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!