Short Circuit

My brain just short circuited. I was debating the nature of what makes a swear word offensive or something along those lines when there was an overflow of ideas and my brain literally said NO MORE and cut dead for a second.

Not that I was surprised, I saw it coming. I've spent most of the day doing research for my dissertation and attempting to write my methodology. I've also been trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of my head that keeps screaming about all the other stuff I should be working on too.

So I got on here to step away from the work and spend a little procrastination time whilst (a)not spending money (b)still being able to pretend to myself that I'm doing some kind of work, like browsing archives.

My current procrastination flavour of the week has definitely got to be youtube.com. There's just so much random stuff to amuse and entertain.

Today's choice way to waste 10 minutes or so is The EmO.C., a brilliant spoof of the O.C.:



Right, back to the work.

Star Wars Kid

Since it's Sunday evening and I really should be doing work, I figured it'd be more fun to watch TV instead and pretend that the work I have doesn't really exist. And what better way to waste an evening than with one of Channel 4's never ending series of 100shows. We've had best pop songs, greatest TV moments and so on, so it was inevitable that the researchers got together and produced a 100 funniest moments one wasn't it?

Sometime in the 80s of the countdown, Star Wars Kid cropped up. Am I the only person in the world to have not seen this?



According to the subtitled facts, its estimated that it's been seen by 100 million people across the world. There have been various versions of it over the last few years, where people have edited in proper light sabres, the rolling opening explanations of Star Wars and so on. To see more of Star Wars Kid and the resulting phenomenon, head over to youtube.com.

Now, back to the TV.

Fake Plastic Horses

I just saw my first 'my little pony' advert in probably, ooh give or take, 15 years. God, that makes me feel old. I had presumed that the little plastic figurines with multicoloured hair had gone to the big toyshop of obscurity in the sky long ago but apparently, they're back.


return of the pony

I admit, I read something about their comeback a while ago but completely dismissed it. Clearly, I was wrong. This has got me to wondering about what ever happened to my own collection of hideously coloured ponies. I remember two of them in particular, which between the ages of 5 and 7, went everywhere with me before they were shelved in favour of some new garish plastic toy. One was white with a glittery arse and the other was a small pinkish one with wings that flapped if you pressed them in the middle.

In a way, I find it odd that something so simple is back in fashion. So many toys these days require batteries or programming, hell, even Barbie's not safe in today's technologically fuelled times. I never thought I'd see the day when fake plastic horses were apparently selling out.

Anyway, I'm off to enjoy the weekend because once again it's Friday. YEAH!

AWOL (again)

I've been off AWOL again. I wish I could say that it was something exciting like a last minute holiday or somewhat but the reality is that it's week seven of spring term and there's a pile of work that seems to grow with every passing day, no matter how much I do. All of that time I spent last week, dossing around online pretending to do work has meant that I've actually had to do some work this week, for real. It's slowly dawning that there's a lot of work and very little time to do it in.

It's disturbing that there's less than 10 weeks left to my university education.

In the meantime, as some of you know, I've become infatuated with the Sony Bravia advert. Surfing youtube.com, I found the full commercial (I think there's also an extended version lurking somewhere) to keep you all amused whilst I'm off to do yet MORE work, so for your viewing pleasure:



Hasta la vista.

Library rant

I hate the library. Every Monday, after my lecture, I traipse in with a bag of books that I've taken out the previous week and probably not read, only to replace them with a fresh set of the same. However, as it's now at week 7 of term, the battle for essay books has begun. Throughout the library, people are hiding books, stuffing the ones that they need in completely different sections to as to throw others off the scent.

Of course, that's provided that the books exist in the first place. For my English course, there are 4 copies of the core textbook to share between 60-odd students, which meant that after the first lecture of the course, it was pretty much an all out scramble to the library to get hold of the holy grail.

So, I've finally decided to cave and buy the books I need. I can no longer bring myself to troll the dusty shelves of the library for books that apparently don't exist or are completely unattainable.

Roll on, the ever increasing overdraft.

Needed: one dose of willpower

I've spent most of today in front of a blank word document, pretending to myself that I'm doing work rather than just watching TV and reading various blogs.

To add to my procrastinative nature, I've been debating what to cook for quite some time now- I have a choice of either chicken or pizza. I know I should cook the chicken as it's going to go off and it'd be such a waste but my stomach is leaning toward the pepperoni pizza that's in the freezer. The more I think about it there, the more I want to eat it. Plus, the pizza's easier to cook and doesn't involve handling raw meat.

Considering the state of my hangover, I'm not sure I could do that.

Hungover Sunday

Ah, the morning after the night before, don't you just love it? I woke up for the fifth day running at 4 a.m., convinced I was blind as yet again, I'd fallen asleep in my contacts. I really have to stop making a habit of it, I blame Quizmania on ITV. The boyfriend and I have become late night quiz show addicts, betting each other junk food for possible answers.

Anyway, last night we hit Wetherspoons full gusto and with much glee, we discovered that they were once again stocked up on Kopparberg. Joy. Whilst I'm usually a staunch investor in the Jack Daniels corporation but I could be swayed if Kopparberg was made available widely. For those of you yet to sip this sweet nectar, Kopparberg is a Swedish cider, previously only available in Pear flavour but now also available in Apple. You can imagine how excited we got when we found out about this new flavour- everyone had to try it. Our table was soon littered with large empty brown bottles and everyone was slurring.

The entire top floor of Wetherspoons got closed off whilst we were there, apparently there had been a stabbing or fight or somewhat and what was previously a bar became a crime scene, which meant that those from our group who were late in arriving got forced to stand in the freezing cold outside and queue as downstairs was now bursting at the seams with all those from upstairs.

We decided to leave after a while and head to another pub that would hopefully be less crowded. Oh, how wrong we were. We arrived at our destination to be greeted with steamed up windows with bodies pressed against them, writhing in the semi darkness to the absolutely booming music. Up til that point, I had never realised how nice it was to be in a non-music pub, which was doubley reinforced when one of the more worse for wear of our party decided that I was to be their set of ears for the rest of the night. Despite the boyfriend's best efforts to rescue me, I was effectively trapped for the rest of the night with the sauced one bellowing over the loud music directly into my left ear.

I wish I could have offered some valid opinion on what they were saying but in my own inebriated state, I just focused on the cigarette on my hand and tried to look interested.

Anyhoo, I'm going to recover from my hangover. When will I learn not to mix my drinks?

Grey Saturday

Another Saturday, another day of watching people running. Owing to the rain and general greyness of the day, I came to the conclusion that doing anything other than watching the Athletics on BBC1 and maybe doing a little dissertation work, would be unproductive.

Plus there's the fact that its required of me to get hideously wasted this evening as there's a 21st to celebrate, which will undoubtedly involve heading into town to the local Wetherspoons and drinking until one or more of us are sick, as is tradition in the great game of binge drinking. But I've been relatively good this week, most evenings I've stopped after a few, although I'll admit that last night I was seeing double by the time we left our local and made our way over to the offy to buy some crisps.

I've just looked out of the window and there's a beautiful sky outside. If I wasn't in my PJs, I'd run outside and get a better one but hypothermia never suited me well. So, instead, here's what I saw:



Better go make some food.

Retraction and Paul Weller

[edited from original post]

What is yesterday's scandal is today's virtual binliner. I admit that it was harsh to post something like Life On Parade and I have relented and removed the entire post and all related matter on the subject. And I'd like to take this opportunity to issue a formal apology to those involved.

Now, on to other things. Last night in the pub, my mobile suddenly began to vibrate violently on the table. Considering it was 10:30 at night and my mother, I figured it must be something important so I picked it up, heart in my mouth. The following exchange took place:

My Mother: IT WAS PETER WELLER!
Me: You what?
MM: In the lift on Saturday in Selfridges. The man you recognised. Are you not watching The Brits?
Me: No, I'm in the pub.
MM: Well, it was Peter Weller!
Me: Don't you mean Paul Weller?
MM: Possibly.

So, you get the idea. On Saturday, on our way back up to the car park, we shared a lift with Paul Weller and I believe, his children. I wasn't entirely sure if it was him and my mother had no idea, but it turns out I was right and it was indeed Paul Weller.

I love going to Selfridges, you're pretty much guaranteed to see someone famous drifting about. In the past, I've seen Will Young in the women's CK jeans section [odd], Derren Brown [really weird eyes] and I've walked smack into Denise Van Outen.

Ooh how exciting.

ROAR.

[editted]

It's too dark to take pictures of the trees, so that'll have to wait until tomorrow. But since I'm on such a picture post roll, I figured I'd show you lot something from my first year flat, that one of my eleven flatmates got sent for her birthday.




I shall leave you all grimacing, I'm off to watch Eastenders.

Trees

Bloody hell, they just keep coming, don't they? I can't seem to stay away from my blog for more than a few minutes. Probably because I've run out of things to stitch, clean or sort. Perish the thought that I should do some actual academic work.

I couldn't if I wanted to anyway, as the local council's got their park wardens feeling all important, dangling off the trees outside my window whilst wielding chainsaws.

I'm surprised they left the tree trimming so late, back in London they were making sure all the trees looked odd and spikey back in December. I just about managed to summon my digital camera to life despite the failing batteries to take some pictures:



ooh the envy - 40 feet off ground with power tools

I'll try and get some more later when they're done, camera batteries allowing.

Blast from the past

Another night past midnight, another illicit blog. It's becoming quite the habit these days. I thought I would share something weird that happened to me yesterday.

Sitting around in the evening, I noticed a new text message had come through sometime earlier. So I opened my inbox and let me tell you, I was surprised. The message was from my former best friend (hereby referred to as mfbf). Mfbf and I were best friends from the age of about 15. We'd known each other since we were 4 but only got to know each other when we ended up as lab partners in chemistry. And along with my current best friend, we ended up as a merry trio.

However, when I returned from six months of backpacking during my gap year, the cracks began to appear and within six months a series of events led to mfbf being removed from my circle of friends. I'm not going to lie to you- going from speaking five times a day to suddenly nothing wasn't fun. It was like losing one of my limbs but ultimately, I feel it was the better choice, at least for me.

This severance happened two years ago in January and since then, we've spoken once. Our friends have mostly known better than to put us in the same room, just in case. But apparently, when I spoke at her in general rather than to her specifically to correct her on some gossip about one of our other friends, she apparently saw this as an olive branch. Maybe it was some kind of subliminal one, I don't know.

But yesterday, she apparently saw it fit to text me. Apparently she saw me at a bus stop and wanted to offer me a lift to town but I had my ipod on and didn't hear her shouts or honks. I know that she probably didn't really want to offer me a lift, but let me know that she had finally passed her test. About bloody time.

I'll admit that rather than blank her (too childish), I sent her a civil reply that I was indeed deaf to the world with my ipod on. And that's how I'll be, civil.

Don't expect any reconcilliations.

On a more cheerful note, I was flicking through the my pictures file on my computer and ended up browsing through some photos from my trip to Morocco two years ago. Whilst I took most snaps with my trusty SLR, I took a few on my digital camera when we were on the Sahara location, nothing exciting, just lots of the scenery. So now you can be bored by my photographs of the sunrise coming up over some production trucks, including one with smoke from my cigarette:




Okay, now I'll go to bed.

Put the mullet down and step away, the fashion police have been called

As some of you may know, one of the soaps that I love is hollyoaks. Those of you who've watched it over the years may remember the Hunter Family. Recently, the various characters that made up this family have disappeared. Dan was killed in a fiery explosion in his rally car, Ellie was disowned by the family after it turned out her dead husband was a serial killer, the parents were shipped off to Cyprus, Lee was kicked out of college and went to do good in Thailand with Zara Morgan and Lisa... well, Lisa got her own spin off show along with the resident fireman eye candy, Ben, called Hollyoaks: Let Loose. Absolute dross.

Bear with me, there is a point to this.

I never much cared for Lisa, with her thick Birmingham accent, bad dress sense and general resemblance to a rugby player with eyeshadow. The boyfriend and I used to smirk when she appeared on screen, whinging at someone in her monotonous voice and in an array of hideous outfits.

Unfortunately, it appears that Gemma Atkinson, the actress who plays Lisa, has chosen to emulate her onscreen alter ego's dress sense. Whilst reading the new issue of Heat magazine yesterday, I was stunned into silence for several minutes by this abomination of an outfit, not to mention her new hair cut.

If you're eating, please look away now.


crimes against fashion: michelle bass, gemma atkinson

Michelle Bass, the woman on the left, is not much better. Some of you may remember her as the bunny boiler from Big Brother 5 who chased Stu and called everyone chicken. Since dumping Stu and getting a boob job, she's trawled every last channel for a job and ended up with soft core porn. Is ritual humiliation part of her contract as presenter of Channel X? I can't help wondering what on earth she was thinking when she allowed some makeup girl to stick those hideous wings on her eyelids. Or perhaps thats 'in' in Newcastle?

Yeuch.

PS some of you may've noticed that Sunday Night Live posted twice. I have no idea why.

AWOL

Apologies for going missing for the last few days, I wish I could lie and say I've been extraordinarily busy but the truth is I was only medium busy and lacking in willpower.

Happy belated Valentines Day to those of you who unlike the Boyfriend, celebrate it. He goes with the usual 'over-commercialosed crap' line, when its really that he doesn't want to buy double priced roses. His excuse is that I don't like flowers, which isn't true. In fact, if he learnt to buy flowers, he might get dinner cooked for him more often. Anyway.

I'll post more later when I'm less hungover and slightly cleaner.

Sunday Night Live

Again, it's late at night and I'm still awake, watching series five of The Simpsons and debating whether to cook. I'm getting hungrier and hungrier (is that the right spelling?) and the notion of making some brownies suddenly doesn't seem so strange, nor does the idea of smilies and baked beans.

However, both would involve slaving over the oven, or rather standing guard, in the freezing cold kitchen. Unfortunately, I haven't got any instant style junk snacks. There's isn't even any toast, so I can't finish the brussels pate and even if there was, the toaster has ceased all operations. Hence BANG goes the belgian wafle idea.
I shall go to bed hungry.

Or I'll crack and make brownies.

Sunday Night Live

Again, it's late at night and I'm still awake, watching series five of The Simpsons and debating whether to cook. I'm getting hungrier and hungrier (is that the right spelling?) and the notion of making some brownies suddenly doesn't seem so strange, nor does the idea of smilies and baked beans.

However, both would involve slaving over the oven, or rather standing guard, in the freezing cold kitchen. Unfortunately, I haven't got any instant style junk snacks. There's isn't even any toast, so I can't finish the brussels pate and even if there was, the toaster has ceased all operations. Hence BANG goes the belgian wafle idea.
I shall go to bed hungry.

Or I'll crack and make brownies.

So, two Rabbis get into a Volvo...

In what sounds like one of the many bad jokes I've been known to tell, today I got into a fender-bender with two Orthodox Jewish Rabbis. I had stopped at a zebra crossing to allow a very determined and harassed looking mother and her small toddler cross the road. I looked up into my rearview mirror to check my makeup as I waited and instead watched in slow motion-like horror as a dark Volvo came speeding towards my bumper. Out loud and to noone in particular, I muttered oh no as our bumpers came to be one in a soft thud and that aching sound of crunching metal.

I couldn't quite believe it when I got out and walked over to the other car, only to be greeted by two men with little curls and big black hats, each with a matching concerned and slightly stunned look.

I have to admit, I felt like crying. My poor little car, defiled yet again. And so, I've returned to my student flat, sans car and once again at the mercy of public transport. And whilst I will have to deal with feelings of frustration when having to take the bus to university, at least I will not have that slight edge every time a car alarm goes off on my street or some yobs run past it.

Anyhoo, I need to be unpacking as I've returned with a very heavy wheelie case full of clothes.

(Away)

I'm going home for the weekend to drop off my car and hopefully get some broadband sorted for my London residence, so there won't be any posts from me until at least Sunday, so you'll have to amuse yourselves over the weekend. So until then, leave a message after the beep.

Beep.

Yeah, sandwich.

Aaah, I love the days when I give in an assignment. The sun is shining and if it wasn't so cold, I'd go for a walk. I've decided to drive home tomorrow morning and skip the whole seminar rather than the final hour. It seems more sensible than getting stuck in friday afternoon traffic on the M25, which sucks at the best of times. Last summer, I was stuck in traffic for three hours with only A Crow Left of Murder by far the worst Incubus album, in my CD changer. I stop-started for almost the entire 80 miles down to the coast, meaning it was impossible to run out and change the CD as I was alone in the car and I wasted the better part of a full tank of petrol on a journey that usually takes a quarter of a tank.

Hence, I'm not keen to repeat the experience again.

Now, I'm going to go and make a sandwich. When I have made that sandwich, I will look at it briefly and then devour it. When I'm done devouring it, I'll go and buy a paper, some junk snacks and then lie around devouring that too. Very stoned. I'll shut up now.

Yeah, sandwich. Mmm.

Yet MORE bouncy balls

I know that I keep going on and on about that the Sony Bouncy Balls advert but I can't help it, it's a point of mild obsession. I was on ifilm.com tonight and I found the clip below, filmed from inside one of the houses on the street that they used to film it:



How much would you love to see that kind of thing happen? There have been various drunken plans to buy out the surrounding toyshops and recreate the scene but a serious lack of funding means that so far, no deal. Personally, I think it would be cool to do it at night with glow in the dark bouncy balls.

Can you imagine?

Would someone PLEASE slap some willpower into me?!

Quickie

The parentals swept into town for a brief visit to examine the car today. My dad managed to bang out the worst of the dents with a mallet and a cushion and my mum had a nose around the flat, since she hadn't seen my new living quarters.

This post's going to have to be short and sweet, I've just found out that my dissertation outline is due tomorrow rather than Friday as previously thought so I've got to get my ass into gear and make up some nonsense to hand in.

Back when it's done, in the mean time, entertain yourselves with the best of Family Guy - click here.

Post-script

I promise, I really will go to bed in a minute, but before I do, I just have to draw your attention to the wonderful houseplantpicturestudio.com, which I was directed to by socialitelife.com, who noticed the project Pictures of an Unknown Family Who Probably Owned a Liquor Store, which is brilliant, but go surf around the rest of the site too. I'll add it to the links section tomorrow, when I'm not seeing double.

Right, going to bed.

Late night rantings

It's the early hours of wednesday morning, well really it's still tuesday night, and I'm still awake although that's hardly surprising, I'm rarely asleep before 1:30 most nights, I just don't fall asleep otherwise.

My parents are driving down tomorrow to have a look at my poor little car and figure out the best solution to a nasty problem. I hate being carless. Even though the man from the body shop said it should be fine for short distances, I'm too sad and scared to drive it at the moment, just in case it overheats and I end up somewhere on a narrow side road, cars whizzing past far too close for comfort.

So I choice to avoid the possibility and use any other means possible, although at least most of my uni stuff is cancelled this week or missable, meaning that I only have to go in on Friday for a seminar and then I'm straight on the train up to London for the weekend from campus. Hopefully if all goes well tomorrow, the car will go in then or Thursday and I'll be able to pick it up, rejuvenated, early next week.

I've got so much cleaning to do tomorrow morning, besides the small mountain of washing up that I've accumulated over the last three days, including all the of the crockery and cutlery from the sunday roast that's still sitting on the living room table. I know you're probably going eww, gross but I'm currently trying to prove a point to my flatmate, who thinks nothing of leaving plates encrusted with ketchup and the remainders of her cereal and milk rotting in the living room for days at a time, or at least until I clean it up.

So tired am I of this daily ritual of picking up after others, that I decided to launch a campaign of education. Previously, whilst living with a boy who saw nothing wrong with leaving pasta in pans for a fortnight and considered licking his plate to be cleaning it [seriously, I'm not joking], my flatmates and I resorted to leaving his pans and dishes under his door once they had exceeded the grace period of a week. Once his naked foot had made contact with some very furry blue curry, he at least kept his filthy pots in his room, which probably explains the smell that wafted down the hallway whenever he opened his door.

Two years down the line, I have devised a new plan of action. I have instead assumed the role of accumulating as much dirty crockery as I possibly can, a role that my flatmate has apparently taken to with aplomb. So far, I'm doing reasonably well at this too- in the living room sits a tray loaded with 3 dirty plates, 4 bowls, a mug of gravy, two glasses devoid of Coke, two empty jars of mint sauce, a can of stale beer and heaps of spoons, knives and forks. In the kitchen, I have stopped washing up whatever I use in the process of making my meals, stacking an ever increasing pile next to the sink. I am basically becoming a slob, although not really. Whilst I can not wash up, unfortunately I still have to take out the bins, sort and put out the recycling, clean the oven, floor and surfaces because I know that if I don't, she certainly won't be moved to.

Unfortunately, I'm not sure that the parentals will agree with my methods, so tomorrow morning will dawn with me standing at the sink, elbow high in washing up.

Joy.

Blog Burgled!

I've been blog-burgled!

Some of you who read blog may've noticed that over the weekend any posts I put up on here and any comments you may have posted are non-evident. No, I have not been on a clear out crusade or just lazy, instead my blogger apparently went insane. I'd like to take a moment here to say that blogger support have been absolutely NO help whatsoever.

The most I've had has been an automated reply that featured FAQs that had no relevance when I read them on the site and certainly had no added relevance when I read them a second time in the auto-email. So I sent yet another email detailing the problem and still nothing. [sighs]

Anyway, a recap of sorts now. So, Saturday morning I wake up, get dressed and decide to go for a walk and spend some money that I don't really have. I look out of my window when my car alarm gets set off by a passing lorry, only to notice a strange shadow on the bonnet. Thinking that it's probably dirt I think nothing more of it, deciding to check it on my way.

I get my bag and walk out of my flat and cross the road to see my car. When I get there, I stop dead in my tracks. Why? Well, the pictures below will be pretty self-explanatory.





My baby! So, I called the boyfriend who came and stood next to me in the freezing cold whilst I paid 55p a minute to speak to the police and file a crime report. It was very apparent that someone had decided to walk along roofs of cars, rather than the pavement. Luckily, not only had the yobs who did this left their footprints, a neighbour of mine- concerned about his own car- happened to glance out of the window and see the entire thing. He then jumped into his car and drove around the block, looking for the hooligans who'd felt it would be entertaining to jump off the roof of my landlady's car (also dented) and onto the bonnet of mine, and came across them in the kebab shop round the corner, where they were duly recorded on CCTV.

Forensics rocked up a few hours after I filed my report took photographs of the footprints and finger prints on all of the cars and took the video footage from the kebab shop. It was all very exciting and CSI-ish, and whilst I know that there is slim-to-no-chance of them being caught, I hold out hope as I have friends who committed this very crime a few years ago, being caught out by a footprint that one of their flip-flops left on a roof. They were caught, forced to pay fines and damages and got put on probation as they had no prior records.

With these kids, I hope their asses end up in juvie.

Long and short of it, my car has to be towed back up to London today and I am left vehicle-less. ARGH.

However, yesterday was a little better. The boyfriend and I went to see the really rather wonderful Jose Gonzalez, who found fame recently with the bouncing balls advert for Sony. If not, click the still below to see some more stills and jog your memory:




It would've been even better if I hadn't had some broadbacked badly permed chav blocking my view for most of the time after taking three attempts to heave her overweight ass onto the crammed bar where we were perched and blocking EVERYONE's view.

Right. I have to go call the towing company about my car. More later, provided this blog doesn't disappear.

Friday Friday Friday

It's Friiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiday! YEAH! I've always loved Fridays, but I love the evenings on a whole new level since I was bestowed with afternoon seminars this term. I love coming home from them- I buy a paper on the way, walk through the door and cast off my folders, library books and heavy winter coat before flopping on the sofa and devouring my non-academic reading of choice and smoking a spliff. There is no better way to wind down.

As well as my newspaper, I can't help but read Jodie Marsh's car crash of a blog. Allow me to provide you with a few choice samples of Marsh's extraordinary wit and wisdom:

"Mind you, this is a paper that a few days ago called me a "grotty glamour girl". The editor of said rag is a feminist ginger bitch, ugly as sin, who alledgedly beats up her own bloke. Who the hell are they to call ME "grotty"...
I know that to Rebekah Wade (editor of the Sun), Barrymore isn't a threat. Her bloke isn't gonna run off with him and certainly wouldn't look at him in an appreciative way. If I, on the other hand, was given ten minutes on my own in a room with Ross Kemp, I reckon I could give him wet dreams over me forever more. That, my friends is why she won't let any of her staff say anything nice about me and why she won't work with me. I can't wait til she gets fired and a nice Ed takes over. I'll be back on them front pages again and she'll be trying to cling on to her bloke (probably by beating him over the head with a lamp while her new best friend Barrymore takes a dip in her pool with a fan he's met in a club). Ha ha. Let all the scum float round in their cess pit together I say. Who wants friends like Barrymore or Wade anyway?! Not I....." Wed 1st Feb 2006

I never thought I would find myself defending The Sun, but I have tremendous respect for Rebekah Wade, she's one of a handful of female editors and more power to her. Plus, anyone refuses la Marsh more publicity gets a big smiley next to their name in my book.

And now, another gem:

"Stevie has a new phone and his ring tone is one of the recent house tracks that all the clubs are playing. Every time it has rung in the last few hours, it's made me want to jump onto the nearest table and start gyrating my hips while stroking my own body." Thu 2nd Feb 2006

Classy. I bet you don't wear any pants either when you're dancing on the table, do you?

Okay, enough snarking on Jodie, although I'd strongly suggest having a look through her picture galleries, particularly number 12, which contains a very fetching picture of her vomit, which you can access here.And before you ask, it's pink, so it colour coordinates with the rest of her somewhat dubious ensemble, perhaps a porno homage to Angelica from the Rugrats?

Enjoy.

On being ill

Does ANYONE out there know how to get rid of a cold?! This god damn virus has been sitting in my nose for the better part of a week and if I didn't know better, I'd think it was sinusitis again but I'm too scared to go to the doctor's and it is, again.

My last battle with sinusitis was about 18 months ago, after Reading 2004. After spending three days camping in marshland with our own river running right outside our tent, we were also subject to the burning plastic toxic smoke on the last night of the festival, which as luck would have it, blew straight into our tent.

Two days after the festival, I was due to fly to Prague with the boyfriend to stay with my mum, who was there filming Oliver Twist. When I got there, after a miserable flight, my mother took one look at me and summoned a doctor. I was taken to the hospital and after breathing in various tubes, taking x-rays of my lungs and having my nose and throat poked by various doctors who spoke to each other in czech, I was informed I had toxic poisoning and sinusitis. Basically, the smog from the final night had settled into a layer of nastiness in my lungs and had to fight it's way up and my sinus' were fucked to shreds. Cue antibiotics and advise to try and hack up as much of the shit in my lungs as possible.

Pleasant, right?

But now that same stuffiness is hitting me way after a normal cold should've left and I can't help wondering if it's a repeat of it all. I can't really afford to spend any more time in bed but with the weather as cold as it is, indoors seems a very good place to be. Althoug walking back from the pool hall in the weird suspended animation rain and plummeting temperatures probably won't help it much, if I'm honest.

Guess I'll just have to see what happens tomorrow.

Lefty

I'm trying to teach myself to use my computer mouse with my left hand. Although I'm a lefty in most respects, I've always used my right hand for navigating my computer, although that's simply the way I was conditioned at school. When you're one of two lefties in a class of 20 and the teacher's already frowning at the way you hold your pencil, you don't suddenly ask to have the mouse switched round.

I just thought I'd try tonight because it suddenly struck me, it's never something that I've considered before and this could be a fun way of procrastination. I've had a little fun experimenting in paint tonight, as you'll see in the picture below.



It's harder than it looks. Try it and send me your efforts.

Toast(ed)

It's probably not healthy to eat 5 slices of toast loaded with brussels pate in one day, but I just can't help myself. The boyfriend doesn't finish work til 9, so prince charming with a takeaway won't be here for a while. It's just sooo good.

I meant to have an active day today, getting things done. However, it didn't work out that way when I woke up and it was a deep dark grey outside. Instead, I rolled back over and went back to bed, where I have spent most of the day, with intermitent visits to the computer or the kitchen. I've only recently vacated my pyjamas in favour of a shower and clean clothes, as I figured it was the decent thing to do since the boyfriend will be traipsing in the cold, the least I could do was not smell.

I've finally regained the majority of my hearing but apparently only in one ear, which makes me feel very imbalanced. I've also got a slight sensitivity to loud noises, which makes me grateful that we didn't go bowling again tonight. I wish this cold would just go away. ARGH.

Might just go make some more toast to placate myself...