A Gift of Anything

Money and gifts aren't everything, I know, but boy do I wish I had some right now. I spend my days (in between the drudgery of work) looking at www.figleaves.com and www.lovehoney.com and dreaming of all the beautiful and bad things I could own. As a woman in want of a good man, I suppose I ought to be making great efforts to be glamorous and sexy and chic. Well, if I could I would, but right now all I have are two pairs of trousers that fit (one hem loose, one bottoms torn), one pair of nice boots (agony) and my beloved trainers are leaking water faster than the titanic. My one swimming cozzie (a proper old timer) - an essential item for the not-getting-totally-fat regime - is losing elastic at a rate of knots, and is starting to sag in a most unflattering fashion. Don't even get me started on the supposed "secret support". It may still be secret, but fucking support it doesn't. My pants all seem to have turned one slightly indeterminate and turgid colour in the wash. The only thing left in my wardrobe that could be declared even slightly "hot" is my cute lacy pink and black bra and pants set, which I haven't yet managed to destroy in the cleaning process. And let's be frank, no bloke gives a flying fuck whether I wear them or not, so I might as well leave them in the drawer to gather dust, and stick to all the grey and sagging crap that seems to match my general mood right now.

For Monky (and myself, as I love this) a little poem in honour of the above theme. Oh I wish...

With a Gift of Rings

It was no costume jewellery I sent:
True stones cool to the tongue, their settings ancient,
Their magic evident.
Conceal your pride, accept them negligently
But, naked on your couch, wear them for me.

Robert Graves

Good parenting...

Witnessed today in the London Borough of Waltham Forest, whilst waiting for a train: a young mother letting her toddler repeatedly push the EMERGENCY button on the station platform, to the bemusement of the operator on the other end. I don't think she even uttered the word "no" once. That was probably because she was too eager to see if her numerous lotto scratch cards had won her any cash. Now I'm not saying that I would be a better mother than her... um actually yes I am. It was left to me to shake my head menacing at the little one (who was actually quite cute), which was enough to stop her from inadvertedly wasting any more of the emergency services' time. But how much do I object to parenting other people's kids?? Well, as the idea of having children of my own, is something I view with suspicion rather than glee - QUITE A LOT as it happens. If you don't have the time or the notion for looking after a child, don't fecking have one, you utter utter dim wits!

A Woo-Hoo and a Ha Ha

Some weekends are just meant to be good. A one-line email from "that Dutch boy" put me in exactly the right frame of mind to face a bit more of November (for it is the worst month of the year in my humble opinion) and it has been all dandy from there. Even getting stuck on a bus that had been crashed into, and then in a ginormous rain storm without a brolly, couldn't dampen my spirits (no pun intended) this morning. And since the afternoon was filled with 'Ding worship at Craven Cottage (0-1 to us yehhhh!!) I'm as happy as Larry. Whoever the feck Larry was. And talking of menfolk with names that start with 'L' who make me smile - Leonardo on MOTD. Where did they get this Brazilian peice of loveliness from??? His hair may be a little bit funny, his face somewhat inexplicable, but bluddy hell I have never found football punditry so attractive!!

That Dutch Boy

With some trepidation, me, Schwesty and Troy tripped down to the Royal Opera House last night, for an evening of performing art 'Firsts'. Well damn my cynical bones if four people swinging about on a big rope can't be quite endearing, and in fact three women singing about Dalston. Even a ballet/dance interpration of an alco's last binge was quite interesting (though I didn't have a clue what was going on for most of it). For a mere £5 how can you complain?

However, highlight of the evening was Tim Van Eyken (with Nancy Kerr, Robert Harbron and James Fagan). They were providing the after-show music, in the bar. And having promised to do so, I did actually have the nerve to say hello, and get my CD signed, like a true saddo! He's actually very modest and sweet, and has a big booming laugh. And he cuts a very striking figure, even wearing red Doc Martyn boots (I thought I was uncool. But then maybe that's so uncool it's cool??). Needless to say, I have a proper girlie crush. Sigh.

No, Maybe, Who Cares???

That's the answer to yesterday's existential blog question. And that's what cooking a dinner liberally splashed with unadulterated vodka does for you. Have I gone the wrong route my arse!!!

Vodka Pasta

Had Naz and Boo and Deon over for dins tonight. It's a great shame, given how nearby they all live, that I don't seem to see them more often. These are my former uni buddies, with whom I share so many happy memories. They're very successful in their own fields, chatting about their business ventures, and which heads of state they've had drinks with. But at the same time, very down to earth. We all go different routes don't we? Have I gone the wrong route??

Birthday Balloons

2-0 to the beloved 'ding! Gotta love 'em.

Went out for Monky's birthday on Friday, and was lovely to see her, and partake in pies and drinks to celebrate her 26th year of life. She looked absolutely gorgeous as always. Though one too many drinks made her retire to her bed early!! Me, Choc Chip and Bems tried to trip the light fandango without the birthday girl but I've got to admit to finding the 'ding town somewhat disappointing these days. The only places of note (i.e. not populated by identikit barbie-dolls and hair-gelled men in striped short-sleeve shirts) are tiny, and rammed, and close too early. And the 'Purple Turtle', the favourite hang-out of my yoof, has now gone down the same route. Whatever happened, you could always rely on the Turtle to play some alternative music, and be home to people of all weird and wonderful varieties. No longer! I mourn it's loss to the 'same-old-same-old' almost as keenly as the helium balloon I let go at the Newbury show circa 1985. Not quite as much, though, as my parents will no doubt bare witness. I am no longer capable of throwing tantrums on that scale. Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....

Got Into Work This Morning...

And found out that my friend Rafa is pregnant. This is the first of my friends to get in the family way. And the way Mrs Pedro was talking about babies yesterday (with a sort of wide-eyed bambi look) it may not be the last. Please God no!!

Woke Up This Morning...

With a perfect Farrah Fawcett style flick in my hair. It is clear to me, now, that I was born after my time.

Creative Corner #5

This is the second poem on here that's an entirely new creation. So I'd welcome some criticism. It's also quite new style-wise, in that it has a narrative of sorts (being based on true events as Hollywood might put it). Anyway, here goes:

A Knife for a Friend

It was a small war I won
For a twenty pound note,
And a small war to end
For so bloodied a prize.
A knife for a friend, Tom,
A knife for a friend.

I took a hammer to your car
For a twenty pound note.
I took a claw to the paint
For the price of some parts.
It was a small war to win
For so bloodied a prize,
And a small war to end
For my demon, my pride.
A knife for a friend, Tom,
A knife for a friend.

I punched on the glass
As you sat in the pub,
And waited like death,
With one foot on the road.
You were red-eyed and drunk.
You were red-eyed and hurt.
It was a small war to win
For so bloodied a prize,
And a small war to end
For a twenty pound note.
A knife for a friend, Tom.
A knife for a friend.

You pulled at my hood
As I lowered my fists,
And then we wrestled like kids
On the smashed window glass.
And you mustn’t have seen
As the dark blade flashed past,
For you laughed, Tom, you laughed.
How could you laugh?
It was a small war to win
For so bloodied a prize.
It was a small war to end
For the price of some parts.
A knife for a friend, Tom,
A knife for a friend.

You took a few steps
With the blade in your back,
Until the smile, and the breath,
And the blood has calmed down.
Then, with eyes looking up,
Tom, you knelt on the ground.
And for the price of some parts,
For my demon, my pride,
You laid down and shivered.
You laid down and died.

It was a small war I won
For a twenty pound note,
And a small war to end
For so bloodied a prize.
A knife for a friend, Tom,
A knife for a friend.

Plus One...

I have just received a "pre-wedding invite" from some friends who are to be wed next year (this is not a moan, if you're reading this, Naz and Boo - those are pretty shit nicknames I know, but I had to think of them on the spot so bare with me!). I enquired whether there was a "plus one", as I might have a boyfriend by July next year.... answer no, reason given: so many people to invite, expense, etc etc etc, which is totally fair. However, I have my suspicions that they doubt my ability to get said boyfriend in said time frame! Damn you world!! Damn yoooooooooooou!!! Wow, I'm really making a poor show of pretending to enjoy single life, aren't I?!

Ging Boy

Damo Lewis on 'Have I Got News For You'. Wrong, wrong, wrong, but oh so right!

'Ave It!

3-1 The Mighty 'Ding!!

I visited my grandparents on Saturday. Unfortunately both are in need of a lot of care, these days, both being a little bit dotty, and my grandad very frail. My grandad has always been a man of few words, but since dottiness has got him, he's much more chatty, even managing, through the haze, to take the piss out of the mighty 'ding! And this is from a man Berkshire born. Poor!!

It can be a big challenge looking after the elderly, when they are in decline, but I'm proud of my mum and her family, for ensuring that my grandparents are looked after in their final years. It's nothing short of a disgrace that so many old people are abandoned by their families. Not everyone has the means or abilities to look after their olds in their own home, but everybody should at least ensure their relatives do not lead a miserable and lonely existence when they're at their most vulnerable. To pay someone a visit, and check they're alright, costs very little after all. Now here's hoping I'll live up to my high ideals when the time comes...!

Lots of Exclamation Marks!!!!

Took Friday afternoon off work, so I didn't have to rush down to Reading to meets Choc Chip and Bems in the evening. Took the opportunity to take a little snooze. Snooze took a little longer than I expected. Combine this with getting on a train slower than death at Paddington, and I was late AGAIN. Two big lates in one week perturbs me, as I am normally very anal about arriving on time. Perhaps being a Londoner is affecting me, and I am evolving into a "careless" young professional (probably should have put professional in inverted commas as well ha ha).

That aside, good things I have done:

• Went to see "The Two Faces of Mitchell and Webb" at the Hexagon. Me, Choc Chip and Bems looked at each other in horror, as we realised we were in the front row (our tickets said row B, hence the surprise...). Luckily there was only one sketch involving audience interaction, and the nearest we got was when a man in the seats behind us asked the "Big Talk" panel "Which way would you face in a Minogue sandwich?". A pertinent question, which later led us to "Which way would you face in a Wilson sandwich?". Much intellectual mulling on that one mmmmmm...

(I'm currently listening to Reading v Spurs. Spurs have just got a penalty. JAMMY GITS. And they've put it away. ARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG)

• Choc Chip joined me and Schwesty on Saturday night for a gig at the Shepherd's Bush Empire. We went because the lovely Teddy Thompson was supporting Lucinda Williams. The crowd was a Country and Western one, mostly middle-aged, the odd fringed leather jacket and stetson, and a higher than normal proportion of beardies. It was a bit off-putting listening to Ted whilst half the crowd was chatting away oblivious. His slightly intense and emotional songs (he favours a constipated look whilst singing to add to the strained feel) usually demands a bit more respect, and hence he didn't really warm to the crowd. Good set as usual, though. Lucinda Williams, who I knew absolutely zero about, did the country-rock thing. Her voice is insanely gravelly, indicating a serious cigarette habit, and she's quite good fun, ruder than the average Country and Western star I'd wager, but can't say it was really my cup of tea. And by the end of the set, I'd lost the feeling in my feet, and pretty much the will to live!! The man next to me, who was letting out fog-horn loud "wooooos" every thirty seconds (and always in the oddest places during the songs) was starting to less and less amuse me also...

(Dear God, why are Reading playing so deep??? Come on the 'ding............ NICKY BLOODY SHOREY YOU ARE GREEAAAAAAAATTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why oh why did I take you out of my fantasy football team???? Oh who cares. 1-1 YES!!!)

Was handed a few flyers at the gig. Just reminds me how fun it must be, to have to choose a band name. These bands are real, I promise:

• Selfish Cunt + Infants ("an acrobatic tornado of political fury, predatory sexuality & savage rock 'n' roll")
• Bender + Devestations ("menacing ambient gloom, misshapen blues and fragile cinematics")
• I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness (well who hasn't ha ha)

Also reminds me that the people who write these flyers must be quite au-fait with hallucinagenics or must write their reviews, and then get out a thesaurus, and exchange every single word for something stupid. Hmmm I want their job!!

(Atrocious defending from Spurs...... SIDWELL (GINGER NINJA) SCORES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Personal Best

Created a new personal best for lateness yesterday, meeting Troy for our inaugural Stitch 'n' Bitch session. Despite being reasonably familiar with the area where we were meeting, I missed the stop on the bus, man gave me totally wrong directions, ran up a hill the wrong way twice, then found a road I knew would take me to said destination, but failed to realise that this was also the most circuitous route EVER, ran a bit more, nearly died, finally met Troy 1 hour late. The fact that Troy had run out of battery on her phone, and had no idea where I was but still waited is quite impressive. That is patience. Nice Stitch 'n' Bitch though. More bitching than stitching I reckon...

A Few Questions

Rightio, I have just done something a little cowardly. I wrote a pretty venemous blog entry earlier today, which having gone to bed and laid awake worrying about it, I have now edited almost out of existence.

Why did I do this?

Well, not because I no longer believe what I wrote, but purely out of fear. I worry things will come back to haunt me, though common sense says they should not. I think it makes it worse that I stand by my comments, and do not have the balls to say them. But, then again, maybe writing them on an "anonymous" blog is pretty cowardly too.

I kept the title though, just to be a little mysterious (poor!). But in the name of not being totally pathetic, I have decided to revisit some of the points from the now-departed blog entry, but with slightly less raw emotion...

1) Is it bad manners to be overly lovey-dovey with your partner, in front of your friends? Or is it only "prudishness" or "jealousy" on the part of the friends, that makes these actions unpopular with them?

2) Is a 24-hour-a-day love affair ever healthy? I ask from the position of severe ignorance, having never had a love affair where I've felt the need to spend every waking hour in my partner's pocket, or even one which ahem has involved love, perhaps. You might guess from my tone that I am of a cynical persuasion here. But I do wonder whether I am missing that experience which would soften my attitudes towards affairs of great intensity.

3) If a current relationship had, shall we say, a "significant overlap" with the last, should your current relationship be toned down, out of courtesy for the party left behind, and the friends that got to know you, as part of that previous partnership? This, I really don't know, to be honest. I'm mostly of the persuasion that you shouldn't hide the truth, be it inconvenient or not, and yet part of me says that there are situations where it might be better. Who knows??

Anyway, there you go, I've said it. It's a shame these thoughts are somewhat clouding my vision at the moment. I genuinely hope, for the sake of friends that I truly care for (and myself obviously, self obsession being the name of the game in blogging) that they don't continue to do so...

Falling Out of Love With Friends

DELETE DELETE DELETE

I present to you the case of the missing blog entry...

D'oh

Staying out till two in the morning last night is no longer seeming clever. As I slouch over my computer, slurping coffee, shaking a little (I nursed about four beers over five hours last night, so God knows how I'm hung-over - I blame it on the Swedish cider I tried, which tasted more like soda-stream than something made out of real fruit. Uck). And it's fecking freezing. Didcot has had to lend me his jumper, because I was looking so miserable and goose-bumpy in my little office. D'oh.

One Monorail and Two Nightbuses

Just returned from a gig by the sublime 'Osaka Monaurail', a seven peice Japanese funk band, who are full of attitude, and suited and booted in great style, with turned up collars and pork-pie hats. I'd never heard of them before - it's their first ever gig in Europe - but my curiosity leads me many places, and on Lenny's advice I took a trip to Camden Town to check them out. I return back at this late hour (two night buses to get home arggg) most contented. They were duper-super, and if you are going to be foolish and stay out late on a school night, it might as well be to swing your hips and be merry!