Some more recommendations, if I may???

Ok, some great tunes that I have recently stumbled upon - thanks to XFM and my iPod:

• 'Muscle Museum' by Muse - I actually have the album that this comes from, but have never played it as it is in a box under my stairs buried 'neath a leathery grave of shoes.
• 'Rearrange' by Miles Kane - fantastic tune - quite retro in a funny sort of way.
• 'Colin Zeal' by Blur - this was taken from 1993 album, 'Modern Life is Rubbish' - thought it was great then and still think so now.
• 'H' by Julian Plenti - no lyrics, just a lot of moaning (and not in a sexual way either).
• 'Like Eating Glass' by Bloc Party - what a great track.  I have only one question....how does he know?
• 'Submission' by The Sex Pistols - far and away the best track from 'Never Mind The Bollocks'.
• 'Return' by Shed Seven - ah, Rick Witter...what an unfortunate last name you have sir....
• 'Light and Magic' by Ladytron - swoooooonnn....I love Ladytron, they can do no wrong in my eyes.

That is all.

Saturday 21st May 2011

Ah, the weekend.  Bliss.  And what makes it better is that I have a whole week off work - sweet relief.
Anyway, I am sitting here on a Saturday night, while the rest of the world goes clubbing or something - listening to music and sipping Bordeaux.
A good day out was had with my good friend, Miss Underscore.  We took off to Newcastle (after I had had my trotters painted by the lovely Olivia) and took in some fine dining at Nando's - olives as always were EPIC! The lascivious Paolo was there - he's just a bit too touchy feely, I think.
I am now listening to punk and new wave classics on Radio Newcastle - classic.  Miss Underscore was trying (unsuccessfully, I might add) to get me to but a Roberts Revival radio today.  I resisted.  Although I do favour the 'cassis' colour - very nice.  (Ah, a classic has just come on - 'Public Image' by PIL - great tune....).
So, tomorrow, the Race for Life with Claire and a bunch of nondescripts.  I can't wait to get back and just doss around, to be honest.
Work this week was utter toss.  We had a visit from the head honchos to provide us with an 'update' on the restructure.  This resulted in much chin-stroking, navel-gazing and arse-licking.  None of those by me, I might add.  I was just feeling unwell from the stench of obsequiousness.  My god, my cohorts certainly know how to fawn.
Hmm, wonder if that is the first time that a blogger has used the word 'obsequiousness' ?
And furthermore....the best thing about being single and having no-one to make an effort for - eating chunks of garlic at Nando's and mackerel fillets from M & S....result!!!!

Can I recommend....?

The following:

'Happiness' (album) by Hurts - uplifting gloom (oxymoron???)
'Glitter Freeze' (featuring Mark E Smith) by Gorillaz - like having one's head jammed in a fridge, but strangely addictive
'YFLMD' by Giant Drag - it stands for 'You Fuck Like My Dad' - suddenly, incest becomes fashionable...
'Starry-Eyed' by Ellie Goulding - ignore the Royal wedding aftershow entertainment for one moment - this is great..
'For What It's Worth' - The Cardigans - sad
'Dangerzone' by Clor - great bassline from a great band (RIP)
'505' by Arctic Monkeys - before they decided to grow shoulder-length hair
'Illuminated' by Hurts - makes me get a pain in my chest (in an 'emotional', not a 'coronary' sense)
'Transatlanticism' by Death Cab For Cutie - this was used in an episode of Six Feet Under - 'nuff said
'Infinity' by The XX - just fucking well love this - don't know why

Monday 16th May 2011

And so to work....

I awoke at around 3am, having a mild panic attack (well, more a mini-fret, if I'm honest) about the impending lack of job security.  I dozed until the alarm aroused me at 6am - ready for another giddy week at Shitty Central.
Low point of the day?  I forgot my Tiptree 'Little Scarlet' jam, and had to make do with blackcurrant.  High point?  Going home at 4pm.
I've been thinking lots about what I will do if I lose my job.  Obviously, will hang on until the bitter end for a substantial pay-off (I wish).  Miss Underscore and I were chatting yesterday about me doing a teaching assistant course.  I make no bones about it - I am sooo not ambitious.  I just want a job where I can come home every night, feel like I have done a good day's work and not feel sick at the thought of getting up the next morning.  I don't mind children.  Much.  I guess that it might feel quite rewarding.  However, it's the thought of studying alongside 'tweedy fuckwits' that repels me.  I have a tendency to break out in hives if I am subjected to people who wear brogues and have leather elbow patches on jackets.  Thought I grew out of that at university.  Of course, the modern version of a tweedy fuckwit is actually an 'adult emo' - the sort who have dyed black hair, lots of black clothing, possibly wear 'winkle pickers' and slope around with a general sense of apathy.
You see, I would feel compelled to let the kids know about all of the great things that I learned at college/uni - but I doubt that 7 year olds from Ford Estate will be able to appreciate the iambic pentameter of a Phillip Larkin poem or the bleak, brooding tragedy of Wuthering Heights (the novel, not the Kate Bush classic).
I will always remember a lecturer that I had for A-level English Language - Paula McNeany.  She was fab.  She would let us dissect and analyse anything in the name of linguistics.  Hell, I even suggested that for one lesson, we should analyse our favourite song lyric.  And she agreed!!!  My chosen lyric was (obviously) a Depeche Mode track - 'New Dress'.  My friend went with the more 'metal' option of 'From Out of Nowhere' by Faith No More.  I also did a blazing hot analysis of 'Blasphemous Rumours' by Depeche Mode, looking closely at the phonetics - amazing.  She also let us watch an episode of 'Only Fools and Horses' to analyse the Cock-er-nee language.  However, this backfired on us, as it was the episode where Racquel had the baby.  Paula suffered from epilepsy, and at the crucial moment, had an 'episode' where she proceeded to pogo all over the parquet flooring - unpleasant.
Anyway, found loads of my old textbooks tonight whilst tidying, Phillip Larkin, Sylvia Plath, Tony Harrison - brought back some amazing memories - God, was that really 21 years ago????

Ah, another piece of poetry....

'Arsehole' by Craig Raine (1984)

It is shy as a gathered eyelet
neatly worked in shrinking violet;
it is the dilating iris, tucked
away, a tightening throb when fucked.

It is a soiled and puckered hem,
the golden treasury's privy purse.
With all the colours of a bruise,
it is the fleck of blood in albumen.

I dreamed your body was an instrument
and this was the worn mouthpiece
to which my breathing lips were bent.

Each note pleaded to love a little longer,
longer, as though it was dying of hunger.
I fed that famished mouth my ambergris.

OK, have to confess that this reads like a paean to bum-sex.  Can't actually believe that we were forced to study this at university.  

I could certainly think of a more cathartic way of describing an arsehole - several ex-lovers, managers, etc....

My favourite piece of poetry....ever

Aubade

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
- The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear - no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anasthetic from which none come round.

And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape,
Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

Philip Larkin

Sunday 8th May

I've had a busy weekend, by my standards.

Friday evening - took car for oil/filter change, came back home, developed a hideous tension headache and evaporated into a cocktail of Nurofen express and red wine (note to self: never do this again).

Awoke on Saturday morning feeling a little better, but was forced to get off my arse and take car to tyre doctor - big fuck-off nail in front tyre.  Thankfully, they repaired for the princely sum of £7.

Saturday morning, sahayed into Newcastle with Miss Underscore to indulge on window-shopping and Nando-fuelled hedonism (lunch).  Was served by the rather lascivious 'Paolo', who insisted upon calling me 'Madam Noir' the whole time.  He lured us in with the offer of free chicken and went back on his promise - typical bloke.  Not the first time cock has been offered to me gratis, only to end up disappointed.

Saturday afternoon, glorious post-Newcastle nap time.  Woken by a text from gay hairdresser to ask if I fancied takeaway/wine/chat in the absence of his partner (who was visiting his mother in France).  I accepted, got ready and drove over to his flat.  I chewed his ear off about my appalling luck in the love department.  We had a takeaway, listened to Kylie on his £7000 (he says) Bang & Olufsen stereo and collapsed into our (separate) beds at 2am-ish.

Sunday morning - bloody birds (of the feathered variety, sadly) woke me up at 5am.  I struggled to get back to sleep as demi-hangover was just about kicking in at that point.  Arose at 9ish, showered and waited for my host to awake - which he did at around 10.30am.  We chatted about the fact that he had contacted (via Facebook) my ex.  Oh, forgot to mention that, on the back of this contact, ex texted me at 2am to ask how I was.  The reason for this contact after almost 7 months of nothingness??  The fact that my hairdresser had told her that my oldest friend (who she also knew) has cancer.  We exchanged pleasantries, but can't say that it will be something I would expect to be repeated.  She has moved on and is doinking someone else (who, incidentally, looks a bit 'bonkers').

Sunday afternoon - went for lunch/shopping with my oldest friend.  Came home, straight into bed with glass of red wine and DVD (episode of 'Extras' featuring Les Dennis - the one where Ricky Gervais plays the camp genie).  Then shouted and banged on window at some louts who threw a pizza box in the street.  They just laughed at me and chucked the box down anyway.  I wish them all dead - wankers.  I had to go into the street myself to pick it up and dispose of it.  People are shit.  Fact.  Will be having an early night tonight - up at 5am to get 7am train to fucking London - probably going to find out that I'm losing my job (seriously).  Bring it fucking well on.  Give me the money and I will dance out of the place like Michael Flately.  Fact.