serious

My Week, by Graham Clark Aged 33 1/2.

We all had a long weekend last weekend because of Queenie's Jubbly. It all went very well for me. Much better than I expected, in fact - it didn't impact on me at all. Saturday I stayed in, thought about going to the pub, thought about going to a concert in London, and then didn't bother doing either. Instead, I made some headway into the remaining Ian Rankine books I have around. Sunday I got up and went into London to see some bands. This was generally fun, even if several of them were overly Ibizoid for my taste. A friend (Roz) is down in London for six months, so I got to chat to her and introduce her to various people that have agreed to pretend to be my friends on such occasions. Crashed at Sarah the Pilot's Bloke Stephen's place in Finchley, and on Monday went record shopping. I didn't get much. After that, back to Hackney for more bands. Again, a mixed bag, but the performances were more to my taste - I wasn't told to put my hands in the air as often, which always annoys me. This was followed by the Last Train to Boghollow, of course. Tuesday ended up being another day spent relaxed to the point of torpor. I had been going to go to Si'n'Su's for dinner, but this got put back until Wednesday, so I ended up finishing another Rankine, which left me all out.

Wednesday was back to work. Except that NTL had been goign to come round in the morning, so I took the morning off and of course nobody turned up. Eventually it was explained to me that someone had noticed the previous Friday that they were going to be shortstaffed, so it was put back a week. Not that I was told, of course. Anyway, work in the afternoon was vaguely productive. S'n'S's for dinner was very nice. Little Gigi's 6 months old now, and much older. And much much more alert. She doesn't like me as much as she did when she was a fortnight old, which implies developing intelligence also. Yesterday was completely unremarkable, as was today except for the football making half the town crowd into our usual pub and behave like arseholes. I was fairly relaxed about the whole thing until then. I could ignore it. I'm going to shut up now rather than banging on about it, though.

Tomorrow's Strawberry fair, which I may go to or may not. If I feel tomorrow like I feel now, I won't, but I won't be able to be bothered to. We'll see. I have to go see Patrick, who's back down for the weekend, and I have to tidy the place up for the flat inspection we have on Wednesday. This isn't going to be difficult. My room looks like a building site because it still is a building site, so essentially I just have to hoover the living room. Easy enough. I have noticed that the next couple of Callings clash with a couple of concerts I wanted to go to (Bob Mould and the Flaming Lips locally, and The The and Baby Zizanie (the latter being Jims Coleman and Thirwell) on the South Bank. On the upside, I'll probably be seeing Queen Adreena and the Damned soon. My boss is a big Damned fan, so I might try to get a carload together for the Northampton gig.
  • Current Mood: weary
  • Current Music: Bo Diddley, by Bo Diddley. VH1 Classic Rock.
> Little Gigi's 6 months old now, and much older. And much much more alert. She doesn't like me as much as she did when she was a fortnight old, which implies developing intelligence also.

No, that's perfectly normal child development. Around 6-7 months babies start to recognise the difference between people they know and people they don't know, and start being unfriendly to strangers.
In another couple of months she'll have developed the ability to remember you between visits and you won't be a stranger any more.