Weeknotes 233

It is, regrettably, getting warmer. The wonky fan script is back online.

I voted. Despite the act being somewhat symbolic I remain enthusiastic about playing my tiny part in Torygeddon.

I got a papercut on my lip while licking the flap of the postal vote envelope. More insidious voter suppression tactics from the establishment.

I again made it to the gym on Monday, Wednesday, Friday & Sunday. Monday required more willpower because it was a second consecutive day of exercise, but in general this routine isn’t too tiring and it feels like I could keep it going for a while, at least during the summer months. The early-morning daylight definitely helps motivate me to roll out of bed and get it over with before breakfast.

For habit-building purposes it’s inconvenient — and, imho, rude — that the week is an odd number of days long. If I were more organised I suppose I’d shift to Tuesday, Thursday & Saturday every other week to preserve the rhythm of alternating days. But, aside from the fact that I’ve already hit the extremely low threshold of logistical complexity I’m willing to endure, I work from home on Mondays & Fridays so I’d rather get into the habit of consistently exercising on those days to prevent them from being completely sedentary.

I still haven’t lost any weight this month but I do feel better and my jeans fit more easily so it’s possible some invisible change is occurring. I imagine I’m moving mass around within the closed system of my body, like wax in a lava lamp or deckchairs on the Titanic.

BATHROOM CHAT (NUMBER ONE): My bathroom sink has an integrated chrome plug which must be pushed to close and pushed again to open — this, improbably, appears to be called a “click clack” drain. I rarely need to fill the sink but on Monday I closed it and it wouldn’t reopen, the brass spring seized in place by years of neglect. It was stuck absolutely solid and seemed unlikely to ever move again.

However! I bought some WD-40, unscrewed the plug to reveal the mechanism, gave it a good spray and hit it a couple of times with a hammer. At first it moved only a barely perceptible distance, but as I tapped and wiggled it, it became more and more free until it eventually popped back open. A bit more spraying and recreational click-clacking and it’s good as new. As satisfying as a clean gutter? That’s not for me to say.

So everything’s back as it was, except I now own two WDs forty: original flavour and contact cleaner. And just like last time I only needed a vanishingly small amount — surely far less than a millilitre? — but throwing the rest of the can away would feel like tempting fate, which is presumably how it begins.

BATHROOM CHAT (NUMBER TWO): The reason I was filling the sink in the first place was so I could have a cautious shave in front of a mirror instead of my usual system of doing it recklessly and sightlessly in the shower.

For my whole adult life I’ve been buying cartridge razors and I’ve never liked them. They’re expensive and wasteful, and those downsides are only getting worse over time. Recently I ran out of cartridges and couldn’t stomach the thought of ordering more, so instead I spent a comparable amount of money on a double-edged safety razor and enough blades to last for years instead of months.

It’s fantastic. It’s quick and safe and less irritating on my skin. I wish I’d switched decades ago. I don’t often encounter removable razor blades in everyday life and I felt a twinge of visceral resistance while unwrapping one and loading it into the head — do I really trust myself to press this canonical danger object against my own throat? — but after a careful first attempt I realised it was an easier and less dangerous shave than the cartridge razors I was used to.

So, even though my sink now works, I’m back to shaving in the shower. It’s a much more enjoyable experience and I get a lot of satisfaction from knowing I won’t be wasting any more money on cartridges and sending them straight to landfill.

Sorry about all the bathroom chat.

Otherwise it was another very busy week which didn’t leave me enough energy or focus for socialising. I did bump into Joe in a lift, which hasn’t happened since I started this job; a happy moment of serendipity.

On Thursday I walked to London Fields for dinner at EDIT, the new-to-me restaurant from the proprietors of SITE. The food was tasty, interesting and reassuringly seasonal, and the interior felt calming and peaceful, marred only by the couple who chose to sit at the immediately neighbouring table (in an otherwise empty room) and spend the next two hours having an acrimoniously one-sided breakup.

I watched the first episode of House of the Dragon season two. Unfortunately I couldn’t remember who any of the identical-looking people were, or even vaguely what was going on, which really limited the narrative impact.

Rather than get cross about it I decided to rewatch season one. I’m halfway through so far. Apparently I quite liked it on first viewing, but this time I’m getting much more out of it, probably because I’m paying full attention to names and events like I’m studying for an exam.

What I’d missed (or at least not mentioned) before is that the whole season is anchored by the excellent nuanced performances of Milly Alcock, Emily Carey and Paddy Considine. It’s not especially eventful but their expressive faces do so much work to flesh out their characters’ inner lives. I’m actually really enjoying it; I suppose I’m about to discover whether Emma D’Arcy and Olivia Cooke can maintain the same standard.

Embarrassingly, some of the enjoyment has also come from my decision to watch the first season in Dolby Vision — by buying it on UHD Blu-ray, which I think is the only way to do that? — with the result that it looks and sounds amazing. Look at those sets! Look at those costumes! Look at that big dragon! I am a simple man.