Wednesday, 30 May 2018

Living Literature: Frankenstein

Last Friday Mr Robot and I went to an event being run as part of the Bath Festival. The Bath International Music Festival began in 1948, and the city has various other ones throughout the year - Literature, Children's Literature, Film, Jane Austen - but the music one has been rolled in with the literature one to create one mammoth multi-arts festival. The event we attended was a Living Literature one on Frankenstein. Mary Shelley polished the draft for Frankenstein in the city, and the book's 200th anniversary of publication is this year, so it was a good fit.

The venue was the city's original theatre. It became a Roman Catholic church, and has been a Masonic Hall since the mid-1800s (presumably around the time the Catholics got a proper swanky church with an impressive spire built nearby). I'd always wanted to see inside. And what I was hoping for from an 'immersive' literature event was something akin to Secret Cinema.

Er, what do I say? The event and I were not a good fit.

Wednesday, 23 May 2018

Off the top of my head

It’s work team photo shoot day next week, and I’m hoping to get my hair cut on Saturday. I haven’t booked anything; I’ll just see if any of the salons in town can take a walk-up, which probably says something about my general experience with hairdressers. I’m not expecting a miracle, let’s put it that way. I haven’t been in over a year, but it really is looking tatty with overprocessing and needs a cut beyond my usual ‘chop the end off a ponytail’ technique. I’m toying with asking for one of two styles this time.

Monday, 14 May 2018


Sorry about the radio silence. If you've been reading this blog for any length of time you'll know I'm prone to the occasional bout of anxiety and I've just been through one of those. Argh. A friend was having a bit of a crisis and I was doing my best to support her, and worrying about her triggered my 'WORRY ABOUT EVERYTHING!' frame of mind. Luckily I had last week off and was able to potter round at home and decompress, but I stayed mainly off social media. (Ditched about a third of the Twitter accounts I was following; that was definitely the best move.)

Anyway, there were good things in the past week or so. For starters I was able to get into one of my vintage dresses. I bought this Global shirt dress from Kinky Melon ages ago; I don't usually go into the 1970s style-wise but this is clean enough in colour and pattern to appeal to me. It feels so good to be wearing some of my original vintage again! I haven't been dieting per se, but I have cut out all snacks, tried to stick to salads for lunch at work, and have switched to herb teas (no milk) in the office, and Mr Robot did say my tummy looks slightly smaller. When the person who sees you every day notices a difference, it's got to be significant. We renewed our gym membership and one of the best ways of dealing with my anxiety is to haul myself there and drown it in treadmill-generated endorphins, so I shall try to stick to going regularly from now on.

Friday, 4 May 2018

Crinoline Robot's vintage week

The Circus, Bath

Maybe it’s the sunshine, maybe it’s finding a set of uranium glass dishes in a charity shop weekend, or maybe it's taking part in the #vintagefashionchallenge on Instagram, but I am really feeling my love of old tat right now.

 It was also Mr Robot's birthday this week, so we went for a really delicious dinner at a restaurant called Henry's, behind the Assembly Rooms (where the Fashion Museum is, if you know Bath). We both work nearer the train station and it felt like it had been ages since we went into that part of the city. It was lovely seeing the Circus in late afternoon. (If you don't know Bath, the curved terrace above is one of three forming a circular street, called The Circus, and it's just down from the Royal Crescent, probably the city's most famous street. They're not big on straight roads round here, which is ironic given how the city swanks about its Roman heritage.)

Tuesday, 1 May 2018

Dusty In Memphis [music]

You know how it’s possible to appreciate the quality of something while not actually being mad keen on it? That’s how I feel about this, possibly Dusty Springfield’s most acclaimed album. It’s not bad; I can tell it’s incredibly good at what it does – Dusty’s wonderful, strong-yet-vulnerable voice soars and whispers, roars and breaks through the 11* soul tracks – but that’s not what I’d hoped for. Made in 1969, it isn’t quite the sort of 60s I love.