One of the reasons I like the Guardian book review section at the weekend is the weekly peek into the private writing rooms of famous authors. Since I love to snoop around people's lives (lj / shopping baskets / commute reads / cd racks) and occassionally feel the need to quit every job I'm in and write the next great novel, these are right up my curtain-twitching street.
Despite the fact that many of them look like undergrad lecturer's offices, they still offer a sneaky look into rooms which would otherwise be off-limits to the likes of us incoherent masses. Here are a few of my favourites:
I just got involved in a bidding war on ebay, which has resulted in me paying over the odds for a second-hand book I could have bought new for the same price. Why? I guess the fact that someone else was willing to pay more for it made it worth more, in my stupid brain.
You are... 8% unique (blame, for example, your interest in rock n roll mythology) and 0% herdlike. When it comes to friends you are normal. In terms of the way you relate to people, you are keen to please. Your writing style (based on a recent public entry) is absurdly obscure.
Your overall weirdness is: 64
(The average level of weirdness is: 27. You are weirder than 95% of other LJers.)
I have a stinking cold. My head is full of mucus, my brains are leaking out of my nose. I can't go see Josh Pearson tonight. I wanna go home, have soup and watch come dine with me with Hank on my lap. COUGH.
Back from Holiday, was wonderful. Both relaxing and not relaxing-at-all, in the best possible ways. Following on from last year's "Summer Holiday Condensed Into Sufjan Song-Title" extravaganza, I have expanded this year's holiday exploits into an entire album. Possibly by Sufjan Stevens too, why not lets follow the pattern. This album is not available to buy.
The Storms Are On The Ocean / Galicia Silverstone 01. Less Brigitte Bardot at Cannes, More Dirty-Apronned Fish wives and the Catch of the Day (Today’s Menu)
02. For the Last Time; Yes I’ve eaten, No I’m not Cold (I Love You)
03. Doing The Mess-Around: Further Adventures of Crustins, Shelley Winters’s, Sandie Shaw’s and Other Rock-Pool Life.
04. Let’s Play "I Give You 3€, You Give Me Commemorative Fiesta Mug and Endless Beer Refills"
05. Turns Out Osmosis Jones is Better in Spanish, Who Knew?
06. A Perfect Concordance Between Reading Material and Location Makes For Hightened Literary Experience
07. “I Really Really Did” – On Seeing Four Shooting Stars in One Evening, Despite Boyfriends’ Cynical Misgivings
08. This Is Where I Grew Up, This Is Where I Buried My Knickers (Getting to Know Mama Cas)
09. Frightful Fiesta Bombas – A Small Child’s Guide to Using Grandma’s Hands as Shock Absorbers
10. Are You Feeling Better Yet? (Your Attitude Appals Me)
Also, a bit bummed at missing Connect Festival, but excited for Sonic Youth on Friday - anyone else going?
Gym intro. The shithouse with the giant shoulders and a head bigger than any head should ever be gave me a tour of the sweaty premises to the dulcet sounds of MTVBase or whatever the hell that RACKET was and tried to sweet-talk/pressure me into handing over some cash right there and then, thanks. Alarmingly, he looked like a blond Gerard Way, only built like a beefcake. I left feeling guilty, debit card untouched.
Rob brought this aberration home. We chillaxed last night and watched the first installment of the opus. I could praise it's kitsch credentials but that would be too easy. The look on the ice-cream guys face when he witnesses the carnage in the kitchen is a charm. I suggest you all watch it for yourselves. Go on, you deserve it.
Yesterday I went to pick up my sister's birthday present from the post office. I returned home with 14 books, 12 mini-muffins and no present.
The past few weeks in dazzling summary:
ATP !!! Intensly surreal experience of watching Low/Nick Cave/Cat Power in a giant tent with a Pizza Hut/Burger King background. Georgeous sunshine/afternoon on the beach/getting fucked up for breakfast and spending the morning at the funfair. Nothing can beat it for fun. That glorious ATP feeling. Warren Ellis/Josh T Pearson official new heroes. Hanging out on The Shire. Cat Power making hand hearts at me :)/Cat Power doing too many covers :( Finding a garbage pick-up-stick and using it to remove bottle of booze from people's back pockets whilst they watch Grinderman unawares - priceless. THE SHIP SONG / RED RIGHT HAND / THE MERCY SEAT Dirty Three on Sunday morning restoring my faith in everything.
Post-ATP: Keeping the Spirit Alive Temporary secondment to assorted places of wretchedness in Angel. Friday: bar fight/lock-in/nightbus horrors/Chilean stripper. Saturday: lunch with abuela and family. Respite/warm feeling in my belly. Sunday: West Hampstead drinks with Phil&Laura. Hillbilly Hop. Girl fight. Monday: Awesome music quiz at Mucky Pup. Saying hello to ATP people. Coming second! Mistaking Heart for Wilson Philips tyo my utter and total shame.
This weekend got merry at Ben Crouch's with Charles and the rest of the film-school babies. Sleepover with a Mighty Wind and Italian & fun with cleaning products. Eurovision party.
Brain is mush. Might watch Hobson's Choice in a minute. Et voila.
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Home alone. The children are busy being hip in Brick Lane. Me? I like sleeping. Braved the winds and the general public and bought the following for this evening: a large bottle of coke, mars bar, bottle of wine, sherry trifle and a chinese takeaway. I'm gonna get fat and scratch myself. Later I'll watch a stolen movie and masturbate to the Metallica Whiskey in the Jar video.
Last week was Bob’s birthday weekend. Wednesday we took ourselves for a fry-up brunch at the friendliest greasy spoon in Hammersmith, then went present shopping and ended up in a shit pub drinking free and alarmingly coloured cocktail pitchers. Later we went out with George for a meal at a cute little restaurant God-knows-where, which we had gotten too on a vomit-bus. He had a half a lobster and almost sent it back without cracking the pincers, which it turns out is where all the good juicy stuff is. Food philistines. Georgina burst into tears half way through the meal – tears are the sweetest sauce. I had an enormous slab of home-made tiramisu for dessert which was a bit amazing. Next day we had a steak dinner at the New Picadilly then I took him to the London aquarium. It was spectacular – sharks! Sharks in the metropolis! – but we were both a bit disappointed that there were no octupii/octopusses (?) Not even a little wee one. But we touched rays and it was awesome. Ate some more than went to Jess’ party, spent the entire night talking to a Brazilian couple who have promised to invite us to a Cachaça party.
the Spanish for octopus is pulpo, try and use it in a sentence today!
Next day packed up Hank and a change of clothes and trolled off to delicious Chatham. Not being able to help myself I let him out of his cage on the train, and he is such a good boy he settled down to sleep on my lap – occasionally getting up to sniff the window – and stayed there curled up until we got there. He attacked Molly the dog so we though it wise to avoid a clash so didn’t introduce him to Smokey – a super-grumpy cat who likes a scrap and is double the size of most small dogs. Lots of food/drink/presents later it’s Sunday and we’re on the train back home again. Time flies.
This weekend, we went out on Saturday to Afterskool with the children, plus Phil & Laura and a few others – even Jess turned up. We were all asked for ID at the door – since when?, I thought it was Afterskool policy to let kids in?!. After protesting that I was neither a)a driver or b)a student, the genius bouncer asked if I had a cash card, at least. I handed him my switch card, which he looked over – what in hell did he think he was looking for? Well apparently it constituted valid ID (bearing neither a photograph or d.o.b.) and so we were allowed in on the strength that we have a NAME and a heavily overdrawn bank account each. And then we were body searched. Super seriously, wtf? We all had a TIME – they played the beach boys and it was super awesome but then they played the cardigans and the sky caved in. I sorely regretted not having spent that six quid on Boots’ Party Feet but managed to get in a bit of dancing sans shoes before the dancefloor started to resemble a trench. Rob (superman) broke up a fight, the ladies’ over-heard chats were priceless as always AND I met an l-j buddy – hello Katie! Super awesome! Super cheap night out! Super bus ride home baby-sitting 3 baby ‘my father is a millionaire’ grimers who were so hardcore one even had a fake passport with him! Super blisters! Super hangover! Super way to spend hungover next day? Watching extended torture scenes on 24! Jack Bauer is pretty fucking super.
In between rediscovering the stink of Camden Lock on a Sunday and arguing with an assortment of retards at Angel Tube, I attended my very first celebrity gathering in the shape of the Kylie private view at the V&A. Having started the day in my tramp's cons and a primark top I was entirely pissed off when I found out I could go, but my boss let me of early to decorate myself.
Tonnes of press, schools of fashionable hangers-on, gallons of champagne and poncey cocktails with glitter and needlessly 'exotic' ingredients (when we all know a wee shot or two of jaeger would've done the trick) and male models tripping over themselves to refill your glass, madam. I spent most of the night rotating my head owl-like and on tippytoes, craning to catch the next famous. The best sights were Germaine Greer fannying around the bar, Julien Macdonald having to look UP to me and Grayson Perry's enormous bustle bumming me all the way through Kylie's speech. Gutted that I missed Dita! Already quite pissed went and had a butchers at the exhibition in question. Obv the best bits were the Neighbours dungarees, but y'know, it's free so I'd recommend it. Keep an eye open for the 'thoughts' notes at the exit - all grammatical errors corrected by the league of gentlemen. Bumped into Rosie again -!- and then helped myself to a very cute display cushion on my way out when I found out they'd stopped serving at 9.30! Walked down the pink-lit entrance stairs to bemused looks from the papparazzi and tourists who had gathered to catch a glimpse of La Minogue; parka on, two goody bags in one hand and a stolen cushion under my arm. Then I got home: the dream over, the carriage turned back into a pumpkin, and I vomitted up my living room wall.
Lok out for a great deal on a bottle of Kylie perfume will shortly be put on ebay.
George committed suicide. The nephew who found him had a heart attack shortly after finding him. I should phone the police, but I'm being a wuss. I have little / no energy for this thing at this juncture. The Proposition was GOOD, Art School Confidential was fucking terrible. Thinking about keeping a book list, I'm anal like the and have the memory of a 99p store sieve. I think I'll start now, despite this year's crop being 3/4's rubbish.
Me Talk Pretty One Day / David Sedaris Running With Scissors / Augusten Burroughs Shadow of the Wind / Carlos Ruis Zafon The Great Gatsby / F. Scott Fitzy
Actually considering paying money to join the gym at work. Which, in an awesome turn of events, would see me working out at the Natural History Museum. Getting worked up with the dino's.
the police haven't phoned yet joanna newsome made me weep went to house party watched american idol - omg - cat deeley's a lez made a snow sculpture shoes
On the night bus home on Saturday a woman was sexually assaulted. She was one of two female passengers sitting alone but behind the driver on the lower deck. This degenerate had earlier been sitting a way in front of us upstairs. The entire upper deck heard her screaming but we all assumed it was a domestic and did nothing. The guy calmly pulled the emergency door lever and walked off into the night, the driver having watched from his cabin due to 'insurance' reasons. We stayed with her until the police turned up an hour later. We lent her Ellis' phone and she phoned her boyfriend who called her an idiot and hurled abuse at her accusing her of lying. I've never seen someone look so frightened or upset. She kept saying "I didn't do anything". We have to go in to make statements later this week, there may be a line-up. I hope he gets everything he deserves. The whole experience left me on the verge of tears and physically sick. Why do people have to be such dicks to each other?
A little less "I hate you deeply", a little more "I'll give them/it a chance". Stop my brain getting between me and meeting new and interesting people. Make friends with my brain! Sing in front of an audience! Get naked in public! Stop comparing myself to only the top 1% of whatever group then feeling bad about the outcome. Learn that it is not a chore to keep in touch with people i actually LIKE.
Be creative! Be constructive! Be grateful!
But most of all I would like my brain to stop flitting between a state of blissful, wanton ignorance money-wise and heart-throbbing worry brought on by the realisation that I am poor. And then I read over a sentence like that and instantly feel ashamed and embarassed for worrying about the bank taking most of my wages in overdraft fees when clearly, in the great scheme of things, I'm doing good. I'm doing pretty fucking great actually.
So far this year I'm head over heels in love, I've listened to too many country records. I haven't argued once, with anyone. I've finished three novels, only one of which was any good.
George was found dead in his flat last week. On Monday I threw away a pile of crosswords I'd been saving on his desk for him.
Left-hook Vinny and the Kawasaki golfers Noel Edmunds helipad incident Got a cushy job tracking NATO satellites Reasonable rates to hire Chas n Dave Sam the tattooed thief - yeah, he just died in a house fire down the road Stealing sacristy wine The tale of the abandoned Norweigan Forest cat and the half-dozen foxes Gloria Hummingbird tourettes Fake Tiffany cracker treasures Finding out a family member died 3 days ago
Last week we had our Poker Evening. Despite the fact that only two of us could actually play, we had an awesome time. Gifts were exchanged, chest-loads of chocolate coins were swapped for chips AND we all got a bit wicked when the stars aligned and rat-faced scouserboy Ray lost the X-factor. I love my friends.
The last couple of weeks have been a blur of Christmas-induced shopping madness, frenzied list-making and general excitement. Rob and I watched Elf, again, in preparation. Honestly, we are truly excited. Both of us love Christmas, probably to the max. We've been literally counting down the days till Boxing Day when we get to meet up again and celebrate in our ownlittle flat, with our own little Christmas dinner. However, our spirits have been dampened in the last couple of days due to a certain tooth abcess that has reduced Rob to a whisky-guzzling child of pain. This morning he got himself some emergency dentist drugs so hopefully by the end of the evening he'll have found some sweet relief from the torment of toothache, and he won't look so much like a manga character with the mumps.
I've just got home, after a quick stop at foggy Chatham town. It's such a novelty to be in a house with more than 3 rooms, where the fridge is replenished daily and the heating is on 24-7. Although it also means that I have to put up my my mum's unfathomably bad taste in light entertainment. Right now she is MAKING me watch the Sctrictly Come Dancing final. Totally out of character, my mother just burst into Eleanor Rigby, choosing however to substitute the titular Beatles heroine with Angela Rippon. Mistakenly. Laughs. After I'd picked myself up and wiped the tears of joy from my face, I finished off the final chunk of my Panettone and contemplated another Holloway Christmas.
My my it's been a while. Y'know I had an A4 page of lj cribnotes I'd been noting down in anticipation of the day when I would actually sit my arse down and write my life before I forget it ever happened. But it's lost and I'm trying not to take it as a sign. Recently...
::Work has been pretty cool recently. A 5 a.m. start at Battersea in the freezing cold was mostly the best part. Then spent most of the day shoeless and on my knees rolling up giant canvases for the Ballets Russes exhibition. Saw Rosie from uni who used to intimidate me to the max because she was always more erudite and convincing than the lecturers - weird that we both work in the same place now. Later got up, dusted off my grubby knees, grabbed my shoes and bunked off to play in the Fashion rooms. A couple of days ago I met SIR Ian McKellan and he signed Rob's DVD inlay thus: "Greetings from Middle Earth". Rob was a bit impressed.
::Started my christmas-present buying in earnest about a month earlier than usual and apart from a fight in Borders, it was a completely uneventful process. Only got abuela and Rob's siblings to go. Yes, I rule. OH! and can I just mention the fact that Urban Outfitters are selling little packages of nothing - NOTHING: homogenous factory air - as the ultimate postmodern-bullshitty-I like Dolly Parton* but only in a knowingly ironic way-Nathan Barley present. Clearly embarassed by their own merchandise (they weren't even priced or tagged - for a moment I sighed in relief thinking that surely, surelythey must be free) I picked one up and asked a friendly fashion-cat how much it was. "Oh they're a fiver. I know (rolls eyes) Isn't it the funniest thing you've ever seen?!" No. It's pretty gross and excuse me, I'm going to vomit. Boiling with rage I turned around and saw a cute employee who was tiny with a nice tattoo who reminded me of Sharleen. I walked out of the shop having, I'm sure, already forgotten what I was angry about.
::Amanda went off to galavant around the world. Fuelled by emotion, red wine and overdone steak I broke into floods of tears saying goodbye to her at the station - all those years of older-sister nonchalance evaporated in an unspeakably uncool public display of affection. When they finally prized her out of my arms Rob wiped my mascara onto his collar and took me home to recuperate.
Culturally speaking, my MCR fangirl moment continues and grows in strength. If I was a teen again they'd be my Manics. I know Wembley is super-lame but I'll probs get Rob & I tickets to see them there since I've managed to miss the recent glut of shows in less redneck venues. Also playing is the new Joanna Newsome, Sopranos season 6 (Be strong, Chris. Carm? I do and always will, love you) and another awesome book that's made me laugh out loud on the commute to work, managing to mix philosophical meanderings with the Dixie Chicks, Saved by the Bell and Billy Joel: Sex, Drugs & Cocoa Puffs That guy rules.
Wow. Long and dull. Go me!
*Dolly Parton obviously rocks. Someone take me to Dollywood! </i>
_bandini
Rob brought this aberration home. We chillaxed last night and watched the first installment of the opus. I could praise it's kitsch credentials but that would be too easy. The look on the ice-cream guys face when he witnesses the carnage in the kitchen is a charm. I suggest you all watch it for yourselves. Go on, you deserve it.
