Sunday, 27 December 2009


This is just a reminder to myself that John is my own personal underrated Beatle, and to show everyone what a ruddy beautiful song this is.


Can you hear the similarity?

Friday, 25 December 2009

Bored Games

Today my family had one of the most recurrent of Christmas arguments:

Should the rules of a board game be changed slightly, if it makes it more interesting?

Personally, I don't think you're ever going to have fun playing a board game with more than 6 people. Or maybe my family are just 'special'.

Wednesday, 23 December 2009

How Feign Domesticity

It's Christmas Eve, and my Christmas nesting is very much in full-swing. I've made a ridiculous amount of decorations, table center-pieces, and a flower arrangement... or two. I'm also making the roast potatoes this year because my dad insists that they're not necessary when it's sunny. The fool!

Every year without fail I experience what can only be described as nesting at Christmas. The urge to make everything shiny is stronger than ever at this time of year. I spend all my time making things, and cooking, cleaning, and cooking some more. It's probably because of the crafty nature of the season, and also they fact that I generally have more free time in the holidays.

For those of you that think you can't cook, I have discovered something very easy to make and yummy indeed. A bit of an Aussie Christmas staple, I've decided to make my own rocky road this year. Rocky road is basically uber-chocolate, and it's ideal for the incredibly lazy and/or kitchen imcompetant.

You will need:
A bitchload of chocolate - (400g ish, probably more)
Golden Syrup - 2/3 tbsp
Little marshmallows (preferably gelatine free!)
Cherries (or Cranberries if you're feeling festive or have infected ovaries)
Some sort of unsalted nuts (I used pistachio)
Dessicated coconut
Some sort of chewy sweet (Gelatine free for me! I have used Turkish Delight, but some people don't like it, so you can use jelly worms or something)

1. Line a square tin with parchment paper, so they don't stick, silly!
2. Melt the chocolate and syrup in a pan or bain marie
3. Chop up everything else into little pieces (about 1 or 2 cm square) You can put as much or as little of everything in as you think will be nice.
4. Chuck everything in the same bowl, and mixy mixy!
5. Put it all in the lined tray, leave it until it reaches room temperature, and then pop it in the fridge.
6. Leave it over night in the fridge and when it's set cut it into rectangles

Some people put icing sugar on but I think this looks a bit naff, so I put white chocolate chips ontop when it was partially cooled down instead.

Yes, I will be the size of a house by the time I've made and consumed a Baileys cheesecake tonight. They may have to grease me up to squeeze me into the plane, but I think it will be worth it.

Tuesday, 22 December 2009

Overheard #26

Bloke #1: How many midgets does it take to change a lightbulb?
Bloke #2: ...four?
Bloke #1: ... ... ... yeah, I reckon.

Monday, 21 December 2009

Rage Against The Morons

I realise that X Factor is utter tripe, I really do. It has become glorified karaoke, as people say.

So Rage Against the Machine are the Christmas number one? Ok then. Well done.

Something I noticed when checking the singles chart was that a few spaces down the list was the BBC Children in Need single. Doesn't this make the whole pissing off Simon Cowell* thing seem a bit irrelevant? Why does no one else find this horrific that people are more concerned with this than helping a children's charity?

The sad thing is that it didn't really matter what the single was. Who decided that this should be 'Killing In The Name Of' to be coerced to the top? A vain moron. Yes, well done, you're very cool indeed, but really what did you achieve?

If the real reason was to prove that X Factor is a load of shite and the music industry is corrupt (which again, I accept that it is) then the single itself doesn't really have much importance. What's important is the general public grouping together and influencing the charts - showing the men -in-suits that ultimately, it is the public in the majority who create the charts, and nothing is ever a sure thing. The single didn't matter. What would have mattered, and made a difference would be if the money people had spent on this fandango went to Children in Need.

Whether it was a case of wanting to look cool by choosing Rage Against the Machine, or just simply not thinking, it was a really fucking stupid move in my eyes, and it makes me very angry to think that children will have missed out because of this.

*Who is actually not going to get money because of this, unlike what people say, because although RATM are with Epic which is part of Sony BMG, they are not with Syco, and so he shouldn't see any profits.

Sunday, 20 December 2009

Overheard #25

Young Bloke #1: It's all about scented toilet paper.
Young Bloke #2: ...What is?
Young Bloke #1: My life.

Saturday, 19 December 2009

10 Different Christmas Songs

Christmas songs are awesome. Today I was listening to the same Christmas album that we've had for the last 15 years, and honestly - there's nothing missing on that album from what you'd get in any generic album today. Or so I thought. The classic songs are all on there, but of course there are new Christmas songs being written every year, and they often get very little attention in favour of old familiar songs that everybody can sing along to.

Here are some Christmas songs that you might not be as familiar with, but you might consider adding them to your repertoire.

10. Tim Minchin - White Wine in the Sun

9. The Sixth Great Lake - Always After Christmas, Boring

8. Dressy Bessy - All the Right Reasons

7. The Killers - A Great Big Sled

6. Barenaked Ladies - Green Christmas

5. Eels - Everything's Gonna Be Cool This Christmas

4. Low - Just Like Christmas

3. The Flaming Lips - Christmas at the Zoo

2. The Raveonettes - The Christmas Song

1. Bob Dylan - Must Be Santa

Author List

This list is pretty funny in describing the types of people who read certain authors. I'd say it was reasonably accurate, except for the fact that if these were all true, I would be a bloke. Here's me, apparently:

J.D. Salinger

Kids who don’t fit in (duh).

Chuck Palahniuk

Boys who can’t read.

Nick Hornby

Guys who wear skinny jeans and the girls that love them.

Vladimir Nabokov

Men who use words like ‘dubious’ and ‘tenacity’. (So, paedophiles, then?)

Hunter S Thompson

That kid in your philosophy class with the stupid tattoo.

Lewis Carroll

People who move to Thailand after high school for the drug scene. (I'm so, so sick of people immediately linking Lewis Carroll to drugs, you have no idea. This may be an entirely separate post, I'm afraid.)

Kurt Vonnegut

People who played Creep by Radiohead while having sex or smoking pot. (That song actually pisses me off.)

Douglas Adams

People who bought the first generation Amazon Kindle. (Totally had to look up what that was... and I can safely say, if I'd have had enough money I would absolutely buy that.)

Also, interestingly enough, I believe that the one for James Joyce (People who do not like John Cusack movies) works backwards as well. I've never been a fan of Joyce. Ok, so now you have to promise you won't judge me for liking John Cusack films.

According to this list, what is your stereotype, and do you think it's fitting?

Thursday, 17 December 2009

The Girl Is Mine

Will someone please explain to me why I can't stop listening to this song?!

TV Chefs

Cooking has become a lazy activity. I watch quite a lot of cooking programmes, because secretly I am actually 60 years old, I've just got a damn good plastic surgeon.

This occurred to me whilst watching Nigella's Christmas Whatsamagig - no, I don't remember what it was called. She served fried prawns and bread as a starter, steak and potatoes, and then brownies with birthday cake candles in. What the fuck, Nigella? You lazy, lazy, slag. A two year old could cook that shite. Are people are supposed to aspire to this? I'm sorry but this is something that really grinds my goat.

Maybe that's the problem. I see TV chefs as being people to watch and learn how to do things better, whereas now they're trying to be people who teach you how to do things quicker, or simpler - or even just to cook at all. Don't get me started on Delia "Just fuck off to McDonalds" Smith.

The problem is people think they don't have enough time to cook. Well, if you don't have enough time to cook, then don't - you have many other options, not limited to:
  1. Impose on someone who can cook
  2. Cook when you have the time and freeze it
  3. Get a takeaway
And christ, if you hate cooking so much, then don't do it. You don't have to host a dinner party for a dozen thirty-something foodies of questionable breeding.If you love cooking then you'll make the time, and you'll learn to cook interesting things properly.

People know how to make easy food, and if they don't then they can figure it out. I don't know about other people - but I want to see people who are better at cooking than me make things that are better than what I can cook. TV chefs are there to aspire to, not to show us how they can make frozen mashed potato. (Even the laziest of lazy buggers don't use frozen mashed potato, Delia.)

Maybe they're too busy drinking (Delia) or being slags (Nigella) or just generally being a moron (the rest of them, but mostly that River Cottage wanker) to produce anything worth televising other than their delinquent selves.

On a similar vein, I saw Julie & Julia on the plane the other day. Awesome film. Comes with a health warning if you don't like cooking, or are of the male persuasion.

Wednesday, 16 December 2009

Don't Knit

Just when I didn't think it was possible to love Ringo any more.

Saturday, 12 December 2009

Little Kittens

I saw the cutest kittens in a pet shop today. They kept jumping all over each other and scrambling around and fighting. They were just adorable - I fell in love with one of them - he chased my hand when I waved at him, he was all fluffy and had tiny little blue eyes.

I just had to tell you. He was that awesome.


Thursday, 10 December 2009


DIY: Make your own dreidel. Mazeltov!

Duck Paddle

"Be like a duck. Remain calm on the surface and paddle like hell underneath."

-- Michael Caine

Wednesday, 9 December 2009

Gays & Jews

One of the best and worst things about travelling is the people you meet.

Yesterday, in a flight from Singapore, I made friends with a Norwegian, Jewish lesbian. Yes, she was overtly all three, but also mentioned how she wasn't celebrating Christmas, and had a girlfriend.

She was quite scary, she kept answering the tannoy messages with aggressive and sarcastic comments. But still, we had a few nice conversations in between sleeping and watching films, and she was a cool lady.

It just goes to show, whereever I am in the world, I'm always surrounded by Jews and gays. I wouldn't have it any other way.


You've probably all heard about Tiger Woods and how his wife hit him with a golf club or something, after he allegedly cheated on her.

Now, I don't claim to know a lot about what happened, but apparently, it went a bit like this:

  1. Tiger cheats on wife
  2. Wife hits Tiger with golf club
  3. Tiger crashes car to make it look like injuries are by accident
Now, if my version of the story is wrong, then I apologise, but this is what I was told. Even if this has got nothing to do with what happened to Tiger Woods, there's still a point to be made here.

This is what I don't get - why is no one saying anything about the woman hitting him? I don't care if he's a big strong man, I don't care if he cheated on her with her own cat - the fact is, he was beaten by his wife. That is domestic violence, and no one is deploring her behaviour, because it's seen as 'girl power' or whatever the fuck those pseudo-Feminists are calling it.

Feminism means equality. Equality does not mean that it's ok for women to hit men, whether he's done anything to 'deserve it' or not, and whether he’s physically much stronger or not. Hitting someone is hitting someone.

Imagine if it was her that cheated, and he'd hit her with a golf club. There would be shock. "Yes, your wife's a slag, but you hit her so you're a monster." Instead, it's "Your wife taught you a lesson, you naughty man!"

What we've got here are two social misconceptions working in tandem: it's acceptable for a man to cheat on his wife, in fact it makes him more 'manly', and that it's not domestic violence if it's a woman hitting a man. It's even quite funny - like the hysterical housewife chasing after her cheating husband with a rolling pin. Except we don't all live in a Punch and Judy show. Crocodiles don't throw babies down the stairs, or whatever is supposed to happen in that bloody show.

A human being is a human being, and whatever the context of the situation is, it is never ok to hit someone. Yes, he is a massive wanker for cheating on her, and he should have the words 'twatty twatty bastard' written on his forehead in sharpie indefinitely. It's all very well joking about how cheating men should be castrated, but at the end of the day, an eye for an eye just makes women look petty.

Monday, 7 December 2009

Sunday, 6 December 2009

Know Way

You want the truth? You can't handle the truth.

Ok, maybe you can - but stupid people can't. The truth is that knowledge is not something that should be doled out willy-nilly. It should be like antibiotics and distributed by people who know what they're doing for a set amount of time and regulated.

Imagine explaining the congestion charge to a toddler - it would baffle their cute little brains. Imagine explaining contraception to the cast of the Jeremy Kyle show - they'd probably try and put a slinky up their mimsys.

What I'm trying to say is that the acquisition knowledge is only good in certain situations. It's only good if you're smart enough to process the information in the first place. Also, if you're already equip with the other knowledge that makes it all make sense, if you know what I mean. (The state of public transport, a doctor should probably be doing that instead really...)

Of course, everyone should be given equal opportunities. Stupid people have the opportunity to become not stupid by learning; it's all available if you're intelligent enough to care. Bombarding people with knowledge is a dangerous thing, if they don't have the time or means to process it and make use of it.

If I was told right this second how to cheat at the lottery, I would probably (not) do it (but for the sake of this point, let's pretend I would). I'd then get arrested for fraud and being a pervert in the court of justice or something. Knowledge is a dangerous thing.

When I was two or three, my mum kept telling me how my fringe was getting very long but she didn't have time to cut it for a while. I thought, "Oh, I'll help her out" and cut my fringe in the paddling pool. Entirely wonky. This is knowledge that I shouldn't have been given, because I was too little to fully understand. I had pieces of information: my fringe should be cut, fringes are cut with scissors, where to get the scissors, etc. I then had to face the embarrassment of not only a wonky fringe, but the resulting photo, which has been in my dad's wallet for the past 18 years.

What needed to be done was the piecing together of this information, and the realisation that it was a bad idea. This, I think, is the cause of a great deal of problems in society. If we didn't tell people anything, they wouldn't have a ruddy clue what to do, and they'd just stand still all day and gawp at clouds or something.

Saturday, 5 December 2009

Shoulder Bones

Will someone let me feel their shoulder? I'm serious. I have been growing increasingly paranoid that I have weird shoulder bones.

I know no one sees them, but they seem to be sticking out more than before, and splitting into two if that makes any sense. It's probably just something I'd not noticed before?

This is something I've always wondered - how do you really know if you're normal? How do you know if twinges and aches and pains and tiredness is all normal? How do you know that other people's wee isn't glittery? I'm pretty sure Marc Bolan's was. Prove that it wasn't.

I didn't know that it wasn't normal to sneeze a million times a day until I was told "actually, that's pretty weird" or words to that effect, and then went to the doctor and now I'm fixed! Hooray! Not fixed as in like a dog... that wouldn't stop sneezing.

I suppose it's a silly question, but I really do think my shoulders aren't quite right.


Friday, 4 December 2009

Old Man Parentheses

The conclusion I have come to is that when I, or anyone else for that matter, refers to someone as attractive, the rule should be this:

“When an old or dead person is referred to as attractive, it should be automatically assumed that they are speaking about the version of that person in their prime, and not the appearance of the person at the present day.”

E.g. “Mick Jagger” = “Mick Jagger (circa 1965)”. (The brackets do not require verbalisation.) No one finds Mick Jagger attractive now, except Mick Jagger.

This goes without saying usually, for example, “Yeah, I’d do James Dean,”* is not something that would be answered with gasps of disbelief that someone is admitting to necrophilia. People assume they mean the young, and more importantly, alive James Dean. This is possibly different if the person grew old and then died. For example…

There was probably a time in the 1970s when some people would have said that Michael Jackson was attractive. He looks like a perfectly normal guy in some of his videos before the majority of the surgery. If anyone said this nowadays, everyone would think you were seriously, seriously sick. For a bloke with so many different guises, the pale, wizened goblin look will forever be the world’s fixed image of him.

The above rule, I believe is most significant when referring to people who have not only been famous for a very long time, but have also had many different looks. David Bowie had a good 20/30 years of foxiness. Even I have to admit, he’s looking pretty old now, but of course he is - he's sixty fucking two. When David Bowie is referred to as attractive, the disclaimer – “between the years 1969 and 1999” should be automatically assumed, unless otherwise stated.

If people implement this rule to the best of their ability, I believe we can overcome embarassing social situations altogether. Basically, a lot less people will think I'm an old man perv, when really, I was just born 30 years too late.

* I wouldn't.

Thursday, 3 December 2009

Top 10 Queen Songs

Everyone likes Queen. The combination of amazing songs, and amazing people has made the band a lot more than "just a band" as Scroobius would say. Here are my top 10 songs, though I could easily make it 20 without putting in any duffers. I'd love to know what your favourite ones are too.

There aren't a lot of these songs that I can embed off YouTube, so I'll just talk about them. You know what they sound like, anyway.

10. Killer Queen

9. Don't Stop Me Now

8. Crazy Little Thing Called Love

7. We Will Rock You

6. Under Pressure

5. Another One Bites The Dust

4. I Want to Break Free

3. Bicycle Race

2. Somebody To Love

1. You're My Best Friend

Tuesday, 1 December 2009


Just in case you haven't heard, e.g. you've been living under a bridge shouting at goats, I finished my novel this afternoon. My reward to myself, (which I've just decided) is going to be a vintage dress.

Some women obsess over shoes they can't walk in, some women obsess over handbags so massive they'd topple over if they carried them. My thing is for beautiful vintage dresses that either:
  1. Look great on the hanger, but stupid on
  2. Have odd stains
  3. Don't fit properly
The last one I have major beef with. Yes, that's right - me, a vegetarian having beef. The dresses I like are mostly from the 60s, which is fine. The only problem with the 60s is women seem to have been shaped very differently in those times.

Most dresses are for a 24 or 25 inch waist. Just to put that in perspective for you, that's probably Kate Moss' waist. Now, there's nothing wrong with a little waist, I accept that this was the style at the time. The problem occurs when the dress measurements for a 24 inch waist are paired with a 34 or sometimes even 36 in chest. I mean what the hell? Are these shops making dresses for Jessica Rabbit or something? Because we all know she's a whore. The hips were generally the same size as the chest, so women are expected to be 36-24-36? Fuck off, you'd snap in half!

Marilyn Monroe was 36-23-37... but she was Marilyn Monroe. Most modern women are more like egg timers than hour glasses. Well, the natural ones are, anyway.

It could just be that clothes used to be made to fit properly, and all the dresses I look at happen to have been made for stick insects with massive boobs and hips. Clothes today aren't generally fitted - most people don't know their vital statistics, but just a vague number that varies per shop. I know there were normal sized people in the 60s - I've seen photos, godamn it! The conclusion I have come to is that in the 60s normal sized people didn't wear clothes, or, their clothes have since biodegraded.

Monday, 30 November 2009

Overheard #24

Bloke (to another bloke): Nah, she's a slag. That's what I'm going to teach my son - there's women that you shag, there's women that you marry, and there's women that you push off cliffs. That's why the game was invented.

Get In!

Saturday, 28 November 2009

Nano Graph

Really, instead of 'quality I should have put 'effort', but it feels like such a massive effort even to write badly at this point...

Best Friend

Ooh you make me live
Whatever this world can give to me
It's you you're all I see
Ooo you make me live now honey
Ooo you make me live

Ooh you're the best friend that I ever had
I've been with you such a long time
You're my sunshine and I want you to know
That my feelings are true
I really love you
Oh you're my best friend

Ooo you make me live
Ooh I've been wandering 'round
But I still come back to you
In rain or shine
You've stood by me girl
I'm happy at home
You're my best friend

Ooo you make me live
Whenever this world is cruel to me
I got you to help me forgive
Ooo you make me live now honey
Ooo you make me live

You're the first one
When things turn out bad
You know I'll never be lonely
You're my only one
And I love the things
I really love the things that you do
You're my best friend

Ooo you make me live
I'm happy at home
You're my best friend

Friday, 27 November 2009

Final Stretch

Nanowrimo is nearly over! Due to 3 essays due in this month, I'm lagging quite a bit.

I'm currently on 38,347 words out of my 50,000 target.

My amazing computer machine has told me that in order to reach this goal by the 1st of December (four days!!) then I have to wrote 3,000 words a day. This is absolutely doable. So, in order to force myself to write this amount of words, here are my daily word count targets:

Friday 27th - 42,000
Saturday 28th - 45,000
Sunday 29th - 48,000
Monday 30th - 50,000

I shall copy the entire OED if I have to... and I may seriously have to.

Ps. Good luck Cissy!

Wednesday, 25 November 2009

Between Me And You

I don't usually tell people to buy things, but I'm telling you to buy this. Telling you. Buy it now, you utter buying this book type person, you. You can probably get it off Amazon too if you look.

Reasons to buy this book:
  • You don't have to read it
  • It won't take up much of your time at all
  • It's invaluble
  • You will regret it if you don't in 20 years time
  • I said so

But Sophie, what the fuck is it? I hear you cry - well, it's a book for you to give to your grandparents full of interesting questions for them to answer for you and give it back! Yes! Make those lazy pensioners do some bloody work for a change! It's fantastic, it's like an interview, full of things you may never have the time (or balls) to find out off them.

I've given one to my Pops, and he's finished it in about a week! Crazy, but then he is a writer, so he's all about the writing down crap. That's how I know we're related, well, that and the horrendous eyebrows and disgusting sense of humour.

It's not done in a sentimental way, and neither is it done in a "Shit, you're going to die soon way - quick! Tell me everything you know!" sort of way, it's really a very good book. I'm thinking Christmas present ideas for you... oh yes, what a marvellous idea.

Find out about your grandparents before it's too late. They're probably 100x more interesting than your parents.


Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo. Yes, that was a gramatically correct sentence. I'll prove why:

Buffalo #1 - Proper noun, Buffalo the city
buffalo #2 - Noun, buffalo the animal
Buffalo #3 - Proper noun, Buffalo the city
buffalo #4 - Noun, buffalo the animal
buffalo #5 - Verb, to buffalo, i.e. to bully
buffalo #6 - Verb, to buffalo, i.e. to bully
Buffalo #7 - Proper noun, Buffalo the city
buffalo #8 - Noun, buffalo the animal

So, the sentence means, that the buffalo from Buffalo who are buffaloed by buffalo from Buffalo also buffalo the buffalo from Buffalo.


The animals from the city who are bullied by animals from the city also bully the animals from the city.

The Buffalo buffalo buffalo them, so they are buffaloed Buffalo buffalo.



This is basically what happens in Harvey, only with drug references and Scottish people.

Muppet Chickens

I bloody love those muppet chickens.

Monday, 23 November 2009

Dry The Rain


If you’re perplexed by poetry,
Then you should really know:
Artistic meaning is something
Only you can bestow.
If E.E. Cumming’s an illiterate fool,
Or Sonnet 18 is a farce,
Then this is something that must be true,
To you, albeit quite harsh.
If the Tate can have art that’s a urinal,
Or a gigantic crack in the floor,
Then why can’t a poem be spelled slightly wrong?
If there’s a reason that it is there for.
As long as you have an opinion
Then you’ll never be incorrect,
Because apathy’s the worst thing
That anybody could expect.
So don’t be scared of Keats’ beats,
Or Milton’s Paradise Lost,
Don’t fear the wrath of Sylvia Plath,
And for fuck's sake don’t think it has to rhyme.

Shockingly bumpy, I know, but I'd like to think the sentiment defeats any criticism it might face. Woop woop! Critical immunity!

Nano Update

I'm so ridiculously behind on my nanowrimo. I'm about 7,000 words behind. On a good day, I can write about 2,000 words. I'm hoping that since now I've got no essays due in for a little bit, I can slowly build up my word count. Time is tick tocking away... Eeep!

Wednesday, 18 November 2009


"Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself."

-- George Bernard Shaw

Would With For


I've found this website. It's basically a little experiment, where they get people to fill in the blanks. The template reads:

“I would…

and the website people expect to get a lot of freaky answers in those empty boxes... and they are right to expect this. I've had a little look at what people have written, here are some examples:

I would kill that bitch
With a mallet
For you.

I would sleep
With you
For free

I would fuck
With batman

I would give up everything
With no regrets
For you

I would eat soup
With bread
For my dinner

I would kill you
With a shovel
For being so mean

I would insult your mother
With contempt
For a good laugh

I would sleep
With a midget
For a short time (deliberately funny pun?)

I would watch pulp fiction
With you
Four ty five times

I would shimmy
With Boris Johnson
For days on end

Something which is obvious is that most of them relate to sex, violence, and quite a few of them are just the words shit and fuck repeated. This website is called 'Bad Words' for a reason, obviously. If people are given anonymous creative reign, they will usually produce something that is highly emotionally charged, whether it's violent, sexual, depressive or otherwise. It's very interesting. What was mine?

I would write
With gusto
For as long as possible.

What would you say?

Monday, 16 November 2009

Mick Shakespeare

Shakespeare is Mick Jagger.

Bear with me.

No, seriously, there's a bear with me... it's mauling my face... oh christ... no, not really, I'm just kidding. My theory is that Shakespeare was the Mick Jagger of his time. He was young (for 30 years or so), rich and famous. Oh, and he was a slag.

Christopher Marlowe, on the other hand, was Jeff Buckley. He arguably and comparably had more talent, but died too young to get very much done. Shakespeare was all crotch-thrusting and no Faustus.

This is, of course, my idea that I thought of at 2:53 in the morning. I'm not as yet sure whether it was more of a thought, or an excuse to look at Jagger's effing disgustingly beautiful face*. Having written about 3000 words of my nanowrimo, my brain feels like it's filled with scrunched up bits of newspaper, except there are no words on this newspaper - there's no words whatsoever in my brain anymore. They've all been typed out and are now a nonsensical pulp on a secondary school toilet ceiling.

My brain is The Sun and Shakespeare is my page 3.

*This statement is subject to being in the 1960s. You would not believe how difficult it is to find a picture of Mick Jagger where he doesn't look off his face on drugs. I've settled for one where he looks like a tool.

Peace & Love

Twinkle, twinkle, Ringo Starr,
My obsession is bizarre.
In the 60’s you were spry,
Now you’re some old Liverpudlian guy.
Wrinkle, wrinkle, Ringo Starr,
The YouTube vid was a step too far.

That's a bit of a lie, I still love you Ringo, but only in the context of the 60s and 70s... and maybe a bit of the 80s, but not when you looked like Wolverine, that was just gross.


Four Beatles in Order of Preference

1. Ringo
2. Paul
3. John
4. George

Sunday, 15 November 2009

Friday, 13 November 2009

How Eloquent

"Woody Allen, I think, proved that a genius with a hard-on is still just a guy with a hard-on."

--Bill Maher

De La Kill

God I love a Jimmy Stewart fan. Well, two now.

"Thou shalt choose a political party based on their policies, as opposed to just going with who your family's always supported. They are not a football team."

Thursday, 12 November 2009

You Really Got A Hold On Me

You know the deelio. Which version do you prefer?

Wednesday, 11 November 2009


Here is a preview of the television version of Hamlet that the RSC's doing for Christmas this year. It's got David Tennant in it, and Patrick Stewart, so you know it'll be good. It looks awesome, beautiful set, too.

Nice to see the young folks taking an interest in Shakespeare nowadays, even if it does take David Tennant's lovely face!

Remembrance Day

I couldn't find any more appropriate songs, so this will have to do.

Don't judge me - I bought a poppy!

Monday, 9 November 2009


I'm sorry for the lapse in bloggage. I was in the 70s with Paul McCartney and his beard (no, not Linda), but it turned out that wide-leg jeans don't suit me, so I came back.

On Facebook there's this thing, it's called Compare People, and it's basically a massive kick in the proverbial balls, particularly if you're a loser. You get ranked on traits in comparison to your other friends, here is what I have...

#2 most reliable
#3 most punctual
#4 most generous
#4 merriest
#4 most likely to succeed
#5 most organized
#5 most useful
#6 toughest
#8 best dinner companion
#8 most studious

So basically, I'm very likely to turn up on time, bring a present, and be darn happy about it. Quite true. I do like presents. I don't know what that succeeding crap is about, because we all know I'm destined to be a cat lady without any cats.

It's understandable that my second to lowest trait is 'Can drink more' I drank an evian bottle of gin the other night and called a policeman a paedophile.

The lowest? 'Craziest'.


I am currently wearing:
  1. Wool tights
  2. Knee-high socks
  3. Slippers
  4. A vest
  5. Trews
  6. A t-shirt
  7. A jumper
  8. A hoody
  9. 2 blankets
  10. A hot water bottle shoved down my jumper
... and I'm still a bit chilly. I might put a hat on.

Wednesday, 4 November 2009

Top 5 Songs I Want You To Listen To

Right Now.

5. Elephant Gun - Beirut

4. I'm A Cuckoo - Belle & Sebastian

3. Michael - Franz Ferdinand

2. Here Comes Your Man - The Pixies

1. Oh! Sweet Nuthin' - The Velvet Underground

Tuesday, 3 November 2009


Walking home today, it started to rain. I put up my hood, and carried on walking. At some point it stopped raining, but I didn't notice and kept my hood up until I got home.

When I was walking down my street, the more people I passed, the more I noticed something. They kept trying to look at my face. I swear. I don't know... maybe it was just me thinking they were, but I don't usual notice people actively peering to see my face.

I think the fact that it was obscured in my hood meant that people were curious. What was I hiding? Am I disfigured? Am I a troll? Am I a cat who has grown a human body and stolen a coat in an attempt to integrate herself into human society, if only she can keep her face concealed for long enough - oh, please don't find out my secret!

This really, really annoyed me for some reason. In fact, it made me want to hide my face more. Why are you trying to looking at my face? What right do you have to look at my face? Fuck all, that's what.

Is it so you can judge me by what I look like? When I'm wearing relatively non-gender specific clothes and a hood I'm relatively anonymous, class-less, identity-less... do you need to make an assessment? I tell you what you need to do, you need to mind your own godamn business.

Next time, I'm wearing a burkha.

Monday, 2 November 2009


This is a bit of my large piece of writing which I am currently embarking on. I shan't call it a novel because firstly, even if it did make sense and have characters and a plot - 50,000 words is not enough to be a novel anyway, it's a novella. The second reason being that I don't want the stress of having impending novelistship on my brain. I just write shite, and I'm happy with that for now. Here is how I decided to begin my writing:

You know that joke about a woman who dreams that she’s eating a marshmallow and when she wakes up she’s eaten half her pillow? I believe that this is the third-easiest way to become a piece of human taxidermy. The second-easiest is to work in a pub. Bear with me. Don’t bare with me, we don’t know each other well enough yet...

In terms of stuffing, over time your body is filled with bitter wadding; your head in particular crammed with knowledge, intuition and a general distain for the drinking (cl)asses. Skin becomes pickled through regular dousings of alcohol; pints spilled, drinks thrown, and Pepsi-gun fights. Congratulations, you might as well be a squirrel on a toff’s mantelpiece.

Sunday, 1 November 2009


Much like Cissy M, I've decided to have a go at NaNoWriMo this year. Basically it involves writing your arse off, to what will certainly be an awful result.. but a result none the less.

I have no plan except for the words my brain produces when I put tea into it and tap my hands on this board of keys. I'm already behind, and I've got an essay to write for Monday.

I'm not particularly optimistic about the whole thing, but the point is, I'm having a go... and why not? Wish me luck!

Thursday, 29 October 2009


Judge me for being snobby and ungrateful for this viewpoint if you will, but I believe the majority of women feel the same way.

I think it’s about time I justified my hatred of carnations. Christ I hate these flowers so much. They’re cheap and nasty, used as a cheap way to bulk out a bouquet. It's not so much the appearance of the flower as the sentiments that it has come to represent that I dislike.

When my Grandma died and I chose the flowers, I made sure any carnations in the arrangements were replaced with white roses. (If anyone puts carnations in my funeral flowers, I’m coming back to haunt you.) I would never give my grandmother anything I considered to be so awfully half-hearted.

That’s exactly what they are – the half-hearted option. If you’re going to buy someone flowers, you should buy ones that look the nicest – isn’t that the whole point? It’s the difference between giving someone a box of chocolates and giving them a giving someone a puppy and giving them a mouldy rat. One is noticeably, and widely recognised as cheaper and less thoughtful than the other.

You give someone flowers to show that you care, you give them carnations to show that you want to look like you care… but not enough to spend more than a fiver, or, to consider the preferences of the person they're for.

I’m just stating the facts, yo.

Edit: Ok, so I found some quite nice pictures of carnations whilst looking for a pictures to go with this post. I have decided that these statements apply to the cheapy carnations that you most often find. I'm sure that like everything, if done well they're OK. (But I still hate them.)

Wednesday, 28 October 2009

Monday, 26 October 2009

Happy Second Birthday, Blog!

This blog is officially 2 years old today. I'm beginning to wonder if it's a good or a bad thing that I've been posting this rhubarb for such a long time, but either way, I've enjoyed it.

Who knows what the terrible twos may bring!

Sunday, 25 October 2009

Daylight Ranting

I love the chaos that is daylight savings. Our clocks went back last night, and everyone I knew seemed to be incredibly confused, even the people that should know better – and even the old people.

I could understand the confusion if it changed all the time, but the fact is that it’s the same, bi-annually:
  • It is always either forward or backward 1 hour.
  • "Spring – forward, fall (autumn) – back."
  • It is always between the hours of 1am and 2am.
The same. Every time. Why can’t people grasp this? Why are people still showing up an hour early for work?

And no, your 5-years-old piece-of-shit phone probably won’t automatically update itself. If that’s too confusing for you, then set two alarms, you utter moron.

Saturday, 24 October 2009


I wish I lived in the 70s. I really fucking wish I lived in the 70s.

At the moment, anyway. I got through phases of wanting to live in other eras - any era but the current one, usually. The 80s is so 2 years ago. The 60s is always an option.

I'm pretty sure the 70s obsession stems from equal parts Woody Allen, Diane Keaton, Paul McCartney's beard, and Cabaret.

The 00s are utterly craptastic. People use the word craptastic. That's how shockingly craptastic it is. No one has any tact, class or mystery anymore. It was all down-hill from the 80s - legwarmers and shoulder pads suffocated the western world.

We communicate too much, and yet are unable to handle social situations. We are told what to wear, and yet will still all look like crap. We lose.

If there's some sort of taxi service that is actually secretly a time machine service, then now would be a good time to let me know.

Friday, 23 October 2009

Awesome Parrot

The Mouse's Tale

Fury said to a mouse,
That he met in the
house, 'Let us
both go to law:
I will prosecute
you.-- Come, I'll
take no denial;

We must have
a trial: For
really this
morning I've
nothing to do.'
Said the mouse
to the cur,

'Such a trial,
dear Sir, With
no jury or
judge, would
be wasting
our breath.'

'I'll be
judge, I'll
be jury,'
Said cunning
old Fury:

'I'll try
the whole
cause, and

-- Lewis Carroll

I love the underlying sense that life is utterly pointless.

Thursday, 22 October 2009

How Quaint

The word ‘quaint’ is used in modern English as an adjective meaning, "attractively or agreeably unusual… pleasingly old-fashioned", and also meaning "Cunning, ingenious; elaborate and elegant".

‘Quaint’ stems from the French word ‘cointier’ meaning ‘to know’. It is known by its aphetic form: ‘acquaint’.

The oldest recorded use of ‘quaint’, you might be perverted excited to know, uses it as a noun for a lady garden. It is still used with this meaning in the altered form of the (very naughty) 'C-word'.

Etymology is interesting.

Wednesday, 21 October 2009


Which sentimental Beatles'(ish) song is better?

Oh My Love - John Lennon

Maybe I'm Amazed - Paul McCartney

My vote's swaying more towards Paul, only because Yoko pissed me off around that time, but they're both bitchin'.

Monday, 19 October 2009

Overheard #23

Girl #1: Tell you what though, I had a really vivid dream about giving birth last night.
Girl #2: Did you wake up with a baby in your bed?

Liveblogging: Lovehearts

Ok, so I just opened a pack of Lovehearts, and the first one said 'Hard Luck'. Wtf?

I'll be updating you on this story as it develops.

2. Kiss
3. Lucky Day
4. Smile
5. Be Mine
6. My Boy
7. Beastiality

Ok, so I lied about the last one, but I was getting bored with the sentimental shite.


I recently found this letter/list a woman had written to her 20-year-old self. As a 20-year-old, I would bloody love to get a letter from myself in the past, if only to let me know that everything's OK.

Dear Danielle at 20:

  1. Algebra really is useless.
  2. Credit cards are mostly evil.
  3. Talk is cheap.
  4. If he doesn't stay until morning, he's probably married or deeply insecure.
  5. There is no soul mate. I know, this is particularly hard news to take because you are longing for The One 24-7. But, guess what, The One is The One because you say he/she is. And that's way more liberating and empowering than anything preordained or supposedly destined.
  6. And while we're 'dising cosmic romanticism - there's no such thing as destiny. Life really is what you make it.
  7. Tragedy happens. Yes, everything happens for a reason, but life can be cruel and wrenching and while it all comes out in the cosmic wash, some souls collide and mistakes do happen.
  8. Louise Hay is a magnificent woman, but there is more to the machinations of life, illness, and cosmology than the simple explanations offered by You Can Heal Your Life. Cancer is not necessarily a result of repressed guilt, and you may not necessarily choose to heal your life this time around - that's okay. Illness doesn't make you a New Age Loser.
  9. Diplomacy is overrated.
  10. If your boss tries to french kiss you, it's out of bounds.
  11. Only lend books if you don't want them back.
  12. Go to more concerts.
  13. If you don't kiss girls in your twenties, you'll probably never get around to trying it out. You should try it out.
  14. You're right - kindness is one of the most powerful natural resources there is...infinitely renewable.
  15. Your feelings are exceedingly more useful than your ability to rationalize your fears or other people's poor behaviour.
  16. Your heart...your heart...your heart is where it's at.
  17. When you turn 40, you shall be rocking like never before, grateful for absolutely everything, and you will finally, finally feel like earth is home...for the most part.
Ok, so some of it I'm not up for, but anyway, the concept's there. It made me wonder whether or not I should write a letter to my 10-year-old self, or my 40-year-old self... but then I realised I didn't have a time machine so it all seemed a bit pointless. Also, if I get a letter saying that I'm a 40-year-old hot mess, I'd be a tad disheartened.

Saturday, 17 October 2009


Ok, so I've narrowed my costume choice down to one of three options.

Scuba dog, baby lobster, or behatted guinea pig?


I was considering Halloween costumes (it’s only 2 weeks away!) and I the only conclusion I came to was that I’m a transvestite.

All the good costumes are men. Fo shiz.

If you’re a girl you’ve got a handful of choices, all of which involve 90% nudity. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no prude, but there’s a possibility that I will be working in the perviest pub in town whilst wearing this costume, so I need to be as covered as possible. In fact, I might go as a nun.

To give myself some ideas and to remind myself of what I like, I took to my facebook and itunes. I know – sad isn’t it? Most people I like I have already dressed as. The remaining idols are a bit more tricky…

Woody Allen - … is a man.
Iggy Pop – Would fundamentally involve being topless.
Lou Reed - … is a man.
Ringo Starr - … is a man.
Jim Morrisson – Would fundamentally involve being topless.
Freddie Mercury - … is a man.
Jack the Ripper – …was a vagina mangler, and do I really need the hassle?

Everyone else I could think of was just basically stupid. I don’t want to have to explain to idiots who I’m dressed up as – you should know who Siouxie Sioux is, dickhead!

If I completely run out of ideas, I'm going as Edie Sedgwick, and no one can stop me!! ... Oh wait... That would involve being topless.

Friday, 16 October 2009

Thursday, 15 October 2009

Wednesday, 14 October 2009

Kettle Surprise

Why don't you...
Put the kettle on

Because surprise tea is the best kind of tea.

Overheard #22

Bloke: I was once with a girl who wanted me to wee on her... but I said I couldn't go when people are looking.

Tuesday, 13 October 2009

Chanson des Escargots Qui Vont à L’Enterrement

(The song of the snails who are going to a funeral)

A l'enterrement d'une feuille morte
Deux escargots s'en vont
Ils ont la coquille noire
Du crêpe autour des cornes
Ils s'en vont dans le soir
Un très beau soir d'automne
Hélas quand ils arrivent
C'est déjà le printemps
Les feuilles qui étaient mortes
Sont toutes réssucitées
Et les deux escargots
Sont très désappointés
Mais voila le soleil
Le soleil qui leur dit
Prenez prenez la peine
La peine de vous asseoir
Prenez un verre de bière
Si le coeur vous en dit
Prenez si ça vous plaît
L'autocar pour Paris
Il partira ce soir
Vous verrez du pays
Mais ne prenez pas le deuil
C'est moi qui vous le dit
Ça noircit le blanc de l'oeil
Et puis ça enlaidit
Les histoires de cercueils
C'est triste et pas joli
Reprenez vous couleurs
Les couleurs de la vie
Alors toutes les bêtes
Les arbres et les plantes
Se mettent a chanter
A chanter a tue-tête
La vrai chanson vivante
La chanson de l'été
Et tout le monde de boire
Tout le monde de trinquer
C'est un très joli soir
Un joli soir d'été
Et les deux escargots
S'en retournent chez eux
Ils s'en vont très émus
Ils s'en vont très heureux
Comme ils ont beaucoup bu
Ils titubent un petit peu
Mais la haut dans le ciel
La lune veille sur eux.

-- Jacques Prévert

This is a lovely French poem/song, I will try and translate it but I'm not sure I can do it justice.

On their way to a leaf's funeral
Two snails go
They have black shells
And black veils on their horns
They go in the evening
A very beautiful evening in autumn
Unfortunately when they arrive
It’s spring again
The leaves which are dead
Are all resuscitated
And the two snails
And very disappointed
But here’s the sun
The sun which said
Please take the trouble
Make the effort to sit
Take a glass of beer
If your heart wishes
Take if you wish
The bus to Paris
It leaves tonight
You will see the country
But do not mourn
I am telling you
It blackens the white of the eye
And then it is ugly
The histories of the coffins
Is sad and not pretty
Take your colours
The colours of life
All the animals
The trees and the plants
Begin to sing
To sing very loudly
The true song of life
The song of summer
And all the world drinks
Everybody drinks
It’s a very pretty evening
A pretty evening in summer
And the two snails
Return home
They go very moved
They go very happy
Like they have drank a lot
They stagger a little
But high in the sky
The moon watches over them.

Monday, 12 October 2009

Sunday, 11 October 2009



Either I'm psychic, or it was really, really obvious.

"I hope he doesn’t keel over and die during his tour, but if he does, hopefully in a hundred years his music will still be around but people will have forgotten what a freaky old bastard he is."

Saturday, 10 October 2009

Eye Of The Donkey

A while ago, Fergus said that he wouldn’t love me if I had a beard. To be fair, I probably shouldn’t have directly asked the question, and also he was joking, but anyway, it made me think.

It’s easy enough to say that you love someone so much that it’s regardless of what they look like, but I don’t believe that that is ever entirely true. What if they put on 50 stone? What if they were decapitated but still alive? What if they turned into a donkey? Here’s a more likely one… what if they changed gender?

Would you change yourself because of this, for example, by buying really strong furniture, buying lots of massive hats, or pursuing bestiality or homo/heterosexuality? People think it's pessimistic to say that love is conditional: of course it's conditional, everything is. How about the condition of not being a murderous, slovenly 8-day-old caterpillar? Yeah, I thought as much.

Is there a sliding scale? Do I need to draw some sort of graph, starting at maybe ‘has a particularly bad spot’ to ‘goes bald’ and then to ‘is turned completely inside out and bright green’? If so, are women generally more willing to go higher up the scale than men? Why? What if it was only you that could see this change, and to everyone else they looked normal?

It’s the “Does my bum look big in this?” for the 21st century:
“Would you love me if I were a putrid, mouldy slug?” and the answer, if you care enough, should always be, “I’d try”.

I'm aware that none of that made sense.

Friday, 9 October 2009


This reeks of plagiarism.

Get it On - T.Rex: Released 1971

Cigarettes & Alcohol - Oasis: Released 1994

Thursday, 8 October 2009


You may be aware that I work in a pub. You may be aware that I enjoy sleeping.

These two facts tend to conflict, as when I work evenings (which is most shifts), I rarely get home before 2am, and can be home as late as 3am, or even later. I don't mind this - I'm wiling to accept that it's one of the many negative aspects of my job. I prefer to be awake at night, anyway, I'm really not a morning person.

However, this does mean that usually I am going to bed at anytime between 3am and 4.30am (I draw the line at 5am), and as a result I don't tend to get up until 12/1ish. If I'm at university, I might have work until 2am and have to be at university for 9am until 1 or 2pm. In this case I would sleep in the day when I get back from university, and then wake up around 4pm and go to work.

Now, I'm no mathematician, but I know that you're supposed to get 8-9 hours of sleep a night. I have found from experience that I actually need more like 10 hours to not feel tired, but the chances to get that much sleep are few and far between.

If I go to sleep at 3am and wake up at 12pm, I have had 9 hours sleep. This is the same as if I had gone to bed at 10pm and woken up at 7am, or if I had gone to sleep at 12am and woken up at 9am - all acceptable amounts of time to sleep, which can be altered depending on your routine.

The problem occurs when people notice that I'm getting up after midday, and assume that I'm a lazy bitch. Yes, I might be in my pajamas at 3pm, but I've still only had 6 hours sleep, you judgemental bastards. I can assure you, this lazy bitch works fucking hard. I'm not saying no one else does, but let me get the recommended amount of sleep without being judged by someone who has no idea what that kind of working pattern is like.

Monday, 5 October 2009

Family Conversation

So, I've concluded that my family is made up of several segments, as I'm sure everyone else's is. I have my mum's side, who are all relatively normal apart from being particularly short and loud. I spent most of my time with this part of the family growing up. You may have noticed.

I also have my Dad's side which is split into the 'well-to-do' and then the 'rough-as-fuck' halves. I recently spent some time with the latter. During this time there was copious amounts of drinking, swearing, and generally seeing who could offend/gross everyone out the most. I have made a graph to show the trend of conversation in my family when consuming alcohol.

There we have it. I do love my family.

I think the graph for my mum's side would have to have an axis dedicated to decibels. It's like drinking with a load of bloody dolphins after a while.

Sunday, 4 October 2009

Saturday, 3 October 2009

Overheard #21

Student: Really? Well, apparently you haven't been on!

Friday, 2 October 2009


Playboy Magazine: Mistake or not, what made you decide to go the rock-'n'-roll route?

Bob Dylan: Carelessness. I lost my one true love. I started drinking. The first thing I know, I'm in a card game. Then I'm in a crap game. I wake up in a pool hall. Then this big Mexican lady drags me off the table, takes me to Philadelphia. She leaves me alone in her house, and it burns down. I wind up in Phoenix. I get a job as a Chinaman. I start working in a dime store, and move in with a 13-year-old girl. Then this big Mexican lady from Philadelphia comes in and burns the house down. I go down to Dallas. I get a job as a "before" in a Charles Atlas "before and after" ad. I move in with a delivery boy who can cook fantastic chili and hot dogs. Then this 13-year-old girl from Phoenix comes and burns the house down. The delivery boy - he ain't so mild: He gives her the knife, and the next thing I know I'm in Omaha. It's so cold there, by this time I'm robbing my own bicycles and frying my own fish. I stumble onto some luck and get a job as a carburetor out at the hot-rod races every Thursday night. I move in with a high school teacher who also does a little plumbing on the side, who ain't much to look at, but who's built a special kind of refrigerator that can turn newspaper into lettuce. Everything's going good until that delivery boy shows up and tries to knife me. Needless to say, he burned the house down, and I hit the road. The first guy that picked me up asked me if I wanted to be a star. What could I say?

Playboy Magazine: And that's how you became a rock-'n'-roll singer?

Bob Dylan: No, that's how I got tuberculosis.

Thursday, 1 October 2009


Everything I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten
  • Share Everything.
  • Play Fair.
  • Don't hit People.
  • Put things back where you found them.
  • Clean up your own mess.
  • Don't take things that aren't yours.
  • Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.
  • Wash your hands before you eat.
  • Flush.
  • Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
  • Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw and plant and sing and dance and play and work every day some.
  • Take a nap every afternoon.
  • When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic,
  • hold hands, and stick together.
  • Be aware of wonder.
-- Robert Fulghum, 1986

Wednesday, 30 September 2009

Not Being Funny

A phrase which I think should be banned from usage is: "not being funny, but...". It's ridiculous. The only time people ever use this phrase is when they're about to be funny (funny - odd, not funny - haha) or try to be funny (funny - haha, not funny - odd).

I realised this when a drunk fresher came up to me today and said "Oi! Chick*! Not being funny, but my name's John Breakfast". I looked at him, sighed, and said "Oh, go away". The look on his face was priceless. I'm not sure how he expected me to react, but it probably wasn't in the parental 'I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed' way. He walked away looking embarrassed.

The point of this charming and deeply enthralling story being that when people say "Not being funny, but..." it is always when they are about to be funny. Or dickheads.

Just don't say it - you might as well say "I'm going to say something stupid now, but because I've warned you and denied it before beforehand so you're not allowed to be offended". At least it's honest.

The only suitable situation I can think of is when someone might genuinely think you are making some sort of joke, but you are worryingly serious (which is of course what the phrase was probably originally intended for, but it has been bastardised somewhat).

For example, you're in a restaurant eating consume, and your dining partner looks to you worriedly and whispers, "Not being funny, but this soup tastes like piss". Your suspicions about the waiter being confirmed, you regretfully agree.

I hope John Breakfast wasn't his real name.

*Yes, he used the word 'chick', and no, it wasn't in the context of 1994 or a poultry farm.

Wednesday, 23 September 2009

Stupid Dances

Four Fucking Stupid Songs People Have Had Their First Dance To
  1. Love Will Tear Us Apart (And resentment rides high // But emotions wont grow)
  2. Every Breathe You Take (Every vow you break // Every smile you fake // Every claim you stake)
  3. You Really Got a Hold on Me (You treat me badly // I love you madly)
  4. The One I Love (This one goes out to the one I love // This one goes out to the one I left behind // A simple prop to occupy my time)

Tuesday, 22 September 2009

Monday, 21 September 2009


As much as I hate to be a feminine cliche and talk about inane stuff like kittens all the time... this video really is incredibly cute.

There's something awfully heartbreaking about noises like this - like when a baby is crying in a public place and everything in your nature is telling you to help them but obviously you can't, weirdo. I want to help the poor kitty... and give him/her a dairylea triangle. Awwwwwwww poor kitten!!

Saturday, 19 September 2009

Away We Go

I watched 'Away We Go' earlier. It's hard to explain it, so watch the trailer.

Burt: I’ll always love you. Even if you’re enormous. Even if it takes you months to lose this weight… a year. Even if you gain weight after having the baby. I mean, if you gained so much weight, and I can’t find your vagina…
Verona: Aaaaaaaaaaaaa
Burt: … you go ahead and write that in stone, in your heart. I will love you even if I can’t find your vagina.

I liked that the film was different and the characters were quirky in a believable way, not in your teenage indie sort of way (I'm looking at you, 'Juno'). I liked Burt's beard and that neither of them were staggeringly/distractingly attractive to look at. I liked that it was Verona who refused to get married, and I liked the (loud) use of the word 'c*ntsucker'.

Fantastic, and very funny. I would almost say that I preferred it to '(500) Days of Summer' because the characters weren't creepily like Fergus and I. (I say almost preferred it because Tom won me over with his little dance number. And face.)

But anyway... I would recommend you saw 'Away We Go'. Jolly good film indeed!

Friday, 18 September 2009

Rock / Electropop Gym Playlist

Sarah and I joined the gym a few days ago. We've been a couple of times since then and I've discovered that music is jolly good to listen to. However, a lot of that gym music is really rubbish and especially chavvy, so here's a bit of the playlist that I've found is fun to run to:

Another One Bites the Dust - Queen
Cosmic Girl - Jamiroquai
Date with the Night - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
The Girls - Calvin Harris
Honey - Moby
Hump De Bump - Red Hot Chili Peppers
Juicebox - The Strokes
Let's Make Love and Listen to Death From Above - CSS

Over and Over - Hot Chip
Red Alert - Basement Jaxx
Elvis - These New Puritans

Reptilia - The Strokes
Strict Machine - Goldfrapp
Technologic - Daft Punk
Touch The Sky - Kanye West
We Are Your Friends - Justice vs. Simian

Hall & Oates

When was the last time you felt like this?

Thursday, 17 September 2009

Patient & Kind

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves. Love never fails.” -- Corinthians

(The only passage I would ever quote from The Bible.)

Tuesday, 15 September 2009


Because, as we all know, Ringo is the best.

Sunday, 13 September 2009

Ham & Wings

Maybe it’s because I let myself over-think these things. Maybe it’s because I become too involved with the people that create the music I listen to. Maybe I’m just stupid.

I have days when I am grieving for Freddie Mercury in the same gut-wrenching way that I would had I known him personally. I can’t listen to the music, because it means too much. Freddie was just too damn good. I feel as though I knew him personally… along with the other billion people who have listened to his music.

I miss Linda McCartney a lot, too. I feel as if I knew her purely from Wings songs and what my Dad would tell me about her and Paul when I was little. (He was a big Wings fan.) I don’t care what anyone says, ‘Maybe I’m Amazed’ is quite simply a gorgeous song.

Mama Cass has given me a subconscious hatred of ham sandwiches. Don't get me started on Marvin Gaye.

I didn’t even know about these people at the time they died. They could be fictional characters for all I know. It’s irrelevant. It’s the talented and beautiful minds that produce these songs that I’m concerned with - I’m grieving the songs they had yet to create.

For fucks sake Bowie: don’t die!

Saturday, 12 September 2009

Mr. Postman

Which do you prefer?

Friday, 11 September 2009

Fifty Fo


"Je n'ai peur etre seul. J'ai peur etre sans toi."

Wednesday, 9 September 2009

Le Petit Prince & Les Petit Gens

Le Petit Prince a publié en 1943, mais l'impeccable, c'est que on peut le lire à tout âge et il est toujours très pertinent, grâce à le thèmes universelle. Le langage est simple, parce qu’il est destiné à être lus par des enfants, mais en réalité, c’est un conte philosophique, avec des idées très compliqués et subtiles.

Le mouton dans la caisse est un métaphore pour l’état humain. Le narrateur dit que malheureusement, il ne sait pas voir les moutons a travers les caisses. Il pense il est maintenant un peu comme les grandes personnes, parce que il doit vieillir. Il voit seule la caisse – l’extérieur de les gens. Le écrivain veut dire que les enfants regardent dedans les gens, mais les adultes regardent seul l’extérieur, parce que ils jugent par l’apparence. Ils ont les idées figées.

Le livre exprime l’opinion que c’est ne pas l’âge qui sépare les adultes à les enfants, mais c’est la perspective. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry démontre que le départ entre les adultes et les enfants est la perspective, c’est ne pas l’âge, et j'approuve.