i feel like....

a thunderbirds puppet handled by a drunked.

i'll tell you about it later.


google has destroyed my brain

i can't remember anything anymore. when i get asked for stuff i've worked on at work, i panic because i can't remember if i've done it or not, and i usually have, but simply have no memory. partly this is because work is so dull, but partly is, well, i don't have to remember stuff. i just search for it. something i nee to remember? just email it to my self. it'll turn up when i need it. of course, frighteningly, there may be loads of stuff i've emailed myself and completely forgotten to do anything about. i hate my rotting brain.

meanwhile, what should i do for tea? i want a take out curry (as oppose to the home made stuff of the last two nights) but with noone to eat it with, slop is just as good. i might try and run down marks and spencers now before it closes. and then apply for work.


so this is what being the nutter on the bus feels like

today was no music day, which i think is a great idea. resonance fm played no music, and nor did i. personally, instead of it being the day before the day dedicated to the patron saint of music, i think it should be at a polar opposite time of the year. but that's a mere quibble.

so it came to pass, that i got on the bus with my brother's copy of slaughter house 5, and no walkman, and sat upstairs, where a solitary scruffy school child sat at the front blared indie guitar pop from his ears. i was going to let it go, but the mood of the day got me and i approached him.

'excuse me, do you know it's no music day today?' i asked.

'do you mean you want me to turn it down?' he drawled, not impolitely, but he did make me realise what a fool i sounded.

'well, i mean it is actually no music day, but you don't have to go along with it if you don't want to, but yes, if you could turn it down that would be nice...'

he got his mp3 player out, span the wheel and i saw both that he had been listening to the libertines, and that the volume was literally on maximum. that's really uncalled for, as i said to the guy sat in front of me after the boy had got off, who shrugged and turned back again.

the moral of the story: don't talk to strangers, kids!

i had a bunch of thoughtys to scrwal down, but i left the note in my coat pocket that i lent to debbie after hers had a bottle of water spilled all over it. one i remember is school. i think it's odd how laurence always writes about things i was going to write about. school was such a ierd time, being woken up by hot wheetabix being spooned into my mouth while it was still dark outside. but i wanted to write about the fear of school. the extreme emotions you'd get as you got in in the moning and found out there was a piece of homework you'd not known to do. i've never known fear like that again, and i don't think i would have done if it wasn't for school. but then if not for school, i suppose i'd have had to have gone down the pits or something.

i'll have to do the rest later.


i put the lice in alice

what's the difference between a refreshing drink and a yorkshirian roof tiler?

one slakes thirst, the other slates thirsk!


why i hate the english language part 94b

consider the following matrix:

Mate Meat Meet
Grate Great Greet

nobuddy movie

walking back from an i'll planned night with debbie (there was no free jazz band, the service was terrible and she was grouchy about BT and losing the clothes i brought her that she left in my room, and i spent as long travvelling as staying), a thought occured to me that i reckoned so wonderful i had to type it up here insead of going to bed like a normal person.

its basically an inverse buddy movie - take a cop who only ever works in couples, and have the commisioner set them up on there own for the story. have it played by a young woody allen (or aaron mcmullen). at the begining he has his partner taken away, and he complains about not being able to do anything on his own. but then maybe his girlfriend's brother gets whacked or something, and when she appeals to him, as a cop, to do something, he just turns his palms up and says, 'well i'm sure something will turn up' and ignores everything going on around him. so eventually the commissioner says 'look, you're not taking enough chances, i'm putting you on the case' and everyone tries very hard to make this insecure (yeah, he goes around clutching a security blanket or teddy bear) mumbler stand up for himself.

and shit, i thought, it's me.

it also ollows the rules i mentioned before that palin decribes in the commentry to riping yarns - you either over extend the cliche or subvert the cliche. this also explains why i didn't find shaun of the dead very/at all funy - the concept itself wasn't subverted or extended at al. it was just a cheap zombie movie, with not many jokes (that i noticed). it had some terrifying social darwinism too - people only got eaten by zombies when they'd been rejected by the group of friends until it was just the couple left. and you don't get much more pseudo-metaphorical for growing up than actually killing your parents.

so lets make this film. and the manual. and a bishop fuckers documentry. lts have fun.



staggered is a film. a very british film, i think - in it, martin clunes plays a groom, wakng up after his stag night on a remote scottish island, naked and bound. his mission is to get home before the best man takes full advantage of archaic marriage rules and usurping the bride, which he'd been plotting all along. the twist of course is that at the end of his oddessyan journey, he realises he doesn't want the girl, or any of it.

for some reason, this concept has been preying heavy on my mind; i can't fully express it so hopefully i will eventually here. the journey for something you really want that changes you so that you don't want it any mroe; i think the point is that either way, your desire is satisfied. it's not realising that somethng is not worth the effort - that doesn't stop you wanting something. it helps you get over it though. it's realising that the thing you wanted has no value, and that's fine too. and you don't feel disappointed that your efforts have been in vain, because they haven't - they made you grow as a person.

in a way, it's like the yom kippur fast - at the end of it all, you don't stuff your face as soon as the sun sets. you take it slowly, and gracefully. you could fast longer. you turn down the first chance to eat.

on firday, i don't know what was different in me, but instaad of calling anyone, i went out and stoked up on junk food - pizza, pies, beer, chocolate - all organic of course - pigged out and played lego star wars 'til four in the morning. the next day, ed and adrian came over with the intention that we'd play through dead rising, but at two in the morning we'd had enough - it wasn't as straightforwad as i thought it would be. not to do it with the plot anwyway (it's a great game, it really is, and the different ways of playing it really work - do you go for the plot, the rescue missiona, kill all the zombies (ha) or just try and survive?). ed stayed over, but adrian wanted to go home. unfortunately, he got the bus in the wrong direction and got mugged. life's like that i suppose.

so i've spent about an hour outside this flat this weekend. i think that's a tragic reocrd. it's funny, because ive had a not particularly enjoyable week at work, and getting out somewhere would have been great. i just couldn't do it. fortunately ed was online at somepoint on friday and came over saturday. i must be exagerating this - surely i'd have got out if i hadn't planned something for saturday. just ignore me, and listen to the cult of luna's cover of 'bodies' (i just deleted the original btw).



music thing shop

music thing, the amazing and fascinating synth-porn (amongst other things) has branched out and opened a shop - it's actually jsut a collection of links to other items for sale on the internet, but it's here and wellawesome.



vicky was the girl who stayed with us in brighton for a while in thom's absence. she was a funny little greek girl who made us really good food sometimes and had an awesome cd collection (too many albums by the guitarist out of the chilli peppers, but mad eup for it with martin gore and rare greek jazz-core like malamis socratis). the world is such a funny place. it's wierd the friends you make on your way to nowhere.. it's so much more enjoyable than taking responisibilty. freedom is quiet, lasting, happiness.

i can't remember monday night, but tuesday i bought falafel, humus, halloumi, lettuce and tomato (as well as an experimental can of 'foul modamas') and was marching home with it all when i got a call from debbie; she said she was in intense pain in a cafe in charing cross and could i come help her? she'd been to hospital the night before with this wierd perssure and pain in her back, and it had come on strong again. i got a call on my way to say she'd been carted off to hospital, so i trapsed to UCH, in a bit of a kerfuffle, where a couple of her tutors were still hanging around outside the resuscitation ward. fortunately she looked quite 'with it' then, walking in i had had no idea what kind of state she would be in. the doctors really had no idea what was wrong with her, other than it looked as though she were somewhat bunged up inside and she should try senokot to relieve the pressure. not that they gave her any, but she didn't take the paracetamol and other mystery pill they did give her because she finds swallowing difficult. she began to feel better at the hospital so i took her back here.

on the way, i made a polite recomendation that she not eat quite so much juicy fruit chewing gum, as i didn't want to smell of it the next day. i know i shouldn't have done, but i was tired, hungry, and bothered, and i just wanted this one small concession. she took it personally - i don't know how, but she was in something of a state - and said she was going to go home. stubbing her foot on the stupidly placed block in the middle of the entrance to my block of flats was the last straw, the pain rang around her body and she broke down in tears with the stress of the whole thing and then some. i took her in and made her some soup. unfortunately, as kind as i am - i might get pissed off by invalids, but that doesn't stop me helping them and i hope i don't amrtyr myself outwardly - being a nihilst, i find it very difficult to find comforting words. i wanted to make her feel welcome in this country, but i can't reason it, and it's not good to tell someone 'well if you can't hack it, toughen up or go home'. no-one wants to here that.

things were getting worse as the journey wore on and i had to massage her back all the way home and most of the night. when the pain got to much to bear - about three in the morning - i got up, internetted and phoend around, and then trapsed off again to tesco express, which, as we all know, is open forever, but still a twenty minute walk away in the hope theat they would have some suitable drugs. fortunately they did, but senokot takes about eight hours to work. anyway, she did manage to get some sleep, i maybe it was just me. but i came to work a little late to put her on her way safely in the morning - specificly to the phone shop, so she could reactivate her phone, which had been cut off for absolutely no reason, and she just wanted to call her mum.


troy tate sessions

post for andy and anyone else who's interested:

a weekend with a ruth

i made a curry a couple of night ago - a huge pot's worth, which me and my brother polished off. i put two green chillies in 0 nothing hardcore, and the end result wasn't that hot. but for two days after, i could feel those chillies all over my body, not especially my bum which felt saddle sore. a very strange feeling.

last weekend, ruth hewinson came to stay and check out london, since i don;t think she feels aberdare is right for her. i say 'hewinson', not becuase it's her surname, but because it's the surname of the boy she had when he met, and i still don't know hers (she did say it at some point, so i really should have paid attention. but anyway, we got the drinks in on friday, and debbie and her greek course-mate lydia came over and we prepared to hit london and show her the life.

as is the way, we didn't leave until nearly midnight. we'd figured, from what we could gather from the interent, that most good nights were to be had in shoreditch, even though most of the good ones would be nearly over by the time we got there. a free paper gave us the rest of the low down on the tube; narrowing our options by several factors, we decided on a electro-pop &c. night starting at midnight and going on 'til 6, giving us a huge window of opportunity. when we got outside, they were playing 'just can't get enough', and a chalk board leaning against the pub/bar door advertised the nights's scedule; apperently, before midnight, the plase was a strip joint. so we went in, and got our only drinks of the night (bear in mind we were fully pissed on leaving, nipping from a half bottle of vodka (flavoured with a single drop my mum's super-pottent creme de casis) on the tube] the clientelle, who were filtering in, were.. .interestingly dressed. all dancing very expressivley (although less so as it filled up), all dressed very oddly - 80's gym wear, leggins and tracksuits, sheep hats and smeared make up everywhere. everyone was very loud, and very horny. what had we wandered into? i'd have liked to have danced round the pole, like we used to do at girl on, but i couldn't get near it for groping couples. the night was fun, but it was more 'smack my bitch up' than 'their law'. about three, they started to play rave, and i realised i had to leave right away, which of course is always the point when i can't find people. i was finding it very upsetting, and i was tired. 'you won't like me when i'm tired'. eventually we managed to leave, and after one bus, decided to hail a cab from holborn rather than wait half an hour for another in the freezing cold. we piled back to mine via the 24 hour shop for essential supplies.

here another magic thing happened. a young man, smoking, trying to get into the shop, asked me if he could come back to mine. apparently, some people were out to kill him because he 'fucked the wrong girl up the arse'. he tried unfolding money at me. i tried every rebuttal, not least 'look, if they're out to kill you, last thing i want is them on my tail'. i told him to stay inside the shop, where they at lesat had security and warmth. we had to run back, it was so cold. sometime in the night, debbie woke me up complaining of back pains, i massaged her for a bit until we fell asleep.

the morning started slowly. too knackered and confused by hunger to think about what to eat, we ended up getting noodles. debbie had the most disgusting sea food i have ever seen - ruth's sweet and sour chicken looked blissfully harmless in comparison. at lesat it didnt look wierd. but then i have read 'jenny finn', but then maybe that's only sickening because sea food itself will always be rank and odd.

pretty much the whole day was spent on public transport. everything was slow and stopping and breaking down;by the time we got into the centre of town, i thought fuck it, i'm going to virgin megastore. i picked up nasum's shift, bat for lashes' fur and gold, and ornette coleman's free jax, all for around twenty quid. i went up to the desk and said 'i'd like to buy this big pile of crap please', and the assistant said 'did you find everything okay?' the way back was equally tortourous, broken up by essential pint somewhere round acton. ruth is an amazing person, who understands that cult of luna is chill out music. my kinda woman. i took her to victoria on sunday morning, and then headed to deptford to wander around south london with dan, looking at houses and getting a sense of the geography of the place. it's wierd how quickly shit holes turn into lovely areas and back again. peckham is really ugly, but walk ten minutes down the road to the thames and the brunel museum, and it's a delightful, if slightly yuppie, paradise.

to be continued when more has happened. (it has, that's just me being wry)


l'est la

it's french for 'that's that'.

isn't that great?

'l'est la, you got me on my knees, l'est la...'

l'est-boured the point enough i think.


new blog

i've a secret new anonymous blog to deal with all the shit i'd really like to say but daren't in public with my name and face next to it. but drop me a line and i'll come round and whisper it to you.


impulse purchases

it's a good shop that's missing, that's the problem. give me a good cd shop, i'll raid it for whatever i can - converge, nasum, exhumed, bat for lashes, nalle, ooberman, all records i really want, but i dare not set foot in the ludicrous hmv round the corner. i was in acton the other day, doing nothing other than being locked out and wanting only records. i remembered that google maps had said there was one over there, so off i trotskied. after an hour of wandering round the awful, dirty, scummy, broken town, asking strangers and co-ordinating myself with free street computers, i finally found the place just off the high street. i waslked past, and kept going. one brief glimpse inside was enough - it sold only regge, and over the top of the music coming from inside, a woman was screaming. i walked back past on the way home to check and itr still looked and sounded the same.

i found myself in hanwell on monday. hanwell - the dirt under the fingernail of the world. infact, the whole world seems to consist of these shit holes, so i don't know why i'm suprised. anyway, i had to make the 20-minute walk there since i had no cash (another lunchtime, i was late because i got lost on a golf course and couldn't walk because i needed a poo so bad.). all three cashpoints, free or not, were broken. the only thing to do was get food from the only place that would give it me on my card - domino's pizza. i really wanted shit pizza, but that was too much. hanwell has about three closed down music hardware stores - guitar shops, dj shops, tech places and stuff - that have closed down, leaving about another three. i went into one. 'where can i buy some records?' i asked. 'hmv in ealing' came the response.

how can it be that the internet has shut down the small retailers? why are hmv shoppers so fucking loyal all of a sudden? you might as well pirate music as buy it from hmv, it's that pointless. and yet the joy of the small shop, that makes you want to buy something because everything is so good, it's all stamped and approved - these are the places that suffer. it's probably a problem of disposable income too, or demographics.