Here’s an attempt at a more traditional, ”dear diary”-type of thing. An day-by-day overview of what has been going on after my last post. Also known as ”compulsively writing down every boring detail of every uneventful day in lack of anything better to do.”

Thursday: Can’t remember anything very significant. Probably wasn’t as employmentally challenged as I’d like to believe I was.

Friday: Can’t remember anything very significant. Went to a listening party of the forthcoming Amorphis album called ”Skyforger”. Had a lot of free coke and a good time. And although the previous sentence looks very nice just the way it is, it’s probably best to tone down the ”yay, rock and roll!”-aspect of it by specifying the nature of this free coke being more of the ”dark, refreshing and not entirely healthy liquid that goes down your throat”-variety, than, say, ”white, uplifting and not entirely legal powder that goes up your nose”. Here’s a short description of the album: First, it begins, with the music starting and stuff. There’s all kinds of instruments, playing, with occasional bouts of singing thrown in as well. This goes on for a bit, quite a bit in fact, with the songs changing and other such things that sometimes happen within the context of a music album. It goes on and on, and on. Then it sort of stops, and not only sort of, it really comes to an end, at roughly the same time when there are no songs left on the album. And then it stays stopped unless someone goes and puts it on again from the beginning, in which case it supposedly starts anew. Hopefully this cutting analysis of mine satisfied the need for information of all you crazy metalheads anxiously waiting for the new Amorphis masterpiece.

Afterwards I went home and prepared a lasagne so ill-smelling and horrible-tasting that no one was able to eat it. And the traditional Chianti Baroncini in a straw basket wasn’t exactly a treat either. So I had to run to a nearby takeaway for some pizzas.

Saturday: Can’t remember anything very significant. Took a bus to my hometown to meet up with the relatives I have left, namely my mother and my brother and his family. His younger daughter was turning seven so the tables were heaped with birthday cakes and other sweet-tasting things to gobble up. There was a lot of hugging and lying under a great big pile of small people, plus the usual amount of talking rubbish and observing how my brother and mother get on each others’ nerves.

In the evening went to a Show & Dinner at Grand Casino Helsinki, to see an a cappella group called Fork perform (rather entertainingly, I’d say) and tuck in to a vegetal menu of various quality. The lime seasoned tofu was very forgettable but lasagne with eggplant was wonderful and by the time of dessert, after the high class Sherry, German Riesling and French Merlot, the pineapple ravioli and sorbet accompanied by frothy Italian Moscato d’Asti was beyond adjectives. Went to a rock club around the corner after that, for some more live music and ”so this is what it was like when I was single, drunk and used to frequent here every Saturday.” I’m very very glad I’m not single anymore.

Sunday: Can’t remember anything very significant. Had a bit of a hangover and felt very frustrated because the planned sessions to record the rest of the vocals for the Sinisthra album today fell through yet again. The songs are seriously haunting me again after a calmer period and every time I close my eyes in the evening my head is filled with various ideas of how the end product should sound and what needs to happen during and between the songs. I can’t communicate these fleeting ideas to mr. Mäkinen (who’s responsible for the musical side of things) very well so mostly they just keep haunting me until I forget them.

Monday: Can’t remember anything very significant. Probably wasn’t as employmentally challenged as I’d like to believe I was.

Tuesday: Can’t remember anything very significant. Received a text message, asking if I was interested in becoming a drummer of a thrash metal band. Wasn’t very interested, although the band in question is in my opinion probably the best at producing authentic sounding thrash in Finland today. Still, the year is 2009, not 1989 so I declined the offer, stating the lack of time, ability and motivation as reasons. The fact that I pulled it off in Protected Illusion when I was 20 doesn’t mean I could pull it off now.

Wednesday: Can’t remember anything very significant. Went to a doctor and had a mole removed from my back. Which conjures up all kinds of mental pictures of a furry shortsighted little mammal more used to furrowing the ground, tightly clinging to the posterior portion of my upper body and not very willing to let go. Maybe a distant cousin of a monkey some people keep having on their backs? Sadly this was a more prosaic kind of mole, an untroublesome yet unpleasant looking oval growth sticking out of the skin of my back like some vaguely disgusting little fruit that no one wants to behold, let alone touch. So the doctor nipped it off and cauterized the wound and now The Loved One can admire the complete sight of my bare back again without any unaesthetic interruptions in there.

And this brings us to present day and a resolution not to go further down this road of traditional diary keeping in my future entries. Here’s a picture of a mole! Dig that stuff, mole!


THE CHALLENGE OF THE DAY:
Finding out why there are no moles in Ireland. Well actually the link gives an answer to that, so not much of a challenge there. But still! Every challenge needs not to be unbeatable, like the Sponge Bridge.



THIS WEEKS’ BOTTLES OF CHOICE:
A kind of semi-spontaneous, not-that-planned Italian theme happened recently with the choices of food for the weekend and the drinks to accompany them. It’s nice when you have the time to carefully prepare all the courses and set the table to please the eye.

Desiderio Jeio Prosecco Valdobbiadene Brut was the appetizer with minestrone soup, as well as keeping company to the dessert of strawberries and whipped cream, in absence of (and a poor substitute for) Moscato d’Asti. All the dry Italian sparkling wines I’ve tasted so far have been either very average or plain horrible. This is probably the best I’ve had which doesn’t mean that I liked it. There was nothing to hold on to in this wine, no character at all, ”tasteless” isn’t exactly the term but ”almost completely devoid of all taste” would be more fitting. Very bland and bleak and easy-to-drink when cold enough. I often see sparkling wines described as ”toasty” and can’t really see the point but here the term finds its’ home in my opinion.

Voga Italia Quattro is a novelty red wine, with a bottle that looks like a giant roll-on deodorant or perfume. It’s causing a bit of a conversation in Finland at the moment, having just arrived here, so I was curious about it and although the packaging might have overshadowed the actual wine a little, I couldn’t help liking this immensely. A wonderful partner to ragù alla bolognese and lovely on its’ own too. I’m sure the bottle design affected my judgement but this still made it’s way on my A-list and will be bought again, and recommended to friends as well.

Pinot Grigio Lamberti is an exceptionally wonderful white wine. I usually like anything that’s made of Pinot Grigio (except the sparkling ones) but this still caught me by surprise when I opened it on a Saturday night, after midnight, to sample it briefly. Devastatingly crisp and delightful, with all the good things I like the most about white wine. On the following day I poured it very sparingly on the arborio rice risotto but mostly into our wine glasses and it really sang. This will definitely be bought again.

Actually I’m not unemployed as such, but as recession roars I have a lot more free time than I used to. This, when considered beforehand, is often viewed as a blessing and a sought-after opportunity to concentrate and focus on things that normally get neglected in the rush of everyday life. And this, when experienced firsthand, often manifests itself as a kind of formless and aimless feeling of apathy that, having settled in, effectively prevents anything requiring a bit more concentration from taking place.

The mornings have more light now than a while ago, as the springtime shyly looms behind a still-quite-but-not-extremely-distant corner, so I tend to wake up a bit earlier than I’d like to or need to. If I don’t want to get up immediately after having woken up, I must be very careful and not move at all. The Loved One, if she stays at home and would like to sleep a little longer, might get annoyed at my way of repeatedly turning over before actually getting up and the inconsiderate habit of breathing all the time while doing so. The Cat will spot any movement and, sitting down on my pillow right next to my face, stare at me intently until I get very uneasy. The Dog is not allowed in the bed but will immediately take notice if my toes accidentally emerge from within the sheets and will immediately act upon it too, by going boing-boing-boing and whine-whine-whine by the bedside, as well as licking and clawing at my protruding digits. It’s impossible for The Dog to relax or relent until 100% of the human population in our household has gotten out of bed. Shortly after having achieved that The Dog will retire to its’ quarters to have a six-hour nap and will bare its’ teeth and growl ferociously if disturbed in any way.

The decisions regarding what to do with the day have to be made quite soon after the breakfast, otherwise The Apathy rapidly descends and the day is mostly lost. If I plan to go outside it’s best to do so before noon because by late afternoon it might be way too late for such drastic action. If I want to read anything deeper than an article in a magazine it’s best to get down to it immediately because by late afternoon my ability to concentrate will have vaporised and is not restored until after a nights’ sleep. In an ideal world a person cherishes every single day individually. In a real world a person sometimes just can’t make the effort because some days just clearly are of the throwaway quality. I have yet to fully decide on the nature of this particular day but if I want today to be in any way significant I need to stop writing this as soon as possible and get outside. The solar noon has already passed and the 14th hour is at hand. So much for trying to describe a day in a life of a gentleman at leisure.

Off for a walk outside in a crisp pre-Spring weather and after that, The Challenge Of The Day.

THE CHALLENGE OF THE DAY:
To Prepare An Edible Dish Out Of Borlotti Beans. And while I’m at it, I might as well place a challenge for tomorrow too: To Finally Finish The Umberto Eco Novel I’ve Been Reading For The Past Month Or So.

THIS WEEKS’ GLIMPSE INTO VISUAL ARTISTRY:
I buy way too many books, a lot more than I have the time to read. Especially the art books often get bought but then neglected for long periods of time. For example, unopened books on Alphonse Mucha and Edward Burne-Jones have been pointing an accusing metaphorical finger at me from the bookshelf for quite a while now. Books want to get read and books need to get read and books also need to be kept. Sometimes I sell some of my books and sometimes I miss them afterwards. And sometimes I misplace a book and those are the ones I miss most sorely afterwards. Patrick Woodroffe paints the kind of things that bring peace to your heart when you look at them. I bought a book of his works called “Mythopoeikon” when I was a teenager, one of the first books I ever bought, and I’ve always taken good care of it. But not good enough it seems as during the past several years, every time I’ve tried to dig the book up I have failed to find it. This indicates that I won’t be finding it in the future either which makes me a bit sad but not sad enough to try and buy another copy of it because it’s been long out of print and therefore a bit on the expensive side. So I’ve tried to locate mr. Woodroffes’ pictures online, with limited success. His homepage has some images but to find reasonably sized pictures I probably would have to get an actual book. And since that would be another seldom-if-ever read art book in my already crowded shelf I think I’ll settle for the things on his homepage and accept my loss. Hopefully with at least a fracture of the grace of the benign monk shown below.



THIS WEEKS’ BOTTLES OF CHOICE:
Vouvray 'Tête de Cuvée Brut', sparkling wine from Vouvray France. Chenin Blanc is the main variety of grape over there and my experience so far on Chenin Blanc has been the light, inexpensive and unenticing white wines from South Africa. The sparklies from Vouvray area are characterful and stylish by description and I was looking forward to tasting this. Unfortunately the small glass of champagne I had before opening this bottle set an somewhat unjust standard and in comparison this tasted one-dimensional and a bit dank. On the positive side there was a slight hint of sweetness and a reflection of some unidentified fruit, probably peach (the description says apricot so that was quite close I think. If a person is able to tell the difference between the scent of apricot and peach the person probably is an educated expert on prunus whatever or just needs to get out more often). Anyway, fresh and light it was not, in the way of most cavas, and obviously lacked the complexity and uplifting qualities of champagne. And it was a bit overpriced I think so I see no reason to buy it again.

Chevaliers de Malte Sec is another sparkling wine from France. Confusingly it claims to be ”blanc de blancs” on the label which to my understanding means it’s 100% Chardonnay, at least in champagnes. This is 0% Chardonnay but a blend of several to-me-unheard-of grape varities that seem to be mostly used for making cheaper table wines. The taste is sugary, flat and very straightforward. This bottle was opened to light up a Monday dinner of fish and rice heated up in microwave oven so in a way it was quite suitable for the occasion. The Vouvray had bucketfuls of elegance compared to this although the comparison is unfair because this was almost 50% cheaper. If this was the wine of choice of The Knights Of Malta no wonder scenes like this occurred.

Yalumba Y Series Riesling, white wine from Australia. Now this, for a change, was utterly lovely. The best Riesling I’ve had; light, dry and sweetish but still very crisp and fresh. The German ones I’ve tasted, although very good and classy, have still been a bit disappointing to me but this is exactly what I like the most about white wines. Very enjoyable sipped on its’ own well chilled, reminding me of albarino somehow. I failed to notice any aromas of petrol apart from slight ”oiliness” that lingered in the aftertaste. This is also the best match for oriental food I’ve come across so far and left a much better impression than my previous attempts with gewurztraminers and spicy food. The bottle design is very good too so this is a very hard to resist-kind of package.

Los Monteros, red wine from Spain. The bottle looks really enticing too and was probably the main reason I bought this. It also got a favourable review in a wine magazine and I like the Monastrell grape. It’s full-bodied and strong tasting in a typically Spanish way I’d say. The Loved One said it’s smoky and mouth-drying, two terms that I tend to attach to Shiraz mostly. Once again a wine that fulfilled its’ function nicely without special effects or flashy stunts. I would have liked to like this more than I did.

The current ”snow chaos” in Britain makes me very happy to be in sunny Helsinki instead of London right now although the weather conditions me and The Loved One experienced there three weeks ago weren’t exactly top notch either. London was in the grip of an unusually cold spell for the whole of five days we spent there at the start of January and the constant chattering of teeth and wearing of every single piece of clothing available slightly diminished the pleasure of visiting this otherwise a magnificent city. Also, the exchange rate of pound rocketed up during the last week before our trip after having steadily weakened for months. Still, in retrospect, it was a lovely trip to a city I’ve visited at least ten times before, the last time being on 2001, so it felt fresh and familiar at the same time. Personally I’ve changed considerably during the passing years so it was interesting to find out how much London had changed (not much) and if I still found the city to my liking (yes I did). This was the first time in London for The Loved One so my knowledge of the city and how to navigate therein proved very useful and it was nice to switch roles after she had showed me around in Fuengirola Spain (where her father lives) last year.

EasyJet took us to Gatwick Airport, the tickets had been outrageously cheap and the arrival time was outrageously late so I had booked us a room in a nearby hotel. Everything went very smoothly and an hour after the plane had landed we had already checked in and were heading for the hotel bar. The hotel was spacious and luxurious with art prints that reminded me of John Waterhouse on the corridors. Unfortunately it was for the one night only and the next day we travelled to London Victoria and checked in to a more traditional British hotel where the bed took up 85% of the available space and the room temperature was well below 20C at all times. The check in time was 11AM but the room still wasn’t ready when we arrived sometime after 1PM. The person at the reception desk stated very clearly that it was impossible to get more than two towels per room, there were no safety boxes and the cleaning lady left the window open every day for the chilling wind to blow in for the rest of the day until we left a note asking her not to do it again. All this for a bargain price of only 10 pounds more per night than in the luxurious airport hotel and absolutely no nice looking art prints on the walls whatsoever. The breakfast was served across the street in the smallest and most cramped cafe I have ever seen and as their continental breakfast was of the kind often described as ”most horrible”, we didn’t see it necessary to return there after the first morning. But that’s the way of the affordably-priced Central London hotels and we took it all with goodish grace.

As roaming the parks was out of the question we mostly spent our days alternately sitting around in cafes (wonderful cafe mochas in Caffe Nero and wonderful everything in Pret A Manger) and pubs, trying to find our way out of the Victoria Station, wandering the vast and endless halls of art galleries or tube stations and having dinners of various degrees of loveliness. On the whole it was a good trip and left in me a longing to return once the weather gets fairer. This might take a while to happen though and by this I mean returning (which will not happen in a while) and not the weather getting better (which will happen much sooner I assume). There’s all kinds of other cities to visit in Europe too, although with the current EasyJet flight-rates London is the easiest capital to pop out to.

It was good to find out my favourite bookstore was still there in Notting Hill. I often had two suitcases with me on previous trips to London and the other one got usually filled with books and comics I mostly purchased from Book & Comic Exchange. I took a much more reserved approach to hoarding stuff this time around but still found lots of books I wanted to buy, several of which I did. This will probably always be my favourite place to buy things in London.

Dali Universe is a too-large-to-take-in-at-one-go collection of Salvador Dalis’ works of all kinds, exhaustive and, towards the end, exhausting too. I was particularly impressed by the sculptures and works of coloured glass. I didn’t know he worked with/on such a wide array of materials and topics, including illustrations for The Bible, Dante’s Divine Comedy and Alice In Wonderland (although in latter case it’s not so surprising seeing how many people during the years have illustrated Alice). Also, his remakes of Francisco Goya’s works, presented next to original untouched pictures were fascinating. This exhibition wore us down in two hours and it would have been nice to return to it on another day which we did not do. Maybe next time. The gift shop was disappointing after having worked myself up to purchase all kinds of surreal things to take home, only to find out the stuff on sale at an affordable price consisted mostly of postcards and keyrings.

Tate Britain was, as can be expected, very exhausting as well. My favourite room was probably Room 8 with the William Blake and Cecil Collins paintings. This Cecil Collins person I hadn’t heard of before and was quite impressed by his works. I must delve deeper into the things he’s done when I have the time for it. ”The Music Of Dawn”, pictured below, held me in place, staring, for a long time. Countless other paintings impressed me greatly as well, some with the sheer size of them and some by the strongness of emotion they depicted. Raging or serene landscapes and scenes of biblical and/or mythological content are the things I enjoy the most. As opposed to The Loved One who yawned her way through some of the galleries where I stood gawping with my jaw hanging open.

This was reversed the next day when we visited Tate Modern where the things I found to my liking were few and far between. The ”Poetry and Dream”-section had some interesting stuff, like the short film ”Meshes Of The Afternoon”. It can be viewed here and is well worth watching in my opinion, lasting some 14 minutes. Otherwise, I mostly tittered at the abstract paintings and piles of bricks arranged on the floor and couldn’t bring myself to appreciate any possible meanings behind things like that.

It was nice to be able to buy wine from any supermarket at a reasonable price. Sainsbury’s had a very decent Albarino in their own "Taste The Difference" range, Tesco had a similar selection and then there were of course the wine merchants like Oddbins. In restaurants a bottle of wine didn’t cost much more than in a supermarket and that’s something I’d like to see happen in Finland too. I’m quite in favour of the current, centralized monopoly system where you can get everything you need in the same store specialised in selling alcoholic beverages but would like to see the pricing system in Finnish restaurants (the price of the bottle in Alko multiplied by six) change drastically.

Anyhow, we had some lovely, romantic and long dinners and the best one was on our final night in a Portuguese place in Knightsbridge called O Fado. it was favourably reviewed in Time Out restaurant guide and I was curious to find out what Portuguese cuisine was like. The waiter didn’t probably understand English at all, the wine he delivered wasn’t what I asked for and the bill included some surprising items like fries we didn’t order but got anyway, a set service charge that made sure we left enough tip and two cover charges, making the final balance to pay quite high. But I didn’t complain, I loved the food and the wrong wine and it was all very romantic with actual living people playing actual guitars in an actual dimly lit and nicely decorated low ceilinged cellar.

If we had had a few more days we would no doubt have had several more lovely dinners and possibly visited some musical too. Monty Python’s Spamalot had closed a few days before we arrived and I would very much have liked it to have been my virgin experience on musicals. I also missed Robert Rankin’s signing session at Forbidden Planet by a few days.

Oh and the awesome new Westminster Tube Station looks like an interior of a futuristic space ship! Check it out here, and here too!

Not many holiday photos this time I’m afraid. Here’s me, clinging to the limited warmth of a hotel room radiator, with all my clothes on including woollen socks, and another one of me, thoroughly enjoying my beer at the airport.