday. I bought it on our Finnish trip this summer, but we hadn't got around to watching it until now. Pelican Man is a simple, but delightful fantasy aimed at children, but entirely watchable by adults. One day a pelican decides to turn himself into a human by landing on a beach and putting on human clothes. The film explores human perception, what it's like to be an adult and what it's like to be a little boy whose parents have just divorced. There is lovely Finnish scenery and a beautiful feel to the whole film.

I'm going to head into work soon. It'll be a late night (stocktake). Tomorrow I'm partly working in store, partly from home. I need to finalise Christmas rotas for the store, as well as complete a number of forms and other paperwork. So far, this retail Christmas has been vastly different from the previous ones I've had as a store manager. I feel like everything is ticking along well without becoming a big burden. I reserve the right to change my mind in December.

In a couple of weeks I will be taking another work-related trip. After that it'll be more or less a straight run through to Christmas without stopping.

Shaolin Monks

Timo and I don't get out much. Apart from going to work. A lot. Yes, we're exactly as sad and getting-long-in-the-tooth 30-something couch potato-workaholics as those statements imply. I'm not sure how much I mind.

Occasionally I dream of us away somewhere, on a beautiful, relaxing holiday with no computers, televisions, shops, or any of our modern trappings in sight. I had one such a dream last night. It was warm and sunny, but not so warm that we would both get heat stroke. Maybe I was having wishful dreams of our honeymoon. We're hoping to be able to take a week's holiday about a month after our July -07 wedding and go somewhere nice.

Occasionally we manage to have an evening out. And not just any evening; I'm not talking going to the pub, or the cinema (mostly because we rarely do those things either). Our next such excursion will be to see the Kung-Fu master Shaolin Monks at Sadler's Wells. We're going on the 30th of October. Absolutely can't wait! I love the theatre, opera, ballet, performance, stage - and I love Martial Arts. So as soon as I saw this advertised, I shoved the ad under Timo's nose: "Wanna see!".

Twenty Shaolin Monks and five young trainees have travelled all the way from the Shaolin Temple in China, to demonstrate their martial arts expertise.

In a crescendo of kung-fu sequences, the Shaolin Monks are lifted aloft on sharpened spears, splinter wooden blocks with their bare hands, break bricks on their heads and fly through the air in a series of incredible backflips and spins.

This show is the Shaolin legend made real and is definitely NOT to be tried at home!

How cool does that sound? I'm really looking forward to it!

If I can fit it in/afford it; I've been looking at Tai Chi classes locally... but on the other hand, Karate has always drawn me in. Just didn't like the local class being mostly full of adolescents (nothing wrong with that age group, but I really felt like the odd one out). Not sure yet. It comes down to class availability and money.

I'm going to work on a late shift tonight. Got to cover for late night opening and then stay behind to change our promotional displays, ready for Friday. I've spent my morning today arranging November events for my store (we're attending some out-of-hours fairs with stalls & entertainment), planning the next month's rotas, booking my staff on training courses and confirming interview appointments. I've got to be out of the door in an hour. Just sitting here with a face mask on (I look like the Swamp Thing) and sipping a cup of coffee.

There are very exciting things going on, professionally speaking, but I can't mention any of them here. As mentioned in previous entries, they're the sorts of things that I could once only have dreamed of happening. And they're the sorts of things that wouldn't be available to all - not for any kind of price; I have been pinching myself a lot recently because I think I must be dreaming. I feel very, very, very, very fortunate and humbled. I know I've been working hard, trying to reach the right path, making mistakes along the way, and somewhere deep down, I've held a hope - no, a belief - that you simply have to be able to make something of yourself with effort and the right attitude (despite sometimes seeing evidence to the contrary)... and yet, when the possibility of Something Big is now almost within reach, I'm a little stunned. It could all still just be too good to be true.