something from nothing

Perverts, A Gig, A Mermaid and An Adventure ::

Mon, 15 Jan 2007 20:50:20 GMT

Trina :: Gig-a-gig

...and so to relax i've just had a bath with the bathbomb that gore bought me for xmas {or was it my birthday? hmmm...}. For a moment i felt as though i were lying in a pond - a warm pond - with petals in yellow water all around me. For a moment i was a mermaid. A big fish in a small pond.

The pressure seems to be on lately to pull my finger out. My life seems to be deadline after deadline after deadline after deadline and i've been doing a lot of whinging and yawning and whinging as a result.

Today i stayed in the library until long after dark and everyone else had left. It was both eery and nice to be up there on my own. And when i left i felt satisfied that i had achieved something. Always good.

A few of us went to a music free jazz shindig put on by KneeKnees and Good Name For A Racehorse. I enjoyed it much more than i was expecting to. I wish i'd taken some photos, but i'm conscious of being the girl with the camera annoying everyone with flash photography. I also discovered that Becky cannot whisper. Her whispers are very quiet shouts. I had this suspicion after attempting to go to the cinema with her and Tris the other day to see The Perverts Guide To Cinema when her whispers turned the heads of the people on the front row.

The Perverts Guide To Cinema was really good. I'm not sure how much of it actually went in. And i'm not sure how much of that is because the content was a little mind-blowing in itself or because of Becky's constant poking and whispering.She has ants in her pants. Next time i'm going to bring tape and request that she sits on her hands.
So, in conclusion, i'd like to buy it on dvd and watch it in my own time and space. Preferably with the aid of the 'Stop', 'Rewind' and 'Play' buttons on my remote control...

Jeffers and i have both been suffering from the grey sky blues recently so we decided to go on an adventure yesterday to Cromford and a little bookshop/cafe there by the river that Tris recommended. After being stuck in traffic for an hour and getting lost, we finally reached the bookshop. Packed from bottom to top, in every nook and cranny, with books the shop smelt like the bookshops of days gone by; musty. And right at the very top of the shop hid a little organic cafe with green walls and tasty scones. We went for a walk along the canal and then sat in a snug corner, drank tea and ate apple crumble. This is what Jefferys are good for.

The Daily Mail is not ALL wrong :: Help! Help! I'm being repressed!

Mon, 18 Dec 2006 13:09:44 GMT

Is it wrong that i can no longer read or watch the news without it turning into some bizarre chris morris-esque hilarity in my head? It probably is, yes, you're right.

I have taken to reading The Daily Mail online {along with all the other news, comical, and comical news sites that i read daily} because i find it's the most hilarious way to start the morning.

Today, i was warned by Melanie Philips, in her catchy article 'FORGET THE KILLERS' RIGHTS!', that England is descending into Sean Of The Dead-esque chaos with cannibals like 'Cannibal Peter Bryan' being 'allowed sufficient freedom by doctors' to roam the streets, salivating, murdering people and 'eating their body parts'. And yet, oddly, all of this is going on right under our noses, just without us noticing. Apparently, only Melanie is privy to all this and therefore it is her God given duty to bring this to our attention. As she says, Cannibal Peter Bryan is no lone ranger, 'There have been scores of other cases'. And why can we not see the horrid, horrid truth? Well, because we, unlike Melanie, are part of a 'culture which has lost its own collective mind'. Melanie therefore, we can assume, inhabits some sort of Daily Mail hinterland. Thank the heavens for Melanie. Let's just hope she's not eaten before The Truth has been brought to the people of Britain. You know, those without mental health issues, if you can find them...

Though, as i commented on James's blog earlier today:

You know, the Daily Mail's not all wrong, not all:

On Diana: 'By 1997, she was about as fashionable as shoulder pads, leg warmers and Bananarama.'

We can only dream of becoming so culturally valuable. And then we too may be the subject of a daily mail column. We can but dream...

The Guardian, in contrast :: [with INTERACTIVE SOUNDS]

Mon, 18 Dec 2006 13:09:13 GMT

And now,
The Guardian, in contrast, have begun a poll asking 'Can You Resist This Face?'. He was named one of the top 100 environmentalists...Ever. Really? There are a hundred of them? Perhaps they are so adept at The Art Of Camoflage that the average human cannot perceive them, although one can perceive a slight twitching if one looks close enough.

Super-Speedy Update :: Blink and You'll Miss Me

Sat, 16 Dec 2006 12:02:45 GMT

On The Day Of My Birthday i died. Really. Of a stomach ulcer {or something}. I had hideously painful stomach cramps which meant that i couldn't walk. I watched around ten Woody Allen flicks {that i've already seen god-knows-how-many-times before} in succession to take my mind off the pain. I have since been quoting said Woody Allen flicks constantly. I am the font of Woody witticisms. I like to think that this is endearing and entertaining, but it's probably just bloody annoying. I went to the doctors and she gave me some magic pills - one to make me taller, one to make me smaller, and one to make the hideous pain go away. I found that rocking also helps.

However, now i have risen from the ashes, a pheonix from the flames, if you will. That would be me. *Polishes nails on lapel*.

My stomach ulcer did mean that i had to ask for my first extension at uni'. I've finally had to admit defeat. I am not super-human, it would appear. Sure, i've been told this before, but evidence would always suggest the opposite. Dang. Up...Up...And....Bah.

Also, last night was our {Tris, Becky, Trina, Clare, Jeffers and Sarah} impromptu christmas drinks {at the Malt Cross} and meal {at Squeek}. I enjoyed it, though i think the all-veggie menu came as a bit of a shock to some people who expected at least a mouse or two on the menu {i know, i know, there's only so many times i can make that joke...}. I had my first mulled wine of the festive season and my first crackers. Hurrah. Possibly the crappest crackers ever. And not in an amusingly crap way. Who the hell wants a shoe-horn? I ask you...

In other news ::

I was woken up last night to the sound of chewing. Now, i often wake up to odd sounds. These are, more often than not, imagined. Last night, however, they were certainly not imagined. I found that the xmas cards {containing chocolate} that i had left on my bedroom floor in a state of orderly, orderly, orderly...chaos, had teeth marks down the side of them. Obviously, my first assumption was that Jeffers had snuck {snook? sneaked? snooked? snucked?} in during the night in a state of peckishness. But no. I had to admit that we have mice everywere now. An INFESTATION. Nobody panic. NO ONE PANIC.

So, to begin with, we're trying a benevolant means of action. Jeffers has purchased some sound-emitting plug things {eh?} from ebay which supposedly {harmlessly} pierce their tiny little rodent eardrums and send them scurrying away in {harmless} agony. Right. When this fails {which, no doubt, it will, and after i have a nest of bloody mice under my bed} i will be trying the old shotgun method. And then maybe mice traps. Or, possibly, the Old-Lady-Who-Swallowed-The-Fly Method {I don't know why she swallowed the fly, perhaps she'll die} whereby we'll introduce larger and larger animals into our home and let them fight it out between themselves. Survival of the fittest, my dear.

Update ::

I heard a blood-curdling, disturbingly girlish, scream come from the kitchen. I rushed, as fast as my legs could carry me, to find Jeffers standing on a table with his tights falling around his ankles, holding a broom and shouting 'Thoooomassss!'. Yes, he had discovered a mouse attempting to nest in one of our cupboards. After being chased around the room for a bit by both Jeffers and i, armed with brutal kitchen implements and evil sneers, the mouse eventually hid in our washing machine. In. Our. Washing. Machine. Stupid mouse. I tried to break him with a Full Metal Jacket-esque dialogue, but no such luck. If a stranger were to enter our kitchen now, he/she would surely think that we were preparing for a nuclear attack. Our kitchen is full of tins, tins and more tins. And what food isn't in tins is now in tupperware - lovely, lovely, mouse-proof tupperware. I still can't work out how the cunning little bastards are managing to get into these cupboards - magic mice? Tricksy little buggers. It's a sad, sad day when you realise you're being out-thunk by a rodent.

Operation Desert Santa ::

Sat, 16 Dec 2006 12:02:14 GMT

Christmas Brought To Iraq By Force

....

"There has been sporadic house-to-house fighting during our door-to-door caroling, but that's to be expected in a Christmas season of this magnitude."

It would appear that carol singing has not gone down terribly well this year. That is, if we take this and Jeffers's experience as representative of The World's view of caroling {which is not altogether unreasonable, of course}. Jeffers and his band of art student carol singers did, afterall, cause death-by-caroling the other evening. They attempted to sing 'Let is Snow' to some ailing pensioners to be told "Shhhhh, there's someone dying in here". {The question on everyone's lips being whether he was dying before they arrived or because they'd arrived}. Perhaps this was part of their evil scheme - a festive cull to finish the year off nicely.

Tue, 12 Dec 2006 19:10:22 GMT

And then there's the me that doesn't really think and that sits in The Box and fills her time with The-Smaller-Things-In-Life {no, not Danny DeVito} and is content with that for a while. But then gets bored. I am amiable, i get along with everyone.

Purge.

And then there's the me that thinks and the me that people would describe as 'intelligent' and having a 'slightly surreal' sense of humour. This is the me that i mostly think that i am. At heart. Whatever that means. This is the me that writes, but then never shows anyone the writing. The stand-up performer who never gains the confidence or motivation to stand up. This is the me that grows to hate the majority of people.

And then there's the fact that i don't even realise that i'm slipping between the two. But, after a while of feeling bored, i notice that i've become that first person. And i'm surrounded by people who like me, i waste a lot of time drinking tea and talking about nothing in particular. And as this me i am non-threatening. But, if i were watching me, i would dislike her.

The Orange Tree ::

Tue, 12 Dec 2006 19:00:35 GMT

I realised today that i've gradually become bored.

Every now and then i feel the urge to purge myself of everything .. everything? .. and to start again. And then i'll gradually become bored again. And thus the cycle continues. Perhaps this is what my life will be?

There's really no excuse. There are many more interesting things i could be doing, but i have The Guilt. I would like to be reading more of the stuff i want to be reading .. more Coupland, Mann, Easton-Ellis, Kundera, Marquez .. the stuff that i really like reading. [Note to self: dig these out for Paul]. But instead i feel i should be reading course books and dissertation stuff. Choosing to do a dissertation on something that only vaguely interests me was meant to be my road to success.

Today for the first time in ages i had a seminar that i actually enjoyed and that actually made me think. This made me think too much. It made me realise how long it's been since i was mentally stimulated. There is a lot to say for being in a state of mental numbness, sure. It's just that i'm a little sick of being in that state right now.

I seem to go from moments of panic .. like James's sudden moment of panic which came with his realisation that he is going to die {though not soon, as he also believes} and was accompanied by the outburst 'I'M GETTING OLD', which was so wildly emphatic .. verging on insane .. that it caused me to splutter and Paul's eyes to widen, startled - [This was a huge digression, so i'll start again:] I seem to go from moments of panic to moments of numbness. Basically, this is another way of reiterating what i said in my first paragraph. Basically, this whole waffle reiterates the point i'm trying to make.

I'm stuck in a cycle. And this in itself is boring. Like this post, right?

In fact, i thought so much sat in The Orange Tree that i gave myself a stomach ulcer. Or, atleast, my stomach started to cramp and i had to leave. Perhaps James is right and that he is My Death {scythe and all} and that my time is nigh. But then, everyone knows that James is always wrong.

This Year :: Nostalgia :: An Overview

Mon, 11 Dec 2006 19:36:17 GMT

Neep Shed and Bothy ::

I went back home to Leamington with Beki and met up with my ol' salty seadog friends from The Spa in Toyk for wine and stupidity.

Beki and i went to the peace festival with Jane. We ate tasty tasty nachos, were gesticulated at by tasty tasty boys, we bought beautiful clothes and listened to ok music.

Rowsee made many trips to see me in Nottingham. Much drunkenness and chinese-eating ensued.

There was Godiva Festival where i introduced Beki to Coventry, The Boys, The Godiva Festival, The Best Cider Coventry Has To Offer and Jamie {and they hooked up. Bless. But we've all heard enough about that by now. They're loved up, yada yada yoda. it's revolting, really. Don't encourage them.}

I went to visit Jane in York. This was fun. But then there was the bit where i made a drunken tit out of myself. Not so fun. I became The Doctor for an evening in Jane's beautiful hat.

There was also The Byron Festival which Beki, Gore and i went to. This involved those two dressing up in Victorian get-ups, wandering round his old house, picnicing in his garden {the the rain} and tipsily watching a dramatisation about his life by two old guys {one of whom sounded like Shaggy from Scooby Doo}. This is when Gore and i hooked up and the rest, as they say, is history.

Holly and i had many a good brew&brownie.

Sarah, Natty, Holly, Mark and i went to a pool party. Sarah met Crazy George.

Beki, Jamie, Ash' and i went camping in Derbyshire. This involved: beer, packet rice, {very long} walks, midway ales, Ash' getting stung on his eyelid in the middle of the night/early morning, and card games in the local pub. "Cheat!"

I spent an impromptu Easter with my parents, my sister and my {evil} grandparents in Leamington because i was hit by a lonely impulse that drove me back home. It was surprisingly tolerable.

Rox', Dave, James and i went to see David Lodge speak. We went for a drink afterwards and James turned into Fagin.

I went to see Douglas Coupland and Will Self do book readings at Broadway.

Jeffers, Jen, Toshi and i went kite-flying in the sunshine. Jeffers forced Jen to run backwards into a cowpat. He claimed this was unintentional, but really we know it was part of his masterplan.

I worked at Escape! Community Art in Action again helping kids to make fantastic artwork. I commuted from Nottingham every other day. A deep hated for Birmingham New Street station grew in my heart. And there it lay, until one day...

Jeffers and Rebi did The Custard Factory exhibit. Jane and i trekked all the way to Birmingham to see it. All. The. Way. We met up with Jeffers's family from far and wide, Jack, Ali, Abi and Molly. We schmoooooozed.

We all went for a meal at Squeak for Gore's birthday. We were disappointed at the lack of mice on the menu.

Gore and i went to Paris and argued. Lots. And split up. And got back together. Visiting The Eiffle Tower was surreal.

I drank many a good cocktail with Sarah.

Sarah and i went to see Muse. It was amazing. We both fell in love with Matthew. Sarah was high on painkillers from her operation a couple of days before. We discovered that when a doctor tells you not to drink alcohol whilst pain killers are pumping through one's system it's for a damn good reason. Sweat. Tipsyness. Singing/Shouting/Wailing. Jumping.

Nat, Sarah, Beki, and i looked good on the dancefloor. Often Jane and Rowsee came up to dance too and also looked good on the dancefloor. Yes sir, we can boogie.

Jeffers and i went up to Aberdeenshire and took part in an exhibit. I met Libby, Dave and Iona. We celebrated National Speak Like A Pirate Day. Arrrrrr. Jeffers and i camped in their garden beneath the orchard and next to the ducks.

When we got home Jeffers and i sampled Aberdeenshire whisky.

Jen, Jeff and i went for 2-4-1 pizzas in Stratford. Jeffers tried to convince Jen and i that he was 'Like a Ninja'! He's yet to live this down.

Jen, Jeffers, Robin, Ron and i went for many a nice meal in the countryside.

Beki, Natty and i went to see Regina Spektor at The Rescue Rooms. I fell in love.

I went over to Derbyshire with a picnic for Beki on her birthday. We drank pink champaigne out of blue plastic cups.

Jeffers and i enrolled in a film course at Broadway. It was crap.

Crofty and i went cable-car-ing in Matlock. I got scared and had vertigo. We also went down t'mine. I got scared and claustrophobic.

Gore and i split up.

Jeffers, Gore, Sarah, Jamie, Beki and i went to a fireworks display for Bonfire night. Sarah and i bought flashing swords and fairy wands and danced to Heart.fm completely sober. We ate tasty shepherds pie and crumble - here's one i made earlier. They all lived to tell the tale.

Owen and Margaret came to visit us and took us out for an amazing meal.

Katy and Tez arranged the Mundane exhibit. Jen, Jeffers and i went to the opening. Super-fun. I waffled to second-year-rep.

Katie, Tez, Jeffers and i made the most of the Mundane space and made our own mini cinema in the basement. We watched the Daniel Johnston documentary and drank cheap wine.

I became T-Total again.

Jeffers and i went kite-flying in Derbyshire in the cold.

I began collaborating with Robin on a jewellery project. We have yet to sell any.

Crofty and i went to Lincoln and visited the castle {good} and the cathedral {not so good}. On the way home i nearly died of a stomach bug.

I went to visit Rowsee in The Pool. We discovered The Egg, met a poet lacking talent who wrote us a poem, went for many a brew and constructed the best christmas calender...ever.

Trina, Tris, Becky, Heather and Clare became my new tea-drinking companions. I began to spend much too long in the cafe at uni'.

Jeffers and i made gingerbread men for xmas.

The Book of Daniel and Douglas Coupland ::

Sun, 10 Dec 2006 17:04:13 GMT

Today i was homeless. Jeffers turfed me out around midday so that he could pull off his Cassanova routine on an unsuspecting female. Needless to say, i've just found out that it didn't work, that he had little-to-no success if success is measured by the amount of nookie one achieves.

So today i spent my day sat in Lee Rosy's reading Douglas Coupland's Hey Nostradamus, one of the few Coupland novels i've not read and have wanted to for a while. So, i spent around four hours in Lee Rosy's nicely insulated from reality and buzzing with caffeine. After the third cup in a row, caffeine makes my neck floppy and my head swims. It's not totally unpleasant.

Coupland describes 'artistic people' {though i'm not sure i would ever describe myself as such} as going through life 'with all of its sensations tickling their craniums like a peacock feather'. Well, i woke up this morning with a creative itch and, sat here in this cafe - exiled, homeless - i know exactly what he means; it's just that unbearable. I read wishing that i could write or create something that i'm pleased with so i can scratch that itch, or kill the peacock.

I am amused by cafe etiquette. I am amused by being refferred to as 'lady'. Me? Lady?

I'm sat in the cafe watching people come and go: dripping, with umbrellas, without umbrellas. I watch and realise that most people come in wanting the same thing: most people are looking for The Cheers Experience, full of The-Usuals, and the Everyone-Knows-Your-Name treatment. And i watch as, with each entrace, the guy serving the brews tries to fulfil this wish, tries to oblige in an attempt to embrace the Customer-Is-Always-Right philosophy. Rather, the customer is always deluded - is that what i'm saying? I look down into my brew and acknowledge how pretty depressing that is.

I conceal the possessions i consider worthy {purse. ipod. phone.} beneath the book i'm reading and deem them protected while i go to the toilet. I realise: yup, i'm definitely deluded.

I wait for a bus in the bus shelter in The Square. A man wearing a tweed jacket and smoking a pipe reminds me that it's Christmas. So, apparently, Christmas for me is the smell of stale tobacco as it is knocked out on an old man's shoe. I have no idea why this reminds me of Christmas. I can't trace tobacco-smoking in any of my Christmas memories. The only time anyone smoked tobacco around me when i was growing up was at the biscuits-and-cheese-and-port stage of dinner parties when father had army buddies or masonic friends round.

I look over at the goverment building at the center of the square as it is illuminated by dancing xmas lights, and over at the decorated crane which towered behind it, and acknowledged the surreality of it all. Nottingham looked as though it had been Baz Luhrmann-ed. It reminded me of the death scene in Romeo and Juliet.

My head still felt fuzzy from reading all afternoon and the music coming from my ipod further insulated, removed, distanced me from The Real World. When i got on the bus, the windows were steamed up and i appreciated that life is much nicer in soft focus. I listened to The Book of Daniel and thought that, if my life were a flick, i would like these guys to be playing in the background at some point.

Listening to :: 'Alice's Last Song' The Book of Daniel
Reading :: 'Hey Nostradamus' Douglas Coupland

WARNING: Reading this blog will ruin Xmas surprises

Sat, 09 Dec 2006 23:44:36 GMT

Messy messy productivity ::

Jeffers and i have had a very productive day. After a trip to hobbycraft and a brisk shop for ingredients at the deli, we began making our xmas gingerbread men. Neither Jeffers nor i really like getting our hands dirty. We battled it out and Jeffers got the short straw of having to stick his hands in the gingerbread dough goo. He was not best pleased. I, on the other hand, got stuck into the hard task of sifting and, er, made a bit of a mess...

The Gingerbread Hall of Fame

The Cyclops
The Reservoir Dogs {didn't get a good enough photo of these, damnit}
The Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles {Heroes in a half shell - Turtle Power!}
The Astronaut {for Jeffers's sister who's training to become an Astro Physicist}
The Dead One
The Pirate
The Three Blind Mice
The Ghost
Batman and Robin. {As you can see, Batman is so Robin's bitch. These were possibly the most painful of the lot to make. Well, that is to say that it was painful for me as i had to tolerate Jeffers running around the kitchen singing 'ner ner ner ni ner ner ner ni ner ner ner ni ner ner ner ner BATMAN!' for around half an hour during and after their completion.}
The Naked One {Oh My!}
The Savage...No, wait. Jeffers assures me that this is Frankenstein and not a racist stereotype.
The Vampire
And lots of mini mini mini gingerbread men.

All coming to a Xmas tree near you...

Unproductivity ::

Thu, 30 Nov 2006 16:30:38 GMT

Unproductivity ::

Today was not the most productive of days, i must admit. I did photocopy five books worth of essays {which may be slightly illegal under copyright law} and i did go and speak to David Squirrel about my dissertation argument. However, Squirrel hadn't marked my Argument and proceeded to flick through it in front of me {though he did nod and 'mmm' encouragingly, so there's a plus} and admitted that he didn't actually have a clue as to how he should mark them. As usual, he was no help whatsoever with my dissertation and, instead, devoted an hour towards trying to persuade me to do an M.A. at Trent. That's all well and good, Squirrel, but what about my dissertation and please give me an extension.

But i then spent three hours talking to Trina and Heather in the cafe. La la laaa....

To Do ::

:: Write 3000 words of my dissertation for Friday

:: Rainbows tonight {and plan Rainbow meeting for next week}

:: Go for mulled wine and minced spies with Beki and plan our Xmas buffet.

:: Read Sherlock Holmes

:: Go to The Pool for the weekend to see Rowsee {woop!}.

:: Decide on an essay question for North American Fiction.

:: Decide on an essay question for Queering The Modern.

:: Make xmas cards.

:: Find mini magnets and begin making Jeffers's game.

:: Write our pirate story and make copies.

Firewater, the evil of ::

Wed, 29 Nov 2006 14:23:19 GMT

Last night was another striking example of why a heather should not be a-drinkin' the firewater. I think that i need these evenings to try me, or, rather, to point out how absolutely catastrophic it is when i drink. Every now and again i think that i must be able to drink-a the firewater, and that those past times where i did something hideously embarrassing and overly emotional must have just been fluke incidents - just lots of fluke incidents with one thing in common. Why oh why do i do it, eh? Alcohol is evil. I don't like-a the alcohol. I think possibly i inherited my alcohol intolerance from my mother. My mother only has to sniff alcohol and she starts swinging round lampposts. Unfortunately, it's slightly less comical and slightly less musical when i drink. No such hilarity.

This morning, i have been mostly cringing and watching property programmes with Jeffers. I woke up at 8am this morning with every intention of going to my lecture. I even had a shower. But it wasn't long before it became apparent that i was still drunk and that my head was imploding - such a beautiful medley of nausea, dizziness and severe head-pain.

Never. Again.

I'm such a fool. Sob.

The Day Rebi Changed My Life ::

Sun, 26 Nov 2006 21:06:15 GMT

Custard Creams! ::

I slept for around eleven hours last night and felt better for it when i woke up {at 11am} this morning. I think part of my illness, sickness, poorliness, was exhaustion. I felt revitalised this morning and had a peppermint tea to seal the deal. This itself was a great achievement because i hate hate hate the smell of peppermint tea. I swear that 95% of the time Jeffers drinks it because he's a filthy rogue and trying to wind me up {and normally succeeds}.

In fact, i felt so much better that i went on A Mission To Rescue Rebi And Jeffers From The Cold. Single-handedly. Oh yes. There's no limit to my Palin-esque survival adventures. I donned my lovely-warm-bargain-3squid jumper and ventured across Nottingham with a fan heater and our backgammon board. For some reason, and that reason i cannot fathom, people are not flocking to Mundane in their hundreds. They are not, contrary to logic, having to beat people away with sticks. Rather, they are sitting and reading magazines all day in the cold. Indeed, by the time i'd got there, they were so cold that their arses had frozen to their chairs and they had lost the will to communicate with oneanother. Psssssch.

After freezing ourselves to death and staring at white walls for far too long, Jeffers and i went for a brew at Lee Rosy's and began writing down some ideas for our pirate story {which will be available by xmas and heading to a letterbox near you!} whilst eating Jamaican chocolate cheesecake and drinking tea. Trust me, Trust. Me., it's going to be bloody amazing.

Rebi's Profound Comments Of The Day
{or How Rebi changed our lives}

1.

[Stage Directions: Rebi thinks for a while, as though she is hatching a cunning plan, and interjects the conversation Jeffers and Tez are having about how to solve their lack-of-invigilators problem to say:]

"If i eat today, I won't eat out all next week".

[Unfortunately, i don't think it was the answer Jeffers and Tez had been searching for.]

[Stage Directions: Rebi looks thoughtfully at a potato crisp...]

"Crisps. Crisps must be really bad things to eat."

[...And eats a crisp]

[Harking: Michael Palin on bbc radio2]

To those of you who have not yet been {to} MUNDANE ::

Sun, 26 Nov 2006 21:05:30 GMT

To the folk who are local and who haven't been to see Mundane, you're all bastards and sort it the hell out.

There is no excuse. It's beautiful really. There are giant custard creams and everything. What more could a gal/guy want, eh? EH? I ask you...

Although, WARNING! Mundane is bad for your health. "Watch where you're going, young man"

Santa #2

Wed, 08 Nov 2006 12:48:21 GMT

Is it wrong that stationary - notebooks especially - makes me salivate like Pavlov's dogs?

Look at [this] and tell me you don't feel the same. Tell me you don't feel that 'ooooh'-factor. Tell me. TELL ME.

And [these]. Feelin' the squirrel love, baby.

And so on. And so forth ::

Wed, 08 Nov 2006 11:56:21 GMT

craving blue, craving green, craving out there::

Right now i'm going through one of those moods where the gap between what-and-where-i-would-like-to-be and where-i-am seems perty damn huge and there's a big heffin' dissertation in the middle of it. But then again, this is all good and all mighty convenient because it also means that there's a big heffin' gap between me having to be brave on the rocks* and having to step out into the Big Wide World alone. And it's going to be a pretty big step, although a pretty big step of my own design so i only have myself to blame. Scary scary stuff. Sometimes i worry that i'm not strong enough. That i'm always writing to-do lists that i never complete, that i'm always making wishes that never come true, that i'm always ridiculously optimistic and pushing myself. Push push push. Push. Push. And so on. And so forth. But then i think 'mmmm, exotic places' and 'mmmm, exotic folk' and 'mmm, something new'. It's just that right now i would like to be charity shop shopping more. And i would like to be walking in the Lakes more {or at least the Peaks}. And i would like to be reading the books i want to be reading more. And i would like to be going back up to Scotland to spend time with nice creative people and do nice creative things. I would like more green and more time to enjoy being in the green, rather than grey and time inside with hot water bottles tapping away on here. A typewriter at least, please?

Listening to :: Ani Difranco

[*ref. Sabrina Ward Harrison. Love love love.]

Good Thing :: The Story of Firewater

Mon, 09 Oct 2006 22:48:44 GMT

Finest Bowmore ::

We are supping 12year old Bowmore Whiskey which Jeffers bought when we were up in Scotland while he sits on my bed telling me about the fire-water making process. Terribly civilised, thank you very much.

Colour : Warm amber
Nose : Lemon, Pears and Honey
Palate : Peat Smoke, Dark Chocolate
Remarkably Long and Complex

In which I pierced my brain and nearly died ::

Mon, 09 Oct 2006 22:28:20 GMT

pierced! ooooh! ::

Today was a very hectic day for a small heather.

For some godforsaken reason i decided it would be an okay idea to book a doctor's appointment for 11am - eleven eh em - today. My sleep schedule being somewhat shit at the moment, this meant that i was required to wake up and surface around three hours before i have been for the last god-knows-how-long. Somehow i did it. And somehow i survived. Albeit i did look like i'd rolled around in a frying pan full of lard for around an hour or so, hair dishevelled, clothes haphazardly thrown on. When i finally got there - after braving a bus crammed full of nervous freshers, the air of nervousness in turn making me nervous: What the hell am i nervous about? i'm going to the doctors for christs sake. - i was full of hope. Yes, i thought, 'Twill all be worth it, for this doctor will give me Magic Beans/Pills which will make me warm again! {etc} And yet, did the doctor place Magic Beans in my palm, wishing me endless hours of warmth like normal people whose fingers and toes do not turn white and numb at the mere mention of rain? No, did they buggery. The doctor instead, in her infinite doctory wisdom, took one look at my fingers {comfortingly, thanks to her many years in medical school, she had at least worked out where they were} and looked at my toes {yup, those too} and looked at my face...perplexed. She then, rather disconcertingly, grabbed her A to Z of Evil Medical Complaints, flicking past genital warts and feet fungus, nervously laughing: We don't see a lot of that around here. Jolly good. She must've picked this up in her manual '101 Ways To Make Your Patient Feel Alienated, Retarded and Panic Stricken' - essential if one is to perfect one's bedside manner. After already admitting she had no idea what she was doing, she flicked around a computer screen for a bit, which i could see had my entire medical history, but, alas, failed to give her the answer she was looking for. She then decided that Perhaps some blood samples are required. To which, my inner voice replied: Ho ho ho, If you think your little doctory fingers are getting anywhere near me with a needle, you have another thing coming! Fortunately, before i voiced any of these thoughts-which-are-best-kept-in-my-head {as i have learnt from previous...adventures}, she decided that this was perhaps not the best course of action {perhaps she had not got this far in her Teach Yourself Medicine book} and announced that she would speak to 'The Doctor' {which made me think of Spider Man villains and in turn sent a shiver down my spine} and he would tell me The Answer.

So, basically, i hauled my ass out of bed...For Nothing.

After this exciting Adventure With The Incompetant Doctor, i then went and got my haircut at Topknot. My hair looks only slightly different from how it looked before - a little straighter, a little feathery-er - but it was well worth the twenty squid i shelled out {begrudgingly} if only for the wonderous head massage i was treated to. I was trying to work out why hair-washes performed by broom pushing trolls, more often than not devoid of anything resembling a personality, are so much better than anything you can possibly acheive yourself, your hair at the end of it so much silkier than when you finish with it in a morning. And then i realised that these people have done a degree in hair-washing and their products are made by Santa's Elves in their spare time in a sweatshop somewhere near Lapland. Of course.

To finish my very hectic day {before spending time with The Gore}, i went and got my nose pierced by The Loviest Man In The World. {Oooooooh}. Unfortunately, however, my nose has now swollen to the size of a grapefruit and gangreen may have set in. I also have a chronic headache which leads me to believe The Loviest Man In The World may also have pierced my brain by mistake - i could be wrong, but i very much doubt it. I am probably dying. But my nose is oh so sparkly now. So that's all that matters.

Jeffers :: An Anthoropolical Study of An Insane Mind :: #1

Mon, 09 Oct 2006 22:27:38 GMT

Dorothy's new shoes ::

Today, Jeffers came into the living room while i was watching t.v. and said I've got something that'll cheer you up and thrust - thrust! - something resembling a small slice of onion under my chin for my perusal.

Lovely. Me.
It's the piece of skin i sliced off my finger. Jeffers, with a smug grin, waving a bloody finger aloft.

Also, Jeffers has new shoes and won't stop grinning about it. They are beautiful, i must admit. But they were also beautifully expensive. I am convinced that the extortionate pricetag points to some sort of magical power that they possess, but until Jeffers clicks his heels together two times, we will not know. I have begged him, but he says he doesn't want to ruin the suspense. Fair enough, really.

Gore's Present :: {This Post is Rated OUT OF BOUNDS For Gores}

Sun, 08 Oct 2006 15:35:34 GMT

Gore's present numero uno ::

And the productivity doesn't end there {i refer, of course, to yesterday's unacharacteristic spurt of motivation}... Today i have had a small construction line in my living room. I have performed the present-wrapping tasks for an entire fleet of elves... or a pride of elves ... or a swarm of elves... What the cripes is the collective noun for elves? I have wrapped Gore's present number one {you can take a walk through the significant pages here. Obviously, i've left out the indecent ones in which Gore is neked but for a cigar which conceals his, er, modesty, and the ones which could later incriminate us for various crimes and misdemeanors} and Gore's present number two which is a photo out of our plane window on our way to Paris this summer. It was the first time that Gore had flown and therefore his face was pretty much glued to this window for the entire flight, all 90mins of it, blocking my view, and leaving me with no viable reason to stop talking to the irritatingly loud woman next to me who detailed her current custody battle for her kid from beginning to end and back again: Zzzzzzz. You'd think that by the time i'd started nodding off, drooling and gnawing at my own fist in bored frustration, she'd've taken the hint and at least changed the subject. But no. I have also wrapped up all the presents i purchased in Scotland, Crofty's bday present, and some random things i purchased for people from the Chinese supermarket. I LOVE the Chinese supermarket.

YUK ::

Thu, 28 Sep 2006 22:14:14 GMT

Window :: Long Eaton

Charity Shop Shopping with Gore today.

Purchases:

:: Top x 1
:: Jeans x 2

Total = 7 squid

:: Curtains x 2

Total = 3.50 squid

Sub Total = 10.50 squid

blue flame :: pondering my version of reality, and yours

Tue, 12 Sep 2006 22:27:10 GMT

this too shall pass ::

Thu, 07 Sep 2006 15:17:29 GMT

puddles and mistakes :: and it already feels like a dream

Bonkers ::

Fri, 01 Sep 2006 10:56:47 GMT

My madre just used the word 'bonkers'.

Apparently today will be sponsored by the word 'Pisswits' and 'Bonkers', you bonkers pisswits.

Pit Lad, The Scruffy Chicken Mystery & The White Russian with a grudge::

Thu, 31 Aug 2006 16:47:48 GMT

Pitcher and Piano ::

I am feeling fat. Like i have eaten a small child {that sentence was wrong on so many levels}. I took Jeffers for lunch today at Pitcher and Piano where we ate steaks the size of an insignificant country - Luxemberg steaks - and chocolatey goodness. I feel like i could get a new job as an achor. The Melancholy Adventures of Oyster Boy and Anchor Girl. However, i think it's the White Russian i sampled which is coming back to bite me on the ass. The cocktail i drank, that is. My afternoon wasn't that busy. Peh, i should be so lucky! If i did sample a white Russian, i would like him to be like a Tin Tin villain. But that is another story for another time.

We ordered cocktails from a waitress - who was quite hot and quite friendly and quite, you know, 'nice' - who obviously knew sod all about how to make cocktails. When we ordered 'A White Russian, please' she looked utterly perplexed. It was only the later order of 'A Mai Tai' which snapped her out of her daze of ignorant bafflement. Therefore, we really shouldn't have been too optimistic, especially because Jeffers is a c onnoisuer of White Russians. {Haha, again, thinking of Jeffers now as a connoiseur of Tin Tin villains.} The boy is obsessed by the drink because he's finally found an alcoholic beverage he can tolerate and 'It's white! It's white and black! And has milk in it!'. He delights in telling people how to make it, the intricacies of pouring it over a spoon {which, as far as i can tell, is a completely pointless act to seperate the liquids to make them look nice, only for you to spend the five minutes after you receive the cocktail trying to mix them back together again...? Apparently i'm just not 'entering into the spirit of things'. Ba boom tisk} and then criticising people for making it badly. Smug git that he is.

I, however, think that mixing alcohol with milk and cream is not such a fantastic idea and, oh look!, knock me over with a feather, it's really really really not. Bah. Bad drink. Bad drink. Sit.

After we ate our body weight in steak and chocolate goodness, and sampled cocktails which looked like they'd already been made and regurgitated before they'd been delivered to us, we moseyed to Nottingham Tourist Information centre where we picked up many many leaflets on places and activities we will probably never visit or take part in. I never realised a Tourist Information Centre could be so much fun. We marvelled at the array of 'Pix 'n' Mix' Tourist Novelty....Crap. Apparently relavent figurines for Nottingham were Robin Hood and, my personal favourite, 'Pit Lad' who was basically a small dishevelled boy looking a little down about his lot in life. I loved it and, if i had fifteen pounds and wanted to part with it on a mini local figurine which i felt would adequately summarise the Nottingham way of life, he would've been mine.

h :: 'No, he's from Liverpool. We should've got him 'Pit Lad' to bring him closer to his working class roots.'

Jeffers :: 'Are there mines in Liverpool?'

h :: 'Not sure. But they'd surely have different figurines in Liverpool anyway... What Scouse figurines would they have...Hmmm...'

Jeffers :: ' 'Fucking Theif'?'

h :: 'Oh yes. Perhaps wearing Ye Olde Liverpool Shirt, a balaclava and carrying a bag marked 'Swag' '

We also discovered that the Notts Tourist Info Centre stocked a range of books, the best of which being The Scruffy Chicken Mystery, 'set in Derbyshire in 1965' {modeled by Jeffers :: here ::}. We both decided that this must be the best novel in The Derbyshire Foul Mystery genre that we've ever seen and that the five left on the desk - signed copies, no less! {really, not joking} - must've been the remnants of the millions which had already been printed and sold, making it a best seller - possibly to be seen on Richard and Judy's reading list next year. Ace.

After our amazing trip to the Info Centre, we sat at the bus stop watcing a small digger attack The Square:

Jeffers :: If i won the lottery, i would buy a mini digger. I would buy a digger and a field to dig. I would buy a field and a digger and dig it and re-enact Time Team.

h :: That's an amazing idea!

Jeffers :: And you could be Tony Morrison because you look a bit like him!

h :: ...

Jeffers :: And i'll be Mick so i get a good hat.

On our way home, i read my new Astounding Sci Fi! journal from the 1950s that i purchased from Oxfam today. I discovered a whole heap of them and sat on the floor reading them - so funny! - until Jeffers dragged me away. I may go in another day to spend more time with the Sci Fi journals and their friendly pigeon. As i read my Astounding Sci Fi!, i heard Jeffers grumbling to himself. My ears tuned back into what was going on around me, and i immediately located the source of his annoyance: a small child with a sword which made a 'sword' noise. However, the 'sword' noise did not sound like a sword at all, more like a cow with its head in a vice. Jeffers turned to look at me and said between gritted teeth: 'No, h ::, that is what a sword would sound like ...if inserted up a cows arse...or [evil glare] A SMALL CHILD'S RECTUM'.