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?