1. 'The Outsiders' - great film, based on a story written by S E Hinton. I'm assuming that she had no affiliation with the mighty 'Hinton's' supermarket chain of the 70's/early 80's (taken over by another mighty conglomerate - 'Presto'). Anyway, I have gone off on a tangent. This is a great movie. It's like the 'Who's Who' of Brat-Pack films. My favourite (sweet little Ralph Macchio) gets burned in a church fire saving some Deep South skip-rats. The story is of two rival gangs - the Greasers and the Socs. Fab.
2. 'St. Elmo's Fire' - 1985 film. Appalling theme toon (thank you, John 'one-hit wonder' Parr). Rob Lowe fucks his way around town. Even manages to 'bone' a bird who works at the dole office and wears appalling support stockings (the bird, not Rob Lowe). Best bit? Where perpetual loser and wimpy kid, Andrew McCarthy, gets to knob Ally Sheedy. Hurray for the underdog!!
3. 'Pretty In Pink' - Molly Ringwald (ginger-lass made good) and Andrew McCarthy (he plays a rich high school sort who wears cricket jumpers) go to the school dance. No fucking plot - just real 'feel good' stuff. Her best friend ('Duckie') was uber-annoying. As Woody Allen would have said 'what I wouldn't give for a sockful of wet manure'.......
4. 'About Last Night' - coming of age relationship film where Rob Lowe shags Demi Moore on the biggest bean bag I have ever seen. And in the shower too. Mind you, the grouting was fucking filthy - this was clearly in the days before Cillit Bang had arrived. Brief synopsis - they meet in a bar, shag each other stupid, move in, he puts twin dressing-gown pegs on the bathroom door....then it all goes tits-up. Let that be a lesson to you all.
5. 'Youngblood' - Rob Lowe plays an ice-hockey player. I think he shags some lady on a very woolly rug by a fire, as I recall. Other than that, I forget what the plot is....
6. 'The Karate Kid' (1/2//3). However, I rather think that they should have stopped after number 1. I adored Ralph Macchio, although due to a congenital condition, whilst he was well into his 20's when he played the part of Daniel LaRusso, he actually looked about 15. The he went and spoilt it all by marrying some lass called 'Phyllis'. I mean - 'Phyllis' - would you???? He was also a shite actor, but I just couldn't see it back then.
7. 'Risky Business' - Tom Cruise and his teeth do something about setting up a date/call-girl thing. I forget, frankly, but remember that he shagged Rebecca de Mornay in front of some French windows on a stormy night. The windows thrust open, at about the same time as Rebecca de Mornay's dress fell off, I recall.
8. 'The Breakfast Club' - I found Judd Nelson to be hilarious in this film - he was the 'bad lad' who got detention on a Saturday with 4 other kids ('a brain, a beauty, a jock and a recluse'). Absolutely first class stuff - genius!
9. 'Dirty Dancing' - OK, it was shite, I suppose, but an iconic film from my youth. Patrick Swayze, Jennifer Grey (and her huge snout), great music. What's not to love? Nobody puts baby in the corner....
10. 'Ferris Bueller's Day Off' - genius from John Hughes (RIP). Three friends skive off school, take a classic car for a spin and get up to no good. Jennifer Grey (and her huge snout) make an appearance as Bueller's sister who wants to grass him up. But, our Ferris manages to out-do her!!
Sunday 11 December 2011
Saturday 10 December 2011
Will December be magic (again)?
It is 2 weeks until Christmas. I am jobless in 3 weeks. I was cleaning a cupboard last night and found some old childhood books. Got extremely nostalgic, then extremely upset (possibly rioja-induced, I am unsure) I have applied for a few roles, none of which have come to anything yet. I was interviewed for a role last week, one for which I am clearly over-qualified. I read with interest on the Reed website this morning that this job has just been advertised with them. So, by careful deduction, I assume that I have not been successful. Not the end of the world, the travel there and back would have been a killer (40+ miles each day).
My colleagues continue to make me wonder why abortion was not made compulsory after 1981. They truly are cunts. No, like...seriously. One of them feels that it is her life's work to email as many of her friends as possible, whilst surfing the Argos website for cheap tat for her grubby little kids. The other is just fucking lucky to be there. I shall walk away on 30th December with no regret, just sweet relief that I don't have to spend another day there listening to and smelling terminal bullshit.
The most wonderful time of the year? Err, let me be the judge of that, eh? I really dislike Christmas, all of that forced, make-believe frivolity. It will be my combined Christmas and leaving 'do' next Friday. I feel sure that I shall be irritated by the general 'falseness' of it all. I aim to just have my meal (paid for by the bastarding company - think I may possibly choke on every mouthful - bastards) and then leave. Do you know, reader, they haven't even sent out my letter regarding my severance, leave date - nitto, nada....fucking nowt. I fully expect to have the mother of all fights on my hands in order to:
a) get the money
b) get the right amount of money
c) get it before the end of January - a mighty month after I will have 'left the building' (a la Elvis)
It's a good job there are no breweries around requiring 'a good drink', as these twats wouldn't know where the hell to start.
But, I am trying to look forward to Christmas as best I can. I have no decorations, no tree, no cards. But, on a positive note, I have all of my presents bought (although not yet wrapped). I am filling my evenings watching old Brat-Pack films, eating mince pies and slurping red wine.
Merry Christmas, everyone xx
My colleagues continue to make me wonder why abortion was not made compulsory after 1981. They truly are cunts. No, like...seriously. One of them feels that it is her life's work to email as many of her friends as possible, whilst surfing the Argos website for cheap tat for her grubby little kids. The other is just fucking lucky to be there. I shall walk away on 30th December with no regret, just sweet relief that I don't have to spend another day there listening to and smelling terminal bullshit.
The most wonderful time of the year? Err, let me be the judge of that, eh? I really dislike Christmas, all of that forced, make-believe frivolity. It will be my combined Christmas and leaving 'do' next Friday. I feel sure that I shall be irritated by the general 'falseness' of it all. I aim to just have my meal (paid for by the bastarding company - think I may possibly choke on every mouthful - bastards) and then leave. Do you know, reader, they haven't even sent out my letter regarding my severance, leave date - nitto, nada....fucking nowt. I fully expect to have the mother of all fights on my hands in order to:
a) get the money
b) get the right amount of money
c) get it before the end of January - a mighty month after I will have 'left the building' (a la Elvis)
It's a good job there are no breweries around requiring 'a good drink', as these twats wouldn't know where the hell to start.
But, I am trying to look forward to Christmas as best I can. I have no decorations, no tree, no cards. But, on a positive note, I have all of my presents bought (although not yet wrapped). I am filling my evenings watching old Brat-Pack films, eating mince pies and slurping red wine.
Merry Christmas, everyone xx
Friday 11 November 2011
Friday 11th November 2011
Well, reader...I have returned to my blogging duties. I admit, I have been rather neglectful of late. Possibly because I have had far too much on my poor blonde, Mackem mind...who knows? As I sit here having a small break from doing some work (course-work for a distance learning qualification that I have enrolled upon), I thought it would be a pleasant distraction to get my blogging groove back.
So, 'what's new, Madam Noir?', I hear you cry? Well, not a great deal has moved on in terms of work since my last blog entry, back in early October. I am still waiting for a definitive 'end date' from the bosses at Shitty Central. Last I heard, it was to be 31st December. But, still have not had anything official through in terms of a formal offer. This troubles me slightly, I confess. More so, as my colleague (the one who does nowt and just looks on t'internet all day and is deemed to be some sort of demigoddess by her manager) is 'up the stick' and I am fearful that the powers that be may ask me to stay to cover her maternity leave. Personally, I think I'm too far along in the process to do this...but you never know. That would be hell. Sheer, pure h-e-l-l.
I really do need to get out of the place, though. I spent their afternoon trying to manoeuvre my monitor to obscure the face of the jerk sitting opposite me. He annoys me on a daily basis when he eats/talks/breathes. I can feel my stomach buzzing and fizzing whilst watching/hearing him eat a packet of fucking Walker's crisps. The bloke is insane. Never before have I felt such venom when watching someone eat. He's such a cocksucker - and he is friendly with Mr Metrosexual (another annoying twat in the office). Simple fact is....I just need to leave.
My colleagues within my team are a set of cunts. They haven't once thanked me for saving their jobs by handing in my note of interest. I tell you one thing, the bastards will get a rude awakening when they actually have to do some fucking work. No more fannying around on t'internet and texting boyfriends. Nope.
I was trying to think of a suitable playlist to compile that really summed up what I feel about things at the moment.
Standout tracks:
'Touchy!' - Aha - because I am very fucking touchy at the moment....have you noticed?
'I Quit' - Bros ' - I've had enough, I've had it right up to here now, I'm taking a break...I quit'
'Sick & Tired ' - The Cardigans
'Can't Get Out of Bed' - The Charlatans
'Trapped' - Colonel Abrams
'A Pain That I'm Used To' - Depeche Mode
'Feel The Pain' - Dinosaur Junior ' 'I feel the pain of everyone...then I feel nothing' - yep, that's me.
'It's a Motherfucker' - Eels. Yes, it bloody well, is....
'Unbelievable' - EMF - because, like my employers, you couldn't fucking make it up if you tried....
So, 'what's new, Madam Noir?', I hear you cry? Well, not a great deal has moved on in terms of work since my last blog entry, back in early October. I am still waiting for a definitive 'end date' from the bosses at Shitty Central. Last I heard, it was to be 31st December. But, still have not had anything official through in terms of a formal offer. This troubles me slightly, I confess. More so, as my colleague (the one who does nowt and just looks on t'internet all day and is deemed to be some sort of demigoddess by her manager) is 'up the stick' and I am fearful that the powers that be may ask me to stay to cover her maternity leave. Personally, I think I'm too far along in the process to do this...but you never know. That would be hell. Sheer, pure h-e-l-l.
I really do need to get out of the place, though. I spent their afternoon trying to manoeuvre my monitor to obscure the face of the jerk sitting opposite me. He annoys me on a daily basis when he eats/talks/breathes. I can feel my stomach buzzing and fizzing whilst watching/hearing him eat a packet of fucking Walker's crisps. The bloke is insane. Never before have I felt such venom when watching someone eat. He's such a cocksucker - and he is friendly with Mr Metrosexual (another annoying twat in the office). Simple fact is....I just need to leave.
My colleagues within my team are a set of cunts. They haven't once thanked me for saving their jobs by handing in my note of interest. I tell you one thing, the bastards will get a rude awakening when they actually have to do some fucking work. No more fannying around on t'internet and texting boyfriends. Nope.
I was trying to think of a suitable playlist to compile that really summed up what I feel about things at the moment.
Standout tracks:
'Touchy!' - Aha - because I am very fucking touchy at the moment....have you noticed?
'I Quit' - Bros ' - I've had enough, I've had it right up to here now, I'm taking a break...I quit'
'Sick & Tired ' - The Cardigans
'Can't Get Out of Bed' - The Charlatans
'Trapped' - Colonel Abrams
'A Pain That I'm Used To' - Depeche Mode
'Feel The Pain' - Dinosaur Junior ' 'I feel the pain of everyone...then I feel nothing' - yep, that's me.
'It's a Motherfucker' - Eels. Yes, it bloody well, is....
'Unbelievable' - EMF - because, like my employers, you couldn't fucking make it up if you tried....
Sunday 2 October 2011
Sunday 2nd October 2011
I return to the land of blogging after a self-imposed hiatus of over one month. Madam Noir has been busy. I have been at Shitty Central and then on annual leave for one week. Back to SC tomorrow, though. The funny thing is, I'm not that bothered about it. Possibly due to my impending redundancy. Feels almost as though I am just killing time until the inevitable happens. It feels strange to think of what things will be like on my last day at work, after 14.5 years of shuffling around the same building.
So, what have I been up to this week? Well, just relaxation, meeting up with friends and good times. That's the way that a week off should be. I haven't done any college work. I'm sure that I will get my groove back tomorrow when the reality of work crashes down upon me like a hammer.
I had my third Come Dine With Me date last night. It was very nice, but now that I have joined the middle-classes and purchased a dining table, I rather objected to taking my own tray and eating my meal off my knee. Plus, I left the bloody tray behind. I am a tad concerned. This is Easington, after all. That tray will have gone straight up someone's nose. Sold on the black market to a bloke with a dog on a piece of string or something. I am rapidly becoming the Margot Leadbitter of Roker. Give me a week or two and I will be wearing a floor-length dress and going to enunciation classes.
Went into York on Friday, to celebrate my 38th year. I sashayed into Jo Malone and had my arms rubbed by a woman with very long nails and a very gay hair-style. I thought that she might have been a 'friend of Dorothy's', what with the rather 'busy' haircut, but then observed her talons. No bona fide gay lady would find nails like that to be functional. I also indulged in a breakfast at Betty's Tea Rooms - absolutely divine.
Anyway, I was thinking about terrible lyrics in songs (going off on a huge tangent there). There have been some truly atrocious ones, over the years. So, my choicest morsels are (in no particular order):
So, what have I been up to this week? Well, just relaxation, meeting up with friends and good times. That's the way that a week off should be. I haven't done any college work. I'm sure that I will get my groove back tomorrow when the reality of work crashes down upon me like a hammer.
I had my third Come Dine With Me date last night. It was very nice, but now that I have joined the middle-classes and purchased a dining table, I rather objected to taking my own tray and eating my meal off my knee. Plus, I left the bloody tray behind. I am a tad concerned. This is Easington, after all. That tray will have gone straight up someone's nose. Sold on the black market to a bloke with a dog on a piece of string or something. I am rapidly becoming the Margot Leadbitter of Roker. Give me a week or two and I will be wearing a floor-length dress and going to enunciation classes.
Went into York on Friday, to celebrate my 38th year. I sashayed into Jo Malone and had my arms rubbed by a woman with very long nails and a very gay hair-style. I thought that she might have been a 'friend of Dorothy's', what with the rather 'busy' haircut, but then observed her talons. No bona fide gay lady would find nails like that to be functional. I also indulged in a breakfast at Betty's Tea Rooms - absolutely divine.
Anyway, I was thinking about terrible lyrics in songs (going off on a huge tangent there). There have been some truly atrocious ones, over the years. So, my choicest morsels are (in no particular order):
- 'Hermann loves Pauline and Pauline loves Hermann. They made love and gave birth to a little German.' - 'Hermann Loves Pauline by Super Furry Animals
- 'De do do do, de da da da is all I want to say to you' - 'De do do do, de da da da' by The Police. Sting, you deserve to have your tongue cut out for being the purveyor of such banal lyrics, get back to the rainforest, you TWAT.
- 'You fill up my senses, like a night in a forest' - 'Annie's Song' by John Denver. Ok, John...you like this woman, right? So, what is the best way to convey your feelings? Flowers? A ring? A declaration of love? No, you decide to tell her that she makes you feel 'shit-scared'. Like being lost in Kielder. L-o-s-e-r.
- 'White Lines (Don't Don't Do It)' by Grandmaster Flash Featuring The Furious Fibe & Melle Mel. Yanks - don't they understand? Don't Don't Do It?? Two negatives makes a positive - therefore, they are actually advocating the use of cocaine in this cheery mid-1980's ditty. Yanks? Planks.
- 'Make love, like a man. I'm a man. That's what I am' - 'Make Love Like A Man' by Def Leppard. They're from Sheffield. It explains a lot. Really, it does.
OK, so these are the ones that really stand out. I am convinced that there are many, many more. However, I shall save them for another blog entry.
Wednesday 31 August 2011
Wednesday 31st August
Ah well, reader. Back to work tomorrow after a wonderful weekend in Paris. Still, looking on the positive side, only two days to endure and then it will be the weekend and the second of my 'Come Dine With Me' dates. Liv (the host) is opting for a French-themed evening, which should be fun. Quite apt, considering my jaunt there last weekend. I sent her a message today, after she had mentioned that the evening would have a French theme. I advised her to ensure that the food was shit, service was surly and that she raided my purse at the end of the night, leaving me bereft of any currency. Good Lord, it was expensive.
I went to see Stephen (hairdresser) this afternoon and he raised a very valid point about Paris. You never see any fat people. It's true, I had never noticed it...but they are quite a slim race. The only porkers that I saw were foreign tourists.
I was shocked at the amount of vagrants, beggars and people with strange afflictions (no limbs, limbs that looked very un-limb-like, etc). Quite tragic and very sad to see.
So, highlights for me? Well, Venus De Milo at The Louvre, Eiffel Tower, Arc De Triomphe and Sacre Coeur.
I return to Shitty Central tomorrow. Apparently, one of my cohorts is having some 'problems at home', therefore meaning that I have to do a late shift tomorrow. Super. So, the last few hours of my time off have been spent having lunch with my oldest friend. Followed swiftly by a haircut and quick shopping trip, whereupon I purchased a top from Gap, some chicken liver pate and a punnet of strawberries. 'How very decadent!', I hear you cry.
On to a more sombre subject now. Seven years ago today, my wonderful mam died. In some ways, it seems like another lifetime ago, yet in some respects...just as if it happened yesterday. Weird. I miss her so much. Miss her conversation, her silliness, the smell of her hair. Sometimes the sadness of it all just hits me like a train. That's grief for you. No warning of when it will hit again. Just the sheer pain when it does...the huge sense of loss. It gets easier, but still hurts like hell. And so, I pour myself a night-cap (Isle of Jura single malt), listen to some music and just 'remember'. Here's to you mam...xxx
I went to see Stephen (hairdresser) this afternoon and he raised a very valid point about Paris. You never see any fat people. It's true, I had never noticed it...but they are quite a slim race. The only porkers that I saw were foreign tourists.
I was shocked at the amount of vagrants, beggars and people with strange afflictions (no limbs, limbs that looked very un-limb-like, etc). Quite tragic and very sad to see.
So, highlights for me? Well, Venus De Milo at The Louvre, Eiffel Tower, Arc De Triomphe and Sacre Coeur.
I return to Shitty Central tomorrow. Apparently, one of my cohorts is having some 'problems at home', therefore meaning that I have to do a late shift tomorrow. Super. So, the last few hours of my time off have been spent having lunch with my oldest friend. Followed swiftly by a haircut and quick shopping trip, whereupon I purchased a top from Gap, some chicken liver pate and a punnet of strawberries. 'How very decadent!', I hear you cry.
On to a more sombre subject now. Seven years ago today, my wonderful mam died. In some ways, it seems like another lifetime ago, yet in some respects...just as if it happened yesterday. Weird. I miss her so much. Miss her conversation, her silliness, the smell of her hair. Sometimes the sadness of it all just hits me like a train. That's grief for you. No warning of when it will hit again. Just the sheer pain when it does...the huge sense of loss. It gets easier, but still hurts like hell. And so, I pour myself a night-cap (Isle of Jura single malt), listen to some music and just 'remember'. Here's to you mam...xxx
Wednesday 24 August 2011
Wednesday 24th August
Well, reader...only one more day of work to endure and then I am off for almost a week. Hurray!
Update re: work. They have progressed my note of interest in redundancy. Although, I found out today that three other colleagues at different locations have also submitted their interest. So, who knows what will happen. I am the only one with a personality, so I feel that it is only fair that they let me go...don't you? Until that decision is made, I will soldier on, doing the day job. Knowing my luck, I will probably fall off my chair into a boredom-induced coma before that happens.
I have been feeling quite stressed over the last couple of days. I didn't realise how stressed until I had some physio treatment tonight. The physio tried to pop an acupuncture needle in my ankle and my foot was jumping all over. She had to hold it down quite firmly to get the needle in - that has never happened before.
Anyway, enough of this work flim-flammery. I am looking forward to having a few days off and going on my sojourn to Paris. Although, dreading the inevitable flight. I have advised Amy (my holiday-buddy) that we will have to put the world to rights over several glasses of French red wine. She has handed in her notice at work - she is completely sick of work and is planning to visit a friend in Australia. May even stay out there, eventually. She has asked me if I want to go, but I can't stand people being so 'chipper', like they are in Oz. I need a bit of gloom to make me feel normal!
Need to go to the local post office in the morning to get some Euros. I won't be purchasing anything extravagant in Paris. Just food/drink. Plus, entry to galleries/museums, etc. I desperately want a pic of me by the Eiffel Tower....me and a huge erection....first time for everything. Hope that it won't be as much of a let down as other erections in my life...
Update re: work. They have progressed my note of interest in redundancy. Although, I found out today that three other colleagues at different locations have also submitted their interest. So, who knows what will happen. I am the only one with a personality, so I feel that it is only fair that they let me go...don't you? Until that decision is made, I will soldier on, doing the day job. Knowing my luck, I will probably fall off my chair into a boredom-induced coma before that happens.
I have been feeling quite stressed over the last couple of days. I didn't realise how stressed until I had some physio treatment tonight. The physio tried to pop an acupuncture needle in my ankle and my foot was jumping all over. She had to hold it down quite firmly to get the needle in - that has never happened before.
Anyway, enough of this work flim-flammery. I am looking forward to having a few days off and going on my sojourn to Paris. Although, dreading the inevitable flight. I have advised Amy (my holiday-buddy) that we will have to put the world to rights over several glasses of French red wine. She has handed in her notice at work - she is completely sick of work and is planning to visit a friend in Australia. May even stay out there, eventually. She has asked me if I want to go, but I can't stand people being so 'chipper', like they are in Oz. I need a bit of gloom to make me feel normal!
Need to go to the local post office in the morning to get some Euros. I won't be purchasing anything extravagant in Paris. Just food/drink. Plus, entry to galleries/museums, etc. I desperately want a pic of me by the Eiffel Tower....me and a huge erection....first time for everything. Hope that it won't be as much of a let down as other erections in my life...
Sunday 21 August 2011
Sunday 21st August
Hmm, finding it very tricky to get my blogging groove back lately. I simply can't think of anything remotely interesting to say. So, I have made a cup of tea and eaten an egg custard (M & S, of course) to try and assist my creative flow.
So, my weekend so far has been moderately OK. Not that I have done anything terribly exciting. Friday night was spent in the company of my colleague at a Thai restaurant chatting about the prospect of my impending redundancy. I shall find out about that on Tuesday when I have a one-to-one consultation with a groin in a suit and my union representative. I fully expect that he will tell me that I have been matched or slotted to a role, that I will be expected to apply for it and that my note of interest in redundancy will not be progressed at this time.
Well, if that is the case, fiendishly cunning 'plan b' will steam into action. 'What is that', I hear you cry, dear reader? Simple really. Just to do a bloody awful interview. Like, really awful. However, could my conscience allow me to do that? Would it? I still have a modicum of pride left. Admittedly, this dwindles on a daily basis - but it is still there. I shall update you on my progress during the week.
Went to Newcastle this morning with Miss Underscore. Had a rather disappointing scone at John Lewis. Searched for inspiration in HMV for a CD. Found none. Just felt myself getting agitated as I moved past the James Blunt section. Not even a brief meander along the rows of DVD's could inspire me. So, the sum total of my spends in the city was £9.95 to get a pair of boots re-heeled and £20 on M & S food shopping. Nothing purchased for my impending sojourn to Paris. I wanted to alight from the QueasyJet flight looking aloof and confident, like Audrey Hepburn. However, I fear I will look more like Audrey Roberts. Parisians are renowned for looking effortlessly stylish, debonair and sexy. How the hell will I fit in? I will be taking my Merrell walking shoes for the daytime walks...might take some 'chase me catch me fuck me' heels for the evening...well, maybe in my case...'chase me, catch me, get the Compeed blister plasters out and fuck off'. I've been hearing about how rude Parisians are. Hey, that is no problem. For I can do rude right back at them - the beauty of it is that they won't understand a bloody word of it. Result.
Am looking forward to the visit to Versailles. The gardens are meant to be spectacular. However, if I was in charge of them, I would probably think it too much of a 'chore' and demand that my friendly builder, Ronnie, came to throw wood/slate chippings over it. Personally, think it would look rather effective.
Anyway, my hedonistic weekend of revelry continued on Saturday with a trip to see the lovely Liv to get my toenails painted. Then off to meet a guy that I haven't seen since school. He is a recovering alcoholic. I haven't told him that I am gay. He quite clearly wants to be more than friends (a girl just knows these things...I'm not being conceited). I need to tell him soon. Tough, but that is how it is.
On the afternoon, my ex (Debbie) came to collect some post. Post that is still being delivered here despite the fact that she moved out last September. Anyway, we had a chat over several cups of tea. She was telling me all about her new partner - she sounds happy - I am genuinely pleased for her.
Going off on a monumental tangent, I copied Nirvana's 'Nevermind' album to iTunes this morning before I went to Newcastle. I had forgotten how fantastic is was - and still is. God, I bought that CD in 1991. Things were so much different back then. I was dating my first boyfriend, was totally besotted with him. I was at college - in my second year studying for my A-Levels. Everything about that time seems so magical now. I suppose it was, looking back. I didn't have a care in the world, nor a hint of all of the trials and tribulations that were to come over the next 20 years. It's a good job that we don't know what the future holds, isn't it?
So, my weekend so far has been moderately OK. Not that I have done anything terribly exciting. Friday night was spent in the company of my colleague at a Thai restaurant chatting about the prospect of my impending redundancy. I shall find out about that on Tuesday when I have a one-to-one consultation with a groin in a suit and my union representative. I fully expect that he will tell me that I have been matched or slotted to a role, that I will be expected to apply for it and that my note of interest in redundancy will not be progressed at this time.
Well, if that is the case, fiendishly cunning 'plan b' will steam into action. 'What is that', I hear you cry, dear reader? Simple really. Just to do a bloody awful interview. Like, really awful. However, could my conscience allow me to do that? Would it? I still have a modicum of pride left. Admittedly, this dwindles on a daily basis - but it is still there. I shall update you on my progress during the week.
Went to Newcastle this morning with Miss Underscore. Had a rather disappointing scone at John Lewis. Searched for inspiration in HMV for a CD. Found none. Just felt myself getting agitated as I moved past the James Blunt section. Not even a brief meander along the rows of DVD's could inspire me. So, the sum total of my spends in the city was £9.95 to get a pair of boots re-heeled and £20 on M & S food shopping. Nothing purchased for my impending sojourn to Paris. I wanted to alight from the QueasyJet flight looking aloof and confident, like Audrey Hepburn. However, I fear I will look more like Audrey Roberts. Parisians are renowned for looking effortlessly stylish, debonair and sexy. How the hell will I fit in? I will be taking my Merrell walking shoes for the daytime walks...might take some 'chase me catch me fuck me' heels for the evening...well, maybe in my case...'chase me, catch me, get the Compeed blister plasters out and fuck off'. I've been hearing about how rude Parisians are. Hey, that is no problem. For I can do rude right back at them - the beauty of it is that they won't understand a bloody word of it. Result.
Am looking forward to the visit to Versailles. The gardens are meant to be spectacular. However, if I was in charge of them, I would probably think it too much of a 'chore' and demand that my friendly builder, Ronnie, came to throw wood/slate chippings over it. Personally, think it would look rather effective.
Anyway, my hedonistic weekend of revelry continued on Saturday with a trip to see the lovely Liv to get my toenails painted. Then off to meet a guy that I haven't seen since school. He is a recovering alcoholic. I haven't told him that I am gay. He quite clearly wants to be more than friends (a girl just knows these things...I'm not being conceited). I need to tell him soon. Tough, but that is how it is.
On the afternoon, my ex (Debbie) came to collect some post. Post that is still being delivered here despite the fact that she moved out last September. Anyway, we had a chat over several cups of tea. She was telling me all about her new partner - she sounds happy - I am genuinely pleased for her.
Going off on a monumental tangent, I copied Nirvana's 'Nevermind' album to iTunes this morning before I went to Newcastle. I had forgotten how fantastic is was - and still is. God, I bought that CD in 1991. Things were so much different back then. I was dating my first boyfriend, was totally besotted with him. I was at college - in my second year studying for my A-Levels. Everything about that time seems so magical now. I suppose it was, looking back. I didn't have a care in the world, nor a hint of all of the trials and tribulations that were to come over the next 20 years. It's a good job that we don't know what the future holds, isn't it?
Tuesday 2 August 2011
Poem of the Day...nay, of THE YEAR...
Ok, I have had an absolutely diabolical couple of days at work. Wall to wall shit, just awful atmosphere. I am sick of explaining myself to my fuckwit boss. Marked down again in my appraisal. Cunt. So, I turn to Philip Larkin to soothe me with his purple prose.
You know what, Philip, me old mucker? I AM courageous enough to shout 'stuff your pension!'
I yearn for a change, for a simpler, less stressful way of life. I just NEED the powers that be to accept my note of interest.
Toads - by Philip Larkin
You know what, Philip, me old mucker? I AM courageous enough to shout 'stuff your pension!'
I yearn for a change, for a simpler, less stressful way of life. I just NEED the powers that be to accept my note of interest.
Toads - by Philip Larkin
Why should I let the toad work
Squat on my life?
Can’t I use my wit as a pitchfork
And drive the brute off?
Six days of the week it soils
With its sickening poison -
Just for paying a few bills!
That’s out of proportion.
Lots of folk live on their wits:
Lecturers, lispers,
Losers, loblolly-men, louts-
They don’t end as paupers;
Lots of folk live up lanes
With fires in a bucket,
Eat windfalls and tinned sardines-
They seem to like it.
Their nippers have got bare feet,
Their unspeakable wives
Are skinny as whippets - and yet
No one actually _starves_.
Ah, were I courageous enough
To shout, Stuff your pension!
But I know, all too well, that’s the stuff
That dreams are made on:
For something sufficiently toad-like
Squats in me, too;
Its hunkers are heavy as hard luck,
And cold as snow,
And will never allow me to blarney
My way of getting
The fame and the girl and the money
All at one sitting.
I don’t say, one bodies the other
One’s spiritual truth;
But I do say it’s hard to lose either,
When you have both.
Sunday 31 July 2011
Sunday 31st July 2011
So. Here I am, reader. Under house arrest because of the annual horror-fest that is the Sunderland International Airshow. You know, I resent the fact that the council has the audacity to call it 'international'. In actual fact, it is just an excuse for the vagabonds of local council estates to strip off, wear ill-fitting Primark vests, show off their tattoos, drink too much and piss in the streets.
Yesterday, I decided to have a stroll along the beach before the aircraft started to fly past. My god. People unpacking picnics, sitting in deckchairs on the beach. Vile in the extreme. Let me be perfectly frank. Once you have seen one plane, surely the 'excitement' subsides??
There did seem to be quite a few lesbians on the prowl, though. Not my sort though. More like the Bulgarian Shot-Putters that I spoke about in my previous blog entry
http://ebony-fragiletension.blogspot.com/2011/07/god-im-b-o-r-e-d.html
Miss Underscore and I were chatting during our Saturday jaunt to Newcastle yesterday. I mentioned that I had signed up for a couple of t'internet dating sites. She seemed intrigued by these. Indeed, I don't think that she could wait to get home to sign up for a free trial so that she could 'fix me up' with a suitable lay-dee. I'm taking the whole dating thing with a huge pinch of sea salt flakes (you didn't think that I used Saxa, reader....did you?). Sometime, I confess that I find it embarrassing, almost sleazy. However, I shall persevere with it until my month's subscription is up. Mad Nurse Gladys emailed me on one of these sites - she had no idea who the hell she was emailing (I have no photo on there and masquerade under a pseudonym). However, I think that her idea of 'sexy flirting' needs some work. Her email read as follows:
'Hi. How you are?' I did not respond, reader. Christ, a little more effort required, I think. And please, get the words in the right fucking order.
On a more positive note, my physio has finally accepted my friend request on Facebook. I have indulged in a bit of witty banter with her. Am seeing her again on Wednesday for treatment. However, she cannot go too near my gash with the acupuncture needles in case it gets infected. That's the gash where my cyst was. Just in case you wondered. Nothing will ever come of our banter - but it is a tad flirtatious at times. Particularly as I usually have my top off and feel all naked and vulnerable when it happens. She confided in me during my last visit that all is not well with her relationship. Seven years they have been together.
Hmmm. I recall that Phil and I hit the skids after seven years. Although, he did manage to come up with the worst excuse EVER when he failed to come home one night after a drinking session. Picture the scene. Madam Noir has hardly slept, fearing that her boyfriend has been attacked, left for dead...anything could have happened. She rings her mam who is equally as worried. The rotter finally turns up in the early afternoon. The dialogue goes as follows:
Me: 'Where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick. I thought you'd had an accident.'
Him: 'Ah, erm.....I got so drunk that I forgot where I lived.'
Needless to say that I kicked him out not long after this episode. I will always remember when I returned to the house that we had shared for many years. He could have trashed the place, taken anything. I discovered that he had taken a pillow from the bed that we shared, a jar of Nescafe and a box of Frosties cornflakes (they're grrrrreeaatt!!!). I still chuckle now when I think about that.
Anyway, time to exit stage left and get some washing out. Until next time.
Yesterday, I decided to have a stroll along the beach before the aircraft started to fly past. My god. People unpacking picnics, sitting in deckchairs on the beach. Vile in the extreme. Let me be perfectly frank. Once you have seen one plane, surely the 'excitement' subsides??
There did seem to be quite a few lesbians on the prowl, though. Not my sort though. More like the Bulgarian Shot-Putters that I spoke about in my previous blog entry
http://ebony-fragiletension.blogspot.com/2011/07/god-im-b-o-r-e-d.html
Miss Underscore and I were chatting during our Saturday jaunt to Newcastle yesterday. I mentioned that I had signed up for a couple of t'internet dating sites. She seemed intrigued by these. Indeed, I don't think that she could wait to get home to sign up for a free trial so that she could 'fix me up' with a suitable lay-dee. I'm taking the whole dating thing with a huge pinch of sea salt flakes (you didn't think that I used Saxa, reader....did you?). Sometime, I confess that I find it embarrassing, almost sleazy. However, I shall persevere with it until my month's subscription is up. Mad Nurse Gladys emailed me on one of these sites - she had no idea who the hell she was emailing (I have no photo on there and masquerade under a pseudonym). However, I think that her idea of 'sexy flirting' needs some work. Her email read as follows:
'Hi. How you are?' I did not respond, reader. Christ, a little more effort required, I think. And please, get the words in the right fucking order.
On a more positive note, my physio has finally accepted my friend request on Facebook. I have indulged in a bit of witty banter with her. Am seeing her again on Wednesday for treatment. However, she cannot go too near my gash with the acupuncture needles in case it gets infected. That's the gash where my cyst was. Just in case you wondered. Nothing will ever come of our banter - but it is a tad flirtatious at times. Particularly as I usually have my top off and feel all naked and vulnerable when it happens. She confided in me during my last visit that all is not well with her relationship. Seven years they have been together.
Hmmm. I recall that Phil and I hit the skids after seven years. Although, he did manage to come up with the worst excuse EVER when he failed to come home one night after a drinking session. Picture the scene. Madam Noir has hardly slept, fearing that her boyfriend has been attacked, left for dead...anything could have happened. She rings her mam who is equally as worried. The rotter finally turns up in the early afternoon. The dialogue goes as follows:
Me: 'Where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick. I thought you'd had an accident.'
Him: 'Ah, erm.....I got so drunk that I forgot where I lived.'
Needless to say that I kicked him out not long after this episode. I will always remember when I returned to the house that we had shared for many years. He could have trashed the place, taken anything. I discovered that he had taken a pillow from the bed that we shared, a jar of Nescafe and a box of Frosties cornflakes (they're grrrrreeaatt!!!). I still chuckle now when I think about that.
Anyway, time to exit stage left and get some washing out. Until next time.
Saturday 9 July 2011
Some of my favourite tracks of all time - part 2
Ok, we move on now:
- 'Shot By Both Sides' by Magazine. I think that, if I was absolutely pushed to select my favourite track from the punk/new wave era, it would be this one.
- 'Are Mothers Saints?' by Manic Street Preachers. This is a little-known B-side of their early 1994 single, 'Life Becoming A Landslide'. It's a wonderful track. I loved the Manics in this era: from 'Gold Against The Soul' up to and including 'The Holy Bible' - they could do no wrong. Plus, I lusted after bassist Nicky Wire like no-one's business.
- 'Fragments' by Manic Street Preachers - standout track for me from their 'Lifeblood' album.
- 'Oh My Love' by Martin Gore - cover of the old John Lennon track. Gore does a much better version of it than the bespectacled, Yoko-fixated ex-Beatle.
- 'Woodstock' by Matthews Southern Comfort. My mam used to love this, in fact it was one of her favourite songs. I made sure that it was played at her funeral. I love it - I can play it now without getting upset.
- 'Nothing Else Matters' by Metallica. This is a stunning track. Just gorgeous. Reminds me of being at college in the very early-90's.
- 'She's Out Of My Life' by Michael Jackson - I defy anyone not to get a little bit moved when he starts to cry at the end! Great break-up song, so fucking sad.
- 'Rearrange' by Miles Kane. This is a relatively recent track. Great line - 'you rearrange my mind'. What it must feel like to feel like that about someone, eh?
- 'Break Up The Family' by Morrissey. From 1988 album, 'Viva Hate'. Before he became a complete cunt.
- 'Bliss' by Muse - second track from their 'Origin of Symmetry' album. A complete cacophony of noise and wailing - but I think it's great.
- 'Undisclosed Desires' by Muse - great bassline. Reminds me of a special time in my life.
- 'I Want To Wake Up' by Pet Shop Boys. Love this track, from 1987 album 'Actually'. It was just the most perfect album at the time, although sounds a tad dated now.
- 'Gigantic' by Pixies - 'a big, big love' indeed. Great bassline and vocals - Kim Deal is genius.
- 'Public Image' by PIL. Another great punk era track.
- 'Crown of Creation' by Ride. It may sound a little twee, but Andy Bell (he who defected to Oasis...boo...hisss!!!) penned this about his wife Idha. It's a lovely track - but he's still a cunt.
- 'Vapour Trail' by Ride. From their first album, 'Nowhere'. It's a beautiful track, just typical of the 'shoe-gazing' era from which it came.
- 'No Ordinary Love' by Sade - just for that great bassline.
- 'Glass of Champagne' by Sailor - used to sing this as a 3 year old child. Happy, happy memories.
- 'Heaven Only Knows' by Santa Cruz - I think that they slid off the face of the earth after releasing this in 1997 - doesn't stop it being a top track.
- 'Submission' by Sex Pistols - best track from 'Never Mind The Bollocks'
- 'Return' by Shed Seven. A-m-a-z-i-n-g.
- 'Untitled 4' by Sigur Ros. Gorgeous, ethereal track by Scandinavian band.
- 'Unloveable' by The Smiths - very me. 'I wear black on the outside, cos black is how I feel on the inside....'
- 'Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me' by The Smiths. Again, very me.
- 'You're My Star' by Stereophonics. I don't usually like this band, but this is a really good track. He doesn't do that 'scream-y' thing with his voice. Thank God.
- 'Dry Your Eyes' by The Streets. Rap stuff (is this rap??) isn't usually my kind of thing, but this is so fucking sad. You can tell his heart has been broken before.
- 'She's Not Dead' by Suede. From their debut album. Wonderfully melancholic.
- 'Ieya' by Toyah Wilcox - yes, you may laugh but I love this track. From a great album called 'The Edge of The Seventies' - some great new wave tracks on there.
- 'Falling Down' by Travis - from their first album - before they got a bit dull. Another great track from that album is 'U16 Girls' - it's a good 'un.
- 'Mid-Life Krysis' by Travis. By 'eck, they've done some good tracks, this lot. Went to see them with Madam Verte at Newcastle Riverside in 2004. Except that it's called Foundation - it was the old Riverside club.
- 'The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore' - The Walker Brothers. The only bad thing is that it was used in that bloody awful drama 'Truly Madly Deeply'.
- 'No Regrets' by Scott Walker - what a voice. Just brilliant.
- 'My Favourite Dress' by The Wedding Present - my first boyfriend loved them. I sometimes think that he had a wee crush on singer, David Gedge. Fab song, so can fully understand if he did!
- 'Infinity' by The XX. I can't begin to explain how much I love this song. One of my top 10 fave tracks - ever.
- 'Fine Time' by Yazz. Ancient track from around 1989-ish. Reminds me of carefree days at school with good friends.
- 'Throw It All Away' by Zero 7. This is a great track. From the album 'The Garden', which was pretty poor by comparison.
And there you have it. My recommendations. My favourite tracks of all time. So far.........
Check some of them out - I guarantee that there are some real gems in there.
Friday 8 July 2011
And some of my favourite tracks of all time.....
I blogged yesterday about seminal albums in my life. Albums were hard enough to weedle down. Singles are quite another matter. I have over 8500 songs in my iTunes account and many, many more that I haven't even downloaded to iTunes....yet. The CD boxes are stacked in crates in any spare cupboard and my shed. It will be a huge task to sort them all out, I'm sure. So, without further ado, let's take a sentimental journey down Madam Noir's past.......
- 'Money, Money, Money' by Abba - God, I simply loved Abba when I was a child. I had quite a crush on Agnetha (blonde one). I wanted to be just like her. Except I am tone deaf. And look nothing like her. She was a thing of great beauty - how anyone could have preferred skanky Frida, I'll never know. This track, I think, is their finest - but it was so hard to choose (bubbling under was 'Fernando', 'Tiger' and 'Slipping Through My Fingers')
- 'Wake Up Alone' by Amy Winehouse. A fine tune by a disturbed, crazy artist. Makes me sad when I hear it, but not in a depressed way - sometimes, feeling sad can feel quite nice, don't you think?
- 'Home Lovin' Man' by Andy Williams - this was one of my dad's favourites, and so it always reminds me of him. He worked away a lot when I was growing up - I can't imagine how hard it must have been for him, living away from his home and family for 5 days a week, only returning on weekends.
- '505' by Arctic Monkeys - now, this is not the sort of band that I like. Actually, find them a little annoying. But this track is wonderful - makes the hairs on the back of my neck get all erect (oo-er...).
- 'I Only Have Eyes For You' by Art Garfunkel - sadly, although I love the song, I do not have eyes for Art, as he is so plug-ugly...I could not watch him perform this. To this end, he has the perfect face for radio.
- 'The Way We Were' by Barbra Streisand - my mother's influence. As a child, she would play music in the house - artists like Babs, Dionne Warwick, Dusty Springfield, even Nana Mouskouri (my mam holidayed in Greece as she had a Greek boyfriend before she met my dad).
- 'Scarlet Beautiful' by The Beloved. I bought the album from which this track came ('Happiness') in 1989. It was a great, blissed-out album...captured the spirit of the period so well. But this was a wonderful track.
- 'Touch Me With Your Love' by Beth Orton - she has such a seductive quality about her voice. Perfect for listening to as it's getting dark outside, candles burning, red wine flowing - and good company (of the female variety...ahem!).
- 'Sexuality' by Billy Bragg - God, this reminds me of going to student nights in Sunderland. Woolly cardigans and love beads. Cheap, watered-down ale. Snogging lads on the stairwell at Ku Club. Happy days.
- 'Caramel' by Blur. I always associate this song with someone taking drugs. I have no idea why, but it sounds like the sonic equivalent of someone shooting up heroin. Listen to it and see if you get where I'm coming from. Beautifully layered track, though. Gorgeous.
- 'The Greatest' by Cat Power. I don't know much about her, only have one track on my iTunes by her. But, fuck me...what a great tune.
- 'Flower' by The Charlatans. I discovered this in early 1994. I was ceremoniously dumped by me then boyfriend. Thought I was going to die of a broken heart. So, went to visit my Aunty Margaret and Uncle Eddie in deepest, darkest Saddleworth (site of the Moors Murders...nice). I ventured into Manchester and bought this while I was there. This tune just seemed to capture something about how I was feeling at the time.
- 'Wicked Game' by Chris Isaak. Because it is just fucking gorgeous - that's all.
- 'Lovers and Friends' by The Communards. A lovely song, Jimmy Somerville's vocals are haunting. Not sure how he managed to get 'that high'. Perhaps one of the sound engineers was buggering him during the recording...
- 'Corrupt' by Depeche Mode. Quite a perverse little number, I think. But, I love it...
- 'Transatlanticism' by Death Cab For Cutie. This is a wonderful song. Was used in an episode of Six Feet Under, but I think I discovered it before this. It makes me sad and happy all at once. I recall that Debbie (ex) loved it too when she first heard it.
- 'Newborn' by Depeche Mode. OK, reader. This is going to come as a huge shock to you. This is my absolute favourite Mode track. Ever. It's immense, love love love it. It is criminal that it was only ever a B-side (of 'A Pain That I'm Used To'). Dave Gahan's vocals are superb - like he really means every word.
- 'Don't Leave Home' by Dido. Yes, a rather unfashionable choice, but I love this track. Great lyrics too.
- 'Secret Love' by Doris Day - every closeted lesbian's track of choice! And I am no exception.
- 'M62 Song' by Doves - this is a gorgeous album track. Very atmospheric. I once drove on the M62 past the moors whilst listening to this - dead spooky! The M62 approaching Saddleworth is my favourite stretch of motorway (is that weird, to have a favourite bit of motorway?)
- 'Stepping Stone' by Duffy. Christ, think I have been used as a stepping stone a few times. But, I live to tell the tale, eh? Fuckers!!
- 'The Weight Of The World' by Editors. This is another epic track from Editors. I love the line 'every little piece of your life will add up to one'. Simple, but effective - and true.
- 'Beautiful Freak' by Eels. Because everyone surely wants to be unique - therefore a beautiful freak. I've never wanted to 'follow the pack' or do anything just because it's fashionable. I like that about Eels.
- 'The One' by Elton John. 'All I ever needed was 'the one'' - isn't that what we all want? It's just that some of us can't find them - or perhaps we just don't need them, who knows.
- 'Spiralling' by Erasure. A cheery little ditty, right at the end of their 'Circus' album from 1987. Basically, it's about someone wishing themselves dead after a love affair. Grisly.
- 'Protection' by Massive Attack. This is a wonderful track, but I cannot watch Tracey Thorn singing. Her jaw doesn't fit together properly - the bottom bit juts out. Therefore, she looks like a gimp. Great voice though.
- 'YFLMD' by Giant Drag. It's a mighty strange track, but I love it. Think I mentioned it in an earlier blog entry. It stands for You Fuck Like My Dad.
- 'Eighth Day' by Hazel O'Connor. I first heard this track on a Sunday afternoon in the mid-80's listening to Jimmy Saville's golden oldies show. And I loved it instantly. Hard to choose between this track and 'Will You?', both of which came from the fantastic 'Breaking Glass' soundtrack.
- 'This Guy's In Love With You' by Herb Alpert and The Tijuana Brass
- 'Big Fun' by Inner City - reminds me of drinking Castaway, whilst under-age in Sunderland City Centre. And wearing culottes.
- 'The Lighthouse' by Interpol. A very atmospheric track, the last one from 'Our Love To Admire'. I feel extremely privileged to have seen them play this live at Manchester Apollo. A truly wonderful song - another 'goosepimple' track.
- 'Skyscraper' by Julian Plenti - AKA Interpol singer Paul Banks' solo project - some gorgeous songs on the album, this being my favourite. He is a fucking genius.
- 'The Kick Inside' by Kate Bush. The last track from the album of the same name. I truly don't think that she got better than this album. My mam had the original vinyl. Reminds me of her.
- 'Use Somebody' by Kings of Leon. I love the song, it has personal meaning for me, which I shan't divulge here. What I will say is I believed every word of it, like a fool.
- 'Light Years' by Kylie Minogue - pure, unadulterated, gay cheese. But, hell...I love it.
- 'Tigerlily' by La Roux. Great track, just loved it from the first time I heard it.
- 'Big Gay Heart' by The Lemonheads. This is fab. Evan Dando should have been much bigger, but I guess that's drugs for you, eh? Reminds me of happy times in the early '90's with my fisrt serious boyfriend.
- 'French Kiss' by Lil' Louis - because it sounds fucking filthy.
- 'I Feel Space' by Lindstrom - instrumental track, very chilled out - quite scary in a way that I can't describe.
- 'Forbidden Love' by Madonna - best track (in my opinion) from 'Confessions On A Dancefloor'. I feel privileged to have seen her play live - chance of a lifetime.
And so, part two of this entry will be completed another time.........just to keep you in suspense.
Thursday 7 July 2011
Some of the best albums of all time
In absolutely no particular order whatsoever. I consider these to be albums that have provided the soundtrack to my life. Yes, some of them may be unfashionable. Some of them may be plain miserable. Some may be considered classics. However, they are all very special to me. So, without further pre-amble...here we go.
- 'Grace' by Jeff Buckley. I didn't really know much about Jeff Buckley's work until I had a holiday in New York with Miss Underscore. She recommended him, and in particular this album. So, it was purchased and devoured. I absolutely love it. Standout tracks for me are 'Lilac Wine', 'So Real', 'Forget Her' and 'Corpus Christi Carol'. I remember vividly one night, I had just finished a physio appointment and it was a dark autumn evening. I was playing this CD in the car and was on my way home - it was just so atmospheric.
- 'Black Celebration' by Depeche Mode. A really difficult task for me, picking my favourite Mode album. This just wins by a whisker. I wish I had been able to experience them touring this album. I believe that they played at Whitley Bay Ice Rink, but I didn't really 'get into' them big style until after this album was released. I love the way that Gore and Gahan's vocals compliment each other perfectly. I could listen to Martin Gore's voice and never tire of it - it is sublime. Quite unlike his speaking voice, which is, frankly, hideous.
- 'Interpol' by Interpol. Bittersweet one, this. I bought it when it was first released in September 2010. However, I didn't really play it much until I was on 2 weeks annual leave at the end of September. That was when Debbie left me. So, I tended to play this, whilst wallowing in a sea of tears, tissues and Laphroaig single malt whisky. I would never want to feel like that again. It's strange that I love it so much, despite the uncomfortable memories it conjures up. A work of art, pure and simple. Best tracks - 'All of The Ways' and 'Barricade'.
- 'Best of 00-10' by Ladytron. Again, very hard just to single out one studio album from this band. So, have opted for the cheat's way out and gone for the compilation. Words cannot describe how much I adore Ladytron. Criminally under-rated in this country. I first discovered them whilst at an Interpol gig in Manchester. Ladytron were the support act and they just blew me away. So much that I actually went out and bought their entire back catalogue upon my return. Best tracks for me are 'Light & Magic', 'Discotraxx' and everything from the 'Velocifero' album.
- 'The Holy Bible' by Manic Street Preachers. I feel very fortunate to have seen the Manics when they toured the Holy Bible. The venue was atrocious - Newcastle University. The band were on fire. Not literally, you understand. Just everything about the way that they played had an 'edge'. Not long after this, Richey disappeared and things were never quite the same again. I had the biggest crush on Nicky Wire - worshipped him. I still think he's a bit of a genius. Lyrically, this is about as good as it gets.
- 'No Parlez' by Paul Young. This was the first album that I purchased, on my tenth birthday from The Spinning Disc in Sunderland. It still holds very special memories for me. I think it was a wonderful debut album, and one that Paul Young never came close to rivalling. Call me unfashionable, but that is what I think. I also believe that he can be forgiven for covering 'Love Will Tear Us Apart'. It wasn't that bad.
- 'Doolittle' by The Pixies. This is a fantastic album. My ex-boyfriend bought me a copy of the CD in 1991, I think. I always wanted to be like Kim Deal - she was just so utterly cool. Not a bad track on this.
- 'Going Blank Again' by Ride. Another vastly under-rated 90's shoe-gazing band. I went to see them live at Newcastle Mayfair, with my then boyfriend, Leighton. They made another couple of albums and then split. Andy fucking Bell went on to join Oasis. Twat.
- 'Melody A.M.' by Royksopp. This is a wonderful album. So trippy, chilled out, eerie....They never matched it's sheer brilliance on future releases, sadly. Although they did come close with a couple of tracks on 'The Understanding' (Beautiful Day Without You and What Else Is There?)
- 'Love and Other Demons' by Strangelove. Strangelove could have been massive. They weren't. Patrick Duff's drug habit was the price they paid. One of my favourite albums from the 90's. Every track a stunner.
- 'The XX' by The XX - I categorically decree that they will never be able to come close to this kind of perfection on their second album. They will probably split under the pressure. It really was/is that fucking gorgeous.
- 'A Rush of Blood To The Head' - yes, he's a cock. Yes, he's married to a Hollywood star. I suspect that he's probably not that good at rumpy-pumpy. That aside, this is a great album. Then they got too big and got a bit silly with it. Nonetheless, I still enjoyed their headline slot at Glastonbury. I always think that liking Coldplay is rather like masturbation. You know it's wrong, but it feels so good at the time (or so I'm reliably informed...)
- 'The Back Room' - Editors. Whilst if absolutely pushed, my favourite album of their's would be 'An End Has A Start', I would not have got there without loving this album first. He's got the most gorgeous voice - like being teased with Thornton's treacle toffee.
Tuesday 5 July 2011
God, I'm b-o-r-e-d.......
This being off work malarkey is no fun after a few days. I am utterly bored to tears. I have spent today getting rid of duplicate songs on iTunes and sorting out my landing cupboard. Thrilling, eh?
Wound still looks as though I have had a javelin through my hip, but at least it's not oozing tonight. Hoping that I can get back to work next week....fingers crossed. Christ, never thought I would hear myself say that.
I was contacted by my colleague, the Irish Setter. She rang to ask how I was and we chatted about the impending redundancy firago. I think I have decided that I will express my interest. There are crappy call centre/part-time jobs out there....I'm sure that I could get one whilst I (hopefully) study for the teaching assistant's course.
Am feeling very drab at the moment. I guess that it what comes of wearing velour leisure pants for over a week. My hair is rather long, but I am seeing gay hairdresser Stephen tomorrow night....that's if I can lean back comfortably with my manky hip. It is getting so long at the back - he keeps telling me that I should grow it slightly...but I feel like one of Kajagoogoo with this raging mullet at the back of me. So, I am having it cut properly tomorrow...none of this fannying about. The thing is, there is a fine line between having one's hair short, looking stylish like Juliet Binoche in 'Damage' and on the other side of the coin...looking like KD Lang on a bad day. I would favour the former over the latter any time.
I often wonder about lesbians. I mean, let's examine the key points when it comes to those with venetian tendencies:
Wound still looks as though I have had a javelin through my hip, but at least it's not oozing tonight. Hoping that I can get back to work next week....fingers crossed. Christ, never thought I would hear myself say that.
I was contacted by my colleague, the Irish Setter. She rang to ask how I was and we chatted about the impending redundancy firago. I think I have decided that I will express my interest. There are crappy call centre/part-time jobs out there....I'm sure that I could get one whilst I (hopefully) study for the teaching assistant's course.
Am feeling very drab at the moment. I guess that it what comes of wearing velour leisure pants for over a week. My hair is rather long, but I am seeing gay hairdresser Stephen tomorrow night....that's if I can lean back comfortably with my manky hip. It is getting so long at the back - he keeps telling me that I should grow it slightly...but I feel like one of Kajagoogoo with this raging mullet at the back of me. So, I am having it cut properly tomorrow...none of this fannying about. The thing is, there is a fine line between having one's hair short, looking stylish like Juliet Binoche in 'Damage' and on the other side of the coin...looking like KD Lang on a bad day. I would favour the former over the latter any time.
I often wonder about lesbians. I mean, let's examine the key points when it comes to those with venetian tendencies:
- By definition, lesbians like women
- By definition, a woman should look like a woman, not like a Bulgarian shot-putter
- So, why do so many lesbians look like Bulgarian shot-putters?
- And why do they end up with quite attractive, femme women?
- Am I missing something?
- Do I look like a Bulgarian shot-putter (as opposed to a member of Kajagoogoo?)?
- Do I go for women who look like BSP's? God, I bloody hope not?
I apologise if, in the course of my dialogue, I have inadvertently offended any Bulgarian shot-putters. On another note, if there are any of you BSP's out there who don't look like KD Lang, please see me afterwards...
My previous relationships have been with a) a computer nerd who fucked me over and b) a prison nurse who had a very fixed idea of the kind of woman she wanted (ie...not me) and wanted me to change beyond recognition. I'm beginning to think that all lesbians might just be the same. Bonkers. Don't get me wrong, I haven't given up hope completely. I just think that a lot of people out there are so false.
Having said that, are men any better? I have been engaging in witty banter with a Facebook friend who I went to school with. But it could never be anything other than 'witty banter'. For two reasons.
- He is a recovering alcoholic - in itself, this is fine. However:
- He is an Oasis fan........for this, there is no known cure.
And I just don't 'do' men anymore. Simple as that. Perhaps I am meant to grow old like Ann Widdecombe (only with better hair, please God). The world will think that I am an old crone, untouched by another human's hand.
I mean, most of the gay women on these t'internet sites. They look as butch as hell. Or they look quite attractive, but you know that they will only want a bit of three-way fun with their husbands. Life is just so fucking sordid.
OK, to end with, a list of my 'guilty pleasures'. Songs on my iPod that I love, but feel really bad about. Please don't hold it against me:
- 'The Man Who Sold The World' - Lulu. Jason Orange's MILF does tip-top Bowie cover
- 'A Little In Love' - Cliff Richard. I wholeheartedly blame Madam Verte for this.
- 'Annie's Song' - John Denver. One of my mam's favourites. Speccy-four-eyes-songsmith-cum-crap-light aircraft-pilot
- 'Show Me The Way' - Peter Frampton. The hair. The 'talking' guitar. WTF.
- 'Ay Ay Ay Ay Moosey' - Modern Romance. Words fail me, they really do.
- 'Gypsy Woman (La Da Dee La Da Da)' - Crystal Waters. Reminds me of clubbing in early 90's. And not in a good way, let me tell you.
Sunday 3 July 2011
Early morning Sabbath musings
Just waiting once again for the district nurse to come a-calling. I have been considering my future, since receiving the letter from work about my 'expression of interest' in redundancy. I keep telling myself that it is the right thing to do, but am so utterly shit-scared by it all. Added to this is the fact that I have no-one but myself to rely on in the world. Don't get me wrong, I have lots of wonderful friends. But that will not help me pay the bills. I would be saying goodbye to my pension...but like I have said before, part of me doesn't actually think that I will live that long anyway. I am torn between the 'life's too short, enjoy it while you can' ethos and the 'look after the future' school of thought (my dad was a real stickler for this)
The thought of looking for another job and trying to 'fit in' somewhere else doesn't fill me with dread, so much as 'i can't be fucking bothered to make the effort' - bet that sounds really lazy, eh?
Does a job really define who you are as a person? Personally, I think not.
Anyway, I was also thinking about how happy I am living alone. I have been reflecting a lot lately (call it my age!) and was thinking about when I shared my home with Debbie. When I look back to when she left, I was in bits - just couldn't see how my life could go on without her in it. Now, I am so pleased that circumstances took the turn that they did. It could never have continued. Maybe I am selfish, but I am fiercely independent and don't want to have to answer to anyone. Then there was Julie. Total 'rebound' relationship. She wanted me to be someone else. No-one has the right to ask that of a partner. If I'm not good enough as I am, then screw you. I read on Facebook recently that she was going on a date. Hope that she found what she was looking for. I think it speaks volumes that I haven't been on the lookout for anyone since.
Wonder what it is that makes some people find a partner and set up home, have a family, etc - whilst others don't?
Moving on to more pressing matters. My plans for the day? Might do some ironing. Perhaps pop to get some groceries. Watch more crap DVD's. God, I am yearning for a scone of the day, Miss Underscore. It's been far too long.
The thought of looking for another job and trying to 'fit in' somewhere else doesn't fill me with dread, so much as 'i can't be fucking bothered to make the effort' - bet that sounds really lazy, eh?
Does a job really define who you are as a person? Personally, I think not.
Anyway, I was also thinking about how happy I am living alone. I have been reflecting a lot lately (call it my age!) and was thinking about when I shared my home with Debbie. When I look back to when she left, I was in bits - just couldn't see how my life could go on without her in it. Now, I am so pleased that circumstances took the turn that they did. It could never have continued. Maybe I am selfish, but I am fiercely independent and don't want to have to answer to anyone. Then there was Julie. Total 'rebound' relationship. She wanted me to be someone else. No-one has the right to ask that of a partner. If I'm not good enough as I am, then screw you. I read on Facebook recently that she was going on a date. Hope that she found what she was looking for. I think it speaks volumes that I haven't been on the lookout for anyone since.
Wonder what it is that makes some people find a partner and set up home, have a family, etc - whilst others don't?
Moving on to more pressing matters. My plans for the day? Might do some ironing. Perhaps pop to get some groceries. Watch more crap DVD's. God, I am yearning for a scone of the day, Miss Underscore. It's been far too long.
Saturday 2 July 2011
Things that I would like to buy
OK, sitting here still waiting for the nurse. I thought that I would indulge in a bit of 'fantasy-shopping', as both my fragile state of health and my meagre bank balance prevent both.
Why oh why do houses need so much attention? Why can't you just paint them, and be done with it? Why the constant 'keeping on top of things'. Now I know how my parents felt.
- Pink cushions from John Lewis. Ok, I know that I am not immediately known for my love of all things 'pink'. However, I only desire 2 solitary cushions to pop on each sofa in my back room to 'break up the colour'. I have seen the perfect ones. £30 a pop.
- Stripey pink/grey wool rug from Next. Yes, again, just to inject a much needed splash of colour into the room. A mere £90.
- Scanner. I have been wanting to scan a lot of old photos from years back. Can't do this until I buy a scanner or find someone who has one and wouldn't mind letting me have a lend. £65
- L'Occitane liquid soap. Have tried the lavender and love it. Rather fancy trying the verbena variety. I notice that QVC have a special beauty day on 17th July. Might be able to snap up a bargain...
- Jo Malone Nutmeg & Ginger body creme. My stock of this is diminishing. At £49 a tub, so is my bank balance.
- Red or Dead tan calf-length boots. These are the most comfy, high-heeled boots ever. The softest leather, they are a work of art. £110
Why oh why do houses need so much attention? Why can't you just paint them, and be done with it? Why the constant 'keeping on top of things'. Now I know how my parents felt.
Saturday 2nd July
Well, a lovely sunny Saturday morning. Lying in bed, I heard the postman popping some letters through my door. I went to collect them. A letter from Jo Malone offering me a complimentary hand and arm massage next time I'm visiting (thanks for that). More importantly, the long-awaited letter from work regarding expressing a 'note of interest' in redundancy. So, to summarise, the key points:
- A note of interest must be submitted by 29th July 2011
- At this time, if it is determined that this could be progressed at that time, this will be discussed with me in my individual consultation
Now that the letter has arrived, I'm not sure how I feel. I know it's a big risk that I'll be taking, but I have to do it. I've thought hard about the fact that I will lose my pension, but frankly - don't think I will live to retirement age anyway. So, what the hell? God, I wish that my dad was here to guide me.
Anyway, my plans for a debauched weekend? Well, I am waiting for the district nurse to come and change my wound dressing. I've been up since the crack of dawn, showered and had my breakfast (toasted brioche rolls with dripping Lurpak....heavenly) just in case she arrived early. Other than that, nothing much. Need to go to get some shopping, but think I can just about bear the pain of driving for a short while.
A friend posted a link on Facebook to an interview with Liam Gallagher's new band, Beady Eye. I reluctantly decided to watch it - I think the fellow is an pudding-bowled oaf, personally. It grieved me to see Andy Bell (ex-Ride guitarist) nattering alongside him. One of the greatest bands of my youth (Ride, that is) - criminally under-rated, and yet the world goes mad for boorish neanderthals like Gallagher et al.
Ah, happy memories of my friend and I going to see Ride play at the late, great Newcastle Mayfair. Supported by The Verve, they were. Back in the days when they were simply called 'Verve'. They added the 'The' later when it was revealed that there was an American band called 'Verve'. Bit of random music trivia for you, there.
Time to log off, in case nursie comes a calling.........
Thursday 30 June 2011
Thursday 30th June
OK, I'm extremely bored now. This 'being off work' thing just messes with my head. My daily ritual now follows a familiar pattern:
I am off to see my doctor tomorrow, hopefully he will give me a sick note without the need to have to perform fellatio on him for the privilege. Then my colleague has said that she will visit - with her 3 year old son. Great. Just what I need. That'll fucking perk me up no end. Guess I'm just feeling a bit down at the moment - no one to give me a hug and say 'there, there my dear' (see what I did there?). Actually, am feeling OK, I just popped that line in so that I could enter an 80's song title.....
The weekend will be boring, no doubt. I'll not be indulging in any shopping activity - couldn't be bothered to a) drive and b) walk around with normal clothes on. I am sick of dressing like a pensioner in elasticated waist leisure pants and comfy shoes (although it is very comfy, I have to admit...). What next? Perhaps I will develop a taste for malt loaf, cream crackers and Carnation milk in my tea. Or, even worse. Start buying Werthers Originals.
This whole debacle has made me realise what great friends I have. Also, a little sad (well, kind of) that there is no significant other in my life who would be around when the shit hit the fan. But, that feeling doesn't last terribly long, and I rouse myself into sense again by reminding myself of how bad relationships can be (well, certainly mine are!).
I shall have the rest of this week and next off and hope to get back to work the week after. Wonder what I shall be returning to though.......
- Wake up at around 8am
- Have a precision wash in shower with shower head held at precise angle, thereby missing direct line of gaping chasm in hip.
- Dry myself, then head over the bath to indulge in hair-washing hedonism
- Get in car. Easier said than done. Am about as graceful as Hattie Jacques getting into a Smart Car. Backwards.
- Drive to doctor's
- Wait for nurse to call me in
- Have wound gouged out and re-packed
- Come home, swallow codeine and descend into drug-fuelled slumber
- Watch some shit DVD (currently series 3 of Bergerac)
I am off to see my doctor tomorrow, hopefully he will give me a sick note without the need to have to perform fellatio on him for the privilege. Then my colleague has said that she will visit - with her 3 year old son. Great. Just what I need. That'll fucking perk me up no end. Guess I'm just feeling a bit down at the moment - no one to give me a hug and say 'there, there my dear' (see what I did there?). Actually, am feeling OK, I just popped that line in so that I could enter an 80's song title.....
The weekend will be boring, no doubt. I'll not be indulging in any shopping activity - couldn't be bothered to a) drive and b) walk around with normal clothes on. I am sick of dressing like a pensioner in elasticated waist leisure pants and comfy shoes (although it is very comfy, I have to admit...). What next? Perhaps I will develop a taste for malt loaf, cream crackers and Carnation milk in my tea. Or, even worse. Start buying Werthers Originals.
This whole debacle has made me realise what great friends I have. Also, a little sad (well, kind of) that there is no significant other in my life who would be around when the shit hit the fan. But, that feeling doesn't last terribly long, and I rouse myself into sense again by reminding myself of how bad relationships can be (well, certainly mine are!).
I shall have the rest of this week and next off and hope to get back to work the week after. Wonder what I shall be returning to though.......
Tuesday 28 June 2011
Tuesday 28th June
Well, what an eventful couple of days I have had, reader. You may recall in my last post, I was shuffling across Lidl's car park with all the sophisticated allure of a one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest. Well, there was a very valid reason for this.
I have been in hospital, on an overnight stay for the first time in my (nearly) 38 years. I confess that it wasn't too bad, although breakfast was the work of Beelzebub. More on that later.
I arrived at work at my usual time (7.45 in the am) on Monday morning. As I walked through the door of the HR office, I was greeted by the annoying nasal ramblings of a colleague who had just returned from honeymoon (yawn). He was wittering on about how he had found Borneo (what kind of a romantic, sex-fuelled honeymoon destination is that - surely the sort of place that only people with way too much disposable income go??). I glazed over, focusing more upon the pain radiating from my hip than how Mr Metrosexual had enjoyed his nuptials. My manager could sense that I was in pain and she ordered me to go to casualty. I did so, only to be told that I needed a referral from my doctor (you know the one, I described him in a previous blog entry - all teeth, eyes and Farah pants).
Anyway, to cut a long story short (going forward, I am going to try and get the title of a seminal 80's song woven into the text of all of my blog entries - gosh, the things I do to keep/get your interest, eh?) I was referred to hospital. Was seen by the doctor who said that I needed to have my carbuncle removed. I asked him if I could just have a couple of Junior Disprin and have it lanced. He said not, that I would need a general anaesthetic and would have to (glug)....stay overnight. Shit. I had never had an overnight stay in hospital, not an operation. I called my good friend, Madam Verte - she came to my rescue as soon as she was able.
I may have been shitting my pants at the thought of being sliced with a knife, but Madam Noir can still have an eye for a pretty lay-dee. The rather lovely Sarah was a student nurse who tended to my needs. My gaydar was off the scale - everything about her said that she was a friend of Dorothy's. However, she did mention that she had three children. Ah, must be straight then. But, it ain't neccessarily so (do you see what I did there? Promised you one 80's song title....you, dear reader get two....now that is value for money).
Madam Verte showed me how to play cards (well, kind of....I'm a shit pupil you see), and we indulged in a couple of 'Take a Break' crosswords - preferring the 'television' version as opposed to the harder standard version. I changed into my sexy anti-embolisation tights and regulation backless hospital gown at 2pm, after being told that my op would be at around 3pm.
Fast forward to 9pm. 7 hours in anti-embolisation tights, nil by mouth, no visitors can be a tedious place to be. I received countless texts from well-wishers hoping that it had gone well and that I got a good night's sleep.
Then, my trolley arrived. I hopped on and was taken to theatre. I had been asking people all day on the ward 'what is it like to be put to sleep' ( I realise that makes me sound like a rather ageing, arthritic Labrador...but you get my gist?). I arrived at theatre and had to sign a consent form. I removed my knickers at the nurse's request (oi, oi...nowt like that...dirty buggers) and she injected my canula with two forms of painkillers. And then asked me to put a mask on and 'take deep breaths'. She said it was oxygen...I have my doubts. It had a slight odour of Febreze about it - but it seemed to do the trick. They must have then taken me into theatre and 'done the deed'.
I awoke feeling actually quite canny. Had a bit craic with the staff and was wheeled back to the ward. I slithered off the trolley into my bed. The nurse was offering me all-sorts of drugs, all of which I took. Codeine, paracetamol, anti-sickness. Just because I could. That seems to be the thing about hospitals - they are forever force-feeding you drugs. So, you go in as pure as the driven snow (ok, so maybe not in my case), and come out with a narcotics habit to rival that of Jimmy Corkhill in Brookside.
I couldn't sleep, tossed and turned all night. Was oozing with sweat from those fucking plastic cover things that they put on the mattresses. Surgeons were still coming to see patients to talk about their treatment at 1 o-fucking-clock-in-the-sodding-morning. It was like frigging Piccadilly Circus.
Woke at 6.15am - my alarm went off, and it's set for this time for work. I had breakfast - toast, the most vile bacon ever (2 rashers of...I left one) and a cuppa. Then washed my hair and had a 'gypsy-wash'. Even put on a bit of make-up. I didn't have my hair straighteners, so was forced to look as if I had just been for a 'demi-wave' in the hospital salon, with the rest of the 'cauliflower heads' (OAP's to those of you that are unfamiliar with my vocabulary).
Surgeon came around at 9.15ish to tell me that I could go home, I just needed my wound 're-packing' (bleeurgghh). So, my nurses, Jason (so, so gay) and Sarah (could be, could be) took me into a room and told me to 'lie on my tummy'. I yanked down my Mavis Riley's (velour lei-sure pants) and they removed my old dressing and picked out all of the old packing. Sarah cleaned the hole (oo-er, missus) very gently. Jason said that he had known grown men cry (I assume his mind hadn't wandered and that he was talking about patients that had this procedure done in the past...). Said wound was then repacked and I was back on the ward. I ran to the small cup that had been given to me earlier that morning with some codeine and paracetamol - I necked the lot - the pain was excrutiating. And I have to have that done every day for the next 2 weeks. Tomorrow, I am going to get the nurse to take a photo of my hole. Just to see how big it is.
So, there you go. Madam Noir's first op. Not too bad, as it happens. Lost a pair of pants. And a big cyst. Lusted after a nurse. Pretty damn good.
I have been in hospital, on an overnight stay for the first time in my (nearly) 38 years. I confess that it wasn't too bad, although breakfast was the work of Beelzebub. More on that later.
I arrived at work at my usual time (7.45 in the am) on Monday morning. As I walked through the door of the HR office, I was greeted by the annoying nasal ramblings of a colleague who had just returned from honeymoon (yawn). He was wittering on about how he had found Borneo (what kind of a romantic, sex-fuelled honeymoon destination is that - surely the sort of place that only people with way too much disposable income go??). I glazed over, focusing more upon the pain radiating from my hip than how Mr Metrosexual had enjoyed his nuptials. My manager could sense that I was in pain and she ordered me to go to casualty. I did so, only to be told that I needed a referral from my doctor (you know the one, I described him in a previous blog entry - all teeth, eyes and Farah pants).
Anyway, to cut a long story short (going forward, I am going to try and get the title of a seminal 80's song woven into the text of all of my blog entries - gosh, the things I do to keep/get your interest, eh?) I was referred to hospital. Was seen by the doctor who said that I needed to have my carbuncle removed. I asked him if I could just have a couple of Junior Disprin and have it lanced. He said not, that I would need a general anaesthetic and would have to (glug)....stay overnight. Shit. I had never had an overnight stay in hospital, not an operation. I called my good friend, Madam Verte - she came to my rescue as soon as she was able.
I may have been shitting my pants at the thought of being sliced with a knife, but Madam Noir can still have an eye for a pretty lay-dee. The rather lovely Sarah was a student nurse who tended to my needs. My gaydar was off the scale - everything about her said that she was a friend of Dorothy's. However, she did mention that she had three children. Ah, must be straight then. But, it ain't neccessarily so (do you see what I did there? Promised you one 80's song title....you, dear reader get two....now that is value for money).
Madam Verte showed me how to play cards (well, kind of....I'm a shit pupil you see), and we indulged in a couple of 'Take a Break' crosswords - preferring the 'television' version as opposed to the harder standard version. I changed into my sexy anti-embolisation tights and regulation backless hospital gown at 2pm, after being told that my op would be at around 3pm.
Fast forward to 9pm. 7 hours in anti-embolisation tights, nil by mouth, no visitors can be a tedious place to be. I received countless texts from well-wishers hoping that it had gone well and that I got a good night's sleep.
Then, my trolley arrived. I hopped on and was taken to theatre. I had been asking people all day on the ward 'what is it like to be put to sleep' ( I realise that makes me sound like a rather ageing, arthritic Labrador...but you get my gist?). I arrived at theatre and had to sign a consent form. I removed my knickers at the nurse's request (oi, oi...nowt like that...dirty buggers) and she injected my canula with two forms of painkillers. And then asked me to put a mask on and 'take deep breaths'. She said it was oxygen...I have my doubts. It had a slight odour of Febreze about it - but it seemed to do the trick. They must have then taken me into theatre and 'done the deed'.
I awoke feeling actually quite canny. Had a bit craic with the staff and was wheeled back to the ward. I slithered off the trolley into my bed. The nurse was offering me all-sorts of drugs, all of which I took. Codeine, paracetamol, anti-sickness. Just because I could. That seems to be the thing about hospitals - they are forever force-feeding you drugs. So, you go in as pure as the driven snow (ok, so maybe not in my case), and come out with a narcotics habit to rival that of Jimmy Corkhill in Brookside.
I couldn't sleep, tossed and turned all night. Was oozing with sweat from those fucking plastic cover things that they put on the mattresses. Surgeons were still coming to see patients to talk about their treatment at 1 o-fucking-clock-in-the-sodding-morning. It was like frigging Piccadilly Circus.
Woke at 6.15am - my alarm went off, and it's set for this time for work. I had breakfast - toast, the most vile bacon ever (2 rashers of...I left one) and a cuppa. Then washed my hair and had a 'gypsy-wash'. Even put on a bit of make-up. I didn't have my hair straighteners, so was forced to look as if I had just been for a 'demi-wave' in the hospital salon, with the rest of the 'cauliflower heads' (OAP's to those of you that are unfamiliar with my vocabulary).
Surgeon came around at 9.15ish to tell me that I could go home, I just needed my wound 're-packing' (bleeurgghh). So, my nurses, Jason (so, so gay) and Sarah (could be, could be) took me into a room and told me to 'lie on my tummy'. I yanked down my Mavis Riley's (velour lei-sure pants) and they removed my old dressing and picked out all of the old packing. Sarah cleaned the hole (oo-er, missus) very gently. Jason said that he had known grown men cry (I assume his mind hadn't wandered and that he was talking about patients that had this procedure done in the past...). Said wound was then repacked and I was back on the ward. I ran to the small cup that had been given to me earlier that morning with some codeine and paracetamol - I necked the lot - the pain was excrutiating. And I have to have that done every day for the next 2 weeks. Tomorrow, I am going to get the nurse to take a photo of my hole. Just to see how big it is.
So, there you go. Madam Noir's first op. Not too bad, as it happens. Lost a pair of pants. And a big cyst. Lusted after a nurse. Pretty damn good.
Saturday 25 June 2011
Shopping update
Well, I sashayed into my local Lidl this evening to stock up on lollies and chorizo. I have to say, it was OK, not as bad as I had imagined....
There was a skanky woman in front of me getting served. Let me describe:
There was a skanky woman in front of me getting served. Let me describe:
- Creole ear-rings
- A head full of split ends
- Electric-blue eye-liner and mascara
- Marble-washed denims with sequins on the back pocket (most of which had fallen off)
- Flip-flops
- Green toe-nails, like those you see on adverts for fungal nail infections - the ones they show when you're having your tea...you know the ones?
She was buying her own body weight in cheap lager (Holsten Pils rip-off brand) and tinned stuff. Oh, there was a swede as well. The vegetable variety, not the European sort.
Anyway, I got served, picked up my purchases and went to the car - walking a bit like Daniel Day-Lewis in 'My Left Foot', what with this fucking wound on my hip.
Imagine my surprise when this woman got into a taxi and her 'friend' in the front seat was that vertically-challenged Mackem woman who went on 'Come Dine With Me' and had the most hideous house - SAFC-themed formica bar in her front room, the whole house done out in red and white. She didn't win, as I recall. Small world.
Saturday 25th June 2011
I am starting to go cold turkey, stir crazy...whatever it is they call it. I have been in the house since last night, resting up in comfy leisure pants because of this bloody carbuncle on my hip. On a positive note, because I have been at home all day, I have managed to pay the window cleaner for the last 100 or so visits and get him to clean my back windows. Every cloud......
I have been malingering in the confines of my boudoir, only getting up every 4 hours to guzzle more erythromicin. Possible side effects - hallucinations, stomach upsets, headaches. So, rather like being back at work really. The only one that's missing is 'feelings of inadequacy'.
I rallied around enough to get up, get showered, ready and pop to McDonald's for breakfast. I figured that I owed myself a treat. Then I came back home, popped a DVD in and just loafed. Actually, I forgot how smutty the DVD was (so unlike me reader, I know!) - Charles II - The Power & The Passion. Lots of bodice-ripping and shagging, plus a rather brooding Rufus Sewell as Charles II. Bizarrely, not much tit in it, which is unusual for that genre. The Beeb's knocker-budget must have been a bit low that particular year. Instead, they squandered it on graphic scenes of the plague and the Great Fire of London. Pointless, eh?
This has led me to ponder upon my list (I know...I know!) of Top 10 dramas. I could seriously do this list shit for a living. Maybe I can do so when I get my letter from work next week about expressing my interest in severance? Hmmmm. Anyway, here we go - in no particular order:
I have been malingering in the confines of my boudoir, only getting up every 4 hours to guzzle more erythromicin. Possible side effects - hallucinations, stomach upsets, headaches. So, rather like being back at work really. The only one that's missing is 'feelings of inadequacy'.
I rallied around enough to get up, get showered, ready and pop to McDonald's for breakfast. I figured that I owed myself a treat. Then I came back home, popped a DVD in and just loafed. Actually, I forgot how smutty the DVD was (so unlike me reader, I know!) - Charles II - The Power & The Passion. Lots of bodice-ripping and shagging, plus a rather brooding Rufus Sewell as Charles II. Bizarrely, not much tit in it, which is unusual for that genre. The Beeb's knocker-budget must have been a bit low that particular year. Instead, they squandered it on graphic scenes of the plague and the Great Fire of London. Pointless, eh?
This has led me to ponder upon my list (I know...I know!) of Top 10 dramas. I could seriously do this list shit for a living. Maybe I can do so when I get my letter from work next week about expressing my interest in severance? Hmmmm. Anyway, here we go - in no particular order:
- 'Playing The Field' - Beeb drama from late 90's about a womens' football team (this was before I got into my lezza thing, by the way Miss Underscore, before you make a scathing, caustic remark!). The rather tasty goalkeeper was my fave.
- 'Tipping The Velvet' - also one of my favourite books. This was a riotously funny, bawdy Victorian drama - with the rather gorgeous Keeley Hawes playing the role of Kitty Butler. Never has someone looked so gorgeous with short, cropped hair, wearing brogues and a man's suit.
- 'Holding On' - about the lives of several thirty-somethings in London during the late 90's - wonderful. And the fit goalie from 'Playing The Field' was in it. Result. Plus, Phil Daniels played a bulimic restaurant critic.
- 'Hearts and Bones' - not many can remember this one, but had quite a big cast (Amanda Holden, Dervla Kirwan, Hugo Speer, plus some others that I can't remember) - about 'relationships', affairs, etc between a group of friends who have known each other since college.
- 'Our Friends in The North' - possibly my all-time favourite ever drama. The lives of four friends from Newcastle, over the course of 30 years.
- 'Six Feet Under' - classic US drama about a slightly dysfunctional family who run a funeral home. I defy anyone to watch the marvellous last episode (after 5 series) and not cry their heart out.
- 'The L Word' - US drama about a group of gay women living in LA. Great, great series, but the cast were far too good looking, had nice teeth and weren't fucked up. I have never seen lesbians that look that attractive. They all wore make-up and had good hair. Some even wore stillettos. Not a fucking dungaree or a Tracy Chapman album cover in sight. Goldfrapp made a guest appearance - I often wondered why. Imagine my surprise when I read the other week that Alison Goldfrapp is gay.
- 'Queer As Folk' - UK drama about gay blokes in Manchester. Quite sleazy. But very funny. Plus, fit bird from 'Playing The Field' was in this, playing the lesbian lover of that lass from the BT adverts.
- 'Bergerac' - OK, I know....I had to have this one. Only for the first 4 series though. It was a part of my childhood, watching this. John Nettles can't act, though - fact.
- 'Dallas' - classic. Sue-Ellen's quivering lip, her classic 'drunken' acting. My favourite era was when 'Swellen' knobbed off with John Raawwss's swimming teacher, Peter.
- 'In the Line Of Beauty' - adaptation of the novel by Alan Hollinghurst. About Hooray Henry's in early 80's Thatcher Britain. Watch as they descend into AIDS/Dire Straits hell.....
- 'Talking Heads' by Alan Bennett - particularly for 'A Cream Cracker Under The Settee' with the wonderful Thora Hird.
I'm sure that I have forgotten some more great dramas, but those above are my absolute favourites. Which one to watch tonight, I wonder?
Thursday 23 June 2011
Thursday 23rd June 2011
OK, sitting in bed sipping chardonnay, eating Galaxy Counters and wondering if I am sprouting a third leg through my hip...and I thought I would update my blog. For those of you that remain confused by this bold statement, let me enlighten you. I have developed a hideous 'cyst-type' thing on my left hip. I went to see the doctor the other day. He is a locum GP, what with my usual doc having had his leg amputated (seriously). He looks as though he has never kissed a girl. Shirts probably still pressed by his octogenarian mother, dresses like a geography teacher...you know the sort. He prescribed some antibiotics. They haven't worked yet. I am very impatient when it comes to drugs. I want instant results. Especially when I pay £7.30 a pop for a prescription. My work strides have been grazing against the pustule all day. Horrible pain.
Enough of that, though. Have been mulling over my future lately and whether to express my interest in redundancy. I would. And I fully intend to give my notice of interest when the letter comes through the door early next week (well, that's when they said it would arrive...). I will aim to embark on a Teaching Assistant's course, may also get a part-time job whilst doing so...who knows?
Went out for tea tonight for colleague's birthday. Nando's in Durham. I ended up giving everyone a lift there (although not a lift back). I paid for a round of drinks and some olives - no fucker else bought anything for me. Cunts. Had to pay for my own bait. Wankers. Dropped colleague off on the way home and saw a cockerel running across the road on the way out of her street. But then again, she does live in Houghton, they are a funny lot there, aren't they? Not the first time I will drive past a cock there, I'll wager. 'Twas most surreal.
One more day of work to endure tomorrow. However, it is the dreaded '1-2-1' meeting with my manager. Wonder how painfully she can shaft me up the rectum? A full report in my next blog.
Am out tomorrow night with my dad's friend. 63 years old and he has the hots for me. Jeez...how special do I feel? Still, he's a good conversationalist, changes my oil for nowt (in the car, before anyone starts thinking smutty thoughts) and pays for tea. I need to save some money this month. Trying to be frugal and economise. Jacket potatoes are becoming my staple diet (and Marksies cheesy coleslaw, of course). Don't think I will be doing much this weekend. Need time to rest, relax and get rid of this carbuncle on my arse.
I have started reading books again. Well, a book. Maybe it is the start of a new way of living for me. In celebration of this momentous occasion, I have noted my favourite books/publications below. Whilst some of these may not be defined as 'novels', I nevertheless read them...reading is reading, whatever you read...let's not be snobbish here, eh?
Enough of that, though. Have been mulling over my future lately and whether to express my interest in redundancy. I would. And I fully intend to give my notice of interest when the letter comes through the door early next week (well, that's when they said it would arrive...). I will aim to embark on a Teaching Assistant's course, may also get a part-time job whilst doing so...who knows?
Went out for tea tonight for colleague's birthday. Nando's in Durham. I ended up giving everyone a lift there (although not a lift back). I paid for a round of drinks and some olives - no fucker else bought anything for me. Cunts. Had to pay for my own bait. Wankers. Dropped colleague off on the way home and saw a cockerel running across the road on the way out of her street. But then again, she does live in Houghton, they are a funny lot there, aren't they? Not the first time I will drive past a cock there, I'll wager. 'Twas most surreal.
One more day of work to endure tomorrow. However, it is the dreaded '1-2-1' meeting with my manager. Wonder how painfully she can shaft me up the rectum? A full report in my next blog.
Am out tomorrow night with my dad's friend. 63 years old and he has the hots for me. Jeez...how special do I feel? Still, he's a good conversationalist, changes my oil for nowt (in the car, before anyone starts thinking smutty thoughts) and pays for tea. I need to save some money this month. Trying to be frugal and economise. Jacket potatoes are becoming my staple diet (and Marksies cheesy coleslaw, of course). Don't think I will be doing much this weekend. Need time to rest, relax and get rid of this carbuncle on my arse.
I have started reading books again. Well, a book. Maybe it is the start of a new way of living for me. In celebration of this momentous occasion, I have noted my favourite books/publications below. Whilst some of these may not be defined as 'novels', I nevertheless read them...reading is reading, whatever you read...let's not be snobbish here, eh?
- 'Tipping The Velvet' by Sarah Waters - a nice Victorian lezza romp. This one has it all - the theatre, Whitstable oysters and dildos. A winning combination.
- 'Collected Poems' by Philip Larkin - potty-mouthed, sex-obsessed university librarian - wonderful
- 'And I Don't Want to Live This Life' by Deborah Spungen. Nancy's mother (of Sid and Nancy fame) reveals all.
- 'Talking Heads' by Alan Bennett. Witty, Northern humour/sadness aplenty. With the emphasis very much on sadness.
- 'Wuthering Heights' by Emily Bronte. One of the first books I read at college. Wonderful. Not enough shagging in it though. Then again, would you take your knickers off on the moors?
- Q Magazine - my monthly immersion into the world of music. However, too much fucking Adele, not enough Depeche Mode/Interpol/Ladytron.
- 'England's Dreaming' by Jon Savage - the punk bible. Excellent tome.
- 'Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs' by John Lydon - the best book about punk. Vile bit about Steve Jones wanking into a sandwich then giving it to Glen Matlock to eat (he didn't know that there was daddy batter in his cheese 'n' pickle, by the way...makes it all the more gruesome)
- 'The Dirt' by Motley Crue - a vile, disgusting, outrageous biography. I loved it.
- 'No Mercy' by The Stranglers - again, another great book. Those boys could drink.
- 'Take It Like A Man' by Boy George - another page-turner....highly recommended. Very uncomfortable reading about his descent into smack hell, though.
And so, dear reader, I must bid you goodnight. My hip is 'putting', I am weary with sleep, and have to telephone screen several Pakistani's in the morning. Sleep well. xx
Saturday 11 June 2011
My favourite films...in no particular order
Christ, this list thing is addictive! So, now we move on to films that have had a huge impact on my life - for whatever reason......
1. Elegy - Ben Kingsley plays a balding, fanny-ratting college professor who knobs off with student Penelope Cruz. Then she gets breast cancer. I realise that this sounds like a real uplifting narrative, but it's a great film. If only to hear the ex-Gandhi star uttering the stellar line 'this girl will never once tell me she yearns for my cock.' And it's set in New York. They even go shopping in Dean and Deluca.
2. Silence of The Lambs - went to the classy ABC cinema in Sunderland (or was it the Cannon then, not sure). Twice. Was shit-scared. And also a bit turned on by Jodie Foster with a gun. Guess even then my lezza future was written in the stars.
3. Hannibal - the only time I have ever walked out of a film, at the point where Anthony Hopkins lifts off the top of Ray Liotta's head like a pan lid, exposing his brain, whilst flicking bits of said brain out of his head into a fucking wok. Have never eaten stir-fry since. I could have spewed. And was also a bit turned on by the sight of Julianne Moore with a gun.
4. Annie Hall. Poor Alvie Singer. Unlucky in love, a bit of an outcast.....I can kind of relate to him. However, Diane Keaton had no gun in this, so I remained sexually rather calm.
5. Boys Don't Cry - gender-bender Hilary Swank cops off with that lass who was dating Jarvis Cocker in real life (Chloe Sevigny). A very sad film. Definitely NOT sponsored by Max Factor, such was the lack of make-up. True story as well....
6. The Godfather trilogy. A bit deep, but strangely wonderful. Except that Al Pacino is about 3ft, so who would take him seriously as head of the Corleone mafia?
7. The Karate Kid - fuck me, I was absolutely head over heels in love with Ralph Macchio (he was the kid, not OAP ju-jitsu botherer Mr Miyagi..just in case anyone wondered). Christ, that must be my most-watched film.
8. The Breakfast Club - fab Brat Pack film from mid-80's. My friend had a huge thing for Emilio Estevez. Before he knobbed Paula Abdul. Really funny film. One question. What the fuck happened to Molly Ringwald?
9. The Outsiders - THE definitive Brat Pack movie. Not available on DVD in the UK. Bastards. Ralph Macchio gets burned in a church fire and is covered in scabs for most of it. Still didn't stop me panting for him though.
10. Quadrophenia - 'we are the mods, we are the mods, we are, we are, we are the mods' - great film, Phil Daniels and Leslie Ash (pre-trout pout) - wonderful. But one question. Did he really jump at the end????
1. Elegy - Ben Kingsley plays a balding, fanny-ratting college professor who knobs off with student Penelope Cruz. Then she gets breast cancer. I realise that this sounds like a real uplifting narrative, but it's a great film. If only to hear the ex-Gandhi star uttering the stellar line 'this girl will never once tell me she yearns for my cock.' And it's set in New York. They even go shopping in Dean and Deluca.
2. Silence of The Lambs - went to the classy ABC cinema in Sunderland (or was it the Cannon then, not sure). Twice. Was shit-scared. And also a bit turned on by Jodie Foster with a gun. Guess even then my lezza future was written in the stars.
3. Hannibal - the only time I have ever walked out of a film, at the point where Anthony Hopkins lifts off the top of Ray Liotta's head like a pan lid, exposing his brain, whilst flicking bits of said brain out of his head into a fucking wok. Have never eaten stir-fry since. I could have spewed. And was also a bit turned on by the sight of Julianne Moore with a gun.
4. Annie Hall. Poor Alvie Singer. Unlucky in love, a bit of an outcast.....I can kind of relate to him. However, Diane Keaton had no gun in this, so I remained sexually rather calm.
5. Boys Don't Cry - gender-bender Hilary Swank cops off with that lass who was dating Jarvis Cocker in real life (Chloe Sevigny). A very sad film. Definitely NOT sponsored by Max Factor, such was the lack of make-up. True story as well....
6. The Godfather trilogy. A bit deep, but strangely wonderful. Except that Al Pacino is about 3ft, so who would take him seriously as head of the Corleone mafia?
7. The Karate Kid - fuck me, I was absolutely head over heels in love with Ralph Macchio (he was the kid, not OAP ju-jitsu botherer Mr Miyagi..just in case anyone wondered). Christ, that must be my most-watched film.
8. The Breakfast Club - fab Brat Pack film from mid-80's. My friend had a huge thing for Emilio Estevez. Before he knobbed Paula Abdul. Really funny film. One question. What the fuck happened to Molly Ringwald?
9. The Outsiders - THE definitive Brat Pack movie. Not available on DVD in the UK. Bastards. Ralph Macchio gets burned in a church fire and is covered in scabs for most of it. Still didn't stop me panting for him though.
10. Quadrophenia - 'we are the mods, we are the mods, we are, we are, we are the mods' - great film, Phil Daniels and Leslie Ash (pre-trout pout) - wonderful. But one question. Did he really jump at the end????
My Top Ten favourite things...in no particular order
Miss Underscore has thrown down her 'Pure Grace' fragranced gauntlet and challenged me to come up with a list of 10 favourite things in the world, just as she was challenged by Belgian Waffle....so without further ado, here goes:
1. 1970's/1980's sit-coms
I absolutely adore this era for sit-coms. They just don't make 'em like this any more. The thing is, I'm not entirely sure where this passion stems from. My parents weren't (as far as I can recall) big TV watchers when I was growing up. I suppose it's because the shows remind me of a more innocent time in the world. Even though this was probably far from the truth. My favourite was definitely 'Man About The House', closely followed by 'George & Mildred'. I would rather remember the cast through my rose-tinted 'Olive off On The Buses' glasses - rather than the truth....Richard O'Sullivan (Robin in Man About The House) is now in a nursing home for retired actors, Yootha Joyce (Mildred) was ravaged by alcoholism.......
2. Music/iPod/B & W Zeppelin
Anyone who knows me will tell you how much I love music. It has been such a huge part of my life. A bold statement, but aside from my parents and friends, perhaps the biggest influence on my life. In some way, I feel as if my life is a film, and the music I love is the soundtrack. God, that sounds really camp, doesn't it? I could live without television and books, but deprive me of music and there would simply be no point in life for me. Shit, can you imagine if I became deaf?
3. Flirting
I think that I enjoy flirting and the 'thrill of the chase' more than the actual 'end result' of a relationship. I consider that I am pretty good at flirting. Particularly with my physio. Actually, with everyone...who the fuck am I kidding??
4. 'Violator' by Depeche Mode
I could have picked any of Depeche Mode's albums, to be honest. It feels so wrong to just select one. However, this one is from a pivotal time in my life. 1990. I was in the final year of comprehensive school, just about to take my GCSE's and decide what I wanted to do with my life (funnily enough, working in my current shit-hole wasn't on the wish-list...). I remember the day I bought this album so clearly. It was purchased from Volume Records on Crowtree Road in Sunderland. It was a wonderfully sunny March day (think it was a Saturday), and I was shopping with a school pal, Rachel Anderson. I haven't seen her now for almost 20 years.
5. My boudoir
This is my haven. I love my bed. Not in a sexual sense. Christ, I spend more energy on dusting than sex these days. I commented today to Miss Underscore that I had dusted the top of my wardrobe earlier this morning. Think she was a bit scared, to be honest. But, my bedroom is a wonderful, safe place for me. I dare say, if I had a kettle and a bit of food by my bedside, there would be little reason to ever have to get vertical again.....
6. Wine
Preferably red, then white, followed by rose. Preferably shiraz, merlot or cabernet sauvignon. Most nights, to be absolutely frank. With my evening meal. Never really 'got into' wine until I was in my mid-20's, and even then, it was just Marksies Lambrusco. I used to love to share a bottle of red with my wonderful dad (RIP). I still miss that now.
7. Jo Malone Nutmeg & Ginger cologne/body creme
I have fannied around with that much stuff from Jo Malone, but I always, always come back to this fragrance. And I will remain faithful to it. It reminds me of a very special, life-altering holiday to New York City with my good friend, Miss Underscore. We had a jaunt to London (I think it was to see Amy Winehouse perform at Somerset House...Miss Underscore, can you confirm?) and I sprayed some of this in the Sloane Square branch of Jo Malone. We left the shop, and I had to turn back and buy some...I fell in love with it right there. And I took this to New York with me. Now, when I spray it, I smile inside and think of such a happy time. Then I think about how fucking expensive it is.
8. Spaghetti Bolognese
My all-time favourite dish. I could live off this. Each time I make it, I just chuck in different herbs/spices to experiment with the flavour. Perfect with fresh (not dried) pasta and a generous helping of hip-expanding parmesan cheese (grated from a block).
9. Friends
My friends are a key part of my life. They are now my family. They have seen me through some really tough time, and for that..I salute them. So, hats off to you, Elizabeth, Claire, Rachel, Amy, Jill, Nat, Alison, Michelle, David and John.
10. Gigs
Admittedly, I don't attend as many of these as I used to. Predominantly because I feel that I have now seen the acts that I want to see. Standout gigs for me are:
1. 1970's/1980's sit-coms
I absolutely adore this era for sit-coms. They just don't make 'em like this any more. The thing is, I'm not entirely sure where this passion stems from. My parents weren't (as far as I can recall) big TV watchers when I was growing up. I suppose it's because the shows remind me of a more innocent time in the world. Even though this was probably far from the truth. My favourite was definitely 'Man About The House', closely followed by 'George & Mildred'. I would rather remember the cast through my rose-tinted 'Olive off On The Buses' glasses - rather than the truth....Richard O'Sullivan (Robin in Man About The House) is now in a nursing home for retired actors, Yootha Joyce (Mildred) was ravaged by alcoholism.......
2. Music/iPod/B & W Zeppelin
Anyone who knows me will tell you how much I love music. It has been such a huge part of my life. A bold statement, but aside from my parents and friends, perhaps the biggest influence on my life. In some way, I feel as if my life is a film, and the music I love is the soundtrack. God, that sounds really camp, doesn't it? I could live without television and books, but deprive me of music and there would simply be no point in life for me. Shit, can you imagine if I became deaf?
3. Flirting
I think that I enjoy flirting and the 'thrill of the chase' more than the actual 'end result' of a relationship. I consider that I am pretty good at flirting. Particularly with my physio. Actually, with everyone...who the fuck am I kidding??
4. 'Violator' by Depeche Mode
I could have picked any of Depeche Mode's albums, to be honest. It feels so wrong to just select one. However, this one is from a pivotal time in my life. 1990. I was in the final year of comprehensive school, just about to take my GCSE's and decide what I wanted to do with my life (funnily enough, working in my current shit-hole wasn't on the wish-list...). I remember the day I bought this album so clearly. It was purchased from Volume Records on Crowtree Road in Sunderland. It was a wonderfully sunny March day (think it was a Saturday), and I was shopping with a school pal, Rachel Anderson. I haven't seen her now for almost 20 years.
5. My boudoir
This is my haven. I love my bed. Not in a sexual sense. Christ, I spend more energy on dusting than sex these days. I commented today to Miss Underscore that I had dusted the top of my wardrobe earlier this morning. Think she was a bit scared, to be honest. But, my bedroom is a wonderful, safe place for me. I dare say, if I had a kettle and a bit of food by my bedside, there would be little reason to ever have to get vertical again.....
6. Wine
Preferably red, then white, followed by rose. Preferably shiraz, merlot or cabernet sauvignon. Most nights, to be absolutely frank. With my evening meal. Never really 'got into' wine until I was in my mid-20's, and even then, it was just Marksies Lambrusco. I used to love to share a bottle of red with my wonderful dad (RIP). I still miss that now.
7. Jo Malone Nutmeg & Ginger cologne/body creme
I have fannied around with that much stuff from Jo Malone, but I always, always come back to this fragrance. And I will remain faithful to it. It reminds me of a very special, life-altering holiday to New York City with my good friend, Miss Underscore. We had a jaunt to London (I think it was to see Amy Winehouse perform at Somerset House...Miss Underscore, can you confirm?) and I sprayed some of this in the Sloane Square branch of Jo Malone. We left the shop, and I had to turn back and buy some...I fell in love with it right there. And I took this to New York with me. Now, when I spray it, I smile inside and think of such a happy time. Then I think about how fucking expensive it is.
8. Spaghetti Bolognese
My all-time favourite dish. I could live off this. Each time I make it, I just chuck in different herbs/spices to experiment with the flavour. Perfect with fresh (not dried) pasta and a generous helping of hip-expanding parmesan cheese (grated from a block).
9. Friends
My friends are a key part of my life. They are now my family. They have seen me through some really tough time, and for that..I salute them. So, hats off to you, Elizabeth, Claire, Rachel, Amy, Jill, Nat, Alison, Michelle, David and John.
10. Gigs
Admittedly, I don't attend as many of these as I used to. Predominantly because I feel that I have now seen the acts that I want to see. Standout gigs for me are:
- Depeche Mode's 'Violator' show at Wembley Arena in 1990 - fucking life-altering!!!
- Madonna's 'Confessions' show at Wembley Arena in 2005 - legend
- Erasure's 'Wild' show at Whitley Bay Ice Rink in 1990 - with Claire
- Interpol at Manchester Apollo in 2008 - supported by Ladytron (who were amazing)
- Gossip at Kentish Town Forum in 2007
- Muse at Newcastle Arena in 2006
Tuesday 7 June 2011
Tuesday 7th June 2011
Hmm, ok. The planned update 'vis-a-vis' jobs has sneakily been put back until next week. I think that something profound will be declared, as everyone has been invited to dial in at the same time!!! Ye gods, what is to become of me? Anyway, on a positive note, I hastily rescheduled my physio appointment for tomorrow night. Every cloud, and all that!
Was at an assessment day yesterday. I wasn't being assessed, rather doing the assessing. I interviewed a rather lascivious young man. When we finished the interview, the dialogue went as follows:
Me: 'Have you any questions that you would like to ask me?'
Him: (in a 'patois-type' accent): 'Yeah man, how old are you?'
Me: 'Hmm, not really a relevant question. How old do you think I am?'
Him: 'I dunno, man. Was tinkin' 'bout 'mid-turties'.
Me: (thinking) 'Fucking bastard'.
He didn't get the job.
Not because of that. Rather because he was crap.
Got back late last night and collapsed into bed. A whole day spent travelling and speaking to muppets.
Was at an assessment day yesterday. I wasn't being assessed, rather doing the assessing. I interviewed a rather lascivious young man. When we finished the interview, the dialogue went as follows:
Me: 'Have you any questions that you would like to ask me?'
Him: (in a 'patois-type' accent): 'Yeah man, how old are you?'
Me: 'Hmm, not really a relevant question. How old do you think I am?'
Him: 'I dunno, man. Was tinkin' 'bout 'mid-turties'.
Me: (thinking) 'Fucking bastard'.
He didn't get the job.
Not because of that. Rather because he was crap.
Got back late last night and collapsed into bed. A whole day spent travelling and speaking to muppets.
Saturday 4 June 2011
Saturday 4th June 2011
Just sitting here downloading some tunes. Bought a wonderful new wave/punk album this afternoon, so have been enjoying that mightily. It is the perfect antidote to seeing Take That last week. I feel absolutely robbed, seriously. They just oozed total apathy.
Anyway, another week at work over with. Apparently, there will be another 'update' about jobs next Wednesday, between 3pm and 5pm. Very considerate of them, especially as my shift finishes at 4pm. Added to that is the fact that I had planned a session with Madam Munchkin at 5pm, and have been forced to re-arrange for the following week. Crapola. The thought of 30 minutes flirting with her whilst in a semi-naked state was just about keeping me going. Instead, I have the prospect of listening to the sound of my redundancy galloping towards me.
Haven't been listening to my usual Radio Newcastle 'punk and new wave' show. Been doing a bit of hardcore hoovering instead - pulled both sofas out and dusted skirting boards. Think I need psychiatric help - who else does that sort of shit on a Saturday night? Ah, listening to a classic Sisters of Mercy track - 'Lucretia, My Reflection' - fantastic. I recall my friend at university had a bit of a 'thing' for the singer, Andrew Eldritch. He was an ugly chap. The singer of SOM, not my friend....for she was a girl, you see. Polly. From Derby. She got a first-class honours degree (compared to my diabolical 2:2), but has never actually done anything with it - apart from pop out three kids. Then again, I haven't 'done' anything with mine, other than get a shit job that has ground me down over a period of 14 (going on 15) years.
Went to Sainsbury's this afternoon. I was perusing the wine aisle, looking for Campo Viejo Rioja (they had none). I had only a solitary tub of cheese coleslaw in my basket when an announcement came over the speakers...'would the owner of car registration **** *** please make themselves known to the customer services desk'. Reader, I nearly shat my pants. For this was MY registration number. Fuck. I felt the blood draining from my face, then my lower limbs - what the fuck had happened??? I had visions of a partially-sighted pensioner bashing into my back end. I hurried along to the desk and told the assistant that it was my car. 'Oh', she said....'yes, a lady has just reported that you have left your radio on and it's really loud and she was concerned that you might wear out your battery.' Phew. I went out to the car - it was practically pulsating, I had the volume turned up that loud - the whole car park could hear 'Sex & Drugs & Rock and Roll' by Ian Dury & The Blockheads. And I had to limp a bit as I was in a spakka space too. Not good.
So tomorrow. A trip to Newcastle with Miss Underscore, possibly a croissant/scone will be involved and some browsing. Then on Monday, I am off to Walsall to run an assessment centre - can't fucking well wait. Redundancy? Please, please, please let me get what I want. Lord knows, it would be the first time.
Anyway, another week at work over with. Apparently, there will be another 'update' about jobs next Wednesday, between 3pm and 5pm. Very considerate of them, especially as my shift finishes at 4pm. Added to that is the fact that I had planned a session with Madam Munchkin at 5pm, and have been forced to re-arrange for the following week. Crapola. The thought of 30 minutes flirting with her whilst in a semi-naked state was just about keeping me going. Instead, I have the prospect of listening to the sound of my redundancy galloping towards me.
Haven't been listening to my usual Radio Newcastle 'punk and new wave' show. Been doing a bit of hardcore hoovering instead - pulled both sofas out and dusted skirting boards. Think I need psychiatric help - who else does that sort of shit on a Saturday night? Ah, listening to a classic Sisters of Mercy track - 'Lucretia, My Reflection' - fantastic. I recall my friend at university had a bit of a 'thing' for the singer, Andrew Eldritch. He was an ugly chap. The singer of SOM, not my friend....for she was a girl, you see. Polly. From Derby. She got a first-class honours degree (compared to my diabolical 2:2), but has never actually done anything with it - apart from pop out three kids. Then again, I haven't 'done' anything with mine, other than get a shit job that has ground me down over a period of 14 (going on 15) years.
Went to Sainsbury's this afternoon. I was perusing the wine aisle, looking for Campo Viejo Rioja (they had none). I had only a solitary tub of cheese coleslaw in my basket when an announcement came over the speakers...'would the owner of car registration **** *** please make themselves known to the customer services desk'. Reader, I nearly shat my pants. For this was MY registration number. Fuck. I felt the blood draining from my face, then my lower limbs - what the fuck had happened??? I had visions of a partially-sighted pensioner bashing into my back end. I hurried along to the desk and told the assistant that it was my car. 'Oh', she said....'yes, a lady has just reported that you have left your radio on and it's really loud and she was concerned that you might wear out your battery.' Phew. I went out to the car - it was practically pulsating, I had the volume turned up that loud - the whole car park could hear 'Sex & Drugs & Rock and Roll' by Ian Dury & The Blockheads. And I had to limp a bit as I was in a spakka space too. Not good.
So tomorrow. A trip to Newcastle with Miss Underscore, possibly a croissant/scone will be involved and some browsing. Then on Monday, I am off to Walsall to run an assessment centre - can't fucking well wait. Redundancy? Please, please, please let me get what I want. Lord knows, it would be the first time.
Tuesday 31 May 2011
Tuesday 31st May
First day back at Shitty Central following a whole week away. Actually, it's been a reasonably good day, if I'm honest. But let's not bore ourselves by talking about work. Low point of the day? Amazingly, there wasn't one. High point of the day? A Greggs' sausage roll followed by a pork and black pudding patty in the restaurant - OMG....a-m-a-z-i-n-g!!!
OK. So, last night went to see Take That (why the fuck???) with my good buddy, Madam Verte. I wanted to rekindle our gigging experience, as we have always been prolific gig-goers. And, to be honest, I quite fancied seeing Pet Shop Boys. They were fab. That was the high point. Take That took to the stage, and oh boy...what I would have given to be armed with a sock full of hot, wet shit when Robbie took to the stage. The bloke's ego was bigger than the fucking venue. I dislike him intensely. He made a scathing remark about the local females favouring 'pissing in the street when drunk'. Whilst he may have had a fair point, there was no need to say that in front of 54,000 people. Most of them wimmin!!! And how did they respond? Chucking rotten apples? Plastic pint glasses of piss? Booing? No. They fucking applauded. Seriously. I did not. Instead, I pursed my lips and cast a steely glare at the stage. I can imagine that he was petrified, eh?
Madam Verte seemed to have a blast. I enjoyed some of it, but couldn't get past the fact that one is a pint-sized fanny rat, one has a speech impediment, one is a cunt and one has shagged Lulu. And that only leaves Gary Barlow. Can't really say anything bad about him, as he has to endure the other four cunts and write everything for them. Respect, GB. Fucking respect.
So, who did I see as soon as I got into the venue? Only my friendly 'back massager', Madam Munchkin. We have shared a lot together as practitioner and client. I came out to her whilst she was pummelling my back. My gaydar was going mad - off the fucking scale, always knew that she had 'venetian tendencies', and turns out that she had also suspected about my 'leanings'. She was sitting with a gaggle of friends, and I knew immediately which one was her girl. No make-up, short hair, regulation 'Berghaus' fleece walking shoes and ill-fitting jeans. She caught my eye, and said 'hello'. That was all. I lost her when the main act took to the stage. Also lost the will to live when the main act took to the stage.
And so to the aftermath - a long walk home with the masses. Madam Verte had a great night - so great in fact that she had to take to her bed again today! I, on the other hand, went to work, having slept like shite - so felt crap all day. Thank God it was a relatively easy day.
OK. So, last night went to see Take That (why the fuck???) with my good buddy, Madam Verte. I wanted to rekindle our gigging experience, as we have always been prolific gig-goers. And, to be honest, I quite fancied seeing Pet Shop Boys. They were fab. That was the high point. Take That took to the stage, and oh boy...what I would have given to be armed with a sock full of hot, wet shit when Robbie took to the stage. The bloke's ego was bigger than the fucking venue. I dislike him intensely. He made a scathing remark about the local females favouring 'pissing in the street when drunk'. Whilst he may have had a fair point, there was no need to say that in front of 54,000 people. Most of them wimmin!!! And how did they respond? Chucking rotten apples? Plastic pint glasses of piss? Booing? No. They fucking applauded. Seriously. I did not. Instead, I pursed my lips and cast a steely glare at the stage. I can imagine that he was petrified, eh?
Madam Verte seemed to have a blast. I enjoyed some of it, but couldn't get past the fact that one is a pint-sized fanny rat, one has a speech impediment, one is a cunt and one has shagged Lulu. And that only leaves Gary Barlow. Can't really say anything bad about him, as he has to endure the other four cunts and write everything for them. Respect, GB. Fucking respect.
So, who did I see as soon as I got into the venue? Only my friendly 'back massager', Madam Munchkin. We have shared a lot together as practitioner and client. I came out to her whilst she was pummelling my back. My gaydar was going mad - off the fucking scale, always knew that she had 'venetian tendencies', and turns out that she had also suspected about my 'leanings'. She was sitting with a gaggle of friends, and I knew immediately which one was her girl. No make-up, short hair, regulation 'Berghaus' fleece walking shoes and ill-fitting jeans. She caught my eye, and said 'hello'. That was all. I lost her when the main act took to the stage. Also lost the will to live when the main act took to the stage.
And so to the aftermath - a long walk home with the masses. Madam Verte had a great night - so great in fact that she had to take to her bed again today! I, on the other hand, went to work, having slept like shite - so felt crap all day. Thank God it was a relatively easy day.
Monday 30 May 2011
End of the holiday......
It had to happen. Almost the end of a glorious week off. Food, friends, way too much wine and good times - work tomorrow. Wrong.
I am off to see Take That tonight with Madam Verte. She is one of my oldest friends - love her to bits. Her dad was best of friends with my dad when they were growing up - sweet, really. We lost touch after school, but were back in touch when my mam was dying. Something good can come out of something quite hideous.
I didn't really fancy seeing TT. However, I was walking to see Madam Verte on Saturday, who lives near to the concert venue. I could hear the support band and felt very nostalgic, all of a sudden. Hearing The Pet Shop Boys reminded me of happy times growing up and being at comprehensive school. I will always remember Christmas 1987 - not sure why. I recall that my parents bought me the following albums (on vinyl, mind...):
I am off to see Take That tonight with Madam Verte. She is one of my oldest friends - love her to bits. Her dad was best of friends with my dad when they were growing up - sweet, really. We lost touch after school, but were back in touch when my mam was dying. Something good can come out of something quite hideous.
I didn't really fancy seeing TT. However, I was walking to see Madam Verte on Saturday, who lives near to the concert venue. I could hear the support band and felt very nostalgic, all of a sudden. Hearing The Pet Shop Boys reminded me of happy times growing up and being at comprehensive school. I will always remember Christmas 1987 - not sure why. I recall that my parents bought me the following albums (on vinyl, mind...):
- 'Introducing The Hardline According To...' by Terence Trent D'Arby
- 'Red' by The Communards
- 'Actually' by The Pet Shop Boys
Now, some may argue that these are shit. I, however, disagree. They seemed to capture a sublime moment in time for me. Teenage discos at 'Rascals' in Sunderland City Centre. I had the most humongous crush on Steven Dodds. Christ, I lusted after him for many, many months. But, he didn't even know I existed. His friend, Keir Morrison had the hots for me big style (proper puppy-dog looks and valentines card in Morse code) and declared his love for me (he actually said 'I love you') over a tray of freshly-baked fairy cakes in Home Economics. I responded in the natural adolescent way of telling him to 'drop dead'. Keir, if (by some miracle) you read this blog, I want to say I'm so sorry. Teenage love is awful - unrequited love even worse. So, sorry. After this outburst, he went around telling all his mates that I was a lesbian. Which was really mature of him. And also very prophetic......
I also remember beach parties at Whitburn, where lots of Merrydown cider was consumed (not by me, I was usually the one carrying my pissed mates back to the bus stop - seriously).
I really would love to try a school reunion, but fear that I am looking at things through rose-tinted bi-focals - the memories are always better than reality.
I understand from various friends that some of my cohorts are no longer alive. Life is cruel sometimes, but can be dappled with wonderful moments.
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