is having some sort of crisis and refusing to work, so I thought I'd just come along here and see how we're all doing. Hey you guys! How are you? I am fine thank you.
So, stuff that is happening, firstly and most excitingly we are pretty much moved in to our new place. It is odd what you will put up with when you are renting, certainly when you are renting in London. The new place is like some sort of magical fabulous dream. Here are some of the things that I can't actually believe about it:
The hot tap runs hot.
The cold tap runs cold.
The taps all turn in an intuitive direction (three years I lived in the old place and I still got soaked everytime I turned the kitchen tap on.)
The lights all work.
The outside light works.
There are curtains! In each room!
There is no 'knack' to opening the front door. Or any of the doors, for that matter.
There are pictures on the wall. Hideous pictures, but they are steadily being replaced by our own pictures.
The shower works.
The clicker on the oven works.
The light in the oven works.
The radiators all work.
There is an airing cupboard.
There are window boxes and a teeny teeny raised bed by the front door.
There are stairs. STAIRS!! To the two double bedrooms. TWO BEDROOMS!
Other stuff that is happening:
Oscar is still not well, I think he really is asthmatic and won't grow out of it, but the docs still don't want to say when he is so small. Thinking of taking him to a proper asthma drop in clinic.
I have wasted a hell of a lot of money on myself this month (a hell of a lot) and now I am in a stress about money. But I guess as long as I don't buy anything at all for the next couple of months it'll even up.
I am doing stuff at work that is really interesting and in fact quite good fun but... BUT... I am only a Grade Three and this is going way out of my payscale. But how else would I get the experience? And they did mention it in the interview and I did say it was okay. And anyway I'm not going to stick at this forever. And I'm enjoying myself. So why am I moaning? I don't know! I'm not really moaning. I'm more saying 'look how clever and trusted I am.' I think. I am really really unconfident at work for some weird reason. Oh well. i am just generally feeling a bit uncertain of my own abilities at the moment.
The Daily Mail is Brigadoon for crypto-fascists, a place where the local time is always 1950. But there must be anxious scenes in the bunker this weekend as it dawns on them that the UK is no longer populated by racist homophobic bigot like themselves.
Jan Moir’s hate spewing rant against Stephen Gately has been rightfully pilloried across the internet. The Press Complaints Commission have had record complaints and companies have asked for their ads to be withdrawn from the web page. This Facebook page lists their contact details, if you want to point out to companies that you’re not prepared to buy their products if they continue to fund bigotry.
The Daily Mail is increasing looking like the embarrassing elderly relative at a family function.
Damian Hirst’s paintings are not just bad, they are deliciously bad. These hesitant little daubs are a towering edifice of talentless tat. They’re canvasses only a mother could love. This is the Emperor shouting his nakedness to any who would listen.
The characteristically grandiose title ‘No Love Lost, Blue Paintings’ (Hirst modestly slipping himself between Picasso and Bacon) could be replaced with a simpler and more apposite ‘Why?’. Anyone who still thinks Hirst has talent (beyond self promotion) will view these and reconsider his entire output.
I've been archiving my 20six blog, on and off, for a while now, so I've been reading and not writing. Also I am ashamed to say that at one point I wrote 'I am 23 and impressed with someone being in a band. Sad.' I am 29 and, uh, still totally impressed by people being in bands.
So stuff wot has happened...
I am moving house, from SW to SE and I am kind of happy because I think the new place is fabola and everything (it's a HOUSE! with a GARDEN!) but also kinda sad because I'm leaving Streats. Even though it's only a 15 minute walk away. I pick up the keys this eve. Wowzer. Never. Moving. Again, by the way, although these new estate agents have been really great.
I am gonna do NaNoWriMo again this year cos I have a totally stonking chick-lit-murder-mystery-campus-novel which really needs to get out of my subconscious before I go bonkers.
Oscar is a genuis (Uh. Genius. I mean. I can't believe I just mistyped that.) apparently, according to his Sing n Sign teacher but really it's just that he's about 5 months older than all the other babies in the class so he is more able. Still his childminder also said he was good for his age, as he can say 'digger', 'swing' etc. I mean WHAT?! He's never said that to me. He's never even said 'Mummy.' Kids are weird.
Work is uh... work is... work will look good on my CV once I've left. And I am committed to at least another year, I think. The people are great, the job is okay, but I miss the students so hard. I miss the structure of the academic year as well, this is much more like working somewhere 'proper'. Ha! That looks awful. Oh you know what I mean. I don't actively dislike being here. In fact often I totally love it. Although one of my many bosses (one of the ones who isn't actually my boss although he totally is my boss really) is at least aware this isn't my 'proper' job (my 'proper' job being swanning around being an arty dick, although obviously that isn't really my 'proper' job either. My 'proper' job is being a mum, I suppose. I don't want to do that full time either though! Oh what do I want? When am I going to know what I want to do/be when I grow up?! When am I going to grow up?)
I'm not drinking. Again. Which is working out for me, actually.
Oh, I know what happened, we went on a BRILLIANT holiday that was BRILLIANT and one day (when I'm not at work and have an hour or so to myself) I will actually put the pics on Facebook.
I... nothing interesting is happening to me right now! My 20six blog is very high drama. Do I miss the drama? At least I kept a record.
I wasn't always this boring.
No.
...and oh my, what a book. Finished Dan Brown's latest? Desperate for something of similar calibre? Then you're going to LOVE The Mistress by Martine McCutcheon, aka Tiffany out of EastEnders, who seems to have foolishly forgotten to employ a ghost-writer for her debut novel. Her website describes it as "warm, sexy and heart-wrenchingly moving" although "tepid, predictable and ball-achingly dreadful" might be better, going by the first chapter at least. You can read the opening here but here are some of the best bits should you not wish to taint your brain with it:
He was a sweet, cheeky chappie in his thirties with cute dimples – a typical black-cab driver
‘Happy birthday, dharrling,’ purred her Russian friend Assia. ‘The fur jacket and dress are both divine.’
... with a misty air of spirituality she looked Mandy straight in the face and whispered loudly, ‘This is a rose quartz. I got it from the tree festival. It will bring you love.’
His eyes were beautiful, and despite being tired they sizzled, full of knowledge, some sadness but most of all, kindness.
and my favourite:
If you went for it, truly went for it, you could get the life you wanted here, and that was Mandy’s aim – to have it all. And why not? She’d read a greeting on a card once in Paperchase on the King’s Road that had truly stuck with her:
Reach for the moon, and even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.
It's like she's torn up her Marian Keyes, Sophie Kinsella and Louise Fielding novels, covered herself in glue, rolled around on the floor and handed in whatever stuck to her publishers.
Dear internet,
My weekend was so action-packed (note: this may not conform to other people’s definitions of the term) that I’m going to tell you all about it.
On Friday night, my volunteering shift was interrupted by a bumblebee as a big as a mouse. Honestly. Massive. I had to send three men out to deal with it – who reported back that it was actually the size of a poussin – and then it kept coming back in. Maybe it just wanted to talk. It was eventually banished with a flapping copy of Grazia.
Saturday night saw me sitting in the dark in a scout hut, clutching a plastic cup of wine, waiting to shout “SURPRISE!” at one of Jef’s friends who had been thrown a surprise birthday party. He didn’t cry/faint/fall over/run away/wet himself when the lights were turned on and all his family and friends were revealed, crouched under a peeling ‘Jesus Loves You’ poster. I would probably have done all five, and been sent home in disgrace.
The DJs looked like they were straight out of Phoenix Nights, talked all over the records, and over ENUNciated EVerything in exciting DYNAMIC voices, i.e. they were amazing. They took requests but had a “no Fleet Foxes” rule. They foolishly played a ska-punk version of Take On Me instead of the superior A-ha original, and I raged about not being able to do my special Take On Me dance. It involves whirling arms and no shame. Talking of dancing, I’ve noticed recently that most women have a sedate way of dancing, which involves polite sidesteps, swaying hips and shoulder rolling. I have perfected a dancing style that is probably best described with the euphemism “enthusiastic”. I am messy and awkward and not terribly aware of the shapes I am making. I dance for myself and not for the crowd. It is not pretty. This is possibly why I’ve had more teeth removed than I’ve had boyfriends.
Towards the end of the night, Jef decided that he wants to throw a Danny Dyer’s Deadliest Men party for his 30th. He will be Danny Dyer, and the guests will be required to dress as dangerous men, who will duke it out over the course of the evening to determine once and for all who is the deadliest. I predict a Hitler vs. Harold Shipman final.
Fast-forward to Sunday: last night I was woken several times by Jef’s housemate slamming doors and stomping around. I’d usually have been propelled out of the bedroom by the force of my own rage, but Jef’s housemate is going to war today, to Afghanistan, and I thought that if you’re going to cut a man some slack, it’s surely on the eve of his enlisting. So I lay there and fumed and tried not to think dark thoughts like “fuck off and die” because maybe he will.
I’ll leave you on that note. I hope you all had super-fantastical weekends.
As a relative novice to karaoke (although I might have been three times in the last two weeks), I have noticed there are several rules that, if followed, can only enhance your enjoyment. Here they are, for your future singing pleasure:
-
Drinking vodka from a hip flask in the street before your performance can only help matters. As I noted at the time, perhaps if my mum and dad had been a bit more laissez-faire in their parenting, I would have got all that out of my system when I was 15.
-
Find a signature tune. You may wish to rethink it if, say, you have chosen Ignition by R Kelly and realise you don’t know most of the tune. Or if “your song” is a mood-killer like Where The Wild Roses Grow. You are mistaken in thinking nothing says “party!” like a duet where Nick Cave murders Kylie Minogue.
-
The gap between saying “oh no, I can’t possibly do this” and launching into “Heathcliff, it’s meeee, it’s Catheee, I’ve come ho-o-oooome” decreases in direct proportion to the number of cocktails imbibed.
-
Interpretive dance will always improve a song. Especially if that song is Like A Prayer and you are posing as the black Jesus, helpfully yelping “I’m the black Jesus! Look! Look at me!”
-
Are there people in your group who can carry a tune? Instruct them that this simply isn’t on and that it’s rubbish singing or nothing. If they persist on acting like they want to get through to boot camp, simply turn their microphone down and sing over them.
-
Don’t bother pausing the song when the drinks lady comes in with your order. She’s been giggling outside the door for the last two minutes, listening to you caterwauling through Islands In The Stream. She’s probably surreptitiously uploaded it to YouTube already, in the Comedy category, tagged with “MEGALOLZ!!!”
-
Are you part of an all female group? Then you will end with I Will Survive. Don’t fight it.
1) I booked two karaoke evenings today. TWO. A karaoke bar in town offers free singing fun to charity workers on Monday nights. Finally, my job is good for something. On my first outing, a mere week ago, I discovered how hard it was to relinquish the microphone once it was in my grasp. I sang everything. "Highlights" included Boom! Shake The Room (complete with actions), Ask Me by The Smiths, and Ignition by R. Kelly. The latter is now my signature song. My version was pretty special, and will be even better next week now I know how the tune goes.
2) I made this for Jef at the weekend:
I posted it on Twitter saying it was inspired by Josie Long, who is a wonderful comedian who recently appeared in a home-made KURT VONNEGUT t-shirt. And she replied to me! She liked it! She retweeted my photo! Twitter has levelled the playing field between us and our heroes. If you don't know Josie Long, you should check her out. Her last tour was called Trying Is Good, which might be my life motto: just have a lovely go at things, and if you make a mess, at least it's your mess. There is a beautiful charm in the amateurish (see above).
3) Don't Tell The Bride is back on BBC3 tonight. I have a terrible
weakness for dreadful BBC3 shows, and don't even know what button to
press for BBC4. My tear-stained 19-year-old self is shaking her head at
me and ostentatiously reading The Bell Jar.
What's one thing you can't say no to?
Temptation. But you guys knew that already!
Are you more attracted to people whose personalities are similar or different to yours?
Hello internets. I am going to answer this question - well, wait technically I'm not because, I am going to answer this question by exploring my theory on attraction. Yes, my Theory on Attraction. It's got nowt to do with similar or different personalities. My theory is thus:
Say we really did have past lives. Say we are all just doomed to keep going round and around and around again. This would explain SO MUCH. Like, for instance the way some people are freakishly smart (they have been around loads of times - they just don't remember) and some people are just such dumbos (it's their first time.) So, okay, now you're with me on the past lives thang, stay with me...
All the people you ever knew, all of them, everyone you'll ever meet this life time, you already met. In other life times. You're all sort of tied together, and the ties loosen or tighten each time around. So for example, your husband in this life time might just have been the guy who worked in the corner shop that you thought was sort of cute in another life time and your best friend at school in another and some guy who stole your missus in another. Do you still follow me?
Because this totally explains how sometimes, when you meet someone and you are totally like 'oh my god! hello!' well, that explains what's happened. You were brothers in a past life, or something. But it's up to you how you navigate your way through these relationships - it's no good just dropping everything each time you have an 'oh my god! hello!' moment. I know, I am a fine one to talk, but anyways. I have made my choice now, and that's all there is to it. I am aware there will be some more 'oh my god! hello!' moments in my life - well, hopefully, because they are quite good fun - but it doesn't mean I actually have to do anything about it. Apart from be delighted our lives have crashed into one another again.
Also, this completely explains things like half of us 20sixers spinning about in quite similar social circles or clubs or workplaces or cities several years before we ever met. We easily could have met before, we just didn't. But now I think maybe I'm thinking of parallel universes.
My head hurts.
