tripu

From the I-need-to-procrastinate-now dept.

Trying to alleviate somehow this miserable run of hours, days, weeks, months of stooping over my books, notes and laptop; of consuming booked holidays alone at home or in the library; of shortening or cancelling planned trips (so that I can spend more time alone at home or in the library); and of gazing through the window at that hateful, unconveniently sunny outer world, I just watched with Pablo episode #4 of Doctor Who (the new TV series): “Aliens of London”.

Doctor Who is an institution in the United Kingdom: actors who are currently playing the main parts appear on the cover of magazines regularly, Daleks are all over the place in London and everyone here seems to love the show, or at least to acknowledge its existence with reverence.

“In the United Kingdom and elsewhere, the show has become a cult television favourite and has influenced generations of British television professionals, many of whom grew up watching the series. It has received recognition from critics and the public as one of the finest British television programmes, including the BAFTA Award for Best Drama Series in 2006.”
— its page in the Wikipedia.

But all that does not changes a tad the fact that the show is dull and unconvincing. Its production is cheap by any standards of modern TV and it conveys the same dramatic intensity as the test card. You know — I have extensive knowledge about Doctor Who myself, having watched distractedly two episodes and two halves recently. I think it’s bad.

Take the episode we watched in DVD today. As far as I can tell, a UFO crashed against the Big Ben and fell into the Thames. Only that the dead alien pilot was not dead and was not alien. It was one of a bunch of relentessly farting humanoid pigs with zips on their foreheads (sic) who simulated the accident and infiltrated 10 Downing St in disguise and kidnapped the PM to achieve their evil goals. Oh, and the humanoid pigs were actually oversized, green, royalty-dodging versions of E.T. incapable of bending their necks or their arms because the budget for animatronics ran out the minute after the assistant to the carpenter uttered the words “Jeez, Quentin; this is a neat prototype, innit?”. The only merit of this episode, obviously, is that it predicted the swine flu four years ago.

I mean, just take a look at the bloody robots (they ain’t no robots; they’re an extraterrestrial race of mutants). These rice cookers make the robots in Forbidden Planet (1956) look like cutting-edge pieces of engineering. And Wikipedia says this is the “2005 redesign”. There must be a certain amount of irony at work here, or very sick doses of nostalgia, but I just don’t get it.

And still, it is iconic in this country while also enjoying incomprehensible success overseas. So it is good that, thanks to Pablo, I got to watch a few episodes. Now I can leave the country in peace.

All this is to say that tonight we discovered that Rose Tyler (the main character, together with “the Doctor”) lives in front of us! In effect, although she lives in the fictional location flat 48, Bucknall House, Powell Estate, SE15 7GO London, the filming location is Brandon Estate, in Kennington.

This estate is literally one minute away by foot from my doorstep. This is where we have our GP, and until very recently our nearest post office was that building partially hidden behind the arches, left-hand side in the picture.

Come to think about it, we have seen filming crews at work in our neighbourhood quite a few times in the last three years. I wonder if Doctor Who has something to do with that…

Although I suspect that it is just the charming suburban irrelevance of these streets that attracts producers here.

Now back to X_ƎT_EX.

Xirick has been damn fast replying to my previous post. And the pictures he’s used are great to illustrate my changes for the near future.

What Xirick didn’t know is that I already had an analogous counterpoint for my own argument, ready to be posted today. You know, being as contradictory as I am, you can’t post about happiness one day an not try to balance that with sadness the day after. Or maybe you can. Well, I don’t think you can. But you definitely can.

I know: these photos aren’t nearly as good as the ones in Xirick’s post. But my point was to illustrate the differences using only my own photos.

Enough said.

I’m sad because in about four months I’ll be switching from this…

…to this:

From this…

…to this:

From this…

…to this:

From this…

…to this:

…and so many other wonderful things, habits, activities and feelings that I will leave behind. Some of them difficult, if not impossible, to find in other places. Like the amazing architecture, or rather the flamboyant collage of different styles. And the ostentatious buildings, the cityscapes, and that feeling of living in the city, in the centre (not the center) of the world:

And proper winters (with all the nice things that a winter should have). And solvent organisations to work for; in comfy, spacious offices that are within walking distance from many other important places. Organisations that pay what is fair and where you work the time you are supposed to work, full stop:

And those (few, I know) lovely days of summer spent with friends frolicking on the grass, in one of the many parks:

And the institutions, the organisations, the courses, the opportunities, the knowledge floating around. The libraries, the bookshops:

And the rightful lack of modesty:

And the buzz around, the surprises every day, the unexpected events, the festivals:

And the streets, the variety, the peoples. The freedom, the mind-openers. Walking or running the city. Crossing two blocks means leaving Poland and entering Mexico. Run a bit further and you’re in Guinea-Bissau:

And the hub, the connections, the flights, the trains. The freedom again. Having trouble to decide the destination because all the first five countries in the list are close at hand and inexpensive anyway:

And all the friends stopping by, the guests every couple of weeks, friends of other friends who become friends. The parties, the nights out:

And the culture, the music, the big names:

And the events, the conferences, the initiatives:

And most of all, I will be missing these two so much:

Because in about four months I’ll be switching from this…

…to this:

From this…

…to this:

From this…

…to this:

From this…

…to this: