Significant holidays and activities
2001 - Ely
2003 - Lake District (Grasmere and Windermere)
2004 - New York (Skyline Hotel)
2005 - Rome (Hotel Celio)
2006 - Paris (Hotel Le Senat)
2009 - Bath
2010 - Edinburgh
2012 - Cardiff
2014 - Brussels (Hotel Bloom)
2015 - Plymouth
26 February 2000 - Royal Academy of Arts
31 March 2002 - London Eye
19 February 2005 - Mortlock Tsunami Appeal at the Fine Line, Canary Wharf
6 September 2005 - The Winter's Tale at Shakespeare's Globe
11 February 2006 - Les Miserable at the Queens Theatre
10 June 2008 - Wicked at the Apollo Victoria Theatre
22 November 2008 - Monkey Journey to the West at O2
2 October 2011 - Cirque du Ciel Shanghai at the Cambridge Corn Exchange
3 March 2012 - Windsor Castle
9 June 2012 - The Tempest at the Roundhouse
15 February 2014 - Jeeves and Wooster at the Duke of York Theatre
7 November 2015 - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Musical at the Theatre Royal Drury's Lane
Cambridge Shakespeare Festival:
2011 A Midsummer Night's Dream
2012 King Lear
2013 Richard III
2014 Twelfth Night
2015 Macbeth
Showing posts with label M. Stevenson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label M. Stevenson. Show all posts
Friday, 1 November 2019
Thursday, 1 November 2018
Pictures Drawn by Shadows of Phantoms of the Night Before
I'm surrounded by the girl I slept beside last night.
Her hot breath on my face.
Her light hand on my chest.
And our legs tangled like spaghetti.
Which is to say, I was not uncomfortable.
And this morning, when her lazy lids opened, the weak sun was sucked into her dark eyes.
Brown, like rich seas of melted chocolate.
Deep, like prehistoric tar-pits jealously holding the bones of lost behemoths.
And black, like her heavy frame of hair.
Look, these eyes were dark okay? No two ways about it.
But now I'm down in the kitchen, hard at work, and the strangest thing...
She's all around me still.
The drab words on tins of food are now in her handwriting.
The songs on the radio are all sung by her.
It seems miraculous, that this whole fucking trashy world has been transformed into the girl.
Try to see it; not like, but exactly the same.
The pitch black interior of the oven is woven from her inky hair.
The harsh white tiles on the walls are her perfect teeth.
And these freshly baked rolls were made from the pale skin of her arms, the dark skin of her face.
I mean, beauty subverting the mundane, every line of every shape familiar and nothing but the best.
Except the blues and greens, this girl doesn't do blue or green you see.
Nope, they don't remind me of her, but of her absence.
The ripped empty space she leaves behind.
Which starts off small but grows every day till it fills every room.
Like a bear-cub kept in a council house, y'understand?
Okay, so the feeling fades and world creeps back over her facade.
And the buzz and whine of customers and workmates begins to wear at me.
The sun goes down and the shadows look nothing like hair.
But I can't help smiling at the idiots crawling all over me, because I know...
I'll see her again tonight.
(c) Written by Spider - November 1999
Her hot breath on my face.
Her light hand on my chest.
And our legs tangled like spaghetti.
Which is to say, I was not uncomfortable.
And this morning, when her lazy lids opened, the weak sun was sucked into her dark eyes.
Brown, like rich seas of melted chocolate.
Deep, like prehistoric tar-pits jealously holding the bones of lost behemoths.
And black, like her heavy frame of hair.
Look, these eyes were dark okay? No two ways about it.
But now I'm down in the kitchen, hard at work, and the strangest thing...
She's all around me still.
The drab words on tins of food are now in her handwriting.
The songs on the radio are all sung by her.
It seems miraculous, that this whole fucking trashy world has been transformed into the girl.
Try to see it; not like, but exactly the same.
The pitch black interior of the oven is woven from her inky hair.
The harsh white tiles on the walls are her perfect teeth.
And these freshly baked rolls were made from the pale skin of her arms, the dark skin of her face.
I mean, beauty subverting the mundane, every line of every shape familiar and nothing but the best.
Except the blues and greens, this girl doesn't do blue or green you see.
Nope, they don't remind me of her, but of her absence.
The ripped empty space she leaves behind.
Which starts off small but grows every day till it fills every room.
Like a bear-cub kept in a council house, y'understand?
Okay, so the feeling fades and world creeps back over her facade.
And the buzz and whine of customers and workmates begins to wear at me.
The sun goes down and the shadows look nothing like hair.
But I can't help smiling at the idiots crawling all over me, because I know...
I'll see her again tonight.
(c) Written by Spider - November 1999
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