Saturday morning .  My first weekend off since Christmas.  My last until we go to Australia in April.

Typically we woke to wind and rain and bad moods.  Feeling sluggish and not up to much, wanting to cancel plans and curl up.  Hibernate from the world.

Then suddenly as if by magic Zane Lowe announced, via the magical dark art that is Twitter, that the Foos were playing Dingwalls (tiny capacity London club) in a matter of hours.  Tickets sold out in a matter of minutes.

And we got two.

I don’t know how.  Himself ordered them on autopilot.  And then suddenly reality struck, we had to eat, get to the station, get to London, get to Camden Lock and we had 2.5 hours to do it.

For anything else I’d have given it up as a bad job, returned to Rebecca and hibernation.  For Dave Grohl I’ll drop pretty much anything.

Including the bad mood.

Everything fell into place, from the apparent ease of getting the tickets, to all the trains and buses being in perfect alignment (when does that ever happen?).  From the superfast easy queuing system to the near perfect proximity to the man himself.  Even the journey home wasn’t too much of a nightmare.

To see a band that you’ve loved for years, a band that now sell out stadiums on a regular basis, in a 500 capacity club is an indescribable feeling.  They played the new record, beginning to end and threw in some old favourites as well.  I had to leave before the end – trains to the fens are few and far between – and missed Everlong and Aurora, but I’ve heard Everlong and Aurora a million times before.  To see the new record, to see Grohl so proud of it, to see that smile that lights up the room for me was enough. To see him play with Pat Smear again brought back memories of when it all began, of 1995, of being lucky enough to see Nirvana that once.

It’s trivial I know, my schoolgirl crush, in comparison to the world at large.  But the joy it brings me is uncomparible.

Next weekend Himself and I celebrate 5 years of togetherness.  I’m on a training weekend and we hadn’t really planned anything special.  The Foos brought us together and it seems serendipitous that we got this weekend.

Happy Sunday dear readers!  The weather in the UK has been glorious this weekend, warm enough to sit outside, bright enough for shades.  Marvellous.  Perfect weather for sunning one’s furry tummy.

I went to London for the day yesterday.  I met up with an old work mate and chatted about everything and anything, ate falafel, drank sangria and sat in the sun on the South Bank and drank mint tea.  Yes, most people have a beer in the sun but clearly I am 97 years old so peppermint tea it was.

The South Bank is that place where money is made in the most bizarre possible way and yesterday it was bouncing stilts.

The South Bank is also the place where there are always books.

Then later on in the afternoon I had a bloggie meet up with the wonderful Phil.  We sat and watched the sunshine on the river and drank more mint tea and talked about writing and Hobart and Purity and Chickenfeed (only Tasmanian readers will have any idea what I’m talking about now….), and how homesick I get for a funny little island off the coast of Australia that has never really been home but has always felt like it is…. and time flew.  Suddenly it was time to go home and I felt the conversation had only just begun.  More soon, for sure!

Today there is sunshine and books and yoga and gardening. I actually loathe and despise gardening but needs must if I want to look at something nice I guess.  And at least it’s warm.

Meanwhile the UK is an island again with no means of access or egress by plane due to volcanic ash from Iceland.  Seriously you couldn’t make this up.  Whilst the ash hasn’t effected me at all thankfully there is something rather alarming about the whole thing.  Much love to all my friends who are stranded around the globe.