On Being a Media Whore
Time I said something about the magazine I suppose. I meant to keep a diary of the whole process, but somehow the indiviual stages haven't seemed as though they would be interesting to anyone but me and the other directly involved, or that they would remain interesting even to us, once completed.
Of course I was wrong; life always seems mundane when it stretches out all around you, but as soon as you look back and the perspective flattens, it takes on a certain fascinating aspect.
So, we are nearly there with Pipeline. I need to drop the layouts in at the printers later today, hopefully for the last time, and they will start the run of the inside pages and do me a proof of the cover. The launch is booked at Cafe Muse on the 31st. H has been an absolute star and I have fallen at least half in love with her.
The media whoring is fun, but will take a lot of practice to get good at. I limped my way through an interview with the MEN last Wednesday, stumbled slightly through an interview on All FM yesterday (H by my side, so not as bad) and will be, no doubt, slick and professional for my appearance on Thursday on Let's Go Global TV (ha ha). I have to get the press release to everyone else I can think of today/tomorrow, and we should get an interview with BBC Online.
Of course where I should really be focusing is on exploiting all my friends; this takes me back to our gigging days. You WILL come down. You KNOW you want to. OK, I don't care if you don't want to, just buy a ticket. Free glass of wine! (All right, so there were never free glasses of wine at the Roadhouse, not even for the band). I'll make with the emails.
Ee, it's all fun.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Things That Make Me Feel Alive
8v8 fights
sex
gardening
caves
boarding
cleaning (as long as Simon Le Bon is singing with me)
moshpits
releasing an arrow
being on stage
the first inhalation
seaspray
Things That Make Me Feel Dead
staying in bed too long
browsing forums
not writing
ignoring people's texts/emails
letting the plants die
8v8 fights
sex
gardening
caves
boarding
cleaning (as long as Simon Le Bon is singing with me)
moshpits
releasing an arrow
being on stage
the first inhalation
seaspray
Things That Make Me Feel Dead
staying in bed too long
browsing forums
not writing
ignoring people's texts/emails
letting the plants die
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Placebo at Blackpool
So long since I've blogged. Bad me.
Anyway, Placebo at the Empress Ballroom, Blackpool. I went with NM from the Monday Night Group, our P disliking Placebo. I like to think I'd have gone on my own otherwise, but probably I wouldn't have bothered. So thank you NM! It was great.
We got there just as the doors opened, but there was a huge slow-moving queue, so we wandered around for a bit and then went to a bar next to the Winter Gardens, which was playing Placebo amongst other things. It was fun watching everyone trail past the window, though it did make me feel a bit old (average Placebo fan maybe 20? tops?)
The support was a band called White Rose Movement, who had great hair. The music was OK, I mean nothing surprising, but it certainly worked in that setting and the crowd were all for them. Well, not quite all. There were a couple of lurikeen bainshees behind NM and I, screaming "SCRUBBERS! at the top of their tiny lungs and laughing hysterically all the way through the set. I felt like kicking them, but I was good, dear reader, I was good.
I abandoned my escort and battled my way towards the front for Placebo. Stupid soft-top trainers meant I couldn't risk the really rough areas. And there were plenty of those, so it was a bit hairy just staying upright and not getting my toes broken. Fun though! It's been years since I was in a crowd like that - rough, almost wild, but very good-natured with it. There was no aggression. Most everybody looked like the sort of people you wouldn't mind having a drink with; proving, I suppose, that Placebo attracts a certain kind of fan and they are not the type that spits on people.
Molko sweated and smoked, Stefan leapt about and waved his skinny self at us, and we went crazy.
They played a lot of songs from the new album, all of which stood up. 'Meds' was a terrific opener and 'Song to Say Goodbye' came over very well too. They didn't play 'Pierrot', boo hiss. They played some early tracks with slow arrangements, 36 Degrees worked particularly well, but I think that's a slightly odd choice versus playing some of the early slow songs (what I wouldn't have given for WYIN...) Running Up That Hill was a nice surprise. Couple of old ones played the right way really made the moshpit dangerous: Special K ('I don't like this song but I think you guys like it so...') and Nancy Boy.
I was exhausted afterwards and v. grateful to NM for driving me home where I could sluice the alien sweat from my body (and my own of course), grab some toast before waking P up getting into bed. Poor old P. Abandoned, and I forgot to tape Battlestar Galactica for him on Tuesday so he didn't even have anything to do.
So long since I've blogged. Bad me.
Anyway, Placebo at the Empress Ballroom, Blackpool. I went with NM from the Monday Night Group, our P disliking Placebo. I like to think I'd have gone on my own otherwise, but probably I wouldn't have bothered. So thank you NM! It was great.
We got there just as the doors opened, but there was a huge slow-moving queue, so we wandered around for a bit and then went to a bar next to the Winter Gardens, which was playing Placebo amongst other things. It was fun watching everyone trail past the window, though it did make me feel a bit old (average Placebo fan maybe 20? tops?)
The support was a band called White Rose Movement, who had great hair. The music was OK, I mean nothing surprising, but it certainly worked in that setting and the crowd were all for them. Well, not quite all. There were a couple of lurikeen bainshees behind NM and I, screaming "SCRUBBERS! at the top of their tiny lungs and laughing hysterically all the way through the set. I felt like kicking them, but I was good, dear reader, I was good.
I abandoned my escort and battled my way towards the front for Placebo. Stupid soft-top trainers meant I couldn't risk the really rough areas. And there were plenty of those, so it was a bit hairy just staying upright and not getting my toes broken. Fun though! It's been years since I was in a crowd like that - rough, almost wild, but very good-natured with it. There was no aggression. Most everybody looked like the sort of people you wouldn't mind having a drink with; proving, I suppose, that Placebo attracts a certain kind of fan and they are not the type that spits on people.
Molko sweated and smoked, Stefan leapt about and waved his skinny self at us, and we went crazy.
They played a lot of songs from the new album, all of which stood up. 'Meds' was a terrific opener and 'Song to Say Goodbye' came over very well too. They didn't play 'Pierrot', boo hiss. They played some early tracks with slow arrangements, 36 Degrees worked particularly well, but I think that's a slightly odd choice versus playing some of the early slow songs (what I wouldn't have given for WYIN...) Running Up That Hill was a nice surprise. Couple of old ones played the right way really made the moshpit dangerous: Special K ('I don't like this song but I think you guys like it so...') and Nancy Boy.
I was exhausted afterwards and v. grateful to NM for driving me home where I could sluice the alien sweat from my body (and my own of course), grab some toast before waking P up getting into bed. Poor old P. Abandoned, and I forgot to tape Battlestar Galactica for him on Tuesday so he didn't even have anything to do.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
NFD GG2 Manchester RL Meet Up
So, this weekend was the long awaited meet. Here's my photo-diary of the event. You can click on any image to see it BIGGAH.
Sadly, Paul-the-bard was too sick to travel, so we were a man down, but we put a brave face on it and tried to drink his share of the beer.
Drachais and Shark arrived on the Friday night, and we (Maxis and I) took them to a Greek place on Deansgate. We stayed there until they kicked us out (I noticed that they weren't kicking anyone else out. Were we being disorderly? I think not.)
The next morning Drach and Sharky leaped out of bed at the crack of dawn to go to the Imperial War Museum North. Max and I finally managed to drag ourselves there at about 11:00 and found them playing with a tank. We told Drach to kite it, but he must have been rooted or something. /shrug.
We walked back across the rising bridge at Salford Quays towards the Lowry Centre; here are the lads standing by the bridge...
...and this one is Drach, Shark and me looking back across the dock at the War Museum (this pic's for you, Alex.) It looks nice and sunny, but there was a very cold wind, so actually we are all freezing our tits off in that shot.
Back in town, we met Deadweight, then Tammuz and then Jamiesmallicus at Piccadilly. It was fun scanning the people arriving into Starbucks and trying to spot the internet gamers. Harder than you might think, but we identified each other without too much trouble, refrained from screeching in shock/delight, and went in search of some pre-beer padding.
Here we are sampling that traditional Manchester dish, curry for lunch, except Tammuz who for some reason ordered a pizza. Like, yeah, pizza from a curry house is gonna be nice! Deadweight looks happy though (that's him in the stripes). I think Jamie might have said something mildly amusing. He's such a wag.
Here we are wandering aimlessly around central Manchester, on warden speed, looking for a fight. I mean a pub that wasn't too full. From L-R: Shark, Jamie, Maxis, Tammuz & Drachais.
We had a couple of beers in Night and Day and then retired to a corner of The English Lounge, shown here, where Shark, Maxis and I sampled the tasty warm English ales, much to Drach's disgust. We lost Deadweight in between the two bars. I think he pulled or something.
Jamie went home before supper, but the remnants of the group went into Chinatown. The food was pretty good, as it usually is in Little Yang Sing, but they had some kind of weird restaurant-meme going on, whereby someone has a birthday: cue music, singing, clapping, ice-cream with a sparkler in it etc. Then everyone decides to get in on the act and we have at least 5 rounds of this in a row. It was loud. It gave us headaches. We opted not to invent a birthday of our own.
And so to dancing. Tamm bottled out of it, so we were down to 4 at this point, but we're hardcore so we hit the clubs. Well, FAB Cafe anyway.
Shark: Maybe if I throw enough shapes, this Dalek will be really impressed and not nuke me down.
Dalek: Exterminate!
Drachais: Ah, my pits are as fresh as can be. Come and smell these, everyone!
Everyone: NIPPLES!
Finally, there were 3. The morning after, not feeling too fragile at all (honest) Max and I met Drach in town for a coffee. Shark was meant to be heading back home early; hope he remembered to wake up...
You'd better click on this one to get the FULL EFFECT! This is the MK1 radio telescope at Jodrell Bank, one of the biggest radio telescopes in the world. If you look carefully you can see two little gimpy eldritches standing underneath it.
And that's just about the end of it. We took Drach to the airport, took a peek at Concorde, gave him a hug and a kiss (Drach, not Concorde) came home and fell asleep. Three cheers for RL meets, four cheers for GG2, one cheer for Manchester, no cheers for sick bards (Pol, we missed you.)
Looking forward to the next one
xx
So, this weekend was the long awaited meet. Here's my photo-diary of the event. You can click on any image to see it BIGGAH.
Sadly, Paul-the-bard was too sick to travel, so we were a man down, but we put a brave face on it and tried to drink his share of the beer.
Drachais and Shark arrived on the Friday night, and we (Maxis and I) took them to a Greek place on Deansgate. We stayed there until they kicked us out (I noticed that they weren't kicking anyone else out. Were we being disorderly? I think not.)
The next morning Drach and Sharky leaped out of bed at the crack of dawn to go to the Imperial War Museum North. Max and I finally managed to drag ourselves there at about 11:00 and found them playing with a tank. We told Drach to kite it, but he must have been rooted or something. /shrug.We walked back across the rising bridge at Salford Quays towards the Lowry Centre; here are the lads standing by the bridge......and this one is Drach, Shark and me looking back across the dock at the War Museum (this pic's for you, Alex.) It looks nice and sunny, but there was a very cold wind, so actually we are all freezing our tits off in that shot.Back in town, we met Deadweight, then Tammuz and then Jamiesmallicus at Piccadilly. It was fun scanning the people arriving into Starbucks and trying to spot the internet gamers. Harder than you might think, but we identified each other without too much trouble, refrained from screeching in shock/delight, and went in search of some pre-beer padding.
Here we are sampling that traditional Manchester dish, curry for lunch, except Tammuz who for some reason ordered a pizza. Like, yeah, pizza from a curry house is gonna be nice! Deadweight looks happy though (that's him in the stripes). I think Jamie might have said something mildly amusing. He's such a wag.Here we are wandering aimlessly around central Manchester, on warden speed, looking for a fight. I mean a pub that wasn't too full. From L-R: Shark, Jamie, Maxis, Tammuz & Drachais.We had a couple of beers in Night and Day and then retired to a corner of The English Lounge, shown here, where Shark, Maxis and I sampled the tasty warm English ales, much to Drach's disgust. We lost Deadweight in between the two bars. I think he pulled or something.Jamie went home before supper, but the remnants of the group went into Chinatown. The food was pretty good, as it usually is in Little Yang Sing, but they had some kind of weird restaurant-meme going on, whereby someone has a birthday: cue music, singing, clapping, ice-cream with a sparkler in it etc. Then everyone decides to get in on the act and we have at least 5 rounds of this in a row. It was loud. It gave us headaches. We opted not to invent a birthday of our own.And so to dancing. Tamm bottled out of it, so we were down to 4 at this point, but we're hardcore so we hit the clubs. Well, FAB Cafe anyway.
Shark: Maybe if I throw enough shapes, this Dalek will be really impressed and not nuke me down.Dalek: Exterminate!
Drachais: Ah, my pits are as fresh as can be. Come and smell these, everyone!Everyone: NIPPLES!Finally, there were 3. The morning after, not feeling too fragile at all (honest) Max and I met Drach in town for a coffee. Shark was meant to be heading back home early; hope he remembered to wake up...You'd better click on this one to get the FULL EFFECT! This is the MK1 radio telescope at Jodrell Bank, one of the biggest radio telescopes in the world. If you look carefully you can see two little gimpy eldritches standing underneath it.And that's just about the end of it. We took Drach to the airport, took a peek at Concorde, gave him a hug and a kiss (Drach, not Concorde) came home and fell asleep. Three cheers for RL meets, four cheers for GG2, one cheer for Manchester, no cheers for sick bards (Pol, we missed you.)
Looking forward to the next one
xx
Monday, January 30, 2006
Johnny Marr Plays Guitar
...and sings like a godlike being.
Saturday was the Manchester v Cancer gig at the Arena, Andy Rourke's chums all overcoming their differences in the name of charidee. But that's not being fair; it was a terrific night and most of the performers seemed pretty sincere, even if it came very close to spilling over into self-parody at times; sort of a Manchester Music 101 for anyone who wasn't here at the time (and I'm guessing we all were).
We arrived in the middle of Bez's band's set, which was predicatably messy, and the relatively tuneful yelpings of the skinny redheaded woman co-vocalist only highlighted Bez's own tuneless incoherence. Bad Idea, kids. Then we got a worthwhile contribution from Utah Saints (didn't know they were local) before a set from the majestic 808 State and MC Tunes, for FAR TOO SHORT A TIME. Then Stephen Fretwell (or he might have been before, or later, I forget), then some geezers called Nine Black Alps, who I hadn't heard of. They were a bit boring. Then I think Elbow, then I think it was Badly Drawn Boy, who looked all cute in his woolly hat and forgot the words. Andy Rourke came on and played bass on a number, and goodness me, he looked just like our Shane with a mullet.
Mani from the Roses spun a couple of Mondays singles. He was enthusiastic but I got the impression he hadn't DJ'd before. Never mind, the crowd loved him. Then came the suckerpunch. Johnny Marr's band, The Healers, wandered on, Johnny introduced them, and then came the deadly, dreadfully familiar strains of 'There Is A Light That Never Goes Out', and when Johnny sang take me out tonight it brought tears to my eyes. I'm not talking about one or two discreet dampnesses in the corner of the eye here, I'm talking Proper Crying, the best kind, where the tears flow freely, without any pain or raggedness of breath. From time to time it happens, I lose myself, and the emotions get so big they just spill out every which way, and not only do I lose control, I do it ecstatically.
After a handful of Healers songs, pretty fine but not godlike, Andy Rourke joined them for 'How Soon Is Now'. The Smiths have had the capacity to knock me off balance for a long time. I told P on the way home, about having to get away from the music when 'This Charming Man' came on at a party, and although I have since managed to sit through that and other songs in places like Fab Cafe, it's only with a certain amount of nerve. If you'd asked me in 1988 whether the Smiths or the Cure were more important to me, I'd have said the Cure, but dammit, the force of just 2 original Smiths playing just 2 Smiths songs, all these years later, was like some tremendous monster; something squamous pressing against the fabric of reality, threatening to come through and change everything.
After that, the rest of the evening was a comedown. Doves played a great set, and sweetly gave up stage space to guest stars, having the guy from Elbow, Damon Gough and Johnny Marr back, and Barney from New Order. Mr Scruff kept it real (a bit too real for P, who felt no need for Ian Dury in a DJ set). Or, you know, that might have been earlier, it's all a bit of a muddle in me head. 'Cause we had Graeme Park on the decks at some point as well, and he was top banana.
New Order, for some reason, decided only to play Joy Division songs. Transmission, Twenty-Four Hours, She's Lost Control, (I'm missing some here I didn't catch the titles of, or recognise - P would know), Love Will Tear Us Apart and Ceremony. All huge and chilling and wonderful, but pretty damn wierd in an arena setting. The crowd seemed kinda stunned, and mostly stood very still.
Lots of people obviously had to go catch last trains/buses, because they scrambled out of their seats after the New Order set, even though the house lights hadn't come up. Some people half-heartedly chanted 'Manchester, Lalala' (possibly the lamest chant in the world evah), and the foot stamping never got co-ordinated. Is foot-stamping a lost art? The gigs of my teenage years were always graced with a rousing round of stamping and clapping before the encore, which always always managed to sweep the entire crowd into a united rhythm that shook the walls. It doesn't seem to happen any more.
Eventually Manchester's finest shuffled back on to the stage, a great line of scruffy men with guitars, who all seemed more or less clueless as to what was going on. They sputtered into the riff from 'Wrote For Luck', and just as we were thinking "Oh no, surely Bez isn't going to sing again", La Ryder shows up, face completely covered by a hood, like the Emperor in Return of the Jedi, in scally form. It went on a long time. It was amusing to watch, but I was outside of myself by that point. I had no euphoria left. (It's possible that seeing Shaun Ryder eating chips off a bin in Whythenshawe that one night has rendered me incapable of hero-worhip. It shouldn't outweigh those incredible gigs at ULU when I came home black and blue after the Mondays deliberately started fights in/with the audience. But.)
Take me out tonight
Where there's music and there's people
and they're young and alive
...and sings like a godlike being.
Saturday was the Manchester v Cancer gig at the Arena, Andy Rourke's chums all overcoming their differences in the name of charidee. But that's not being fair; it was a terrific night and most of the performers seemed pretty sincere, even if it came very close to spilling over into self-parody at times; sort of a Manchester Music 101 for anyone who wasn't here at the time (and I'm guessing we all were).
We arrived in the middle of Bez's band's set, which was predicatably messy, and the relatively tuneful yelpings of the skinny redheaded woman co-vocalist only highlighted Bez's own tuneless incoherence. Bad Idea, kids. Then we got a worthwhile contribution from Utah Saints (didn't know they were local) before a set from the majestic 808 State and MC Tunes, for FAR TOO SHORT A TIME. Then Stephen Fretwell (or he might have been before, or later, I forget), then some geezers called Nine Black Alps, who I hadn't heard of. They were a bit boring. Then I think Elbow, then I think it was Badly Drawn Boy, who looked all cute in his woolly hat and forgot the words. Andy Rourke came on and played bass on a number, and goodness me, he looked just like our Shane with a mullet.
Mani from the Roses spun a couple of Mondays singles. He was enthusiastic but I got the impression he hadn't DJ'd before. Never mind, the crowd loved him. Then came the suckerpunch. Johnny Marr's band, The Healers, wandered on, Johnny introduced them, and then came the deadly, dreadfully familiar strains of 'There Is A Light That Never Goes Out', and when Johnny sang take me out tonight it brought tears to my eyes. I'm not talking about one or two discreet dampnesses in the corner of the eye here, I'm talking Proper Crying, the best kind, where the tears flow freely, without any pain or raggedness of breath. From time to time it happens, I lose myself, and the emotions get so big they just spill out every which way, and not only do I lose control, I do it ecstatically.
After a handful of Healers songs, pretty fine but not godlike, Andy Rourke joined them for 'How Soon Is Now'. The Smiths have had the capacity to knock me off balance for a long time. I told P on the way home, about having to get away from the music when 'This Charming Man' came on at a party, and although I have since managed to sit through that and other songs in places like Fab Cafe, it's only with a certain amount of nerve. If you'd asked me in 1988 whether the Smiths or the Cure were more important to me, I'd have said the Cure, but dammit, the force of just 2 original Smiths playing just 2 Smiths songs, all these years later, was like some tremendous monster; something squamous pressing against the fabric of reality, threatening to come through and change everything.
After that, the rest of the evening was a comedown. Doves played a great set, and sweetly gave up stage space to guest stars, having the guy from Elbow, Damon Gough and Johnny Marr back, and Barney from New Order. Mr Scruff kept it real (a bit too real for P, who felt no need for Ian Dury in a DJ set). Or, you know, that might have been earlier, it's all a bit of a muddle in me head. 'Cause we had Graeme Park on the decks at some point as well, and he was top banana.
New Order, for some reason, decided only to play Joy Division songs. Transmission, Twenty-Four Hours, She's Lost Control, (I'm missing some here I didn't catch the titles of, or recognise - P would know), Love Will Tear Us Apart and Ceremony. All huge and chilling and wonderful, but pretty damn wierd in an arena setting. The crowd seemed kinda stunned, and mostly stood very still.
Lots of people obviously had to go catch last trains/buses, because they scrambled out of their seats after the New Order set, even though the house lights hadn't come up. Some people half-heartedly chanted 'Manchester, Lalala' (possibly the lamest chant in the world evah), and the foot stamping never got co-ordinated. Is foot-stamping a lost art? The gigs of my teenage years were always graced with a rousing round of stamping and clapping before the encore, which always always managed to sweep the entire crowd into a united rhythm that shook the walls. It doesn't seem to happen any more.
Eventually Manchester's finest shuffled back on to the stage, a great line of scruffy men with guitars, who all seemed more or less clueless as to what was going on. They sputtered into the riff from 'Wrote For Luck', and just as we were thinking "Oh no, surely Bez isn't going to sing again", La Ryder shows up, face completely covered by a hood, like the Emperor in Return of the Jedi, in scally form. It went on a long time. It was amusing to watch, but I was outside of myself by that point. I had no euphoria left. (It's possible that seeing Shaun Ryder eating chips off a bin in Whythenshawe that one night has rendered me incapable of hero-worhip. It shouldn't outweigh those incredible gigs at ULU when I came home black and blue after the Mondays deliberately started fights in/with the audience. But.)
Take me out tonight
Where there's music and there's people
and they're young and alive
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Trying to write
Thursday, house is cold, but I have a warm cat on my knee, to help take the edge off it for both of us.
I'm now alternating So Red the Rose with Meds, the new Placebo album, which, thanks be to evil album leakers, I have downloaded and can now adore to my heart's content. It's not like I won't still buy it. And would have even if it had proved to be patchy like the last two. Which it's not. Actually it's rather fab. After 3 listenings I don't think there are any real stand-out tracks on it that could compare to Bitter End or Special K, but it's a solid album without any dud tracks, so I can just loop it and be happy. It's noticeably more lo-fi than Sleeping With Ghosts, and the better for it.
My deadline for submitting my 5000 words for peer review has been put back from today until tomorrow, so I'm procrastinating, which is bad. I've spent a couple of hours on it, and there's stuff there I can submit, I'm just not sure if I should. Anyway, I'd better screw my courage to the sticky keys and get on with it. Here's something pretty, for inspiration.
Thursday, house is cold, but I have a warm cat on my knee, to help take the edge off it for both of us.
I'm now alternating So Red the Rose with Meds, the new Placebo album, which, thanks be to evil album leakers, I have downloaded and can now adore to my heart's content. It's not like I won't still buy it. And would have even if it had proved to be patchy like the last two. Which it's not. Actually it's rather fab. After 3 listenings I don't think there are any real stand-out tracks on it that could compare to Bitter End or Special K, but it's a solid album without any dud tracks, so I can just loop it and be happy. It's noticeably more lo-fi than Sleeping With Ghosts, and the better for it.
My deadline for submitting my 5000 words for peer review has been put back from today until tomorrow, so I'm procrastinating, which is bad. I've spent a couple of hours on it, and there's stuff there I can submit, I'm just not sure if I should. Anyway, I'd better screw my courage to the sticky keys and get on with it. Here's something pretty, for inspiration.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
-Taking a deep breath-
It's been a poor week on the novel-writing front. I've been sleeping badly, as per, and it's been a real fight to finish Buddenbrooks, a novel I haven't enjoyed. Having LB here, decorating the hall & stairs, has made me feel oddly self-conscious. Why is it that I can write in Starbucks but I can't write with a single other person in the house, who's not even remotely interested in what I'm doing? I am being a fule.
I also feel horribly disorganised on the domestic front; we now have 2 unusable washing machines crowding the kitchen, washing all over the bedroom floor, furniture in disarray due to decorating, and I haven't made any bread for ages. P put a kitchen knife through his hand last Saturday and can't play the guitar. It's all rather depressing, but -taking a deep breath- it's really no big deal and everything will be OK soon. We had a fantastic weekend in Portmeirion and we are spending next weekend in Amsterdam with G & K, who I still miss having as neighbours and I'm really looking forward to seeing them.
So Red the Rose is still pushing my buttons, and I've heard that Placebo are releasing a new album in March, so that's good. Well, it might be terrible, but the anticipation is still sweet.
It's been a poor week on the novel-writing front. I've been sleeping badly, as per, and it's been a real fight to finish Buddenbrooks, a novel I haven't enjoyed. Having LB here, decorating the hall & stairs, has made me feel oddly self-conscious. Why is it that I can write in Starbucks but I can't write with a single other person in the house, who's not even remotely interested in what I'm doing? I am being a fule.
I also feel horribly disorganised on the domestic front; we now have 2 unusable washing machines crowding the kitchen, washing all over the bedroom floor, furniture in disarray due to decorating, and I haven't made any bread for ages. P put a kitchen knife through his hand last Saturday and can't play the guitar. It's all rather depressing, but -taking a deep breath- it's really no big deal and everything will be OK soon. We had a fantastic weekend in Portmeirion and we are spending next weekend in Amsterdam with G & K, who I still miss having as neighbours and I'm really looking forward to seeing them.
So Red the Rose is still pushing my buttons, and I've heard that Placebo are releasing a new album in March, so that's good. Well, it might be terrible, but the anticipation is still sweet.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
I suppose it's time I mentioned my neice. If one's going to blog seriously and not just use it as a kind of global memo pad, one has a duty, etc, etc. And the neice is very cute; here she is with her ma, about 2 days old:
Isabella Arabella Falabella Sarspirilla Polyfilla Plantation Smith*, welcome to the world.
*They didn't really call her that.
Isabella Arabella Falabella Sarspirilla Polyfilla Plantation Smith*, welcome to the world.
*They didn't really call her that.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Sitting in the university library... I have a feeling that blogging may well contravene some rule or another (in there between NO CHAT PAGES and NO PORNOGRAPHEH); it's all a bit wierd, since I am doing this degree in order to produce something inherently iconoclastic. (YOU CAN'T FOIST UR RULEZ ON ME, MR. THE MAN!) Anyway, I just spent half an hour looking at photos on ILX, which were all amazing in their own various ways.
I didn't have anything to contribute, as although there are photos of me on the web, I didn't take any of them - they're all wedding photos, apart from that one band photo and the snap of me at Vesuvius on my DBA profile page.
This is the thread.
Freaky-wierd; I can publish this from the university, but not view it, b/c 'underscores are not allowed'. It'll be underpants next. Oh, no, that'd be too much like fun.
There are loads of great pictures from the wedding. We had some really talented people mooching about with cameras. I think my favourite one of us has to be this one.
Credit to the Cilentii for that ofc.
I didn't have anything to contribute, as although there are photos of me on the web, I didn't take any of them - they're all wedding photos, apart from that one band photo and the snap of me at Vesuvius on my DBA profile page.
This is the thread.
Freaky-wierd; I can publish this from the university, but not view it, b/c 'underscores are not allowed'. It'll be underpants next. Oh, no, that'd be too much like fun.
There are loads of great pictures from the wedding. We had some really talented people mooching about with cameras. I think my favourite one of us has to be this one.
Credit to the Cilentii for that ofc.
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