Monday, 19 December 2011


Dear all

I hadn't really planned on doing a blog today, but since I removed my hilariously witty t-shirt designs lest the evil corporation tried to steal my ideas and I saw something worth sharing, I thought I'd give you an impromptu treat. AREN'TIGENEROUSYES.

I was casually Facebook stalking people I used to go to school with just now, and came across someone I never really spoke to all that much, but Facebook being what it is, I was forced to click on their page and start scanning through the entire repertoire of meaningless drivel known as their "life". I'm actually still laughing away to myself about what I found.

As I was creeping through this person's pictures and I found one on which they had commented "Oh my shit stain :P" I stopped and read it a few times to make sure I was seeing it right, but indeed, someone had used their own shit stain as a means of exclaiming their surprise and disgust at a photograph.

Really? We're doing that kind of thing now? Am I really out of the loop here? Has this been going on for a while?? What next? "Oh my weeping anus"? "Oh my used sanitary towel"? I am llol-ing (literally laughing out loud <<< fyi, correct use of the word "literally") on my own, in my room, at my own jokes whilst typing this to share it with all you lovely readers. So you'd better be llol-ing too, otherwise I look like a maniacal fool.

Over and Out.

Thursday, 15 December 2011

There's a Hole in that Snowflake

Oh woe is me! Here I am, back at home for Christmas all excited about the prospect of watching Elf and  crocheting to my heart's content in preparation of the upcoming festivities and being reunited with my graphics tablet, only to discover that NONE of these things can happen!

There I was on Sunday afternoon avidly refreshing my Facebook homepage, because all my friends are "so interesting"* and definitely not just a distraction from the portfolio I was trying to finish. I was all *scroll scroll scroll like scroll scroll*, when I saw a status that referred to the fact that Elf, THE best Christmas film of all time would be on that very afternoon...exactly 24 hours before I would be home where there's a TV for me to watch things like Elf and Neighbours and Murder, She Wrote. Oh! I could have WEPT. And I did, inwardly, where people can't judge you for it.

After that, I decided to do a bit of crocheting to calm myself down. And guess what. I bloody bought the bloody wrong bloody wool. Annoyed much? Yes, I was. And that's pretty much the story. I've decided I'm going to blame my mistake on the fact that I didn't get to watch Elf this year...even though I bought the wool before I found out about that...

So anyway, when I did finally get home, when I DIDN'T finally watch Elf, I went a-searchin' for my graphics tablet, as made famous by such timeless blogs as "The One About John Travolta Being a Catfish" and "I found a Photograph of Mr Whitehairblackbeard". Couldn't bloody well find it, could I? No I could not. In fairness, I didn't look all that hard - I was brushing my teeth at the time and thinking about all the antelopes who were dying, but it should have been in a fairly obvious place. I *think* I left it on a chair. But I can't be sure. If anyone has seen it, please return it to me immediately. It is greyish-black; charcoal you might say, and it has a pen of the same colour with a little white tip - that's what you do the drawings with.

Needless to say, I've been quite distressed. To calm myself down, I sat for one whole hour this evening, obsessively taking my laptop to bits and cleaning away all the dust with a paint brush.

And now I've upset myself even further looking at the above photograph of me that was taken just minutes ago. I'd better go and eat a novelty biscuit quickly to reverse the effect.

*Anyone reading this clearly falls into the bracket of "actually interesting". Please discount yourselves from this droplet of sarcasm that was added to further the horrible, cynical persona I'm crafting for myself upon the internet. Obviously I'm really nice and genuine in real life, just like every other person who writes a blog to make themselves feel better about the fact that their life is an endless drag from one moment to the next.

Friday, 9 December 2011

In the Eye of the Pickle

I don't know if you've noticed, but the quality of my drawings has been slightly less wonderful than usual. That's because I forgot to bring my graphics tab to Edinburgh. What a bummer. However, as of Monday, we shall be reunited. It will feel so good. Peaches & Herb will probably chronicle our reunion in a timeless love song.

Anyway, it turns out this is an avoidance blog. I have a portfolio of work due on the 15th, but since I'm going home on Monday, which is before the 15th, I need to get it done by Monday. And it last night became apparent to me that I hate almost everything I've written so far this year. So I'm in a pickle and that's no help at all, because carving out a six foot pickle to lie in and think about the poetry I haven't written is completely counter productive.

And I have a cold. It's a bad cold. Whenever I move my eyes, it would appear I'm moving backwards through time and that's a painful experience I can tell you because my eyes are already sore from all the staring at my crummy poems I've been doing.

And now to sew the parts of this apparently disjointed discourse together:

You see, I was talking about how bad my drawings have been at the beginning and now I've posted an example. Here we see me, inside a giant pickle, looking a lot like one of the creatures that stalk the sets of Dr Who, WHICH IS ABOUT TIME TRAVEL! And on that picture the woes of my failing health have been noted, and they're all reasons why my poetry apparently sucks.

So to conclude, I really need to stop wasting time writing pointless blogs and do some work. I'm glad we figured that out together, world! Until next time!

Sunday, 20 November 2011

The Enemy


Yes, I know it's only been three days since last I posted a lovely chunk of incoherent rambling, but I got all out of sync with my organisation last week and if I don't start obeying the timetable of my own creation, it will surely come to life and kill me. So for the sake of my mortal soul, just deal with it, okay? Anyway, I come bearing solid life advice; you would do well to heed it.

The other week, I wanted to brush my teeth before I went out, but also had to watch the end of an episode of Grey's Anatomy. I thought, what the hell, I'll just start brushing my teeth here in my room; the show will be finished before I am and I can hock my loogie in the sink.

I've always been the kinda gal who likes to wet my toothbrush both before AND after the application of the toothpaste, but that day I had to dry brush. And you know what? It didn't make a difference.

But I realised after a couple of days that it DOES make a difference. Do you know how many antelopes could bathe in those short bursts of water you use every time you wet your brush? Approximately 0.62. Do you know how many antelope die of not bathing each day? Approximately all of them.

So the next time you think about wetting your toothbrush before and after you apply the old fashioned paste we call 'tooth', think about this:

As you can see, this antelope is filthy and also dead. And you're to blame.


Thursday, 17 November 2011

The Forgotten Title

So, I didn't get chance to write a blog on Sunday during the 2 hours I had scheduled, because I was really busy helping orphans and organising my filopastryfax* - efficient AND delicient. If anyone wants to buy one from me, they're retailing at around seventy ones pound and ninety 6 pee. Christmas is a busy time though, so get in quick!

I don't really have an awful lot to say this week. I had a filling done in April and it cracked this week while I was snacking on a filopastryfax, so now I have to trail all the way home to have it replaced NOT free of charge probably, which is most indecent. Especially since I read an article about youth unemployment this morning and the figure is quite horrifying. My face looked something like this:


But then I realised two things:
1) By the time I finish this degree, I'll be 25 and no longer classed as "youth", which means I'll almost definitely get a job, because all grown ups have jobs like astronaut and minicab driver and prostitute. If not, I have the option of becoming an alcoholic. Since this torturous "illness" is a classed as a "disability", it means I can live off the state for the rest of my life, get money and healthcare for nothing and in turn bleed the country dry, furthering youth unemployment in this precious time of recession.
2) I recently invented the famed filopastryfax and if that doesn't make me a million within the next year, I've no idea what will!

Yeah, so when I said I didn't have an awful lot to say, for once I wasn't lying. Tune in next week for details of my border collieflower!


*Filopastryfax is a figment of my imagination. If you are interested in purchasing a filopastryfax, send me your monies and I will burrow into your mind to plant the figment tree there also. In 6-8 weeks the figment tree will have sprouted many wonderful imaginings and you will have access to your filopastryfax.

**I have never read "Rage Comics" or any of its affiliates.

Sunday, 6 November 2011

A Plane Flies Low

Now then, now then. << A little tribute to Jimmy Saville there, God rest his soul.

 My my, hasn't a lot happened since I last wrote a blog?! The answer is yes, a lot HAS happened since I last wrote a blog and I'm going to talk about a few of these things.

 1) I've been thinking a lot lately about the way some people say, "Can I have a tad bit more?" and how much this syntactic indiscretion really pisses me off. Why don't people understand that a "tad" and a "bit" are the same thing? SYNONYMS YOU ARSEHOLES!! You only need to use one!

 2) My nails are getting quite long, could really do with cutting them. Will probably do that once I've finished writing this.

 3) Kim Kardashian got divorced after just 72 days of wedded bliss. Oh, what's that? You DIDN'T need or want to know that?? Well me neither, so maybe news websites could stop reporting this horseshit and concentrate on people who exist for reasons beyond promiscuity and excruciatingly idiotic life choices.

 4) Gaddafi died. Did you know that? Oh but you MUST have seen the pictures since they were forced down our throats like caster oil. If you don't understand this similie allow me to elaborate: caster oil is disgusting and completely unnecessary and can often result in fecal incontinence when ingested. I was comparing it to the butchered images of a human, albeit an undeniably evil human, that were printed in the news as though they were real Kodak moments. What IS the world coming to? An end, that's my guess.

 5) Halloween happened. I believe this took place all across the country, with Hartford, Hereford and Hampshire all included in the festivities, which is nice since they so often miss out on the hurricanes. (Oooo, does anyone get this reference??)

 6) We got new neighbours. They are like small piles of dirt that have somehow managed to grow legs and arms, though their features and brains remain indefinable. They appear to have three settings: coitus, angry and fucking annoying. Often they combine all three, resulting in a fun-filled evening for yours truly, laid in bed, longing for death to steal his merciful cape across my weeping form.

 7) I was shortlisted for the Bridport Prize again. I should probably be more happy about this, but right now, everything is one big long bad mood. So screw you Carol-Ann Duffy for not letting me win. (NB, Carol-Ann, if you're reading this, the hatred all just for dramatic effect and I respect your (misguided) decision.)

 Yeah, so Best Beloved has been away for over 6 weeks and I've been utterly miserable. Thankfully he's back on Tuesday so I'll no doubt have something far more cheerful to say next week. Oh yes! I intend to start blogging every week now, you lucky, lucky readers! I've even written it into the colour-coded timetable I made to try and control my schedule, without which I'd probably just sit watching Grey's Anatomy all day, eating chocolate puddings and tuna straight out of the tin. Here is the aforementioned, non-prize-winning poem for you all to enjoy and not give any prizes to:

  Something Unseen

My grandfather’s head,
rouged and fuzzy as a peach,
over by the window
looking out.

My storyteller wrapped in old blankets;
a line of porridge hardening on his front.
His hands are cupped claws, holding something;
some secret of the dead.

A man of the old armoured sea,
how does he feel now
on ground unmoving?
Still he sways,

lapping an imaginary shore
where his wife is standing,
bent double in a cotton frock
reaching for something unseen.

Peace out, Napoleon x

Monday, 1 August 2011

The Methley Shallows

So, since Harry Potter fever has gripped the nation, nay, the world, I've found myself gripped by Harry Potter fever. And being of the generation who grew up at the same time as Harry, I was actually quite excited to see the last film. Oh, by the way, this is another film review. Good.
(NB, I did USED to be the same age as Harry Potter, but obviously in the parallel universe in which he lives, it is now 19 years in the future and Harry is in his 40s and sending the children he has with Ginny Weasley off to Hogwarts, which is safe once more since Harry killed Voldemort and restored goodness to the wizarding world. Btw, spoiler alert - I just told you then end of the film.)

Yeah, so several hundred years ago when I was a fresh-faced 11 year old I received a special piece of post. No, don't be silly, it wasn't a letter inviting me to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! Lololololol! However, it DID contain the first two books in the Harry Potter series. "What's this?" thought I, bewildered and strangely excited. Turns out a friend of my mum had a son who worked for Bloomsbury and thought I may like to read these new books because I was about the right age for them. PERSONALLY I feel it was Bloomsbury tipping their hats to me following the manuscript I sent them for my very first novel, entitled Slug Alley; a thrilling tale about the gang warfare that took place amongst two groups of weight-lifting, cigarette-smoking slugs who lived in Britain but spoke as though they had been born and raised in Brooklyn. I'll leave you guys to draw your own conclusion.

I was sucked right in like the impressionable child I was. I bought every book IN HARDBACK pretty much the day it came out. Be under no illusion however, I was just as delightfully cynical then as I am now...I did NOT dress up as a witch or draw a spiderweb on my face or queue up for hours on end to take part in any Harry Potter "fun" days that were going on in conjunction with the release. I simply bought the books, went home and spent the next few days after that barely eating or sleeping because I was too busy reading. Imagine my restrained excitement when I found out they were going to make films of the series! And imagine my utter disappointment when I realised that Daniel Radcliffe can't act and Hollywood had ruined all the best characters! Sigh.

So there's the background...I liked reading the Harry Potter series and I thought the films were shit. And now to my review of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt. 2, with some on-set photos I managed to get.

IT WAS AMAZING! I'd watched part 1 a couple of weeks before this one and it convinced me that I should give up my boycott of the Harry Potter cinema experience, because it would seem the producers had finally got it right. I'm guessing most people who have bothered to read this far have read the book or seen the film, so I'm not going to give a story break down, mostly because I prefer the way my own superior opinions look in type, so here they are:

1) I was very glad to see that they kept any Ginny Weasley scenes to a minimum and didn't really let her or Radderz speak all that much. They must have watched previous films and realised that these were the things that made them shit. Same goes for Fred and George Weasley. I don't think Warner Bros will ever be forgiven for their destruction of two of the best characters in the entire series.

2) I think it would have been a nice touch if the vampire-y type guy noshing down on the dead Ravenclaw, you know, the one Hermione blasts off as the three leads are heading to the boathouse to listen to Raif Fi-Enez killing Alan "My Voice Is Possibly The Most Sexually Alluring Sound Known To Man" Rickman? Yeah, that vampire-y guy...I think that part should have been played by R-Pattz...just to lighten the mood, you know? 'Cause it'd be all like, "Buuuh? Waaaaait a second! Cedric Diggory DIDN'T die?! He simply became a vampire and entered into a major movie franchise designed to encourage young girls that giving up their mortal soul to satisfy their overcharged adolescent urges is the only rational course of action?? OH! LOL!"
Yeah, I think that would have been a bit of fun, wouldn't it? Show Hazzer Potter that R-Pattz hasn't forgotten his grass roots since he got all UP in K-Stew's grill, right?
(NB, I'm not entirely sure that guy was meant to be a vampire...)

3) The guy they got to play Griphook was very good at doing ACTING. Very menacing. Nice to see a dwarf being used for something other than comedy effect.

4) The film made me cry. It's very rare I cry at the cinema (movies at home and episodes of Neighbours are a different story), so it must have been quite moving. I managed three highly dignified tears from my left eye, which rolled slowly and beautifully down my cheek.
Tear 1) The part where Lupin and Tonks lie side by side, dead, their hands barely touching.
Tear 2) Snape's memories. OH ALAN! If I'd been Lily Potter I totes would have gone for you! My favourite bit of the whole film was where Snape and Dumbledore are chewing the chat and Snape conjures his patronus and it's a doe, same as Lily's and Dumbledore says, "Lily?" and Snape replies, "Always." Whimper!
Tear 3) When Harry realises he's a whore, I mean horcrux, and heads for the forest but sees Ron and Hermione on the way and Hermione gives him a big crying cuddle and says she'll go with him. Waaaaah! Emma Watson did pretty well with that, imo.

I don't really have much more to say about it. If you're a fan, you SHOULD go and see it. If you're not, you should still go since the effects are pretty spectacular. I give it: 96g of Pick n Mix out of 100g of Pick n Mix.

Harry and his friends on set at the end when everything is happy again:

Tuesday, 19 July 2011

Happy Kimday

Today (what's left of it) is mah good friend Kim's birthday. You may know her father, Pennywise the clown from such films as "It" and "Pennywise Does Dallas".

Anyway, I usually make all my birthday cards, but this year I've been completely snowed under doing bugger all, so instead I'm posting this blog to honour the day. As a special treat, I spoke to some celebrities and asked them their thoughts on Kim.

Oprah Winfrey

Tinie Tempura

Daniel Radcliffe

When I asked Daniel to elaborate, he just said, "It makes my tongue all nippy."


Sunday, 26 June 2011

Spoiler Alert

I'm going to write a movie review today. Mostly because I don't have any really exciting news to share. Also because I really enjoyed watching I've Loved You So Long. So I'll be reviewing X-Men: First Class.

I'd been looking forward to this film for some time. If I hadn't given it away already, I'm a bit of a geekhole. I didn't read the comics though; I'm not that much of a loser. But it had what looked like an excellent cast and a good premise. So I paid my EIGHT POUNDS at the Odeon on Holloway Road - lucky it was two for one Wednesday or Best Beloved would have had to sell a kidney to get us in. I shan't rant about extortionate prices, however I am in the middle of compiling a witty, scathing letter to the Prime Minister questioning his pillaging ways; maybe I'll blog it one day. Anyway, in we went to the worst cinema ever and took our seats.

The film begins with two flash back scenes, one of which is pretty sad and harrowing, the other starring Beth Goddard as a young Charles Xavier's mother. Any of you that know me know that I hate Beth Goddard because she killed Polly a few weeks ago in Casualty. Thankfully it was just a baby mutant posing as her so we didn't have to put up with her for more than a minute. Here a friendship is forged betwixt Charles and Raven, who will OBVIOUSLY become Mystique. So too we see the evil Nazi, Kevin Bacons, torturing a young Erik Lensherr, forcing him to express the power he holds over metal. Those Nazis, eh? Seem to be at the root of all evil.

We then head forward a few years to the 1960s. Basically, the Russians are prepping for nuclear war against the Americans, so it's pretty lucky that a wily CIA agent discovers the existence of mutants and persuades Charles Xavier to help stop the madness, the MADNESS! Kevin Bacons is also back, being evil, encouraging the nuclear war with his merry troop of angry mutants.

By the end, Erik has exacted revenge and killed Mr Bacons and the goodies have diffused nuclear war. Yaaay! But WAIT! Now Erik has become a crazed killer, certain that humans are going to destroy the mutant race. He uses his powers to try and kill the wily CIA agent who reaches for her gun and shoots at him. No, you fool! He controls metal! Haven't you been watching the film?! Magneto deflects the bullets and one of them lodges itself in Charles' spin. Thus he can't walk and needs his iconic wheel chair.

There are some really excellent performances in this film...NOT even just saying that or anything. James McAvoy does a great job as Professor X, turning from smarmy Oxford don to the wise leader of his weirdo followers with very little effort. He is a good actor. Especially when compared with Daniel Radcliffe for example.

Then there's Nicholas Hoult, who seems to have gained control over his eyebrows and does a great American accent. It didn't sound fake AT ALL. Well done Nicholas Hoult; your character was my favourite because your power made you quite cute. In a teddy bear kind of way rather than a good looking way. Although I DO find you strangely attractive.

Jennifer did irritate me a bit, but you were still good. Your storyline was sad and I hated Charles for being mean to you. I could probably hang out with your, so long as you promise not to mutant up into Beth Goddard ever again.

Jumping on the bandwagon I'm pronouncing Michael Fassbender as the show steal; OBVIOUSLY. There's one scene between Charles and Erik that put a giant lump in my throat. They were very good at doing wet eyes together. And it was nice to see Magneto's softer, though more masculine side; Ian Mckellen camping it up, though charming, wasn't quite menacing enough. Oh just to mother this young Magneto; take up in my arms and stroke his much-stubbled face!

There was a great support cast also. Well, except Beth Goddard and also the girl who played Angel...there's a lesson for you young X-Men: Never trust a sexy dancer :/ Yes, X-Men: First Class, you receive my seal of approval, which is really all that counts, right?

Wednesday, 15 June 2011

Nubbin of Joy

Today, a self-portrait:

As you can see, I am dancing with a large YES. That's because there's a lot to be YES about this least in my small, strange segment of this planet we call "world".


Next: I have been shortlisted for a poetry prize. Yay-o-Rama or what?! So now all I have to do is murder the other eleven people vying for first place and I will be the winner! And also in jail, which really worked for Oscar Wilde, so maybe not such a bad thing? I'll keep you posted.

C: Some people (most people) probably don't know that I'm moving to Edinburger in September to do my masters in creative writing. Yes, I know, it seems as though I treat this quaint vernacular as a bit of a lark, but I do actually take it very seriously and want to be a proper writer with a little ink stain on my middle finger, so that when Professor Bhaer bowls me over in the streets of New York and takes me back to his room to dry out my soaked manuscript, he will instantly know that I am a writer and we'll fall magically in love!

...anyway...yesterday I got an email to say that the university wanted to give me a scholarship award - wholly unexpected! And you know, not to be big-headed, but they kind of indicated that it's because I have an amazing ass. Well there you go kids: work hard in school and you can have a perfect rear just like me! So *big* word up to William Sharp, my homeboy benefactor.

Hmm, now that I've shared all my good news, I feel like I've broken a year long tradition of moaning about pretty much everything...Oh, wait! I AM annoyed about something! I have an inexplicable bruise on my right knee.

Peace and love everybody, peace and love.

Thursday, 2 June 2011

How're you feelin'?


Just enough time to write a quick blog while my anti-death drugs kick in and I can eat lunch. Know what I'm having for lunch? A death baguette. That way I know the pills are working :) Here's a photograph of one of the anti-death pills:

As you can see, it's pretty fearsome, what with its sassy slogan and multifaceted means of attack.

Anyway, while it's working its magic, I thought I'd shared some of the things I hate with you. Here goes!

1) People who call sex "nooky"
2) People who spell the word "nooky" N U K I
3) The name Pareece
4) Being too hot
5) The way The Simpsons is all like, "Hey, Family Guy stole our idea and now do it one hunderd times better than we do, so instead of backing down we're going to make a load of risqué jokes about race and sexuality that really don't fit with our tired old characters just to try and keep up with the Griffinses."
6) Olives

And that's about it for today. Sorry there weren't more pictures. Oh wait, here's one:

It is a hole puncher. For documents.

Monday, 30 May 2011

Needles and Pins

DEN den DEN (dum d-d-DUM d-d-DUM d-d-DUM) Den den DEN den den DEN (dum d-d-DUM d-d-DUM d-d-DUM) DEN den DEN den! Yoo-hoo-hoooo. It's you and mee-heee-heee.

Name that tune.

And also, hear me when I say, "I know why the world is dying." I was laid in bed the other night and I figured it out. So the world, yeah? It's like a big machine, yeah? All working together and looking after itself, and we're humans, right? And apparently we're to blame for the world being in really bad shape, right? Like, there are terrible fires, and the ice caps are melting and the bees are dying and the coral is withering, never to revitalised? With me? Yeah? Yeah?
And you know how that's all connected, and scientists have been saying that the connection is the human effect on the world?

WELL! Like I said, laid in bed the other night, I realised what the problem is. It's not humanity at large; it's Neil Buchanan.

*pause for effect*

Think about it. How many other people do you know that use miles of beach land to create a "Big Art Attack"? Who else would make a "Big Art Attack" then leave all the hundreds of pounds worth of PE equipment and netting and rope on the beach to be washed away by the tide, out into the sea? They say sea levels are rising - that's because they're so full of "Big Art Attack" items! When I think of all the baby seahorses choking on indoor cricket balls made of flaky yellow foam...why, it turns my stomach. Galloping around with his giant paint brushes, knocking beehives down, spilling the bees, their honey to the ground; throwing a gigantic tarpaulin over them just so he can create a seaside scene in the park. Why not just leave the seaside where it IS, Neil Buchanan? Oh that's right, because YOU'VE ALREADY RUINED THE SEASIDE!

This man MUST be stopped! I recently saw an ad to say he was "back". I have reason to believe he's been "away" on an intergalactic journey, flying through space in his giant PVA pot spaceship, collecting resources from other planets to bring to earth for his "Big Art Attacks". These items are undoubtedly toxic and completely poisonous to humans. It is my belief that Neil Buchanan is on a mission for world domination and that we will all die if we don't stop him.

Please, I urge you to spread the word. This is serious. SAY NO TO BIG ART ATTACKS.

Artists Rendering of Neil "The Byooxchster" Buchanan:

Thursday, 24 March 2011

I Know You Got Soul

It's been a long time, I shunna left you
Without a dope beat to step to, step to, step to....

Allow me to bring you up to speed:

"We were surrounded on three sides by shattering gun fire. It seemed to me as though the cottage walls would soon come down around us, reduced to little less than a furious, infecting dust that would cloud our vision and make escape through the holler of the bullets nigh on impossible. I saw our only option in the west-facing window. If we were lucky, the fall wouldn't kill us, and we would land with most bones intact. I whispered to Maddox.

"'Maddy, there are two ways out of here. Either we leap from that window holding our genitalia, hoping for the best, or we wait for them to break down our meagre defences and we leave in the cold, suspended animation of death,' - imminent danger always made me feel far more luxuriously poetic than real life had ever afforded. 'Are you with me, my dear, dear friend?'

"Maddox took my cold hand in his smooth, elderly one. 'Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. If only you'd realised sooner.'

"Of course, Maddox wasn't talking about our escape route. His mission had always been to lead me here, to this cottage, to this siege, to this death. Maddox, that quiet, kind old boy, was a phony. A ruddy spy. What a fool I'd been.

"Well, what else could I do? Before he had chance to pull his pistol, I was gliding through the sweet French air, down, down toward the gravel below. I landed, though not awkwardly, in a plume of yellowish dust. I paused for a moment, ensuring I wasn't dead or scattered in bits, before scrambling to my feet at pace, making for the thick shadows of the surrounding orchard."

So that's why I haven't updated for a while, to those of you (one person) who complained about my lack of blog. I hope you're satisfied.

Moving on. I'm back up to full time hours at work now, much to the dismay of my ailing stomach, for which I still have no diagnosis. This does mean, however, that I've been catching pretty much my usual bus home every day and can therefore give you the latest update on the Mr Whitehairblackbeard story. Yay!

For the last three days, The Castrato has ridden my bus. He has now removed the moustache he was sporting whence last I gazed upon him, and now instead has a small purple bruise above his right eyebrow. The mark of a man holding an innocent man with contrasting beard and hair combo hostage? 'Tis so far the evidence would suggest, further strengthened by this days discovery...

The Castrato lives relatively close to me, in fact disembarking the bus just two stops before I do myself. My prolonged absence from work has left me greedy for clues in this ongoing case and today my hunger was partially satisfied. As The Castrato intoned his dulcet, "Thanks, mate" to the bus driver as he left the carriage, I happened to glance out of the window to my right. There, lying in the field where a gaggle of Shetland ponies usually take their fill, was...A BLACK SHOE.

Those of you who have followed my reports as the mystery has unfolded will know how significant this discovery is, especially the vicinity in which the sighting was made - just metres from The Castrato's layer. And this time I was able to photograph the shoe as evidence - see Photograph 1, below.

Photograph 1:

As you can see, it's a typical black shoe, appealing to all.

But here's the really exciting news(!): While I was rummaging through my camera I found a photograph I took of Mr Whitehairblackbeard! Please study it carefully. If you've seen him, you MUST contact me as soon as possible. I'm currently collating my data to take to the police. I think you probably understand how embarrassing for me it would be if I were to make allegations against The Castrato that were entirely unfounded. Please, any information could be invaluable.

Photograph 2:

Thank you for your time.

Monday, 21 February 2011

I am with you in Rockland

Oh, hello there debilitating mental and physical exhaustion, thought I'd lost you for a minute there! But it's okay, you're still here, ruining my life. *smile* What's that now? You'd like me to fall asleep in the bath and almost drown? Why, I don't mind if I do!

Welcome, welcome. Would you care for a hot beverage? I'll put a little milk on to boil while we get down to business.

Firstly, Jamie Oliver, if you're reading this, GET THE FUCK OFF MY TELEVISION. I'm sick of seeing you and your cringe-worthy idiosyncrasies.

My apologies for my absence of late. As you may have read in recent publications, I'm still ill, suffering with debilitating mental and physical exhaustion. It takes me a long time to organise my thoughts at the moment, so I've had some trouble coming up with a good topic for discussion. You know, something as stimulating and relevant as usual.

I'm currently very excited about the release of Howl, a biopic on the obscenity trial following the publication of Allen Ginsberg's EPIC poem, Howl. I was going to go into the intricacies of my love for both the poet and this poem, but every time I tried, I couldn't do it justice. I just suggest that you read it...and feel the immense power of the written word enveloping you, transporting you, changing you.

Goosebumps, folks, big juicy ones. Here's a photograph of Allen that I took this one time. I consider it my homage to a hero.

I'll be looking for someone to go to the film with; all applicants should send a ONE PAGE A4 letter detailing why they think they're suitable for the position as well as any relevant experience they may have. I don't want a formal letter, that just shows you can write formal letters. I want to read YOU.

Anyway, that's pretty much it. I have a whole list of things that I was going to write about, but it's just too...involving.

Here's a pseudo-poem I'm thinking about writing:

Your eyes are like windows into a little shop
that sells chocolates, the likes of which
have never been dreamt of;
where children stand gazing in -
the scene from a movie where the direction
reads, "Act hungry, like dogs";
where an elderly woman sits, darning furiously,
her fingertips hardened to the prick of the needle,
her face set and cast
in a deep orange light thrown out
by the small lanterns that surround her.

Ah, there's the milk. One cup or two?

Tuesday, 1 February 2011

This One Goes Out to the One I Killed

Yesterday on my way to work I was troubled by something. I wasn't quite sure what it was until I got into Leeds and found my legs carrying me towards the stationary obsessives' paradise, Paperchase. As a self-confessed stationary obsessive, I knew then what it was that had been troubling me.

Having visited Paperchase a few days prior to this troubled state, I remembered that I'd seen My-New-Favourite-Range. I have a My-New-Favourite-Range at Paperchase every few months and I have to own at least one item from My-New-Favourite-Range otherwise a baby elephant will die. And as we all know, for every baby elephant that dies, Satan earns £1 with which to do evil. In other words, it's very very necessary for me to buy new stationary very frequently.

I got myself a big, hardback jotter and a pen that can do SIX COLOURS. Yessssss. I'm going to use these items especially for my blog. I know, I know, these volumes I produce seem like the rambling thoughts of a deranged nine-year-old, but really, I take an awful lot of time to bring you these insights into my life. Plus it's always good to have a hard copy in case computers go AWOL and start eating our hands so we can no longer type and then we die out because we can't make omelettes any more and then an alien race comes to earth and kills the computers with special vaporising guns and the only evidence they have of what life was like for humans are the details as recorded in my big, hardback jotter filled with blog-drafts.

And so to my point: I spent yesterday at work trying my best not to think about My-New-Favourite-Range. All the way home on the bus I didn't even look at what I'd bought. Then it was time to get off.

For regular readers, you'll know that riding the bus is a very traumatic experience for me and that I'm quite specific about where I'm willing to sit. Because it's now winter, my preferences have changed since the last time I mentioned them, but that's another story. All you need to know is that I was sat upstairs. Oh, and because of my mystery illness, I'm extra clumsy at the moment.

So I pushed the bell and went down the stairs, naturally scared for my life. When I got to the bottom there was an elderly man stood there (in this case, elderly means late-60s). I insisted that he go before me, but then he insisted that I go before him. We back and forth insisted at one another seconds on end, until the bus had almost stopped, so I just went for it. As I hurried down the last two steps, my bag, containing my big, hardback jotter got caught. So I pulled. I pulled and the bus jerked to a stop because bus drivers don't understand the concept of "gentle braking". And yes! You guessed it! My bag swung round and hit the elderly man IN THE FUCKING FACE.

Mortified. I walked home feeling like a really terrible person. And managed to convince myself that I'd probably triggered a sequence of events that would lead to the man's death. I had inadvertently murdered an elderly gentleman.

But then I realised why this had happened. I OBVIOUSLY didn't buy enough items from My-New-Favourite-Range, which meant several baby elephants died and then Satan did some evil.

And so the moral of this aimless, fairly boring story: Satan is a shit, do not appease.

(NB: Yes I apologised to the man. And no, I don't think he's actually dead now.)

Wednesday, 26 January 2011

When the War Came


Looking through the blogs of others, I have noticed that it seems to be the "done" thing to tell you all about the things I ate for lunch.

Today I dined with a friend. I had an orange flavoured jelly and my friend had a small man in a ciabatta (see photograph below).

Both of these items were delicious. My friend turned to me at one point and said "This is DELICIOUS!" and I agreed.

After that we went to the haberdashery.

After that we went to a park where we thought we might see Rod Stewart, but we did not see Rod Stewart.

After that we talked about what we would do if we ever grew an very large marrow. I said I would enter it into a competition. My friend said they would probably go to a bus stop with it and hail a bus and get on the bus and ask for a ticket to ride and then while the bus driver was typing on a little machine they would throw the marrow right in his face and the marrow would explode because my friend would have stored it in a warm environment for a week before hand so it was a little bit rotten and then they would get off the bus and then they would run away.

After that we went home.

After that I had a bath.

After that I wrote this blog.

Thursday, 20 January 2011

The Product of My Day

Okay, so today I DO have an annoyingly pointless story about my life because I did something other than sit in the house all day feeling sorry for my poor sick tummy, but first I'm going to try to write a really long totally incoherent sentence using words of varying syllables like "kowtow" and "miscreant" just so I can say I've practised writing a little bit today, because isn't that what I'm supposed to be doing everyday, writing and practising long incoherent sentences to prove I won't kowtow to convention like most other waifs seem to do these days, sat there all the time dreaming of being the villain in a superhero movie; a masked miscreant set since childhood on world domination all because their fathers didn't ruffle their hair with a pan-sized palm or kiss their mothers with any sort of detailed passion, thus rendering said villain an emotionally twisted, money and power-obsessed wretch with a hairdo that reflects their inner turmoil? Well, isn't it?

Hmm. Well at least I entertain myself!

Moving on. Today I went out for a little walk. I went out for a little walk to try and build up some strength so I can be better prepared for my imminent return to work. So naturally I walked to the graveyard. It was all sunny and chilly and frosty and one of those really GOOD winter days that's really GOOD and wintery. I took my notebook with me in case any ghosts popped up to tell me their chilling tale. Anyway, I wandered around for a while looking at gravestones, which was actually extremely relaxing. So much so that, for a while, I died and was buried myself. I walked right down to the far end of the cemetery, the place that looked as though no one ever went down there since the paths were entirely covered in thick moss. There I discovered the grave of Alphons Van-Poucke and vowed to one day include him in a novel I'll write about a hapless Belgian spy with a stammer.

And then some bigger boys came with a dog that was black and so I went home.


Tuesday, 18 January 2011

Up There's A Heaven

So here I am, writing m'blog with m'hand, on m'graphics tab. Yeeeeeah, the novelty REALLY hasn't worn off yet! Yay for never getting tired of fleeting obsessions! Oooo oxymoron m'bitch up!

Okay so this is just a quick blog... I don't have any new, annoyingly pointless stories about my life right now. So instead I've got an extra-long, super duper poem to share with y'all!

I hope you like it - feedback from my virtually non-existent fanbase would be great since, you know, this is a tiny segment of my career we're talking about here. And not just that...I'm cutting up morsels of my heart and mind to share with you. The least you could do is buy me FLOWERS every once in a while after forty DAMN years of MARRIAGE and the three BEAUTIFUL children I raised while you were out gambling away their inheritance, KEVIN!

I'm sorry. Sometimes it gets to me... the pressure. It's a lot to bear.

Anyway! Step aboard 'cause here we go!


Sigh. That's it folks!

"Oh-ho. Let me come home. Home is wherever I'm with you."

Wednesday, 12 January 2011

Just an Excuse...

So guess who just got a new graphics tablet?! ...any number of random people throughout the world, probably. BUT YES THAT'S RIGHT IT WAS ME, I GOT ONE! I've wanted one for ages and now I'm off work for a little while and have mountains of spare cash just lying about the place since I don't leave the house to spend it, I thought I'd treat myself. I also bought Sims 3, Funny Girl and The English Patient by Michael Ondaaaaaatje. But they aren't really the focus of this blog, so don't focus on them. Let's just focus on my brand new graphics tablet and let's all be as excited as I am about it.

Needless to say I've wheeled out MS Paint and have been sat colouring in for a solid three and a half hours. My eyes feel a little bit like raisins, in a really good, but horrifically painful way. Anyway, I've been working on some advice that I will one day give my children...thought I'd share it with y'all first; I feel everyone can probably benefit.

Here we go:


Let's begin with a handstand. It's a simple childhood dream, the perfect handstand.
Hands evenly positioned, legs straight in the air, a sky scraper tottering in
the wind. A good way to enrich the brain with fresh blood to leave you ready to face the world, right?


Already this year, six people have died from handstands. The rush became an addiction. They couldn't stop. They refused to stop. "My life is nothing if I can't handstand!" They invaded playgrounds at night, practising against different walls, swooping down into the crab if they lost their balance so they wouldn't look foolish, silently cursing themselves for missing out on the thrill.

I don't want you to become number seven. I don't want you to die. So handstands are hereby banned.

Don't look people in the eye, it isn't refined.
Don't shake hands, they'll assume you're poor.
Only eat puff pastry canapés if they're offered. Avoid devilled eggs at all costs.
If you feel a draft at any point, head to the garden. Undress and redress quickly. It'll teach you the value of indoor pursuits.
Don't give your full name, just use your initial - sew it onto as many people as possible. Repetition is king nowadays.
You may tipple champagne but only take coffee as an enema; a pint should do it.
If anyone talks of marriage, make sure you are entirely vexed.

Catfish are usually John Travolta in disguise.
If they constantly let out whoops of glee, they're probably John Travolta.

That's all for now. I hope my wisdom has not fallen on deaf ears. Woe betide if it has...Woe betide. Betide. Betide.


Tuesday, 4 January 2011

I Used to be a Showgirl

Hey Asshole: Happy New Year.

I hope the festive season was a joyous one. I myself spent it wallowing in fine wines and opulence trying to drown my disillusionment in the sorrows of the poor. I feel I did quite well, for I am ready to face 2011 with renewed vigour! Hurrah!

But really, I am actually quite looking forward to this year, even though I'm entering it with a mystery illness and no actual plans made. My secret? Heroin. That's right, I'm drawing my inspiration from Sally Bowles, star of the musical hit Cabaret. Oh, heroine has an "E" on the end?? How misl'E'ading of me...guffaw.

Anyway, I have a little story to share, something I hope y'all can learn from. It's something that has bugged me for a while now. I'm not sure if it's a new trend that has recently emerged or if I've simply moved in better circles until now. (To my current circle: who am I trying to kid? I do not have a circle.)

So here we go:

I was watching the 100 Greatest Musicals countdown the other night; a repeat from a few years ago in which the "great" British public further cast themselves from my regard by voting GREASE as the number one musical of all time, putting The Sound of Music at number 2. Bullshit, you stupid twats. Anyway.

Tony Hadley came on to discuss one of the musicals. It could have been Les Mis, it could have been Cats, perhaps it was West Side Story, we'll never know. At least we'll never know until More4 run out of billing material again and they reshow it in a few months time. Anyway, whatever it was he was talking about must have been upsetting because he said, and I quote,

"...I was in absolute bits!"

I was nearly SICK.

Tony, if you're reading this, take note:

"absolute" = "complete"

"I was in complete bits."

It's a contradiction, Tony, a contradiction. One cannot be in "absolute bits" because that implies you are in whole bits. There's no such thing as a whole bit, at least not in the context you were using. I think what you meant to say was, "I was absolutely in bits", which would mean the musical was so moving you were metaphorically a broken wreck, perhaps like a smashed glass. (I went for a glass a) because the broken pieces of glass could look like large scattered tears and b) because it's quite sad to see a broken glass, especially if that glass was part of a set you got for your birthday and the shop you bought it from no longer stocks that range...but now we're moving slightly into the literal and I don't think that was what Tony Hadley had in mind.)

Don't worry, Tone, you aren't the only person to have done it. I've heard it several times this past year, you were just on the wrong compilation show at the wrong time. But I've opened the door to you; why not come on over to the real world where people aren't made of gold and many don't believe in the existence of the soul and sentences actually make SENSE. (NB, I do not include myself in my statement about the soul; I'm merely speaking as a representative of our maddeningly atheistic society.)

Come on guys, let's make 2011 our year for using language PROPERLY. YEAH!! *high five*

Ohhh I'm never going to get through to you; no one's even reading this! Damn you, Tony Hadley!!

Sigh. Here's a New Year poem:

Today I am a caper at a party,
tomorrow I shall be a germ,
the day after that, stomach acid,
and then? Perhaps rickets.
I tire of myself quickly, you see;
every day is like New Year, I'm always
reinventing. Sometimes I'll put on
a different hat every day for months on end,
each a little more wacky than the last.
People like that, they like it if you're wacky.
Wackiness gets you places:

Her new book has such a charming wackiness about it
I hardly put it down for three years!

Our next guest is anything but ordinary, currently touring the country with her outlandish stage show.

Okay, that one said outlandish,
but that basically means wacky, right?
I'm never quite sure what I mean,
but who is?
Yesterday I heard someone trying to explain
how a gate works:

No Susan, you just open it and walk through.

I see birds and reptiles everywhere.