Hell is other people

Finding the dead pigeon on my balcony was the deciding factor. I realised I didn't really want to live here anymore. It was hunched in the corner like a sulky teenager, with its face to the wall. I yelped and jumped like a girly and ran away, shuddering and going 'Urgh! urgh! urgh!'

I mean, a pigeon - not a sparrow, not a mouse - a huge fucking rat of the air, dead and decomposing on my balcony - why my balcony? There are 5 fucking storeys and countless blocks on this estate, why did it choose to shuffle off this mortal coil on mine? You've got to admit, it's not auspicious. And the hell-hounds barked from 5.00 pm til 10.00 pm yesterday, but the Noise Service closes at 5.00 pm. Then they started up again at 7.00 am, and by the time the noise officer phoned me back it was 10.15 am and they'd stopped 10 minutes ago. I feel a bit dizzy and light-headed and not in the mood for coping with winged vermin.

(By now I'm on first name terms with various people on the housing association out of hours ASBO line, Hackney Environmental Health and the local branch of the RSPCA. I'm developing a nervous twitch and bursting into tears on public transport, never a good sign. STOP THE NOISES!!! JUST MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP! I can only conclude that I was a terrible person in a past life and am receiving just punishment in this one.)

So I did what I always do in a crisis, and rang bad Sarah - 'Why is my life so rubbish? Where is a MAN? Why do I always have to deal with this shit all by myself?' Men, what are they good for but giving you orgasms and getting dead pigeons off your balcony, and why are they never around when you need them? - cowardly, I rang the caretaker's number. A little girl answered 'Pappi! Somebody's calling you on your phone!' Then some Polish. The caretaker comes on. 'Hi, it's Annie at ___ Estate. Are you at work Eric?' 'No, at home.' Okay, sorry.'

Okay, I could deal with this by myself. I can't just leave it there, rotting. So I bravely scoop it up in a bucket and fling it over the balcony into Mr Asbo's garden below.

Favourite search term this year:
'stinging nettle kinky games'

I salute you, you big Australian pervert.




Update: Slaminsky is also appearing at Londonist these days, you know.

I ♥ Xmas

It’s that time of year that I love so much. To those that know what I’m talking about, I raise a glass & say chin up my dears, see you on the other side.

Well my little sea-monkeys, this year instead of music I'm making you all a cuppa. What can I say, time's are tight.
Patroclus - Earl Grey
Tim - Lapsang Souchong
Betty - Yorkshire tea (my personal favourite)
Geoff – Peppermint
Wyndham - espresso, 2 sugars
Billy - Rooibos
Llewtrah - Camomile
LC - Hemlock
Rockmother – Tea with a cheeky drop of brandy
Ben – Gunpowder tea
Clair - Assam
GG - Darjeeling
Marsha - A dab of Rioja
BiB – Black tea with lemon & sugar
Bowleserised - Finest Rose Pouchong (no, me neither. Apparently Twinings does it.)
Del - Oolong
Rad - Ceylon Orange Pekoe
Greavsie - Mixed Fruit Infusion
Emordino - Chai
Alda - Rosehip & Hibiscus
GSE - Jade Pillar White Leaf
Bedshaped - Jasmine
Boz - Yerba Mate
Rosie - Lady Grey
Annie - Green China Tea
Arabella - Lemon & Ginger

(Don't take it personal if you didn't get one, I was racking my brains just for these.)

Merry Xmas!

Leave your girlfriend for me

because she's rubbish.

Mainly because she's not me.

Now, how can I say this, more, er, tactfully?

Soapy

With some reluctance I got a new TV (I'd rather buy something FUN like a camera) but the current one will soon be a redundant empty box fit to be on display as a relic in the V&A.
At the moment TV viewing is limited to the 4 terrestrial channels - good lord, they are appalling. What do you watch on them, dear reader?

Anyway, it is with shame that I confess I am hooked on Coronation Street. I hate HATE soaps, but it just has something about it, a certain feel-good factor where most other soaps have a definite feel-bad factor. It has gays. (And this character, I don't know who she is but I like her a lot, and she's far too good for Steve Macdonald.) Plus, it's an insight into the Northerner.

Years ago, we had some American friends come to stay. They sat in front of Eastenders and goggled at the cardboard, wobbly sets and dire acting. After a few moments, one of them remarked, as if in revelation, 'They're not pretty.' Hurrah for our ugly, non-glossy soap actors! Though I did see someone almost quite good-looking on Corrie recently.

For those who don't watch them, here is a quick guide to the Things People Say On Soaps:

Coronation Street
Give over! Whippet. Emily Bishop.

Eastenders
You ain't my dad/He ain't my brother/That ain't my baby! Muppet.

Emmerdale
Oo-ar. Patsy Kensit.

Tat

Wooden tat, as promised.

Just 3 short months ago it looked like this. Now look! I have a broken chair! And a 1950s table made from finest Formica!

Michelle Ogundehin is looking nervously over her shoulder...
Update - now with added Christmas tat. I gave in to a Christmas tree, bah humbug - you will observe that it is the smallest possible Christmas tree, in fact it is dwarfed by the presents.

Sharing the blog love

Rah! Gary James is back. He writes beautifully, and I just found his blog shortly before he shut it down. But he's back. And he's disabled comments so you can't tell him how pleased you are. Anyway. I am pleased.

Also, I like this blog, Ritual Landscape a lot, but the mysterious Astronaut also disables comments.

What is wrong with you people! You are ruining our reputation as shameless attention whores.

One of those things

More flashback madness.

Cat's mum's friends had a son at Reading University, he said it was okay if we crashed there after Reading. I wasn't so into the festival, which seemed like it was full of heavy metal beer monsters and held in a glorified car-park, but I liked Steve and his friends, who took us to the pub and talked to us about sophisticated stuff like film theory (hm, I thought, and it planted a seed) and their dissertations. Steve was writing his on Sylvia Plath - on Sylvia Plath! I didn't know boys liked Sylvia Plath, even. He asked if I'd read Johny Panic, and said I'd like it.

I lost everyone at the festival and wandered back the way I thought it was, amazed and pleased with myself when I found the right house.
'Sorry it's late' I said, as he let me in.
'No worries' he said in his relaxed way. 'We're just going to watch The Hunger, have you seen it?'
I hadn't. It had David Bowie in it, and lesbian vampires, and gave me funny dreams that night. Just before we went to sleep, he stuck his head around the door of the spare room, where we were sleeping on an old bed base in our sleeping bags. 'Annie' he said 'Johnny Panic' and he threw the book for me on the bed. He went out.
Cat looked at me. 'Ha!' she said. 'What?' 'Nothing.' 'What?!' 'Your face...'

We went to see him once, when he was staying with his family in Wales, and we'd hitched up there (though we'd told our families we were getting a coach.) He'd driven us to see some standing stones in his old Morris Minor , and an old tin mine. We sat by a vivid, bluey-green pool and threw stones in the water and talked about Life, and when we finally went back to his parents', his mum and sister were quietly, furiously tight-lipped about how much time these two London girls had taken up of his rare weekend home. They still kindly let us stay, though.

(Steve had a girlfriend at Uni called Esther. According to his sister, Esther was a jealous type. At the time, he seemed a lot older, but he must have only been about 20 to our 17. I couldn't believe how easily it flowed, how relaxed he made me feel, at my most self-conscious, socially awkward and shy. He calmed me right down. Everything I said seemed to be okay, I didn't constantly wish the ground to open up and swallow me when we talked, I could even make him laugh. I couldn't believe I'd never get to see him again, long hair, black jeans, tatty old stripey wool jumper and all. You know when you meet someone who's right for you, or maybe you're even right for each other, but circumstances are all wrong? It was one of those things. We'd clicked, but to no avail. We'd passed each other for a moment on two escalators, travelling in different directions.)

'Nuclear families, hey?' whispered Cat, as we shared the double bed in the spare room. (We'd been studying the nuclear family in Sociology recently, sociologists seemed divided on whether it was a good thing or not.) She lived with her divorced mum, I'd bounced between divorced parents, happy families were a novelty to us. And a bit claustrophobic.
'This was the gran's room' she whispered. 'Right.' 'I think the gran died in this bed.' 'FUCK. OFF.'



This clip is not completely disconnected, as at this point in the film, Frank Sinatra has not actually had a love affair with Doris Day, and believes he never will. Frank Sinatra and Doris Day - least likely movie couple ever?

Every child deserves a childhood

The news about Oliver Postgate combined with a highly depressing news report on knife crime and gangs recruiting kids as young as 8, combined to get me thinking...

Currently making myself unpopular at work, and about to make myself unpopular (er, even more unpopular) on the internets - yes I hate it when people nag me for money for charidee too, but just thought I'd draw your attention to Kid's Company, what you do next is up to you - run by an amazing woman called Camila Batmanghelidjh, it was set up to take care of the many, many children in London who come from broken homes and tough backgrounds and basically helps them and gives them somewhere to go. The care and attention they get from Kid's Company stops them from turning into violent scary nutters as adults and gives them a chance in life.

Their work goes on all year round, but on Christmas Day they take in 1500 (that's ONE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED) children who'd otherwise have nowhere to go, give them Christmas dinner and a present. Click here for more information and here about donations.

The Collector collector

When my mum got older, she started collecting pigs. My friend's mum started collecting owls. 'It freaks me out' said my friend. 'Everytime you go in the living room, there's hundreds of little owl eyes, weirding you out whilst you watch TV...'

It's a weird thing that seems to happen to women after middle age, & I swore it wouldn't happen to me (apart from a fatal weakness for fliers or any well-designed bit of paper but I'm trying to curb this habit, there's not enough room in my flat.)We must resist, RESIST, the bizarre compulsion to collect ceramic animals when the world no longer finds us desirable...

Only now I realised I've got more old Penguins than can really be passed off as a coincidence. But just look at the covers! How can you resist these beauties, especially when they only cost a couple of quid? And now there's an Alan Aldridge exhibition on at the Design Museum, and it occurs that you can track down a piece of art by a famous artist for less than the price of a bus journey... and I discovered the greatest Flickr group ever created... I feel a new obsession coming on. I fear I will soon have to move out to make room for the dog-eared paperbacks. (Maybe I can open a secondhand book stall, like Iain Sinclair, there's good money in that. Not.)

Why must we collect things? Why why why? What did you collect? Top trumps? Panini stickers? Spill...

Hendricks Masked Ball

"Please Note We Would Like To Point Out to Our Members That This Is One of those Rare Occasions Where They Can Bring Their Ugly Friends As Guests Provided that They Do Not, On any Account Remove Their Masks"

Who's with me? Go on. Even social phobics can have fun at a masked ball.

*£20! it's a bargain!

Rich men

We were talking about a friend of ours who's going out with a rich man. There's a general idea that women are like magpies, attracted by bright shiny expensive stuff, but I have a blind spot about the attraction of rich men. (Partly because I'm not exactly the kind of arm candy a rich man would go for. I have my quirky charms but I imagine if you're minted you'd want someone younger, blonder, prettier, skinnier, and probably with pneumatic boobs.) Money is power, and if someone is taking you out, buying you stuff, and paying for everything, it usually comes with strings. Just because someone has money, it doesn't mean it's your money. My stepmother, who'd probably faint with horror if anyone called her a feminist, led by example, though she's from a totally different generation and mindset: "Always have your own bank account" she said when I was 18 "and always have your own money."

This man is in a high-powered job, famous in his field, and takes her out to Soho House and to his rich friends' houses in Holland Park, then he talks to her like dirt in front of her friends in the cab on the way home. Where is the glamour in that?

I don't know what I'd do if I met someone rich that I liked. I think it would be more of a negative than a plus point. The imbalance. Someone with a talent or a skill now, I can see the attraction in that. My colleague was talking about her fiance. 'I met him last December at a house party' she said. 'Was it love at first sight?' 'Well, he cooked us all Christmas dinner.' Makes sense to me.

RIP Oliver Postgate

A thought

I know they do a hard job (and I wouldn't want to do it, not in a million years) - I know the media has turned it into a witch-hunt and obscured the real debate, as usual - but all this business brings back something my friend D once said.

She'd grown up with a mentally ill mum, her dad having buggered off early, leaving her more or less as main carer, with a young brother to worry about too. Sometimes her mum would be fine - sometimes she'd lose it and start sending D letters which said I Know What You're Up To and You Are Evil and locking her out the house. Or she'd disappear for weeks and D would worry she'd topped herself. She had plenty of experience with social workers and the mental health service (including one recently disgraced TV psychiatrist, who, she said, was unhelpful and a total bastard). What she said stuck in my head.

'Social workers! They did nothing for us. Rich people don't need social workers do they? They should just give the money spent on social work straight to poor people - then they wouldn't need social workers.'

Grain of truth? Anyway, just offering up this thought.


Oh, and speaking of useless, remember this post? Watch the Ofsted Comms Team leap into action!

Newspapers 3rd December: Ofsted did not notice Haringey's failure
Newspapers 6th December: Haringey 'misled' Ofsted

Phew, arses well covered Ofsted, what a good job, well done.

My mate fancies you

'The greatest act of love was to make a tape for someone.'
The Importance Of Music To Girls, Lavinia Greenlaw

No more tapes, what do the kids make for each other as tokens of love these days?

Class War Watch

One in an occasional series...

Headline in Metro

'Queen's speech damns benefit cheats'

Yeah, those scrounging parasites, claiming money raised from our taxes as though it was theirs by divine right or something, and doing very little to earn it...

Speed-dating for beginners

Right, have decided to bite the bullet and go speed-dating. Am tired of spending Saturday nights watching TV on the sofa (especially rubbish as my old TV refuses to show anything but the 4 terrestrial channels) - I need to put myself through some kind of tortuous, anguished, hideous experience so that spending Saturday nights watching TV on the sofa will seem like a blessed relief.

I need good questions to sort out the sheep from the goats, the wheat from the chaff, the men from the boys. So far, all I've come up with is 'Are you circumcised?' *

I need your help with the good questions, people. Hit me...



* Just kidding.

The only reason to be glad about Christmas...

Taiga's Barking Mad Advent Calender is BACK!

Sexual tension

I'm watching Spiderman, and I think I've identified the main reason why it's so BORING. There's no tension at all between MJ and Peter Parker/Mary Jane and Spiderman, it's all sweetness and light.

When you think of all the great, truly sexy movie couples, they all sparred with each other, sometimes they were even on opposing sides of the law.

Let's see...

Hans Solo & Princess Leia
Humphrey Bogart & Katherine Hepburn in the African Queen
Batman & Catwoman
Rhett Butler and Scarlet O'Hara
Buffy and Spike
Bogart and Bacall (in everything)
George Clooney & Jennifer Lopez in Out of Sight
My personal favourite - crooked cop Dennis Quaid & uptight DA Ellen Barkin in the Big Easy
Elektra Assassin and Garrett
Lucy and Schroeder...

Any more...?

Spend spend spend

The Inland Revenue has granted me some freedom tokens. It was a rollercoaster of emotions there for a while - they sent me something with 'repayment is due' but it didn't say who owed who - then they sent me another letter with 'zero repayment is due' - phew - but then, no fat cheque winging my way either.

Now they've sent me another letter saying that repayment is due to ME! And they're sending me a cheque!

Decisions, decisions...

• We're in a recession. Should probably squirrel it away somewhere (safest place probably in my mattress, like these folk
• A million & one necessary but boring things around the house
• Or buy a DSLR.
• Or buy a shiny laptop.
• Or go far, far, far away.

If I knew how to make it stretch that far, I'd use it to retrain for another career.

How would you use unexpected freedom tokens?

Hurrah for the northern men

It is Em's leaving drinks. We have the best corner table in the Crown in Clerkenwell. As some of our friends leave, a group of blokes sit down at our other table and fixate on us, I mean, really glaring across the table.

The Crown is one of those cool London pubs where people would rather poke their eyes out with a sharp stick than give you inadvertent eye contact. What's all this? From their voices, it's apparent they're not from round these parts. Middlesborough, I'd hazard a guess. They're trying to get our attention. Soon I hear the phrase 'load of lesbians' drifting across the table. 'I think you should ask these girls to the party' one of them says loudly. 'I think they're having their OWN party' says one of them, suggestively. His mates ignore him.

Eventually one of them muscles in on Em and Rebecca's conversation. He starts trying to guess how old they are. I think I hear him tell Rebecca that she looks older as she has more lines around her eyes, and Em that she looks younger because her face is rounder. They are both hooting with laughter. 'You don't give up, do you? That's the beauty of you...' I hear Em say.

I go outside for a cigarette with Yasmin. Two of them follow us out. 'You' one of them says to me. 'You have got the most gorgeous, perfect arse. Don't let anyone tell you different.' 'Um' I say. 'Thank you.' 'No really' he persists 'it's just a really great arse. It makes this beautiful peach shape when you sit down.' He walks in a circle around me to check it out. 'I feel like a dog' I mutter to Yasmin. 'And I wouldn't be telling you, only I'm a bit drunk.' He smiles winningly at me. 'It's the hair/hat combination I like' says his friend.

Considering I'm standing next to Yasmin, who is absolutely gorgeous and wearing fishnet stockings, heels, and a lowcut little black dress, at the same time as being mortally embarrassed I'm feeling quite pleased with the attention. I don't know if this is the 'chat up the mate to get the attention of the bombshell' tactic, but it's working for me.
'Man, he was proper checking you out, innit?' says Yasmin as we head back inside.

'You have got a great arse' has got to be the most crass, least smooth chat-up line I've ever heard. It is the kind of thing you'd never ever hear from a Londoner. They would never walk behind you and stare at your bum, however pissed. Tsk, neanderthal Northerners.

Yet today, I am feeling strangely positive and upbeat.

Blue screen of death

My computer has died. Posting illegally from work. It's God's way of telling me to stop blogging (or to buy a new laptop?)

Okay, does this make sense to you? Getting a message saying my BIOS is not compliant with ACPI, and I need to download a new BIOS (whatever that is), but I can't do that when I can't turn the damn thing on. It tells me to turn off ACPI by pressing F7 in text setup mode - how do I get to text setup mode?

Dell worse than useless. Halp!

Everybody needs somebody

Am possibly reposting this Vintage mix tape, but as far as I can tell, I made it in the summer and forgot to post it here.* Though apparently mysterious people have listened to it already (and voted for it) on Switchpod. It's got Iko Iko and Solomon Burke and all good stuff on it.

(* Am genuinely worried about my brain. As Em and other friends will tell you, I am very, very poor at remembering stuff like dates and plans. My nana was in her 70s before the dementia set in. Can it be long before I am writing my name on my hand in biro just to remind me? Must start eating more tomatoes - apparently lycopene can stop you from losing your marbles, or something.)

The art of creating life

Hungry rubbish

Hungry rubbish, originally uploaded by Slaminsky.

This kind of sums up the neighbourhood for me.

Rocking the old biddy look in Paris

babushkas and hats, originally uploaded by dragonlady1.

babushkas and hats taken from Bad Sarah's Flickr stream

Sleep mode

BRB. Meanwhile, enjoy a slideshow of somewhere a bit prettier than Hackney:

BubbleShare: Share photos - Craft Ideas

A man about a dog

"I've lived here 12 years. The bloke upstairs was writing letters to the housing association, the council, the ombudsman, people I'd never heard of, complaining about my dogs - but he never come and knocked on my door and spoke to me, I didn't know who it was complaining, I'm getting letters saying people are complaining and threatening me I'm going to lose my home, but I don't know who's doing it, right?

One time I got so frustrated, I went and shouted outside the flats, cause I knew if I went to him that would be harrassment, and he could hear me... You can't believe someone would want to make you lose your home and not come and talk to you about it. He was a quiet bloke with a bike, never said nothing to me, he was throwing stuff down on my dogs, poisoned bones with vinegar on them, you know what that does? It rots their stomachs and makes them ill. Only reason I knew, the girl next door filmed him and showed me.

I'm a good lad, you know? I grew up in Hackney and I used to be a bad boy, with the wrong people, but I'm trying to do the right thing now and stay in work. My mates said, do you want us to set fire to his house? And I go, no no, it's my home too - the old me would have done that, but not now. There used to be break-ins here but since I got my dogs there's been no trouble, they're guard dogs. When I moved in here I used to have my mates round and they said I was drug dealing, but I was just a young bloke, and my friends all still lived at home, they just came around here a lot...

I don't feel safe here, that's why I got my dogs, I don't know why someone like you wants to live here, I don't want to live here. I worry about my son, and my girlfriend. It's not a good place to live, what is there here? I've got ten dogs, the rest are with her. We don't get on when we live together, so this is the only place I've got. There's lots of Muslims on this estate, lots of Africans, and they don't like dogs, it's in their culture. He was Jewish, they don't like dogs either. I asked the housing association to move me, but they won't, they say it'll just be a problem somewhere else.

I'm not racist, my dad's black, my mum's white - I didn't live with them though, I grew up in children's homes and foster homes. I'm used to being on my own, I'm okay with that, I've always had dogs, they're loyal. He told me he was renting the place out, and I thought, whoever moves in can't be worse than him... he didn't say he was selling the place. I try and read people, and I can tell you're trying, I respect the fact that you came and spoke to me, he never did that. I'll put a muzzle on them when I go out, and I'll check out this trainer stuff you've given me... My dogs are the only trouble you'll have living here, it's not rough or anything."

Where did I come from...?

Just dropping back because I couldn't contain myself....

So, it's now compulsory for primary schools to teach sex education. Oh joy. This job just keeps getting better.

Jim Knight, Schools Minister, says that there is a need to "improve the moral framework and moral understanding around which we then talk about sex later on in a child's education." The government is passing the responsibility over to schools again, as is its wont (at the last count, you are expected to teach the kids manners, ethics, basic nutrition and basic hygiene, you know the stuff you might reasonably expect parents to teach them, in addition to the curriculum.) Because they don't seem entirely clear on what constitutes a moral framework and moral understanding around which we can talk about sex, they fumble the issue and pass it onto schools to work out the details and how these diktats can actually be delivered. Because we have lots of time on our hands to do that.

Hey - these kids are all getting STDs! And pregnant! Let the schools sort it out. Whilst they're also sorting out exercise - and afterschool clubs - and breakfast clubs - and combating youth crime - and child abuse - and poverty - and obesity- and malnutrition - - and inequalities which are entirely down to what class children are born into. * That's what we pay them for, isn't it?


* On Radio 4 an Irish woman was talking about a trial of these sex education classes in Ireland - she admitted that the project had no appreciable impact on the teen pregnancy statistics - what made a difference was their relationships with their parents, their family background and the expectations of the teenagers - the ones who expected to go on to study at university didn't want to get pregnant, the ones who didn't expect anything out of further education saw no reason not to.



Cover from the brilliant Mummy Laid an Egg by the brilliant Babette Cole. I'd recommend it for all those awkward conversations. Me, I'm heading for adult education pronto.

Hibernation

Passed the 3 year mark a while back, and I had totally forgotten. Yay me!

Doing this for 3 years makes me realise I have a cycle, and it's got to that point where it all gets a bit weary * and I feel the need to go into winter hibernation.

Right, I'm off to my cave now, and taking a break til next year.

Laters, alligators.





* Look, they've already got the Christmas decorations out - the horror, the horror. Must confess, though I hate Christmas, I like Christmas decorations.

My famous blogger friend

Which telegenic blogger from my link list on the right features here? I'm taking bets...

Lock 'em up and throw away the key

Or not. Amnesty's campaign against the 42 days proposal needs your signature urgently here.

(Do you know how long they can lock them up in America, land of the paranoid right-wing loonies, without charge? 2 days. )

Santogold

Santogold wrote a song for me, how thoughtful of her! She's the chick puking up gold glitter on the cover of her album, you know the one. Very good stuff.

My name is Anne, I got a plan
I may lack virtue
But I'm penitent...

On smacking

Got very mixed feelings about this. Yes, we should protect children from angry, out of control adults. No, people shouldn't hit their kids. But why does everything have to be legislated now, dictated by the state, including parenting?

A question I'd hoped to avoid

'Miss' [we are reading the Owl and the Pussycat] 'what does pussy mean?'
'Er... it's a cat. You know, like pussycat...'
'But my brother calls me a pussy. He says it doesn't mean cat.'

Cowardly, I tell him I don't know. It's a bit early to get onto misogyny, dysphemism and gender stereotyping. I would also like to strangle his brother, the little shit, as he's the most charming little kid you could ever hope to meet - what is he doing calling him names like that?

It's a big ugly world but in this job sometimes you can't help wishing you could protect innocence from experience.

Getting back on the saddle

The year before last I was internet dating. I started seeing someone for a while (I didn’t write about it because I stupidly mentioned my blog on the first date – though in fact, he unforgivably never once looked at it ‘What’s it called again?’ he’d say). He was lovely but there was just no Vrrrrrm between us… no Grrrrr… no something, anyway.

He had a house, and enough money, and was talking about setting up his own business, but he didn’t really need to, and spent the day quite happily on message boards. I knew this would drive me crazy after a while. He had everything he wanted, he just needed a woman, and I could see it would be so easy to fit right in there. I entertained the thought for a while – just imagine, no going to weddings on your own anymore, or getting home from parties alone; imagine how handy he would have been in this situation… (Not for long though, because of lack of vrrrrm.)

I must get back on it though. I keep using the excuse of not having a decent photo (the one I used – and coincidentally the one he used – last time was quite old, not because I was lying on purpose about my age but because I’m so chronically unphotogenic, it was the only reasonable one in living memory.)

*sigh* Have you tried it? Anyone recommend a good site? (I hear that My Single Friend is full of swingers.)

Have I exhausted the pleasures of the internet?

Scroll down for update...

Already? Surely not...?

I challenge you - YES YOU, THAT INCLUDES ALL LURKERS - to go on an internet scavenger hunt and find me some or preferably one each of these:

1.) A new website to make me laugh
2.) A website to shock and/or thrill
3.) An irresistibly sexy website (YouPorn does not count)
4.) A fabulously stylish website
5.) A bright shiny new blog to read.
6.) A good shopping website (prizes offered if you find one that sells sofas.)

Ready... steady... go!




PS: What is your favourite drug when you have a cold? Em has already recommended Benylin (drowsy) but any others?

Update

Thank you for the lovely recommendations. I have listed them for your pleasure below:

The Changing Man recommended his own site, cheeky! But no link - what's your address, Changing Man? And Retro Sofas, with lovely leather sofas, mmmm...

US recommended the Daily Mash - hilarious, I love the Peter Mandelson post.

Clair recommends the lovely Silent Porn Star blog - a classier time for porn, I think.

Bowleserised wins the prize with one for every category:
Associated Press' strange news snippets
Alaskan politics - good lord!
Coco de Mer's shopping site - I have met the proprietor socially, you know.Quite taken with the liquorice cherry voyeur wallpaper.
Advanced Style - stylish older folks give me hope for the future. Very cool.
Sexy Witches - there's something on the internet for everyone!

Quink recommends the fabulously stylish Ace Jet 170 - great eye candy.

RoMo recommends Electric Roulette - also cool and stylish, a bit like the Face in internet form.


For colds, Bedshaped recommended marijuana. You old hippy, Bedshaped.
Tim recommends whiskey, honey and paracetamol - yum!
Tara recommends grape candy flavoured Dimetapp, sadly unavailable over here.
RoMo recommends Benylin4flu, and chilli.

I am off to try the lot. Cheers, my dears.

West is the new East

A day off, for Eid. Hurrah for the Muslims.

I went west, to buy a sofa. Right across the city - started to get the bends around North Acton.

What is like the other side of town? They like shopping, those West Londoners. The high street is rammed full of shops, I felt like an Communist-era East Berliner allowed into the prosperous West - then just when you think there can't possibly be more, a huge endless shopping mall appears before you and swallows you up.

Failed utterly to buy a sofa - the salesmen were not as aggressive as I'd imagined, they appeared not to realise that their mantra was meant to be 'Always Be Closing'... in fact they seemed startled when I interrupted their conversation with a query, once or twice.

But who cares, because I found this fabulous book in the fabulous Oxfam Book Shop:

















Just look at this picture of badgers inside:














(click on it to reveal full glory.)


Also I got the book of the brilliant The Man Who Fell Asleep blog, it's very good, sort of like having a portable blog to dip into now and then. He is funny. I am very, very jealous.

How to talk to girls

How to talk to girls. Funny.

Right now

right now, originally uploaded by Slaminsky.

Via Matt. I'm watching a David Attenborough programme on the TV. I watch TV with my mouth open, apparently.

1. Take a picture of yourself right now.
2. Don't change your clothes, don't fix your hair...just take a picture.
3. Post that picture with NO editing.
4. Post these instructions with your picture.
5. Add it to the Pool.

Go on! You know you want to. Don't make me the only baggy-eyed frizzy-haired narcissistic freak in blogland...

Freudian slip

One to add to the showreel of embarrassing foot-in-mouth moments which you cannot erase and which replay in your head every so often:

Me to cute man sitting next to me at the wedding, after the main course:
"Would you like to come outside for a quick inter-course cigarette?"



















PS: It was worth the journey. Not too bad, hey?

No really, 12 hours there and back is fine

Right, I'm off to Land's End for the weekend. For another bleeding wedding.

*mutters to self like Muttley*

How to get in my good books

Get me one of these.

Guilt

Work is a bit less stressful this year. You're in your very own place for the first time ever. Yet are you at peace?

No, you clearly are not. If you sit down for 5 seconds, undistracted by work, or a book, or TV, or the internet... a creeping sense of guilt sneaks up on you...

haven't phoned your mum/haven't marked those books yet/spending too much money/haven't started job-hunting/been out of touch with so-and-so/ignored a beggar/not doing enough for the kids/no exercise this week/need to take out recycling/watched Ugly Betty instead of the news/still haven't learned to drive/forgot to email back/political apathy/haven't flossed for a week...

Aargh, guilt. It's such a useless emotion. Why can't I be a fuck-it-all, devil-may-care hedonist? Sometimes I wish I was Catholic and could go to confession and get absolved...

Is it just me? What makes you feel guilty?

The Orphanage

Neuroscience can tell you the what and the how, but not really the why. If they'd hooked us up to sophisticated machines last night, and monitored our heartbeats and our brain activity, they would have seen our fear sensors lit right up, and imagined a fight-or-flight, threat-of-death scenario, whereas in fact we were watching a horror movie voluntarily, for fun.

Still, watching horror whilst cuddled between two of your close friends on a big double bed (with blanket to hide under when it got too much) on a big beautiful Sony screen is the best horror film experience I've ever had. Thanks for that P.

Anyway, the long and the short of it: Laura returns to the orphanage where she grew up, along with her husband and little boy, planning to open it as a home for disabled children, when her little boy starts talking about his 5 imaginary friends, shortly before he disappears... It really is excellently spooky and atmospheric, (set in an old house in Asturias, half the time we we saying things like 'ooh nice stained glass windows' and the other half hiding under the covers.) It turned the screws right the way through, until it came to a truly terrible, ironic ending with a commonsense explanation (still leaving it vague enough to give you chills.) One of those films you keep thinking about, teasing out the twists and turns of the story after you've watched it. 5 spine-chills out of 5.

The short review:

Don't go into the cellar!

Horns

Horns, originally uploaded by Slaminsky.

Wholly out of inspiration. Bereft of ideas. Washed up and burnt out. So I'm posting this old photo, one of my very favourites I've ever taken.

London Town, you've got to love it.

This be the verse

A poem for Em (who doesn't like poetry.)

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

Philip Larkin. The miserable old git.

There are many things I like about this - the fact that it opens sounding just like a conversation in a pub, but at the same time is in perfect poetic iambic pentameter; the fact that there's not a redundant word in the whole thing; the breath-takingly pessimistic conclusion; the fact that it leaves you going, 'yes, but...' and thinking on it...

Anybody have any other poems they'd recommend for people who don't like poetry?

Work socks

Work socks, originally uploaded by Slaminsky.

Spin

£357, 705.

The combined total of the salaries advertised in today's paper for the 12 members of staff vital to the vital Communications Team of the vital Government department known as Ofsted.

'engaging with external stakeholders... informing the public about our work... enhancing our brand.'

All totally vital.

Ah, how we love expressions like 'stakeholders' and 'enhancing our brand'. Worth £357, 705 alone, I'm sure you'll agree.

Now remind me that bit about there not being enough money to bring our wages in line with inflation, again...?

Doing it standing up

So there I was walking around Columbia Road, on a beautiful sunny autumn day, contemplating buying some sunflowers (3 bunches a fiiiiiiver!) when suddenly, my back went TWANG! and I couldn't move. What could it be? I haven't been lifting heavy objects...

Then I remembered all those hours sitting at the computer in a posture which would give an osteopath nightmares, bent double as though I'm doing an imitation of a pretzel, on a foldaway chair which isn't really fit for purpose.... could be that had something to do with the sudden CHRONIC INTENSE MIDDLE BACK PAIN? Struggled home and spent the rest of the beautiful sunny day flat out on the bed, whimpering at the slightest move. Now I am blogging standing up.

You do it to yourself, and that's why it really hurts.

Turn back time

Here is a picture of the 30s clock I bought from the fantastic Dog & Wardrobe in Broadway Market (a great shop with fabulous and quite surprisingly affordable stuff - Flickr site here.)

I was trepidatious about it working (it's electric and the wiring ancient) but plugged it in and wound it as instructed. That was at 5.25, and as you can see the hands have definitely moved. Moved backwards.

Org********n

Further to my last post, I was thinking about how much I hate the word organized. Organisation is a skill privileged beyond all reason - is it the best thing you can possibly be, organized? Every job I've had, every boring numpty lowpaid admin type piece of shit job, has required it. Organized is what we'd call a low level skill. If your job demands it of you, they think of you as an Oompa Loompa, toiling in the salt-mines. It doesn't really ask much of you, just that you keep other people's lives running smoothly. So I'm not organized, so sue me. I'm not organized! For years I've been claiming I am it in job interviews, but now I declare myself free of the tyranny of the organized.

I'm a fucking ARTIST. (Unacknowledged, but nevertheless.) Did Picasso conquer the world because he kept his paintbrushes in a nice straight line? Did Mozart move people with his symphonies because he filed his music correctly? I don't belong in this verkakte, cockermamie job where I am asked to be ORGANISED. I need to be free to follow my wild, bohemian, artistic creative impulses, and make shitloads of money to piss about and have a nice time, like Damien Hirst. (Listening to him on Radio 4 was hilarious. He refused to say he felt bad about making obscene amounts of money, and why should he?)

PS

I note with interest that we have not yet been sucked into a black hole...

My nemesis

Was reading Simon Gray's The Year of the Jouncer, and this passage got me thinking.

They say that everyone in the world has a doppelgänger - if so, isn't it equally possible that everyone in the world has an exact opposite, that to meet up with him or her would result in a double death, as a single death is said to be the result when doppelgängers meet?

Mine:

Blonde. Slim. Sporty. Brilliant at maths. Efficient. Organized. Calm. Successful. Rich. Extrovert. Confident. Optimistic. Contented.

God, I absolutely hate her, and she's fictional.

Anyway, how about you?

Retirement

If you stopped blogging, would you delete everything or leave it hanging around in cyberspace for the random passing visitor?

(I'm not thinking about it, I'm just curious about those that have fallen by the wayside.)

Play on, playette

We were talking about how much we hated, HATED, R&B. Not R&B of Aretha and Stevie Wonder, not R&B of Motown and Atlantic, but the modern, over-produced, slick, bland aural wallpaper that they seem to play on rotation in every clothes shop. Bleeeurgh...

But it got me thinking about the few modern R&B tracks I do like, so here they all are, squished into one handy Mix Tape for your listening pleasure. To be listened to whilst wearing very tight hotpants and a push-up bustier.

My glorious back catalogue of Mixtapes still available. Stick them on your mp3 player! Jog around the park to them/sweeten your tube journey/sing along in the car...

Original Slaminsky Mix Tape
Dirty Mix Tape
Eighties Haircut Mix Tape
Hip Hop Mix Tape
Guitars Mix Tape
Coming In From The Cold Mix Tape
Bubblegum Mix Tape
Sisters Mix Tape
Guilty Pleasures Mix Tape
New Wave Mix Tape
Handbag Mix Tape
Noisy Mix Tape
Goth Mix Tape

Butch men

Right, I'm going to confront the owner of the barking dogs. I'm going to flutter my eyelashes, bite my lip and tell him that I'm losing sleep and turning into a nervous wreck because of the noise. I'm going to press into his hand a sheaf of papers on options which I've carefully researched - a collar, taking them for long walks, the Dog Whisperer (a trainer based in Essex.)

(If all that fails, I'm going to get onto the HA and they can ASBO the fucker.)

Now I'm totally capable of looking after myself but wish I could bring a big butch man with me, not to say anything, just to lurk in the background to pass on a subliminal 'Don't mess with her', territorial message. I'm running through all the blokes I know, but they are all gentle, non-threatening aesthetic types, with arms that you could snap like twiglets. I want someone who looks like Arnie in Terminator. Do you know anyone I could borrow who exudes menace without uttering a word? If so, send them my way.

Wish me luck...

I ♥ Jesus



A nice scarf for LC, seen in a market in Waterloo.

Breeders

I saw the Breeders, and not only that, but for FREE, yes that's right for FREE, in Rough Trade.

Was late coming from work and in need of a) a wee b) a cigarette and c) some food, in that order - I nearly skipped it waiting forty five minutes in the cold to get in, but am so glad I didn't. They were so GOOD. They played all their tunes of old - Cannonball, One Divine Hammer, Driving All Night, No Aloha, not just the new one they're promoting, indulged in sisterly banter -
Kim Deal: "We're going to harmonise on this one. Kelly's been angry with me all day."
Kelly Deal: "I'm not angry.[pause] I'm just disappointed."

(Sorry I cannot show you pictures, though I'm sure they'll be all over Flickr tomorrow. I could feel my hand inching for my camera but I was 2 feet away from Kim Deal, directly in front of her, and felt somehow self-conscious, there is something sad about a 30 *cough* something woman with a little compact camera, holding it up like a teenager watching her first boy band. And it would have been minus 10 groovy points in front of all the black-framed-glasses wearing hipsters, I reckon.)

Kim Deal is my heroine. There she stands, in her black t-shirt and jeans, playing guitar, more sexy and womanly than a lorryload of Pussycat Dolls. It's great when your heroes don't disappoint you.

Hey ho for British Gas Homecare 400

If I was a cleverer blogger, I'd spin an amusing tale around the trials I've had with British Gas Homecare 400. The short version: current state of play is that they have fixed my toilet. Fixed it so that water is gushing out from a pipe. And left it like that, necessitating a day off work just as term starts for another engineer visit. How pleased my boss is with me after a 5 week holiday. So it will suffice to say:

CUNTS CUNTS CUNTS CUNTS CUNTS. And CUNTS.

Don't get an agreement with British Gas, that's all I'm telling you.

It's September

Summer's over. Back to work.

I hate work.

Little people in the city

Little people in the city - Chinatown, originally uploaded by Slaminsky.

Went to the Little People in the City treasure hunt accompanied by Del (who did very well considering his hangover) - we weren't the fastest, and my photos are not going to win any prizes, but it was fun. More photos here.

Back in business

Got the internets back. *exhale*

Meanwhile, here is a photo post of the past few weeks:

The view out my window














Sad fridge



















The west pier sinking into the sea














Internet cafe














Bar














Junk shop tables














Best. Name. Ever.

Gong show

I forgot to tell you about the festival. I don't really do them anymore, not liking cold, camping or outside toilets, favouring getting off my face and listening to music in an urban environment in my old age, but something about staring at 4 walls all week whilst waiting for the tradesmen to turn up made me a bit stir crazy, and when Rach rang suggesting Beachdown I found myself on a train to Brighton before I'd really thought about it.

It was really beautiful there, on Devil's Dyke by the sea. You had to hike up and down the hills to get to the stages and the stalls, so felt strangely fit and virtuous despite all the rock n roll substances floating around. One of our friends has just been through chemo and is not allowed to drink, but had brought with her some hash brownies. Hadn't done any of that in years but what the hell... 'I can't feel anything' 'No, me neither' 'No, I just feel really normal' then we realised we were all shovelling food into our faces at lightning speed, like starving wolverines.

It may have also been the reason that they managed to persuade me to pay £25.00 quid for a 'Gong Bath' in the therapy field. A man with a shaved head wearing a lot of tie-dye invited us into his teepee (using gestures, he was under a vow of silence over the occupation of Tibet) where we lay on yoga mats with airplane blindfolds over our eyes, while he, er, played gongs over us for an hour. We started off as instructed in the yoga pose of a corpse (laying flat, hands up) but it was bloody nippy lying on the ground in the teepee and gradually, everyone ended up shivering in the yoga pose of a foetus, desperately trying to conserve warmth. It was quite relaxing I guess - the gongs were supposed to, er, do something to your brainwaves and it was similar to dreaming. Bloody hippies.

Oh noes... *

This post brought to you by the downstairs neighbour's dogs:

BARKBARKBARK. BARKBARKBARKBARK. BARK BARK. BARK. BARK BARK. BARKBARKBARK. BARKBARKBARK. BARKBARKBARKBARK. BARK BARK. BARK. BARK BARK. BARKBARKBARK. BARKBARKBARK. BARKBARKBARKBARK. BARK BARK. BARK. BARK BARK. BARKBARKBARK. BARKBARKBARK. BARKBARKBARKBARK. BARK BARK. BARK. BARK BARK. BARKBARKBARK. BARKBARKBARK. BARKBARKBARKBARK. BARK BARK. BARK. BARK BARK. BARKBARKBARK. BARKBARKBARK. BARKBARKBARKBARK. BARK BARK. BARK. BARK BARK. BARKBARKBARK.

BARK.





* Where were the fucking dogs when I was looking around the place? Sedated? On an out of town trip? Fuck. What now?

Sushi

It's nice, it can be special, but if you haven't had sushi in a while, do you really crave it? People ask you (and sometimes you ask yourself) how you can go this long without it, but there's nothing like indifferent sushi, unless there's quality stuff on hand, sometimes you're better off without it.

Some days though, you find yourself thinking 'I MUST HAVE SUSHI NOW, RIGHT AWAY, OR I WILL DIE.'

(What do I do on those days? Chinese takeout.)

Fantasy shopping

If you were to buy a laptop, what laptop would you buy?

Not that I can buy anything for a while. Not shiny toys, not plane tickets, nor shoes, nothing.

But you know, if I was to buy a laptop, which one? (And is second-hand worth it?)

Hit me with your geek-fu.

Schmoozed

Dear Annie

I think your blog is great; I am a regular visitor and your writing is never less than fun, insightful and entertaining by turns...'

Oh, indeed? And which one of my 680 posts written over the last 3 years do you like the best? Or do I detect a little cupboard love here?

I wanted to get in touch because I thought you might be interested in a brand new project I'm involved in...

Be off with you, marketing person. Do you think my blog can be bought with cheap flattery and vague words of praise? (You're probably right, but your project is lame. Good luck with that.)

Don't want to go to IKEA

I'm in an internet cafe, there is a stern sign on the wall in front of me which says 'Notice - No Viewing Pornography'. Who goes to an internet cafe to watch porn? (I'd upload a photo for you, but not allowed to upload photos.) This is what I've been reduced to. I miss the internet. I miss my dusty antique piece of shit computer. *sniff*

Anyways, I am dreading the requisite trip to IKEA. IKEA is somewhat sinister. I don't like the way you can't see daylight inside, and get a little panicky when the exits are so cunningly hidden. It's hell on earth for non-drivers, I seem to remember walking over motorways to get there and after 5 hours wandering lost inside coming out with a curtain pole and a packet of picture hooks. Another time I got a taxi back, the driver was from Afghanistan, he'd left because of the war. What a bizarre life story, from being driven out of your home by the Taliban to ferrying flat pack Swedish furniture around the M25 all day.

It's strange, you dream of one day having your own place and never having to put up with the dodgy landlord's dodgy furniture ever again, but now it comes to it, it suddenly seems like a big job. I wish some little elves would come in overnight and fix the place up for me while I slept.

I seem to be rambling somewhat, I do apologise. Have been waiting in for people & haven't seen anybody much (apart from Mr Plumber, etc etc - oh, and apart from a fabulous lunch with the ladies which ended up in a debauched night in, Bad Sarah providing entertainment with a most excellent floor-show to Kanye West's Gold-digger, cheers Bad Sarah).

How is your summer going?

Service

In case you were wondering, I've been spending this internet-less time hanging out with my new friends, Mr Plumber, Mr Electrician, Mr Builder and Mr Gasman. Though my favourite has got to be Mr Dyno-rod. Phwoar! He was a bottle of sauce. I might have to sabotage the toilet to get him around again.

But what's this? Let me get this straight... if I fill out this form, a fireman will come round to my house? Without me having to set fire to it first or anything...?

It's like Christmas has come early.

Upsize your trouser snake into a python

Right then, I'm about to be cut off again. I may be some time. Just going to hold my breath and take the plunge, much like Shelley Winters in the Poseidon Adventure.

See you later, alligators.

In limbo

at the moment, half-way between old place and new:

1.) most of my worldly possessions - shoes, underwear, boxes of tapes that I'll never play again, ashtrays hung onto since college days throughout a million house moves - are in the new place. Hurrah!
2.) Telly is in the new place.
3.) CD player is in the new place.

However:
1.) No frivolous luxuries like chairs to sit on in the new place.
2.) or sofas.
3.) Phone line is still in the old place hence
4. ) Broadband is in the old place.

However, can't watch or listen to anything on the computer as the speakers have bust. Can only listen to Radio 4 for so many hours without wanting to spork Jenni Murray and the cast of the Archers to death.

I'm boooooored.

Waddaya mean, read a book?

considering this wallpaper for the new place, what do you think?

London Wallpaper, originally uploaded by Slaminsky.

Stripteasing

An observation - posting about street art, or Hackney, or London town, or books, or tv programmes, or food, politics, ethics, baby pandas, shoes, photography, or any other old shit, sends the stats into a flatlining coma.

Posting about your love life or sex life, however vague or mild, perks them right up again. People arrive from all over, mysteriously.* You all are terrible shameless gossips.

Isn't that amazing? That gossip about people you don't know, and will never meet, holds an attraction... Everyone wants to put in their two cents. This leads to a dilemma, the more self-revelatory you are, the more addictive is your blog, but maybe you didn't mean to reveal all. You told all your secrets to strangers to keep their interest and now you feel ashamed.

Out there in real life it barely makes an impact, the thing you were anxious about posting or regretted ever publishing has made no ripples at all, (even the Girl With A One Track Mind got over being outed so publicly all over the media, good luck to her.) But once you put it out there, you can't ever take it back. So it's a balancing act...



* This is true of personal blogs, ie not the proper business/music/technology/food blogs

Shagging on the first date

Works for some. I have friends who are happily married now, with 2 lovely kids, who shagged about an hour after meeting each other. So there. *



*This post was inspired by the latest on Todger Talk, which sort of advocates playing hard to get.

Meteor shower!!

If you can't get to the barbecue at Jodrell Bank, go out in your garden this weekend, you might see a meteor shower!

(probably not in London, to be honest - too many lights.)

Finish the sentence

Meme seen at newly relaunced Troubled Diva. I promise I'll stop it soon.

1. My uncle once: looked like a French New Wave movie star. I wish I’d known him.

2. Never in my life: have I eaten a kebab.

3. When I was five: I hid in a tree in the garden and drove my family frantic because they thought I’d been abducted.

4. High school was: like being in prison.

5. I will never forget: a face, though I'm no good with names.

6. Once I met: Tony Blair. Supersmooth and slick, consummate politician.

7. There’s this girl I know: who I’ve got a bit of a crush on, she’s so cool.

8. Once, at a bar: I was kissed by a Turkish belly dancer.

9. By noon, I’m usually: shouting at small children to get in a line.

10. Last night: I went to a Battle of the Bands at a famous pub where the Sex Pistols played.

11. If only I had: a secret cave.

12. Next time I go to church: it will be in far-flung Cornwall.

13. What worries me most: that I’ll be working in a job I don't like til I'm 70.

14. When I turn my head left I see: a flamenco festival poster.

15. When I turn my head right I see: grey rainyness of an English summer.

16. You know I’m lying when: I don’t look you in the eye and look all nervous and mutter. I’m rubbish at lying.

17. What I miss most about the Eighties is: being young, stupid and reckless.

18. If I were a character in Shakespeare I’d be: Doll Tearsheet in Henry IV Part 1

19. By this time next year: I will have learned to ride a bike.

20. A better name for me would be: Bathsheba Turkington, at least it has more than 2 syllables, unlike my real name.

21. I have a hard time understanding: numbers, it’s lucky I only have to count to 20 in the dayjob.

22. If I ever go back to school, I’ll: be very very happy, because I won’t be at work anymore.

23. You know I like you if: I lick your face.

24. If I ever won an award, the first person I would thank would be: God, haha just kidding.

25. Take my advice, never: change a tampon after chopping chilli peppers.

26. My ideal breakfast is: coffee and a fag, mmm lovely fags.

27. A song I love but do not have is: the theme song from Midnight Cowboy

28. If you visit my hometown, I suggest you: visit Grovelands Park, it’s spooky and rather beautiful.

29. Why won’t people: give me what I want?

30. If you spend a night at my house: I'd make you Green & Black's hot chocolate, & we can stay up late gossiping and philosophising about the meaning of life.

31. I’d stop my wedding for: the sake of consistency, as I’ve never wanted a wedding.

32. The world could do without: another meme, soz.

33. I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: a tarantula's?

34. My favourite blonde(s) is/are: Marilyn Monroe and Deborah Harry. Both bleached blondes, interestingly.

35. Paper clips are more useful than: a chocolate teapot.

36. If I do anything well it’s: mentally torture myself.

37. I can’t help but: blog, it’s like a sickness.

38. I usually cry: and stamp my feet to get my way.

39. My advice to my child/nephew/niece: you can do it! You’re brilliant!

40. And by the way: Your flies are undone.

Little people in the city

I like Slinkachu - anybody up for this photographic treasure hunt in London Town then?

Presently...


















Eventually...

One day, all this will be filled with shoes, bras, empty bottles of Rioja and tatty old bits of wooden furniture riddled with woodworm picked up from Salvation Army shops...

Time for the frozen sock *

Since I signed my soul away to the bank, I've had the mother of all headaches. Even Nurofen won't save me now. Coincidence? I think not...





*Em's patented hangover remedy, to be placed across the burning forehead whilst whimpering pitifully from the sofa.

Ritual Humiliation

I went to a wedding of a colleague, it was beautiful and touching, the happy couple beaming ecstatically all day, and probably the first one I've ever been to where you wake up without a hangover (no booze,) hurrah! I'd never considered this not-drinking thing before.

Except for the 'ritual humiliation of the single woman' at the reception. 'Can all single women come to the front? Calling ALL SINGLE WOMEN...' as everyone rushed to catch the bouquet, suddenly all these people I'd only just met were poking me in the back quite hard saying 'Go on Annie! Stand up, Annie!' (until I was forced to snarl 'Look I don't wanna get married, alright?!') The other SINGLE WOMEN looked none too pleased about it either. I'd happily dispense with this part of the ritual.

(Though there was an additional bit which is apparently a South African tradition, where all the single men were forced to stand up - ha! - and catch the bride's garter.)

the keys

aren't they beautiful?

Forgive all my Youtubage, but I'm just going to dance around to this

Mighty Boosh

Late to the party yet again, I find myself watching the Mighty Boosh episodes backtoback, nearly at the last one, whatever shall I do when I've watched the lot?

Before watching it I had this impression that it was a bit too fey, a bit too forced & whimsical, but Emma put me right. It's fucking hilarious, and genius, and gets a little bit darker in every series. Supremely silly, yet also remembering to have a genuine plot, and paying superb attention to detail in the costumes, and the sets. Their chemistry as a double act is beautiful to behold.

Here is my favourite bit from Tundra:

Howard Moon: Day 12. Vince is dead. All is lost. The wind my only friend...
Wind: I hate you

Noel Fielding especially is a revelation - it took me a while to realise that the child-like, happy, innocent one was also playing the scary Cockney nutter to great effect.

And they write and play all the music.

Altogether now:

Eels up inside ya
Findin an entrance where they can
Eels up inside ya
Findin an entrance where they can

Boring through your mind, through your tummy, through your anus, eels!

It takes a teenage riot to get me out of bed

Woke up with it in my head. Makes me so nostalgic... Sounds a bit muddy here, but anyway, enjoy!

Sheepish

Um, you know when you have a passing random thought? In the past it would have stayed that way, these days you can publish your passing random thoughts to the whole wide world. Which is a roundabout way of saying I'm not seriously considering surgery.

Also considering a little 'irony' flag on some of my posts. I'm clearly rubbish at satire.

In which I consider a boob job

So in an effort to combat couch potato-ism, I have been swimming at the local pool. Today whilst getting changed, I had a good long hard look in the mirror in the cubicle - did you ever noticehow mirrors in the outside world are somehow much crueller and more harsh than mirrors in your own house? Maybe something to do with the fact that you are familiar with your own reflection at home. It always makes me jump when I catch my reflection unexpectedly in the outside world. Good lord, do I really look like that?

Anyway, there is no denying it, my boobs have begun the long journey south. They're alright, they serve their purpose, but they could look a bit more... happy? There is only so much magic Princesse Tam Tam bras can achieve now without surgical help.

I've never considered it before, mainly for these reasons:

• Cost.
• I'm an utter coward, and the thought of someone slicing my baps open with a knife makes me feel all faint.
• A vague idea that they might explode at high altitude.
• An even vaguer idea that it's somehow cheating.
• (There's also the breast feeding argument, but it's looking increasingly unlikely now that I will continue the Black dynasty. Plus you know, breast-feeding is just a patriarchal conspiracy propagated by men who can't be arsed to get up in the middle of the night for bottle feeds.)

Anyway, my vanity is currently doing battle with my cowardice. It's not like anybody ever sees them but me *sniff* but I see them, you know? That's just my confused thinking, thus far. Did you ever consider surgery? What would you do? Or maybe you have strong feelings against it. I throw it open to you, people of the internet.

things I would have held onto if I had known someone was one day going to invent ebay

An Ossie Clark dress (found for £2.99 in the ORT charity shop in Ballards Lane)

An Alaia jacket (found for £6.00 in the All Aboard charity shop on Finchley Road)

The Face magazine all editions circa 1987-1989

Deadline comic (starring Tank Girl) (ditto)

Doh!

You?

Voyeur

Voyeur, originally uploaded by Slaminsky.

sticker seen near Brick Lane

In which we mingle with Hoxton Twats

Went out clubbing with Marie. Marie is a beautiful, exotic, model-skinny creature which I guess makes me the dumpy ordinary mate, but it turns out quite fun as everyone assumes she's famous and a kind of sea parts before her on entering bars and clubs as the bouncers wave you through.

It's a rare occasion, & I was interested to see what the kids are dancing to these days in the hottest, coolest, most cutting edge of clubs in all of East London. Do you want to know what the kids are dancing to? I will tell you.

Mother/333 It is early, I grant you, but the DJ is spinning to an empty room techno mashups of... Enya. Yes, that's right, Enya. Enya of the Orinocco Flow. All I remember of Enya is my sister dumping her boyfriend when he gave her an Enya album as a birthday present. There was more unlikely techno tunage - the only one I recall now is Crystal Waters' Gypsy Woman. This is what they're playing in Hoxton on a Friday night.

We remove ourselves to the Electricity Showrooms next door. The basement club is rammed, this is more like it. What are the kids going mad for on the dancefloor? Can it really be...? Yes it is. The kids are going mad for Hall & Oates. Maneater, to be specific. Good lord, have I entered a timewarp? Did the last 20 years never happen? Did they dress up in all their Hoxton finery to come out and bust some shapes to Hall & Oates, really?

(Eventually we give in to the 80s madness and our joy knows no bounds when we find a flashing coloured dancefloor, like John Travolta's on the cover of Saturday Night Fever.)

one word

Meme heartlessly stolen from the King of Scurf:

1. Your cell phone? ancient
2. Your significant other? belated
3. Your hair? disastrous
4. Your mother? shrinking
5. Your father? workaholic
6. Your favourite thing? sleeping
7. Your dream last night? erotic
8. The room you're in? purple
9. Your fear? tictacs
10. What you're not? relaxed
11. The last thing you did before logging on? awoke
12. Where did you grow up? Southgate
13. Favourite drink? vino
14. What are you wearing? vest
15. Your TV? black
16. Your pet? eventually
17. Your computer? dusty
18. Favourite place? bed
19. Your mood right now? pensive
20. Missing someone? sometimes
21. Something you're not wearing? hat
22. Love someone? passionately
23. Your favorite color? purple
24. Kids? dunno
25. Your life? baffling

It really, really makes you think about it when you have to answer with just one word. Good brain exercise. I tag all those lazy arse bastards claiming blog fatigue. Get on with it, you lazy arses.

More of this sort of thing

I'd just like to applaud the linkee who posted a link on his blog to nekkid pictures of himself. It gave me quite a surprise, and cheered up my morning no end. I won't be linking to that site*




*though I have bookmarked it.

Everything must go

Comes a day when you realise you don't play your records anymore, they've been sitting in a cardboard box in a cupboard gathering dust, along with the speakers, the amp, the busted turntable... They've been superceded by CDs, by MP3s, probably next by a microchip you can slot directly into your brain or something.

So, it's time for the great record clearout. Here, listed for your delight, are the entire contents of my dusty box. Does anyone want them? Or I'll stick 'em on Freecycle...

(NB these do not entirely accurately reflect all my catholic musical taste. Girls have a great facility for suddenly passionately caring about the bands that their current boy of choice are into... I never realised, for example, that I had so many chin-stroking 'nice' jazz albums, for example. Then I remembered who it was that I was trying to impress back in the day.)

Anyway, can't bear to offload them to the charity shop, so they're free to a good home. You will have to pick them up though. Or we can meet and have a drop off. DJ Del, I have put aside the Spacemen 3 for you.

Billie Holiday – The Lady and the Legend

Led Zeppelin 3 – (complete with magic cover!)

PJ Harvey – Dry

The Throwing Muses – The Real Ramona

Astralasia – Sul E Stomp (I’ve no idea)

Jah Wobble – Visions of You 12 inch

The Best of Little Walter

The Pixies – Come On Pilgrim EP

Dinosaur Jr – Bug

Happy Mondays – Step On

Sly and the Family Stone Greatest Hits

Al Green Latest Hits

The Goats – Typical American 12 inch (did I ever post about the Goats? Remind me to sometime)

Urban Species & MC Solaar – Listen 12 inch

Robert Johnson Delta Blues

Throwing Muses – Throwing Muses

Cry Cisco – AfroDizziAct – a house 12 inch which samples The African Queen, I seem to recall.

Happy Mondays – Bummed

Funkadelic – Free Your Mind and Your Ass Will Follow

“i” AR Kane

Spacemen 3 – The Perfect Prescription

My Bloody Valentine – Isn’t Anything

Un-named live album by Spacemen 3

John Lee Hooker – Urban Blues

Led Zeppelin II

The Best of Kid Creole and the Coconuts (he was much underrated, oh look, fuck off, alright?)

Bjork –Debut

Grace Jones Island Life (she was much – oh fuck off.)

Stevie Wonder Innervisions

Sister Sledge Thinking of You 12 inch

Disco Nites – 16 Giant Disco Hits!

Jimi Hendrix Experience – Smash Hits

Atlantic Soul Classics – 16 Hit Tracks

Throwing Muses – House Tornado

Mary Margaret O Hara – Miss America

Portishead – Numb EP

Abba – Greatest Hits

Blondie – Parallel Lines – actually I think I might have to keep this one.

John Coltrane - Giant Steps

Bomb the Bass (remember when they had to change the name during the bombing of Iraq first time around? Also Massive Attack had to change to just ‘Massive’ hahaha!) – Bug Powder Dust 12 inch

Depth Charge – Hubba Hubba Hubba EP

New Order – Blue Monday 12 inch

Lou Reed – Transformers (I’m 15 again! Dancing around Cathy’s bedroom to ‘Makeup’ whilst applying eyeliner very badly!)

Jimi Hendrix Experience – Are you Experienced

The Velvet Underground – The Velvet Underground

Charlie Parker Memorial Volume 3

Elmore James – Red Hot Blues

Definition of Sound – Now Is Tomorrow (remember ‘Wear Your Love Like Heaven’?)

Tricky – Overcome 12 inch – He looks very fetching in a wedding dress on the cover

Furniture – Slow Motion Kisses 12 inch

13^th Floor Elevators – The Bull of the Woods

The Bessie Smith collection

A Tribe Called Quest – Can I Kick It? 12 inch

John Coltrane - Coltrane Jazz

Robert Johnson – King of the Delta Blues Singers

Slanted and Enchanted – Pavement

The Sugar Cubes – Life’s Too Good

Bessie Smith – Empty Bed Blues

John Coltrane – Blue Train

Method Man & Mary Jane Blige - You’re All I Need To Get By

Sonny Rollins Quartet – Worktime

Stravinsky – The Rites of Spring (how did this get in here?)

G Love & Special Sauce – Cold Beverage

L7 – Pretend We’re Dead 12 inch

Fugees Blunted on Reality

Louis Armstrong - Sensational Satchmo

The Breeders – Last Splash

John Coltrane – A Love Supreme

My Bloody Valentine – You Made Me Realise EP

Jimi Hendrix Experience – Electric Ladyland

Spacemen 3 – Playing With Fire

Piano Music of Eric Satie

Portishead – Dummy

The Smiths – Hatful of Hollow

Tricky – Maxinquaye

Joni Mitchell – Blue

Beastie Boys – Ill Communication

Led Zeppelin – Led Zeppelin

Lee Perry – The Heart of the Congos

Red Snapper – Reeled & Skinned EP