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rmYou know all those Torchwood fics I write about Jack involving space ports or other odd austere, fundamentally colonialist environments? I am in the porntastic luxury hotel equivalent right now.
First off, it's in Bethnal Green, which is a bit the end of the world. Secondly, it's in a building from around 1810, that's been made dark, dreary and austere in a Kubrick-esque sort of way. The staff is Eastern European and both slightly hostile and overly helpful and there are enough weird decor items around that the whole thing feels a bit David Lynch as well.
The room itself is huge and one wall is all floor to ceiling glass windows that can be opened entirely to let in the air, as everything is covered with a weird, artful, modernist metal grating. The bathroom is completely exposed to the bedroom thanks to the glass wall the separates it (although there's a curtain that can be pulled across for privacy, but it can only be pulled across from the bedroom side, which is sort of sketchy).
It is soothing and lonely and the sort of place that says "use me in a location shoot for film about a luxury spa secretly run by malevolent aliens."
Right now, I'm trying to figure out the correct emotional response (although, you have to admit it's arguably the appropriate setting for the aftermath of this whole thing) and whether I should (or even can with the dreaded Sunday tube closures) figure out how to get to Camden Town for a Martin Carthy (dudes, Martin Carthy, I'm out of my mind if I don't go, but motivation feels challenging) gig.
ETA: There is a rubber ducky in the bathroom named LaLa (it's written on her). Pictures of EVERYTHING later.
First off, it's in Bethnal Green, which is a bit the end of the world. Secondly, it's in a building from around 1810, that's been made dark, dreary and austere in a Kubrick-esque sort of way. The staff is Eastern European and both slightly hostile and overly helpful and there are enough weird decor items around that the whole thing feels a bit David Lynch as well.
The room itself is huge and one wall is all floor to ceiling glass windows that can be opened entirely to let in the air, as everything is covered with a weird, artful, modernist metal grating. The bathroom is completely exposed to the bedroom thanks to the glass wall the separates it (although there's a curtain that can be pulled across for privacy, but it can only be pulled across from the bedroom side, which is sort of sketchy).
It is soothing and lonely and the sort of place that says "use me in a location shoot for film about a luxury spa secretly run by malevolent aliens."
Right now, I'm trying to figure out the correct emotional response (although, you have to admit it's arguably the appropriate setting for the aftermath of this whole thing) and whether I should (or even can with the dreaded Sunday tube closures) figure out how to get to Camden Town for a Martin Carthy (dudes, Martin Carthy, I'm out of my mind if I don't go, but motivation feels challenging) gig.
ETA: There is a rubber ducky in the bathroom named LaLa (it's written on her). Pictures of EVERYTHING later.
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no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 05:36 pm (UTC)... I don't know what my emotional state is, either, except that it probably oughtn't involve looking up taught courses in Chinese here, I don't need it, but I have to do something with all of this excess of desire for things I can never have.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 05:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 05:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 05:56 pm (UTC)"Huh." The man studies it. "What's it for?"
"It's not really for anything."
"But what's it do?"
"It's decorative. Uh. A traditional human adornment for the shower or bath."
Jack waits for the snort of derision, but instead the man beams. "Brilliant! Waterproof art. Love it."
Also, you like Martin Carthy. THAT IS AWESOME.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 06:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 06:10 pm (UTC)It's probably the upstairs room of the same pub I saw him and Norma Waterson in ages ago, and I think it's fairly accessible by bus. Tell the aliens to get off their tentacled backsides and give you a choice of bus routes and somewhere to top up your Oystercard or they're calamari.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 11:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 06:20 pm (UTC)Philistine that I am, I don't know who Martin Carthy even is, beyond presumably some kind of performer (I shall go find out) but going to Camden Town for a gig you've really been hankering for sounds like a good idea, if you can make the tube journey work.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 07:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 07:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-12 07:39 am (UTC)Add this; what diabolical purpose have the aliens given the traditional rubber ducky?
no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 07:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 08:26 pm (UTC)If it is the Town Hall and you eat at the restaurant there, let us know what you think. I've heard very mixed reviews.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-12 03:48 am (UTC)Also, I'm sold on your hotel. Not in a "going there sounds really nice" sort of way, but in the way I was sold on things like Greyhound Hell. It's an Experience that one comes away from with new things in one's head.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-12 08:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-12 04:17 am (UTC)Now L. is wondering if the hotels are related.