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 canap├ęs 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.