Becky and the bear

Peetal

2011-08-15T14:33:00.000-07:00

One day later and it was raining. Nevertheless, they went to church. Any port in a storm, any experience when you're looking for them all.

They walked past an alms house on the way home, admired the cakes at the fundraiser fair, snuck in and inspected the premises. To live in a warm old peoples home, they thought, devoid of responsibility, as close to death as possible without worrying those around you.

This was what that they fantasised about, when they could find the time, but it required putting in the most relentless legwork, like a giant clown on a tiny bicycle.

Split Knee

2011-07-22T20:33:00.000-07:00

Decompression sickness, that had always confused me.

The bends, air forced between blood cells? Blood as bubbles.

Blood sells. I don’t know I couldn’t buy knowledge, I couldn’t make money anyway.

I kept thinking I better use this body of mine, my what time does.

If I’d paid attention but I’m so easily distracted,

oh last night I fell asleep trying to create the sensation with thoughts,

jazz, we'd been introduced, playing, I was asleep by the end of the album,

he said it’s so hard to find good live jazz.

Autumn To Summer

2011-07-12T09:57:00.000-07:00

[Brian Harkin]

"Another perfect day was that Wednesday. The sun was blistering, end of September shine. I put on my rose bikini and stood in my room with that weird sensation of swimwear in unusual circumstance. Also I was hungover.

She met me and we caught the train heading west. We walked sipping cans of fizzy orange pop called Miranda. The startling brightness and warmth made everything dreamy and as we turned onto the fields the first thing we saw was a huge circus tent spitting out garlands of rainbow ribbons and a pair of oatmeal and blonde horses nibbling the grass. It was so infant and woozy. We walked alongside a pond and into woods and she told me she was having therapy. He had taken her one night to get help, after tears and end of tethers. I love how she talks, playfully with words, she understands the look of a conversation, tells a great story. She said that her therapist was pleased with her progress. She was happy about this.

We strolled alongside a large sloping lawn where a flock of school children played sports academically. I said these North London children, these are the people who will grow up to have amazing lives.

We were lost for a while but then found our destination. Arrived sticky with sweat, inching down a little wooded alleyway, to a bungalow and a deck beside a big round pond, heavy with autumn leaves and specky moorhens. We went into an open roofed area to change. Ladies all around with flesh and shapes, all smiles and wrinkles. I peeled off my clothes and said, is there a locker? No, a big pear lady said, she had piles of brown hair bundled on top of her head and was smiling, we just trust each other.

Simple, we just trust, only writing it down now can I understand why I found this so comforting and striking.

My friend and I piled our things up and went out to the decking, we stepped onto the ladder, half submerged, and climbed down into the murk. The water was biting, freezing cold. I winced and screwed up my face and held on tight out of reflex, then turned myself right around and plunged in. I took deep breaths and swam out into the water, probably squeaking and gasping. She followed more slowly, in her blue swimsuit. It felt great to be in.

I noticed the yellow leaves in the pond straight away – some were floating on the surface, some were floating just beneath, held at a specific gravity, indecisive, as if the pond were jelly. Some leaves couldn’t be seen, I could only touch them with my feet as I swam past. A giant could float through space and galaxies would be these leaves, spread out and caught in a net, and the giant would feel them brush past her feet and would watch yellow worlds float on the surface.

I wanted to swim as far as possible, swim out and out. There were five or six older ladies in the pond with us and there were five or six lifesavers flush with algae. It remained cold for a long time in the water, but was always refreshing. When I came close to her we giggled and chatted, swam to the furthest point in the pond and back again, only our heads visible to one another. We got out and lay on the lawn, I took off my bikini top and baked in sun. The warmth in September was bliss after a cold dip and I wanted to feel my skin heat up and up.

We left and ate Lebanese food.

A few months later, I was at hot springs at midnight, not with her, with others. Perched on rocks beside pools of sulphurous steaming water, we sat down and had a picnic. There weren't enough candles to light the meal, so we ate groping and laughing, using our fingers as forks.

I boiled myself in a tub built to catch the water from the natural hot spring, swigging from a bottle of homemade red wine. The juice stained my lips, but nobody could see my smile in the darkness. When I got too hot I tiptoed down to a nearby stream and stepped in. That biting cold again. I lowered myself down onto the carpet of smooth pebbles under the surface, feeling the ice water wrap around my waist like hands. Slowly and with winces I lay back, closing my eyes, fully submerging myself. The water roared alongside my body, this little stream had so much power. Under there, in the black, with the sound of a clanking stones and rushing bubbling liquids, I dreamt I was being carried away like luggage." C. R.

HOOK LINE SINKER

2011-07-10T13:28:00.000-07:00

Gulp

2011-06-27T16:33:00.000-07:00

If i reached under my bed
and touched something soft
like the mane of a pony on a carousel
it might sound a charm

like a deafening clang of coincidence

don't make me fall for you
don't pass me words that make me squirm
and gasp soft air
i'd choke

accidently destructive you agreed
so what when i
stamp in your puddle eyes
like pris overflowing
come on i doubt it roly

that clang is louder now when
all i'd daydreamt i'd felt
was a bubble burst.
They pop though, don't they.

so i'm left
a twang on that taught wool
that knots my tongue to my ___

probably forever

2011-06-27T16:28:00.000-07:00

and if once
one night just
stretched
like a rotating blade
through itself
and so once was forever
and the lamp
spewing glowed, spilling
wetted sheets
bible boxes
walls
so they all stayed like
a hotel room bathed
in light

and that day never came
to change a tone
from all time
to now

then i could stop to wait
and understand
all things
turned round
made sense

Pris Documentary Transcript

2011-06-22T14:46:00.000-07:00

[...] and what i'm wondering is, what's caught your mind about that comparison

that i might deduce how I appear - i've asked people to talk about pris and then listen as if they're talking about me
[insert thought of RL speaking :
she's scary
because she's [...] unpredictable]

and who is she

pris

yes

she's a replicant, she is programmed to seduce men, then she kills them. It is her sole mission.

So she uses her sexuality to put others into a position of vulnerability?

yes

and is she vulnerable?

no, but i suppose. well i suppose she is ultimately naive. She's a pleasure model, she's programmed. So she is very simple, effective but just a robot.

and do you think her men are vulnerable?

some are, but she is destroyed while trying to kill one of them. [...]

and you mentioned that she is powerful because she can control them

[...] if she was vulnerable she couldn't continue

and do you think he saw pris as vulnerable?

[indistinguishable dialogue]

Anne is a clever cloggs. Well done Anne!

I don't feel like that

2011-03-05T15:43:00.000-08:00

"I feel like there is so much that I want to go on and do, so much to try and succeed at.."

PScott

Ai yo. so many trails of thread are passing through this week it's a spiritual spirograph.
A man stopped me and asked if I would like his Christian group to pray for me.
No I said I am content enough these days. Pray for the one who needs it, he who saw himself as absurd.
Before this I'd I weaved through a Chinese goods shop, there were no white rabbits, but water off a ducks back.

Photo by the brazilliant Nic Shephard

A POEM BY JAMIE

2010-10-07T07:46:00.000-07:00

Rebecca (a Poem)

Rebecca sat atop a huge mound of tofu.
In her arms she cradled a basket of fruit,
And in her cupboard she'd stored a marrow and some carrots.
"I'm a fucking vegetarian" she exclaimed,
And the police officer left her to go about her business.
J Upton

Jamie, i love you very very much

Haters inherit his inert heart

2010-09-13T16:11:00.000-07:00

"Through kindness, affection, honesty, truth and justice toward all others we ensure our own benefit – this is a matter of common sense."

"Having a good heart and benefiting others are proper attitudes for everyone, whether they are spiritual practitioners or not."

"When in our interactions with our neighbors we are open and sincere in everything we say and think and do, people have no need to fear us"

"To the extent that suffering awakens our empathy and causes us to connect with others, it can serve as the basis of compassion and love."

"Noticing a single shortcoming in ourselves is far more useful than seeing a thousand in someone else. When it is our own: we can correct it."

TRYING NOT TO HAVE AN INERT HEART

Mantra

2010-04-04T13:03:00.000-07:00

Solar flaring

2010-04-01T09:31:00.000-07:00

Ice-lol sticks furry and chewed, frayed at one end into damp splinters, made harmless by spit, the punchline to the printed joke is indistinguishable.

Peeking through a gap between the Thickest Ropes, in love.

Blinking at Daylight. Gap then No Gap.

A Gap at the back of the cinema, shaped like the locus coeruleus fires leaves thin trails of sugar thread across everything.

Excitement!

Fierce Togs

2010-02-23T06:42:00.000-08:00

If somebody can find me / make me the purple swimsuit Salt is rocking I will pay you with buckets of pure gold.

Golden Temple Amazons

2010-02-21T11:36:00.000-08:00

If you find the mysterious fortress..

will you live to tell the tale??

Have a Heart

2010-02-19T04:03:00.000-08:00

Some of the beautiful images here are co. of THE DAY AFTER YOU DIE

And the card attached would say "Thank you for being a friend!"

2010-02-17T07:15:00.000-08:00

Last night I went to a pancake party round the corner. Oh we had a gay time, between the flambéed crepes, crates of cider (thank you Becca :) ) and Dario G I shared a little moment of nostalgia with Lottie.

While discussing the bane that is her long cross-city commute to Kensington every day I suggested she get into audiobooks for the journey and she replied that she had Bottom on cassette like IT WAS NOTHING (jesus I laughed hard for nearly five minutes about this Bottom was TOP CLASS ENTERTAINMENT as if Ade Edmonson's character was called Eddie Hitler that's too good, ha ha)

Anyway, I digress what i wanted to say was she is even more loved up with her Golden Girls VHS agggh GOLDEN GIRLS

First Can you believe the grannified one, Sophia is younger than both ROSE AND DOROTHY!? Heavy amount of make-up - that is so hot and deceptive.

Secondly how cool is it that there was a show about horny old women! Amazing! We need more of this representative comedy and less skins-type drivel aka channel4-commisioners-wet-dream-jizzum-lapped-up-by-desperate-T4bots WHY O WHYYY don't we have more shows like this? (my german friend came to see me last week and said he felt he knew me much better, as a brit yoot, AFTER he had watched skins, i shuddered and i probably wept a bit too) Come on it's got universal appeal.. even the russians got involved "
A Russian remake of Golden Girls was broadcast in 2006, titled Bolshie Devochki (Russian: Большие Девочки), which in English can literally be translated to: "Big Girls.d" HA HA HA

Thirdly, they're in Miami in 1985? That place is going to be FLUSH with coke. I would love it if there was an episode where they turn into skibunnies, cook up some crack rock in their little kitchen and get Blanche to smoke it for a laugh, but she'd turn cracknasty and start hanging out with the neighbourhood cokedog.

It'd all be ok in the end though cos she'd have her girls.. or maybe not.. TBH she's looking a bit supernatural these days.

EDIT : I just realised who Blanche reminds me off. That camp bonemachine Skeletor.

The Fifth Golden Girl??

Anyway, the pancake night went on with the theme tune ringing in my floured brain .. I think we've all got something to take from this CLASSIC series..

"And if you threw a party
Invited everyone you ever knew
You would see the biggest gift would be from me
And the card attached would say thank you for being a friend."

Boxes

2010-02-17T02:53:00.000-08:00

BOOOOO BOXES.

DOWN WITH BOXES!!!

UP WITH FREEDOM and MARCH FESTIVALS

Becky, An Ode by Plies

2010-02-16T07:18:00.000-08:00

I'm on this liquor

oh so heavy

fo we fuck

can you neck me.

A lil head

and I am ready

I want yo mouth

give me that Becky

Like pussy love head

will pay I got that bread

open yo mouth fo you open yo legs

Man down I am dead

Suck this dick

can't get in my bed

heard me right thatz what I said.

Drop that spit right on that head

squeeze that meat and hit that head

Tired of pussy

I'm retired.

Aint fucking her!

got too many miles.

will put poll in her mouth.

Raggly pussy aint my style

fly head make me smile.

put this mayol on your smile.

you gotta be grown to fuck with plies.

the longer you suck the longer I wow.

Just got Becky

I can't move

I love Becky

yes I do.

I get Becky

I am glued

give me Becky

I'll do you.

If you don't do Becky

Bye Bye Boo.

I love Becky

like my jewels.

You don't like Becky you a fool

only put Becky on the news.

Becky Becky she so cool

I dont't get Becky I can't sleep

I need Becky Fo I beat.

Becky Becky marry me

YES MENA

2010-02-15T10:20:00.000-08:00

Heavy Heavy Eztate luk - SHE'LL SNATCH YOUR EARING so SHUTCHAMOUT - i love it.

Green and lean

2010-02-15T05:52:00.000-08:00

"This conflation of vegetarianism with healthy eating just confirms every carnivore's prejudices. Carnivores eat out of joy; vegetarians eat out of piety. Carnivores eat for excitement; vegetarians as a matter of ethical choice. Carnivores eat for sensory stimulation; vegetarian eat to stay healthy. When a new, high profile vegetarian restaurant feels that it has to make this fitness play rather than standing or falling on the quality of its food, it seems to concede the point: vegetarian cooking, as a style, a subset, cannot compete. It is a lifestyle choice rather than a serious branch of modern British cooking."

Genius link to yahoo answers about Gordon the Gopher.

I saw Gordon on some American TV programme the other night, the producers had obviously forced him to act like a cunt because he kept grinning like he had a prawn in his asshole and saying 'amazing, fantastic' over and over again. it was bizarre and quite sublime.

Fezzie in the Dezzie

2010-02-15T04:53:00.000-08:00

CHHHhh San Fran is so epic - a sci-fi town made mostly of memory.

Can't wait until August

When i can play with some of my lubberly friends again in Californistan

curiouser and curiouser

2010-02-12T07:48:00.000-08:00

17:28 Tim: probably most sexual abuse happens outof boredom

17:29 me: i have no doubt

what you reckon bout bristol this weeekdne?

Tim: is there something going on?

spoken to lewis?

17:30 i think chendy might be in london still

17:31 but that wouldnt stop us going ovs

17:32 me: hmmm

siobhan has invited me

17:33 along for a saturday night shindig

we could vsiit our lewid

lewis*

Tim: and who be this siobhan you talk of?

shindig eh?

17:34 me: siobhan = ralphs girlfriend

Tim: curiouser and curiouser

me: shindig = todd edwarsd

you know shiv

17:36 Tim: eh? thought ralphs gf was shavaun, the girl we see at pool on sat

17:37 me: Siobhan = Shavaun

17:40 Tim: v interesting.. up for it. We should look at tickets later.

17:41 me: ya ya

would be nice to see old senthil

but if we can get lou lou lewis out and about with his axe then we're sailing

17:42 Tim: ya there must be some other dingos over there

me: deffs

ooh they asking what i want to be called for my credits

should i say Iska

17:43 imagine

Tim: tim richardson i should think

17:44 me: haha

Tim: Miss Prissy

17:46 me: Mr Prozzie

17:47 Tim: Bock Prog

17:49 ms b plug

17:50 me: Mr T. Itch

Mr T Itchy Bum

17:54 Tim: v ichy b

17:57 me: titchy b

It's the Drizzle

2010-02-12T06:13:00.000-08:00

Puddle Thought

2010-02-11T03:42:00.000-08:00

Ooooooh Martin Rees is such a romantic.

In 'Just 6 Numbers' he goes bananas over the six most fundamental numbers that are relevant to our existence – ie the figures and formulas that have ensured the universe started to exist in a quite interesting way rather than ending up as throbbing substratum / dimentionless qua / total SQUARE party pooper. His faves are quite similar to the laws governing a good rave TBH:

Omega = the relative importance of gravity and expansion energy in the universe. This is related to how much material there is in the universe (or for example how many people there are at the rave relative to the size of the room.)

Epsilon = strength of the force binding nucleons into nuclei – this controls the ability of
hydrogen atoms to turn into every other type of atom in the universe.. (Put into party context - the strength of the psychoactives on offer and their ability to turn people into rave monsters)

N = ratio of the strength of electromagnetism to that of gravity – (in rave terms, the power of a good promoter to hold their shit together. Hello WIFEY! Who got their cokalicious BAR STAFF carted away by the bobbies at the start of a night in November but still pulled off a slamming party even better than that time your mom pulled a plaster off your scabby knee you big CRYBABY.

Lambda = a cosmic 'antigravity' that controls the expansion of our Universe. (So at a rave, the Lambada would be a dance move that is kinda weak so the effect on the crowd is sorted watered down, nevertheless people move away from others who are doing it enough to maintain a pleasing crowd density – you know, enough to have a lickle drinky without getting your ice slushed in your face but close enough that you bump into other people who are grinning at basslevels even more than you are.)

Q = ratio of the gravitational energy required to pull a large galaxy apart to the energy equivalent of its mass. If this ratio was smaller the universe would be pretty inert and boring, if it were larger it would be kicking off with huge violent black holes and massive swirling vortices. (IE it’s key to get the size of your rave right otherwise you end up at some dark warehouse party circa 89 with a million people legging it away from vicious ICF gangs and the ghost of Leah Betts shouting I TOLD YOU SO over the woefully inept soundsystem.)

D = number of spatial dimensions in spacetime. (sort of like range of genres – just one and the tunes get a bit dry, too many and the night gets soooo weak or it’s a sign something is way too gimmicky right, and then you get a universe, I mean, club, full of cunts –work it @ visions???)

ANYWAY, it’s that time of the year when half the country is concentrating on all-important digits - ie the phone number of some fitty they wana boink, and the other half is scowling at the first half and calling themselves anti-VALENTINES. Booo (don’t define yourself negatively guys you know it only grants credence to the idea that you hate!!) Everyone is thinking a bit more about romance.. I rate this one-true-love idea man, except it’s not so fun when applied to other PEOPLE. I think Martin Rees had the ~~right~~ most beautiful idea when he applied it it to the universe – The universe is our one true love; the physics at work is so perfectly and finely balanced that we popped up outta nowhere/nothing and started snogging cosmology. It’s sooo sweet and sooo romantic to see ourselves this way, but it’s just so silly.

I’d rather have a romantic moment in the park in La Harve when I look at the world and see its heaving contingent mass slopping all over me and everything else. LUSH! Who needs dinner for two and 12 roses when you can be a puddle in a dent in the road?

“Imagine a puddle waking up one morning and thinking, “This is an interesting world I find myself in, an interesting hole I find myself in, fits me rather neatly, doesn’t it? In fact it fits me staggeringly well, must have been made to have me in it!”

This is such a powerful idea that as the sun rises in the sky and the air heats up and as, gradually, the puddle gets smaller and smaller, it’s still frantically hanging on to the notion that everything’s going to be alright, because this world was meant to have him in it, was built to have him in it; so the moment he disappears catches him rather by surprise. I think this may be something we need to be on the watch out for.” (Douglas Adams)

Basically – “why get hung up on the idea that it is utterly and totally extraordinarily unfathomable that we should be (insert conclusive thoughts like : god / existential angst / rampant atheism) when we can just blinkle at the beauty of this funny point of view like a puddle”

and the equivalent Valentines flavour “Why get hung up on the idea that there is one true love / one individual / one person so perfect who is on the other end of the stars alignment - a fated coupling, a perfect connection when we can just enjoy looking at galaxies and into the eyes of people who are bloody great fun to be with."

Happy Valentines on ZUNDAY! And remember haters - DON'T YOU JUST LOVE YOUR FRIENDS!?

Your Eggs Are Always Over Easy, Wi-fey!

2009-12-18T02:30:00.000-08:00

Last day of work for 2009. I'm thinking a lot about crack babies and meth dick, but only in a professional researcher capacity. Later I'll leave this all behind..

Later Later Later.. Friday night. I'm thinking only about seeing a soapy sofie arrival at say.. 6PM!!! My days, she's so soapy.. Man Imma make a face something within the range of

Sing a song in her ear something in the style of

And wind my batty somewhere in the vicinity of

Kit :
Massive gold bamboo-heart earings
Pink lipstick
Party Mix Wrap

Kaboodle :
Festive Smiles
Soul enriching laughter
Joyful Bassline :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

Garage Door in Head Jammed Open

2009-11-26T08:25:00.000-08:00

The sincerity of last night is unprecedented.

Sir MJ Cole is most eloquent at surmising heightened emotion using a sampler and a cheezy girl vocal.

I could only attempt to sum up as ; Sincerity, Chemistry, Science

Warmer Warmer

2009-11-17T09:56:00.001-08:00

DISCO

Dracula neck
"I'll bite you." "Yes! I'll smack you when it is too hard"
Smack
"Couldn't you have pretended it wasn't too hard?"
"Oh.
I thought it was part of the game"

Before you see the light, you must die

2009-09-22T13:23:00.000-07:00

god i love slayer

Style Rookie

2009-09-22T05:51:00.001-07:00

WTF I don't understand this AT all = http://tavi-thenewgirlintown.blogspot.com/

jum jum jum

2009-09-16T16:25:00.000-07:00

http://www.esraroise.com/portfolio/selected-work

Sounds I can hear from my bedroom window in order of volume

2009-06-29T14:59:00.000-07:00

tone deaf man singing an unrecognisable pop song, with gusto. He has a thick indian accent and i can make out he is repeating the words "If that's what it takes.. "

clattering but wholly coherent piano solo.

tonking of the steel drums. Some blokes at the end of the road are making the instruments and the thwacking is to tune them up. still they sound peaceful and tropical.

quiet churning motors and screech of steel on steel from the passing trains.

constant wobbly roar of planes landing 25 miles away in Heathrow.

sirens in the distance, so far away they could be ghost alarms.

Tipi

2009-06-28T04:11:00.000-07:00

Time to construct a tipi in the garden.

Having never built any kind of dwelling, I have been asking friends for tips and advice;

At first, Tim Richardson and I decided to try building a sweat lodge. These are Native American ceremonial saunas used to bring on heightened states of consciousness and sweat visions. Then another Tim I know, remembered how, when producing a film about Native Americans in South Dakota, he was invited to sit inside their sweat lodge. Poor Tim, already dehydrated from a hangover and no sweat lodge veteran was soon overcome by being left in the heat for too long. He exited the lodge with numb limbs and a horrible feeling of impending death. One trip to the hospital and an IV drip later, he was right as rain. But this cautionary tale added to the warnings of exploding hot rocks has put me off the idea of a homemade sweat lodge for now.

Benders seem to be less risky and probably a more pleasant place to cotch daily, I spoke to Siobhan about building one and found out she learned to make them aged 10, in France. Feeling a little behind on my tent building skills I read up on where Benders originated. Apparently Romani gypsies built Benders and brought their nomadic houses to Wales in the 1500s. By the 1800s many English and Irish gypsies quit Bending and adopted the classic Vardo caravans to travel around in, however because the Welsh Roads were so atrocious the caravans couldn't ride on them and so the Welsh gypsies stuck to Bender making instead and the tradition has continued.

Siobhan and I wondered where we could get the suitably bendy branches for the construction - we both thought of Abney Cemetery, a beautiful and haunting overgrown park in Stoke Newington speckled throughout with ancient gravestones and crumbling tombs. Siobhan described how there is a collection of 2500 trees and shrubs planted alphabetically in a spiral through the park. Ash, Birch, Chestnut etc.

It struck me that unexpected alphabetisation of the plants is only one of the many many weird features of Abney. One such kook is the black hollowed out shell of a 150 year old chapel standing in the centre of the park. Part gothic romance, part crackhead chamber, the graffiti on the crinkled bricks claims territory and the right to vitriol. Through the barred window cavities the interior of the chapel looks like a coven, scorched floors remember bonfires, sticks and stones are arranged under huge wicca letters written in soot. The other longtime unusual resident of the park takes the form of East London's cottaging population. Sitting cross legged on rusty benches, camp men wink to one another and bother ramblers with tricky doublentendres; They are the anti-gothic movement, injecting colour into the cemetery by decorating crucifixes and trees with bright ribbons that advertise the pathways to sodomy. Deep between the shrubs they celebrate life by scattering neon condom wrappers across the floor like confetti.
I concluded Abney Park is certainly the place to find the best bender material. Then yesterday I spotted 8 long poles in amongst the foliage of the back garden. I had to take this as an invitation to Tipi! And this as inspiration;

Kitsune

2009-06-27T14:05:00.000-07:00

summer holidays are breaking in London
where heat seeking light seeps though a crack in the frame
by midday the house is drenched
looming over
Crispy sweltered animals languishing on the lawn
And at night, through windows pushed wide open
I hear ten foxes sloping
bounding and scrapping
like hearing lovers rustling sheets and smiling in the next room

Hit List

2009-06-17T08:47:00.000-07:00

This Friday I'm going to be attending the very first wedding to be held at Warwick Castle aka 'Britain's ULTIMATE castle'. Given my family's hyperbolic approach to weddings (my sister's marriage involved shipping 150 family and friends to Italy to live in a Tuscan village for a week) it is no surprise that the couple to be joined in holy matrimony are my lovely cousin Laura and her equally lovely fiancee Paul. They won this fairytale event in a Heart FM radio station competition.. This feels like the stuff of Hollywood don't it?

The castle was built by William the Conqueror in 1068, so it is bare old. This old chap Fulke Greville is said to mince around haunting the place because his manservant shanked him. Boy oh boy I love ghosts. I'll attempt to catch this one in a jar for future pranks.

Anyway, I'm super happy for Laura and Paulo, with that here are my hopes and aspirations for the wedding;

That Laura and Paul have the most wonderful day and live happily ever after.

That someone brings along Henry the eighth.

That Joe Rigby gets plastered and falls in the moat.

That the reception DJ is a suit of armour.

That some sort of seminal battle takes place.

That I snog the ghost of William the Conquorer at the reception.

The Rules of K

2009-06-16T15:51:00.000-07:00

One day I plan to write the rules of K.

To explain how 4 people in a room can seem like there so many more people here! like, at least 16.

Ammonia

2009-06-16T08:57:00.000-07:00

Bodyspacemotionthings

2009-06-11T10:57:00.000-07:00

The Turbine Hall at Tate Modern has been conquered again. Robert Morris's installation Bodyspacemotionthings is putting punters on simpering tiptoe and shuffling backside.

The cavernous room is full of all manner of overblown play things - giant toilet roll barrels are guided by sandbags, great thick lengths of rope dangle from the ceiling, inflated ping pong balls stand big enough to tower over my tallest friends. It looks like fun fun fun. Bringing back memories of the city-centre creche Nanny left me at in as she went whizzing round the bullring shopping centre on a Saturday afternoon.

Those were the days. And it seems I'm not the only one to think so. When the work was originally shown in the Duveen Galleries of what is now Tate Britain it had to be closed post haste due to crowd over-excitement. According to the 1971 Times the Tate staff 'were not able to cope with the frantic means of emotional release that the exhibition became. An orderly pandemonium was expected, but pandemonium broke out,'

I hope that with the inevitable government reshuffle we end up with a playground minister who, realising how much people love playing on big stuff, commissions some gnarly playgrounds without delay. Until then, I'll be at Bodyspacemotionthings pink cheeked and sweaty browed with a pandapop in hand.

nb : Ragley Hall is a stately home not too far away, with a grown up playground and 3d maze within the grounds. Shmett, Champagne, Picnic Blankets. Let English Summertime Commence!

Dream Dialogue

2009-06-09T14:13:00.000-07:00

Screen Grabs from a dream I had

MAPS

2009-05-17T12:05:00.000-07:00

I love maps.

There was a BBC series a few years ago called The Secret Of Drawing. It concerned the history of drawing, why we started, how we do it and most strikingly, that the act of representing the world around us using 2d symbols was a giant cognitive leap for humans*

This line of thought really struck a chord with me. Understanding the meaning of drawings as representations of reality seemed like a very basic innate ability, but when the logic of this activity is examined it shows up as a hugely complex task and as a capacity we evolved to have. There was one such point in time, when humans were suddenly able to construct aspects of reality in a wholly different medium. We somehow developed the power to represent.

In his early work, Wittgenstein analysed the relationship between reality and the abstracted representations we create out of it. He suggested language is only comprehensible because it 'maps' the logic of reality. He argued, the world is a collection of atomic/fundamentally basic facts held in relation to one another and language captures this by having the same logical structure. Each element of language corresponds to an element in reality and these linguistic elements hang in the same relation to one another as they do in reality. That which cannot be said, does not exist. He later went on to completely flip reverse all these ideas but, it's an idea that works when I'm trying to understand drawing and mapping; that elements of reality can be transformed to a totally novel form, of symbols, rendered useful by universal recognition. That this is possible blows my mind.

And that's why I love maps.

In The Exactitude of Science, a short story by Jorge Luis Borges, cartography becomes so close to reality, so exact to the dimensions of the kingdom, that the maps end up covering the landscape.

"...In that Empire, the craft of Cartography attained such Perfection that the Map of a Single province covered the space of an entire City, and the Map of the Empire itself an entire Province. In the course of Time, these Extensive maps were found somehow wanting, and so the College of Cartographers evolved a Map of the Empire that was of the same Scale as the Empire and that coincided with it point for point. Less attentive to the Study of Cartography, succeeding Generations came to judge a map of such Magnitude cumbersome, and, not without Irreverence, they abandoned it to the Rigours of sun and Rain. In the western Deserts, tattered Fragments of the Map are still to be found, Sheltering an occasional Beast or beggar; in the whole Nation, no other relic is left of the Discipline of Geography."

The cartographers reduce the abstraction of their work to the point that it becomes so similar to reality as to be useless.

I've seen this short story mentioned in a few reviews of Synecdoche, New York, which I saw last night. First off, it's the film equivalent of being beaten up by 10 beefed up existentialists drunk on futility lager and pessimism shots, so beware and bring sweeties to take the edge off.

Secondly though, its a nice little look at the search for authenticity across the art/real world canyon; how to transform reality into something it is not while retaining a meaningful logic. In the film, the protagonist, Caden Cotard, is a theatre director. In the search for authenticity, he ends up hiring an impossibly, fantastically huge aircraft hanger to put on thousands of minuettes of real life. 'In real life everyone is the lead, nobody is an extra.' He has no audience, but continues to direct, casting people in roles that are real life people all around him. He ends up with a huge cast, acting out life as it unfolds. A meta-reality - a mile : mile map.

Not only was it a lush ongoing reel of fractals (watching the real Caden, cast the character Caden who in turn casts others in mimicry of his director) it was an interesting take on the reduction of reality to art. The tightrope from the fundamental to the representation. And the aesthetic value therein.**

It's a fascinating tightrope.

Map Key

Beautiful Sunday Times Article on the evolution of maps

The Map Is Not The Territory - thankyou Steve Shaw

My favourite review of Synecdoche New York

Maps drawn from Memory on Flickr

*In Straw Dogs John Gray describes how this ability to write and represent events on paper is really what distinguishes human beings as a species - it is how history itself is created. But this is a side note and relegated to the end of the post blah blah blah.

** Watch out for the priest character in the closing scenes. His speech is the nihilistic home run.

Mummies and Aunties

2009-05-08T08:00:00.000-07:00

Today my sister pushed a new relative out. I’m looking forward to meeting him, laid out like a rope bridge between our family and another.

To celebrate I’ve remembered 3 fallacies put to either me or my sister when we were new and impressionable dots.

France and England are at war!

An elaborate lie put forward by Bernard, our dad. Taking advantage of the strange anomaly that French cars have yellow headlights he convinced us that as part of the war effort the British Police Force would immediately shoot dead anyone who drove round with yellow headlamps.

All famous people are old friends of our Uncle Vincent

Reinforced by endless anecdotes whereby well known celebrities would cheerfully enquire about our Uncles lengthy career at British Gas.

“Oh arr yeah, that Michael J Fox. Bumped into him up at the Goose and Feather on Saturday night, I said, Alright our Mike Howzit goin? And he turns round to us an ‘e sez, Bern! How are ya? Hows our Vince? Still at the gas?”

Roger Taylor of Queen is a member of the family

Known as Uncle Rodge for the duration of my childhood I believed the drummer in Queen was married to an aunt of mine, but that he was too busy touring to visit. The bubble burst on the 24th November 1991 when Bernard casually looked over the top of the daily mail to tell me that my beloved Freddie had died from a rather vicious and unknown disease called AIDS and that the whole Rodge thing was just a bit of a joke. Needless to say, I’m still reeling from that one.

Natty’s baby has been born on the most auspicious day of the Thai calendar. The 8th of May is Buddah's birthday! So I’m sure he’ll be way too omnipotent to fall for such childish gags.
Happy Birthday Buddie :)

Meater Cheater

2009-05-06T04:37:00.000-07:00

“I just think about that poor animal, and they say the way they kill it is humane, but I saw a programme and even after they had shot it in the head it was flailing and jerking about, that’s not humane! It’s horrible. Really cruel. If you really want to know, I do think a lot about going vegetarian. I mean, I never could, but I do think about it a lot”

“.. oh right. Well, it’s good that you’re thinking about it..”

I’m sitting in on a therapy session for the carnivorous again. I’m not entirely sure why this happens so frequently but a vegetarian ordering a meat-free meal is the equivalent of shooting the debate society starter pistol. It usually opens with a casual enquiry “Oh, are you still vegetarian?” Occasionally, an admission of incapability “God, I could never go veggie.. how do you do it” or sometimes, something more provocative like “Don’t you find it boring eating lettuce and seeds all the time?”

It feels like sitting at the top of a waterslide looking down a gurgling shoot of inevitable rhetoric and slipping toward the ethical plunge pool at the end of the ride. It’s not that I mind people asking, it’s just that a strangely large number of omnivores seem to be on a meaty mission to set vegetarians everywhere straight. Or they are trying to justify their carnal meaty desires in the wake of their food arriving. In any case, I’ve noticed these reactions can be split into 5 distinct groups – a bit like the food wheel. But more abstract, and annoying.

1 The utilitarianist - even if they stopped eating meat it wouldn’t make a difference because so many people would continue scoffing fleshballs. Bunch of FOMOs.

2 Humans were designed to eat meat also known as the argument for bacon from evolution. This is a particular stinger since I have a cracking set of fangs, which are now presumably redundant.

3 The “animals are only there because we bred them so lets eat them because they taste good” camp of waste not want not.

4 Latent vegetarians sweating with meat guilt.
Those who say they really would love to be vegetarian but just can’t do it because they either love meat too much or hate tofu too much. Their great orations are a therapeutic release for them, and they regularly require a calm vegetarian to sooth their dietary angst

5 The nominalist argument - The word eat can be found in meat ergo where’s the cocktail sausages.

At least these guys are less annoying than the ones who profusely apologise for eating/looking at/talking about/thinking about meat around me, for fear of my sensitive vegetarian fettle being sullied by the afterthought of a beast.

By the time the waiter arrives with food I'm usually in the mood to order a side of rehashed vegetarian polemic, no animal products, of course.

Beethovenice

2009-05-05T17:19:00.000-07:00

Bang Bang A Witch Is Dead

2009-05-01T07:54:00.000-07:00

scrtch scrtch scrtch.. a witch is dead!

Fly

2009-04-18T03:09:00.000-07:00

The walls of my room match the curtains in their neutral shade. This creamy palate makes the perfect backdrop for a fat black fly which is making it's frantic journey through this house like a lost punctuation mark. Loudly hissing toward one end of my room it tails back when it reaches the stereo, zips back to the bookcase and makes a figure of eight - perhaps it is scanning my collection for fly literature- "Infinite Ascent, David Berlinski .." then it disappears behind the curtain and becomes silent, perched on the window presumably.

It is like a hairy and filthy little actor, preparing for his performance backstage. Back lit by the sunshine and hidden by the drapes, it moves into view, becoming a noiseless shadow form of itself. Creeping. The suspension of the buzzing cackle is wholly relieving. I plead it will find contentment on the glass, still.

But then the tiny engines fire back up and it zooms into view, searching for the applause. I wave in the direction of the open door, hoping it will understand this gesture, hoping it is just confused and looking for the exit. But it is not like a dog, or a man. It is a member of the order of insects Diptera, a right incognisant bunch. I imagine a minuscule business card.

True Fly
Genuine Diptera Order
2 wings both sufficient and necessary
Call me

It flies directly toward my face. My first action is to shut off any tempting routes it may have chosen and so close my mouth. Then I flap my arms about so as to create an unappealing flight zone. The method works. It peels off to the left and returns backstage, behind the curtain.

Flies love performance art, so much so that in 2001, a man called Garnet Hertz helped a fly realise it's dream of becoming an artist by implanting a complete webserver into it's back and showing him in an art gallery in Canada. The piece, called FLY (http://139.142.46.159), was a sensation.

During the exhibition, the fly mused "I insinuate myself into the most banal aspects of your daily lives, haunting your homes with my privileged view of your intimate activities. My size and scale ensure my admittance into the human drama of love and hate, sin and retribution.

But what would happen if you were to inhabit, to haunt, my body: how would you perceive the world around yourselves? The genre of science fiction has already speculated on the outcome of the human/fly hybrid. You were warned to "be afraid, be very afraid" of your inevitable loss of humanity. With the cloning debate in full force, the sensational and moralising rant for, and against, bioengineering continues."

Back in my room, I have locked the fly outside in the hall and am enjoying a bit of peace and quiet. I look down to get my cup of tea when I see a tiny hairy leg reach under the door. Slowly the fly edges into the room via small crack. It takes flight and resumes it's preferred circuit with a loud and monotonous buzz. I think "He must be happier in here"

I use my human capacity for compassion and let him stay.

Fly with Implanted Webserver (2001)

Lamb of God

2009-04-12T19:06:00.001-07:00

Take this wine and drink it, it is my body given up for you

2009-04-03T16:31:00.000-07:00

Steaming along on an old creaking ship, deep in the cabin amid the swinging hammocks and chugging mechanics. Every now and then the ship's funnel shuddered and pooted out a small cloud of white mist and everyone slowed down to a couple of knots. Each of us admired the view on the port side, it was truly fine day to be at sea.

The sun was rising strong in the east, casting out her nets for the day, the catch would later be laid out on the lawns like a selection of king prawns and scallops. Sometime around real o'clock Scotty the cabin boy donned his steam goggles and looked into the future. "Avast! The soft bobbing of the boat is soothing the crew like a lullaby." I scooped up the telescope and gazed in the direction of Scottys mottled and pointed finger. A close inspection of the crew only confirmed my fears, bastard dropsy was setting in. Wright was a write off, a case for prompt burial at sea, Upton was stamped with an M for Muggins and Lorna had gone overboard. Georgia sat crosslegged in the crows nest craned her neck over and gave a quick wink. That was it - the time was primed - a moment quivering with every potential force in the universe, rippling and gravid with possibility. A moments hesitation could ruin us. Fuck it then, we jumped ship. we went outside.

It was as if the cabin room pulled a whitey and we got vomited onto the chalky patio. Alkaline, no acid, huge bottles of pink cava sloshed about and the buffet was laid out. Blue sofa pillows below, white cloud pillows above, the sun was out to tan the horses that ran and it made us feel like we were sitting out on the ships cannons, halfway between here and summer.

Georgia and I went for a walk down the beach, felt the sand between our toes, armbands and inflatable blueberries stopping us from sinking. We found a beach hut full of men of merriment, the room full of gold dubloons heaped in piles and the smell of the ghost of King Charles. Steam and smoke tendrils poured from the kitchen, the chef was broiling the katch of the day and staring wildly into the frying pan. His colleague, eager to impress his guests with stories shouted, "We have a mad man to sell, he can be useful for jobs at sea, 20 gold pieces" his eyes rolled around in his head like spinning desk globes and made clunking sounds every time he blinked. We peered down our noses at the little fellow held out in front of us "Set Sale! We'll take him!" we snatched hiup the Mad man and looped a sturdy rope around his neck.

By this time, the tide had come in, we saved swimming back to our ship by stepping aboard a tiny blue boat tethered to the shore. We used our lungs to blow huge gusts to fill the lateen sails; full and puffed out they drove us home to the Good Ship Nosebleed where we showed the Mad man to the crew. Then a strange thing happened, quick as a flash the man popped up on his legs, bent his boney knees and formed fists full of angry spite. "Take that!" he screeched and bopped Jim on the nose. "And that!" Straight into Scott's Snout. One by one we were leathered by the maniac. Tears streamed down our faces and acted only to raise the sea level. Before long, our feet no longer touched the floor and we floated freely in the saline glug of our wincing eyes. There was no fear of drowning in this liquid, the salt content was much too high, so we floated around like celery in a watery broth, touching only to remind each other of the exciting truth. That is, the wizard was on her way..

The Psalms

2009-03-25T11:34:00.001-07:00

“So, let me get this straight. You moderate a messageboard for CBBC? For kids?”

“Right, I have to monitor what they post on there. Like, I have to get rid of inappropriate stuff”

“What sort of stuff?”

“.. like I removed a comment that had Brap Brap Brap in it because it could be seen as er, inciting violence. I deleted it then emailed the kid..”

“emailed him what”

“that brap brap brap is a violent term”

“it is?”

“yes, I had to tell him it replicates the sound of bullets leaving a gun”

“it does?”

“yeah… and grime is a dodgy term too”

“grime..?”

“YOU KNOW, that’s almost as good as the job I had last year”

“wassat then”

“I was the bloke who decided which little children got Blue Peter badges”

“Oh my god that should be my job, that is so my job! Yeah, kid, you’re well terminal you well deserve this badge.. you cancer face, you can wait”

“So whats the upper age limit on that badge then?”

“er.. 14”

“shit fuckers”

“Yeah, yeah, brain tumor boy you’ve got at least 6 months you can wait. .. hah I tried to get into the science museum with my badge the other day. I showed them at the entrance and they said, that ain’t a proper badge, that’s all bluey and whitey and not righty. They called me out. They were fucken pissed off as well, all like you tryin to get in under false pretences mate. Then they got the knife out and stabbed me up, shanked me and put me behind glass in some exhibition for a few months, wires on my legs and everything. Made an example of me, they were pulling me about here and there, like a puppet. Man it was well dark..”

“…..”

Hahaha my legs are aching and my boots are scuffed and the last stage is open but the queue is too long and we’re not getting in under any circumstance. So we’re having our own set on the sofas, on the black leather sofas they’ve put out to catch the falling dregs at the end of the night under the baggy tent and next to the graffiti wall. And we’re having a chat at the end of the night there are some new faces at the table. Ollie and Barney and Felix and a boy asleep who can’t tell us his name because he is asleep. And one of them thinks my name is Bunty Possum and that my dad owns Cadburys and I snicker everytime I remember.

What just happened tonight? I feel full of energy and I keep threatening to fuck it all and get the nightbus, but Ollie thinks I should just attach wheels to the row of chalets outside and train it home. This makes me laugh again, so I put a hand over my mouth to cover all the teeth and the tongue. Pauls tongue what happened to Pauls tongue? And Georgia! Where is she oh she’s in the last stage open. God what can’t that girl do? Wasn’t there some techno. Didn’t I want to write to a mayor? OH MY GOD THOSE GLASSES THAT LIT UP. And I was speaking german. But way before that I was watching some germans on stage, and they waited until the final crescendo and they popped the champagne over every soul in front of them and it was like being caught in a bowl of coco pops, and then when all of the beats met each other and formed a crunching gabba and we stomped in front of Otto Van Shirach and Jamie shouted again and again “whats his name again Otto Van Helsing!? Dr Octogon??” and I open my eyes to tell him and I see a hermaphrodite dancer, dressing in white tendrils and feather tipped eyes, bewitched I only just notice the laughing gas until it swallows me up like I’m falling through a bubble wand with a fine taught film of soap and water and I’m caught in the bubble and we’re floating back to Holnicote and those fucking seagulls just make me grin and grin.

The Eucharist

2009-03-21T03:35:00.000-07:00

Curtains divided by two.

Shower ten times better than the one at home.

Plus 5 people produces a median spread over 3 sofas.

And a television, squared.

Saturday lay out like a real donkey. All of us, in prime health sat very still and watched as live people played puppets in a film. We questioned our motives. But it was cold and there were no explanations at all, not even in all of the dry fucking droning documentaries about the history of hip hop. Reduce music to sandpaper scratching one more time and I’ll clout you one.

We were released from our lethargy around 7 – well Georgia freed herself to pick up a cheeseburger, but I’m telling ya, there is nothing that girl cannot do and we can’t compare ourselves, mere mortals to her.

So, at 7, we got out our calculators, measured the distance from one end of a line to another and worked out how fast we’d have to run to reach escape velocity.

Jamie’s calculator told him he’d need to medicate to gain enough kinetic energy. But instead of going forward, he accidentally projected himself backwards to the middle of the 19th century and took up the never before seen Bronte position.

He lay, quivering and soft, calling us in one at a time. “I’ve done myself a Wuthering height I av” The sight was a tragic one, I would have wept, but I didn’t want to stain his suede head. Then Kate Bush came screeching in, sang a song about Heathcliffe, pulled the antidote out of her snatch and Jamie was on his horse before you could shout Charlotte Brunty You Slag..

Not long after this drama we used our ears as God intended, to listen for freeky bass. Jamie Lidell attempted a karaoke but he wiped his arse instead, us 4 were so embarrassed we had to look away, walk downstairs and see someone else. Before long we all bounced lightly on the balls of our feet and swung our arms and smiled when the frequencies got low. Then we made fists and pulled out arms up to our chests and moved our shoulders up and down. Oh there were so many movements, it reminded me of the time that Jamie said "I'm here to listen to music, I don't care what, I'm going to listen to everything" So, I got my calculator out again for the nth time that night worked out what all the music would sound like at once. Then I ordered that sound for later on in the evening and sat back on the heels of my feet to enjoy a linear soundscape of blips and bops and concertinaed zig zagging honks.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a little creature, rustling around in the undergrowth of the crowd. From spot to spot he flittered and flicked and it was only when he ran past me at dilated speed that I saw it was Paul with his tongue hanging clean out. Round and round it wound and tested the air for vibration. We were all on the same mission - to catch all the sound. "Wobblesaur, I choose you" "Syncopated attack"

I looked into the eyes of Lorna for reassurance and what I got was a belt round the face. When I came to, we were standing in the neon bathtub of the big central tent, both taps were on full and it was only a matter of time before the whole thing filled up with water and washed us away. Thinking quick, we tossed a coin, caught it and used it to scour a giant scratch card. As the grey filaments peeled away from the paper and scattered down to the ground three little icons showing bottles of champagne came up - we walked off to see Modeselektor.. tbc

Act of Penitence

2009-03-20T02:31:00.000-07:00

Some Selenium..

What vitamins do you recommend Bunty?

And I’m back looking at a computer screen, hearing an ice cream van roll past, trumpeting praise and calling the masses. I hope it comes back round again, that tune was banging.

I spent the whole weekend with animals! No that isn’t entirely accurate. The vegetables were there too - from London to Minehead we were closely followed by a couple of Swedes. And minerals, in fact a pharmaceutical giant was on hand to distinguish between piles of rock salt and bumps of potty powder. The full trio was in force, but I can't remember if we felt prepared.

It all began on Friday when we trotted down to the coast, to Butlins, waving to pheasants and pens of pigs as we went. Tumbling into the chalet and looking around we almost mistook ourselves for a family holiday, we reassured our identities by dousing each other in 7 litres of rum, like a communion. Then it was on with the bags and the money and the cameras and out into the tents and the night and the deep end. Friday night yeah? Like wet dogs shaking and spinning water droplets from heavy fur coats, there was a strong centrifugal force involved and before long one of us was at the bar, one the loo, one the crowd and one facing the wrong way. Turn round Paul, the DJ is behind you.

Big man Appleblim wore feathers in his hair and I thought about flight – above a certain altitude there is a danger of your brain exploding. Not for the seagulls though, what are they doing up there anyway? Spiky croutons in a blue soup. I'm sure they're looking back at us and saying “Wot yew dancin there in that tent foh. Laika Dick Ed”

Jamie returned from Burger King holding a golden crown. Peverelist heralded the coronation as each member of the court took the crown for a few bars. Special, but not enough fanfare by half so we decanted into a big room full of flashing arcade machines and pups in baskets. Now we could really take our duty seriously. Lorna bet it all on a machine, 35p and she's guna win uh sweeteh. God, I know this is where the royalty starts, Drawn in like wasps to a big baggy hive we got caught in the dynamic tension on the surface a guinness, all floating round on our backs staring at the ceiling.

Now the way I see it, the first sign of falling in love is usually a change in accent. While 4 of us headed west, Scotty Too Hotty gazed at Jamie then drove north up the M1 in a Morris Minor singing Jeffery Osborne’s ‘On The Wings Of Love’ with a Northern twang. He came back to get a car part from Plastician, who did an impression of a drum and bass DJ so well Paul thought we were approaching 180bmp. We all know the speed limit on the M1, so we split that joint before we all got tickets for speeding. Georgia had to cling onto the sideboard to stop from flying into the decks, Is there anything this girl can't do?

Then my most dearest Jim looked up at my with eyes of a doe lost in the woods. “Be my guide dog” So we went to the teashop for wastrels.

“I’m not serving you unless you’re mashed I’m afraid” the tealady said

“But it’s not me who needs tea. Its him, he wants tea. And he is mashed” I said

“I want coffee” Jim said “and I’m completely coconuts”

One look into those spinning eyes and they cracked open the Nescafe. I went out into the night air to pray. Kneeling in front of a pastel façade of a country house I closed my eyes and asked for God’s help to get through the weekend. Then I heard a voice. An Angel? No, it was a roman, called Matthew, who was curious about my faith.

“You are really pray to God?”

“Yes, I really pray we will all live to the end of the weekend” and closed my eyes.

“Shall we see if we can go inside the pretend house?” he asked. So we did but it was too pretend - or it was heaven i can't remember - either way we weren't let in. We went back to the tearoom to see the weeble badga and the wonkie pies and I watched the Roman sit back down to be adored by the populus.

Lorna, as still as a pile of scrabbled eggs on a carpet was being prodded by the tea lady. “Are you alright love, are you awake” “She’s fine. She’s just lazy” "Because if you stop moving I've got to help you" Lornas eyes opened like the door of a microwave. Her opposite end was in my hands, so I grabbed her by the feet and flung her into the night sky, she whistled through the air like a vortex toy and landed in the bushes sideways.

Now I have to admit, there was some conversation about death, but I was very close to a Burger King Bean Burger in both time and space so I cannot be held accountable for anything warped, esepecially since they didn't remove the cheese. Then Paul and I flew back to a room didn’t we? We found Jamie awake didn’t we? We watch an anime about an egg and spoke in Japanese forever and ever. Dozo yoroshikuuu Kore ga BLOC festival. Odorimasho hai!.. A double bed éclair and a slice of sunlight. Bloody Great.

I think I might be falling in love

2009-01-19T05:26:00.000-08:00

with Charlie Brooker.

He's truly mastered the art of being pleasantly and endearingly sardonic. I'm sure only a few people are astute enough to get away with being vile to the point of sewerage and I seem to go nuts for all of them. Will Self, AA Gill.. but I can't imagine they'd gain credence by feigning masturbation over High School Musical characters on a national TV show.

But Charlie seems to. Hand shuffling his way into my heart.

"This week Charlie watched M Night Shyamalan's The Happening for a second time, just to check that, yes, it really is the most entertainingly terrible film ever made, and that watching it is as close as you can get to experiencing otherworldly concussion without necking fistfuls of ketamine and running into a wall."

Anna-Bell and Mika

2009-01-06T06:01:00.000-08:00

"It is a dream that has been shared by lovers across the centuries – the chance to elope to exotic lands. But few would have been as bold and spontaneous as six-year-old Mika and his five-year-old sweetheart Anna-Bell who, after mulling over their options in secret, packed their suitcases on New Year's Eve and set off from the German city of Hanover to tie the knot under the heat of the African sun.

The children left their homes at dawn while their unwitting parents were apparently sleeping, and took along Mika's seven-year-old sister, Anna-Lena, as a witness to the wedding.

Donning sunglasses, swimming armbands and dragging a pink blow-up lilo and suitcases on wheels packed with summer clothes, cuddly toys and a few provisions, they walked a kilometre up the road, boarded a tram to Hanover train station and got as far as the express train that would take them to the airport before a suspicious station guard alerted police.

"What struck us was that the little ones were completely on their own and that they had lots of swimming gear with them," said Holger Jureczko, a police spokesman. He described Mika and Anna-Bell as "sweethearts" who had "decided to get married in Africa where it is warm, taking with them as a witness Mika's sister".

I'm planning many more weekends away that shall see me boarding trains with witnesses and swimming gear. Some Milan, BLOC, Germany, Bangface and Thailand. You're invited to the ceremony.

2009 is peachy - a bit fuzzy, goes rotten if left sitting too long.

First week

Lovely sprinklers;
Drawing an S inside a triangle on the steamy bus window creating Superbus and getting home quicker
The Chelsea Arts Club
Eating at Victoria station Garfunkels on new years day

Horrible Buckets;
Being Motherbird again
That trough at the squat
Israel justifying the continuous and sustained violence by suggesting it will lead Palestinians to respond with peace and fear. And the response from Hamas to label all Jewish children as legitimate targets for death.

a series of events like an alphabet

2008-12-22T11:17:00.001-08:00

Christmas time in your early twenties can be great. It's still fine to sink anchor at your parents house, absolve yourself of the responsibility of cooking and washing clothes and get into the toddler role again.

I've been indulging myself in this regressive pastime for 2 days, even going so far as to take daily afternoon naps. proper lush.

So, came down after nap time today, turned on my computer and checked out the plan b magazine website, for the first time ever. On the front of the reviews page was a piece on Stanley Brinks album Dank U. I've never heard of this chap but his photo looked so familiar, it looked just like a good friend of mine I haven't seen in ages. I double checked it wasn't him by reading the article, but this wasn't much help because save for a few name changes, the review could have been about him..

"It’s a shame, because these opening lines have, for years, put me in mind of the brothers Herman and in particular André since he flew the coop at the start of 2007 to wander solo.. But it’s hard to see André’s musician-soul being contained long within the parameters of a group: he has too much, um, individuality. And, unlike the princely hero of Snow White who believed fervently in the destination, André is about the anticipation, the distance covered.. Dank U is a documentation of André’s latest life-change, his transformation into Stanley Brinks.. And then we’re back to self-examination (song seven, ‘Song Of Hassan’)"

So, I checked on youtube because I was intrigued by the similarities, to find that the New Yorker had recently played an old Birmingham haunt of mine - a (now boarded up) pub I walked past last night and fondly remembered. Further delving came up with this, which is nice and makes me hope I see my friend again soon after a similar chain of coincidences. Oh and note how sweet it is when he says 'angels' to summon his backing singers.

nb i am aware of the fully self absorbent nature of this post. But I've already admitted I am a toddler, and toddlers rate absorbency.

Dancefloor Dale

2008-12-21T07:10:00.001-08:00

Since I got back from Mongolia everyone has been going off about Flying Lotus. He's splattered beats and love on everyone like a rusty ceiling fan accident. I wasn't really feeling it for a while, wasn't too blown away. Then I saw the Dancehall Dale video commissioned by Warp and it made me trip head over heels on my own wide open jaw.

It's soundtracked by Flying Lotus and involves Dale and his googly eyes flaying wildly and putting it to shaneequa. I love when they hold hands, I love Dale's face, I love the spurting animation and now I love flying lotus.

Good job Warp, for too long I forgot you are better than everything else.

[be warned - Dale is hot sauce. Kids, just say no]

Directed by Eric Wareheim (Tim & Eric) in association with Warp Records and Warp Films.dancefloordale.com

Prophesy

2008-12-19T08:14:00.000-08:00

Berlin, New Years Eve 2007, as celebrators we all stood facing combustibles and suddenly experienced unexpected group intuition. It was unanimous that 2008 was to be the annum terrifier. And as we dodged explosives on Oberbaum Brűcke, screeching, we fell into the nettle patch at midnight.

Truth? It was all true, 2008 is horrific. These 11.5 months have been chilling enough to drown and kill. Some of us were crippled under the pressure, some caught rage, some just changed. En soi dread took the rest, who I miss, terribly.

So the start of the year watched people wake up in a wet room that was either weeping or drowning or wailing and everything but the start of the year was dripping oodles of time we just wanted to sneer at.
This year made more moisture than a downpour gulping.
And two times a flat expanse; a damp coach, Europe’s breath held, clinging to windows past France and Belgium to a London corner, trembling; and then a queen bed, spread, still.

A heavy and motionless 6 months.

Somethings caught in a sticky swelling accident, brain swollen, injuries sustained in a car crash. Or a bad fall. Ten thousand coach trips rip the fucking piss out of one return from Wonderland.

Then we moved a lot, across continents.

Once I talked about Pollock and how I saw horses in his work. Now you can see horses, but only if you’re bound by his signature style.

I’ll wait for NYE for the 2009 predictions. Until then, a search engine horoscope.

“2009 will be..”

2009 will be grim

2009 will be a nightmare on main street
2009 will be the year of mimosa
2009 will be complete by the end of the week
2009 will be international year of astronomy
2009 will be divine
2009 will be piping hot
2009 will be revealed today

According to my research in 2009 Dan will give me back my telescope and I’ll repay him with champagne cocktails.

Karen Matthews meet Fran Chappell meet MC Chaos

2008-12-04T12:51:00.000-08:00

Ever since the Shannon Matthews Scandal started drawing blood from the furiously typing fingers of the UK press I've been reminded of the 2004/5 BBC animated series Monkey Dust. One of the characters, Fran Chappell, is a mother of a missing child. Rising to fame on a wave of press conferences and public voyeurism she relishes her moment in the spotlight by releasing singles with MC Chaos and getting her bap out on the news. This would be funnier if it wasn't so close to the actual story which has, depressingly, already been linked to a TV show by the police.

Monkey Dust however is without a doubt one of the best things they ever put on TV and makes me feel funny, queasy and very British at the same time.

And if they weren't enough to make you snort.. check out the fine diplomacy employed by the copper in the article linked above;

"You can see the possibility. Madeleine was still fresh in everyone's minds," Brennan said. "A young, pretty girl was being looked for in Portugal, and Shannon was a photogenic girl missing here in Dewsbury. You can see why two and two has been put together."

Photogenic? Yes, Detective Superintendent Andy Brennan, comparing the relative attractiveness of two high-profile missing children is a delicate task, especially when one looks like Barbie's little sister and the other one looks like a cabbage, but your shit effort still made me wince more than the vulturous coverage of Baby P..

Health and Safety

2008-11-26T14:21:00.000-08:00

Days whence, it hurt to rave that hard.

It has been so long since I've witnessed myself or someone falling off a night out. Either gravity is kinder on us these days or we're losing our touch. A lady on the radio today spoke about Mystery Bruising - the phenomenon whereby she could map a night out by the discolored and tender patches the morning after.

Ah yes, bruises, bumps and lumps can be such sweet and tender reminders of a grand tumble; a slip down the stair; an opulent wallop down the escalator; the last act final exit from the taxi. Better, even, than filthy great temporary tattoos, and priceless fodder for mumbling hangovers. The memory of Sophie waking up looking like the prizewinning bulldog at Crufts makes me weep bloody joy.

So here's to haemorrhaging, now lets get pulverized.

Below, a selection of injuries on the job.

I'm Going To Make It Through This Year If It Kills Me

2008-11-26T13:19:00.000-08:00

BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM.

Chairlift

2008-11-19T15:31:00.000-08:00

This week I saw Chairlift play The Dublin Castle in Camden. They're a well watchable band brought up in the Brooklyn greenhouse, where bands grow on trees. The singer wears wicked big tshirts I love and has the most lush voice, the drummer looks like an little gremlin, kind of like a condensed Jack Nicholson and the guitarist has got one of those curly long fringes that everyone seems to be sporting since they started having a million wet dreams about Simon Armitage. what do they sound like?.. Sometimes like a fancy-dress recreation of the late 80's, sometimes like a swoony donking pop tune trying to get home on a piggy back from Kate Bush. One certain saccharin ditty is on the ipod ads - like sweet popcorn, annoying bits of it get stuck in your head for days.

The show was lots, naturally. The girl sings notes like a whale in a good mood and she's got a great method for thwacking cow bells. Their songs are all like good looking postcards with cool stories on the back - 'Make your mind up' suggests procrastinators should snort blocks of time like lines, getting high by halting the ticking clock, 'Evident Utensil' applauds the humble pencil and 'Planet Health' paints a picture of a dystopian world where physical flawlessness and organic food rule. And like postcards you want to give them to mates. So have a look cos they're on a European Tour now (and Radio 2 today talking about eating Czech duck) ..

The Incidentals

2008-11-14T10:07:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, Joey Rigby did a wee that smelt like sugar puffs.

Today, I saw this lushness.

Coincidence?

Unlikely

Don't be a coconut

2008-11-11T14:32:00.000-08:00

I've turned back to the Vegan side after a couple years off the wagon (and onto the udder) this may be irrelevant information for most people so to appease the cheese-eaters let me introduce two interesting observations made last night.

1) Upon disclosing my utter ignorance of how a femidom works, Tom revealed he'd once heard that the experience of using one was 'like listening to a fox rustling around in a bin bag'. Sometimes a description can be so acutely revealing there is no need for first hand experience. This is one such time.

2) Why is it that a when someone wears a short tshirt and nothing else, they look more naked than if they had nothing on at all?

May the Tofu angel guide my judgement

I mean, I feel

2008-11-10T12:19:00.000-08:00

The descent on the plane wasn't scary, maybe because the pilot was using the flat panels of an orbiting satellite as a rear view mirror. She looked back to see that Obama had won and I had to use British fireworks to map the shape of my fried brain and remind myself that I like being in London. Dizzee Rascals eloquent review of the victory is priceless, I think it sums up the British attitude succinctly and I credit his idea of a purple hip-hop president.

So while the dollars and dimes in my wallet are depressingly impotent I've embraced all things Brit, I enjoyed hide and seek at the pub, a wander around Soho with Kate and a lovely weekend beside the sea at a haunted manor; A crackling log fire, a grand piano, brutal weather and a murder spree.

On the 90th anniversary of the great war, and with all due respect to veterans, I think it's time to take advantage of the European mini-distance and reinvade Germany. Lets tear down that wall! Reunion in Berlin 2009 if you're kül enough.

Bonkers Malonkers

2008-10-22T17:29:00.000-07:00

I got enough sleep instead of getting up well early to go to Ellis Island. So I ended up going to some thrift stores to get a bargain. Not before having the classic American breakfast, Fruity Pepples with Soy Milk.. the best.

Billy, Doug's flatmate, directed me toward the best street for cheap and wonderful clothing, following his directions I found myself in the heart of hipster Williamsburg, Bedford St. Indeed I found some grand deals, coming home with cardigans, T-shirts and beautiful charm bracelets

for $8, bargain. I would wholeheartedly recommend visiting Buffalo Exchange. Later, I met Doug at his office, a 3-story platter of trendiness in Manhattan; C ool hunting is an influential blog, so lots of chatting up products. They get many, many free samples as a result, from Dyson hand-dryers to Kettle Crisps. I spent a little while there, doing shots of whiskey with Doug's colleagues. Wild.

I'm off to see the Wizard of the Lower East side tonight, who knows what's going to happen?

The mad guy who was shouting 'Mama Mama' at the Liquor Store tonight I bet..

London vs New York

2008-10-21T20:04:00.001-07:00

The two weeks of New Yorker Shenannigans, of re-living the American dream 4 years on from a summer in California, have begun.

This time I find myself in an apartment in Brooklyn with a yank friend from Berlin. It's sublime, the kitchen is like a tunnel into the 70's and the TV advertises medication for subclass Viagra (disclaimer; please seek medical attention if you have sustained an erection for more than 4 hours)

The neighborhood is full of candybars I missed when I left CA and Doug is full of suggestions for fun times worming through the big apple.

Tomorrow I'm off to Ellis Island, the sucker tube on the vacuum cleaner that is the US. Immigration history R us.. in other news, I saw a dirty fat rat on the subway rails on the way over from the airport. The comparatively civilized London Tube mice are no match for the New York vermin.

Alligators and Procrastinators

2008-09-23T13:43:00.000-07:00

"Today, most chinese alligators live in captivity.." on BBC4's Wild China they're showing a gentle side to the muddy dragon. A farmer sits on the bank of a river holding scraps of meat out to the water with a pair of tongs. An alligator swims nervously upto the man, little eyes peeping out from the murky water as if he's just a scaly amphibi-puppy. He lifts himself up to snap whats offered before turning back into the depths. Most alligators have been hunted out for medicine
ingredients or plain fear.

poor gators, they seem really sweet, I can really imagine a pleseant day out at the park, taking down the fusty bacon from the fridge and chucking it to the little buggers.

Anyway, today at work I read tons on Gary Marcus' book Kluge. A Kluge is a clumsy or inelegant solution to a problem, a botch job that does the trick. For example, if one ladder isn't reaching the spot, just add a couple more.

Marcus thinks the human mind is basically an evolutionary kluge. I like his description of procrastination as a brain glitch.

"We zone out, we chicken out, we deceive. To be human is to fight a life-long, uphill battle for self-control. Why? Because evolution left us clever enough to set reasonable goals, but without the willpower to see them through"

it mkes perfect sense when you think about it, then again, do we procrastinators really need any more excuses to idle?
i'll decide later..

(.. for extra diversion link to Gary's blog is here)

Meedja

2008-09-22T13:49:00.000-07:00

Right, I'm back in old Landun to get a job in telly.

I'm not sure if it's a goer yet but I've got some nice work experience at a production company. The first day went swimmingly, much like a day at home really.. flicked through the papers, came up with some funny ideas for TV shows and scoured wikipedia for trivia about raves.

In the name of research I'm currently watching the BBC2 series Amazon, with Bruce Parry. It's really entertaining because he explores South America by getting proper spangled on native hallucinogens the whole way. He spends a lot of this episode puking and drinking litres of Ayahuasca juice so he can get high and have visions about his future. It doesn't work the first time so he finds another place further up the river where some tourists are at it as well. It works out for him this time and he spends the whole night rolling around a bamboo hut having inner battles and telling himself to shut up.

Then just when you think he's only getting off his face for the tribal experience he arrives in Brazil, gets piss drunk on lager and pulls on a dress faster than you can say 'get thee to the drag queen pageant!'

He's is truely a bibulous hero.

Outer Mongolia - No Longer Hyperbole

2008-05-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

In July, I'm driving an old car with a tiny engine all the way to Mongolia.

You can read all about it on my blog detailed the the right.

The reasons behind the trip :

1. The charity fundraising part
2. The drive into the sunset part (and the break-down before sun-down part)
3. The vast swathes of mutton meat available upon arrival

Have a look at the blog for more, won't you.

13

2008-03-05T12:08:00.001-08:00

I stopped at the thirteenth day of advent. I'm hung up on 13.

I've stopped short of 14, stayed hesitating around the brink of the teens.

I travelled back from Berlin on the number 13 coach. From the 13th platform. I reflected on conquest number 13 as I got back to (su)Birmingham. I came thirteenth at lazer quest last week.

I'm going to have a 13th party to see the odd figure to an early grave.

Thirteenth December

2007-12-13T12:50:00.000-08:00

DOGS CAN GO EVERYWHERE

In the Mall, in the fast food place, in the cafe, in the school, in the canal, in the U-bahn, bus, tram and train, in the spice shop, the shoe shop, the record shop AND the flower shop.

Doggy is like the girl about town!

Twelfth December

2007-12-12T12:38:00.000-08:00

CURRY WURST

Sausage.

Ketchup.

Curry Powder.

Heinous-essen!

Eleventh December

2007-12-11T10:03:00.000-08:00

THE GREEN MAN

Unless the green man is showing nobody will cross the road. Everyone stands patiently waiting for him to turn up and wave them across with his huge fist of authority before they move an inch, even if there are no vehicles in sight! Very odd in comparison to London where people navigate the capital as if it were a Indiana Jones set, happily diving underneath trucks and bouncing in front of buses so they can get to Pret before all those lo-carb-prawn-steak-face-salads get snapped up by far more agile pedestrians.

Here, stepping out when the red dude is still glowing can sometimes warrant a lot of judgmental German tutting, the sound of which is strangely similar to the click-click-clicking the Go Signal makes. Oh I do love an ironic coincidence.

Tenth December

2007-12-10T09:20:00.000-08:00

GETRANK STORES and MUDDLED MIXERS

There are dedicated drink stores in Germany called Getrank stores. Much like the humble off licence Getrank stores sell all manner of liquor. They are well stocked with a breathtaking choice of beer and carry a mind boggling variety of soft drinks and bottled waters which you can buy by the crate.

Unlike the off license however, these stores close at the same time as the supermarkets and other normal shops which suggests they're not there for the 11pm 'we need another 6 pack, mixer and skins' panic. The Germans just like to have a good supply of tasty beverages and the Getrank Markt is the one-stop-shop to peruse the wide range of goods.

Indeed, Deutschländer love drinking stuff so much that they've come up with a whole host of their own, usually dubious, mixes.

Diesel - Beer + Coca Cola : The experience is like when you accidently pick someone elses drink up at a party and get a nasty shock.

Spezi - Coke + Fanta +or Lemonade - Colour of ashtray water. I don't know if there is a 'less is more' saying in German but it would be appropriately applied here.

Alster (North Germany) or Radler (South Germany) - Beer + Lemonade : the common shandy (surely we've all had one by age 8) but also comes in a more vile form as beer + Fanta : the first sip is deceptively acceptable but by about halfway through you just wish you hadn't been so damn easily swayed by novelty combinations.

By the way, the name Radler means cyclist, which seems to me blatent condoning of drink-riding. They might as well call it bike juice - "if you can get through this rank tasting beverage my friend, you can get anywhere!"

Fifth December

2007-12-10T07:05:00.000-08:00

VELVET CURTAINS JUST INSIDE THE DOORWAYS OF BARS

I can only speculate on the exact reason why German bars have a semicircular area just inside the doorway, cordoned off with plush velvet drapes. It must be something to do with keeping the draughts out during the very cold winters. However the effect of said curtains is to make you feel as though you are about to go on stage every time you enter a bar or bierkeller.

There is always a nice little moment of theatrical excitement before going in and ordering a couple of tasty beverages. Good work Deutschland. Bravo!!!

Fourth December

2007-12-10T06:47:00.000-08:00

SHOPPING BAGS SHUNNED

Its unusual for people to use plastic shopping bags here. In fact, you get charged for every bag you use at the checkout. Instead everyone carries their shopping around in bags typically adorned with a frog and a turtle having a snog underneath a rainbow.

"schützt unsere Umwelt" - "Protect our environment"

All in all its a good old national habit and indicative of the overall German attitude toward recycling and green living. It's a bugger if you forget your camp old cotton bag though.

Ninth December

2007-12-09T17:03:00.000-08:00

TOILETS HAVE SHELVES

The loos have a little shelf so that what ever comes out sits there for your inspection until you flush.

I feel it is no coincidence that most of the swear words in German are based around poo, wee and other bodily discharges.

Eight December

2007-12-08T16:19:00.000-08:00

MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF GUILT ABOUT THE WAR

I went to the west for the first time today. I left the station in awe of the pretty twinkly lights, the huge luxury department stores and streets dripping with Mercedes. The sight of a lovely, more upmarket Berlin was hampered only by a huge sign right outside the station showing a list of all the Nazi concentration camps.
.

"Orte des Schreckens. die wir niemals vergessen dürfen"

"Area of Terror. this we must never forget"

I stood looking at the sign with my mates, who happened to be English and Polish. Resisting the temptation to take on the typical smug-English and Polish-victim roles we thought about what this sign was about.

Most of the Germans passing through here are on their way to the Ka De We - Berlins answer to Harrods. Are they supposed to think about the death camps as they browse through the vintage wine section of the food hall or dwell on ethnic cleansing as they sample the make-up at the Chanel counter?

Unlike an art piece, a sign like this isn't open to interpretation and unlike a war memorial it doesn't stand as a sign of respect. The purpose seems to be solely to keep the past in the front of one's mind; "Feel the burden Germany because if we forget, you never know WHAT we might be capable of!"

When this attitude is enforced on a generation that has fewer links to the reality of WW2 than ever before how are they expected to take it? It seems that lots of young people end up staying at a point somewhere between sheepishness, apathy and irony. Kind of like a national hangover, but with less fry ups.

Seventh December

2007-12-07T15:57:00.000-08:00

TRAVEL TICKETS WITH CATCHES

In Berlin, you goto the station and buy your ticket, as usual, from the ticket booth or ticket machine (or if you're feeling shady from the ticket sharks that hover around the entrance muttering 'Fahrscheine.. tickets tickets tickets.. FAHRSCHEINE') for travel on the S-bahn, U-bahn, bus and tram system.

It would make sense that once in possession of a ticket you should be able to ride. But no, you have to plop them into little yellow boxes on the platform until you hear the CLUNK of the validation stamp. Then they're ready. Until then, the ticket you paid for is as useless as brushing your teeth with a cat. And the evil Kontorllers can catch you by the toe and string you up for trying to surf Berlin's public transport for free.

Don't you kontrol me weird beard.

However, the Kontrollers don't come round very often leading to a lot of people not getting tickets.. or not validating them and playing the ignorance card. I prefer the gates on the London underground really. True, they're strict but at least you know almost nobody is getting away with free transport. In Berlin you end up feeling like a chump if you buy a ticket and don't get grilled by the Untergrund Gestapo.

I bet they wish they had the mechanical force of the tube gates too.

Wannabees.

Sixth December

2007-12-06T04:31:00.000-08:00

BEER IS 60¢

Sternburg beer, also known as Star Castle can be bought almost anywhere for a pittance.

It has been whetting the palate of Berlin Punks for generations and look how happy they are.

It's pretty tasty too. In Germany there are very strict rules concerning the production of beer. Brewing is governed by a purity law from 1516 called the Reinheitsgebot which states that beer may only contain water, barley , and hops. Since then, they've loosened up a bit and allowed some wheat and sugar cane in, but most of the time the beer is still pure as it when those old German blokes got uppity about their favorite bevvy. And because its seen as such an integral part of German life, beer is taxed at the same rate as food meaning that even the nicer brands are only a fraction more expensive than the punkdrunk.

On special nights out you can go up a notch and treat yourself to a Berliner Pilsner for 15¢ more or if you're feeling really snooty get a Maisel's Weißer for just over a Euro. mmmm.

Third December

2007-12-03T05:53:00.000-08:00

GERMANS BELIEVE TEA TO BE AN ELIXIR OF HEALTH

Now, don't get me wrong, I hold tea in incredibly high esteem and know fully well how thearaputic a milky cup of Tetleys can be.

just look at that. cracking.

The Germans, however, seem to believe that the health benefits of tea go way beyond making you feel quite nice. From what I've gathered tea is well within the realms of being a homeopathic cure for most ailments. Like a latter day leech, except that you drink the tea, the tea doesn't drink you.

Many of my German friends who've been ill recently have brewed and consumed tea by the litre full in a bid to restore health, harping on about the curative effects. The popular health teas are of course all herbal - 6-Kräuter, Pfefferminze, Fenchel-Kümmel and Baldrianwurzel to mention just a few. Back in England we recognise herbal teas as having some health benefits as well, albeit mild ones glorified by the ever so fashionable organics-green movement. While in England these teas are chiefly celebrated by lumpy back-pseudo doctors like Gillian McKeith, here in Germany tea is being prescribed by G.P's as a primary cure for illness.

Just last week my roommate went to the doctor and was diagnosed as having a virus. The doctor duly sat and wrote out a prescription -

'Tragen Sie ein Schal,
warme Fuße,
Viel Wasser und
Viel Tee'

Exactly translated this means 'Wear a scarf, keep your feet warm, lots of water, lots of tea'

How he managed to keep a straight face is beyond me. Is tea really this powerful? As a Brit I feel compelled to defend my national drink.. but only if it comes with a sugar and lots of hobnobs.

2nd December

2007-12-03T05:49:00.000-08:00

SHOPS DON'T OPEN ON SUNDAYS

Closed. The lot. Except for one. In the main station. On the other side of town.

Where we going to get our Sauerkraut now?

1st December

2007-12-03T05:23:00.000-08:00

YOU CAN'T PAY FOR YOUR DRINKS AT THE BAR

Astonishingly, after you've ordered your drinks at a bar in Germany and are waving a €10 note in their direction many bars will refuse to take payment there and then. Instead they keep everyone in the bar on a tab and expect you to pay at the end of the night. The hawk-like bar staff keep tabs on all your drinks, black marking your increasingly drunken dues on a little piece of paper.

On the one hand this is just good service. You never have to leave your seat for drinks, just catch the eye of the waitress. However on the other hand, it can end up feeling like a debt hanging over your head all night. As my Swedish mate Freja pointed out, its a disconcerting concept for all of us from the pay-up-front nations. Sitting in front of her freshly ordered 'sourest cocktail you can make' she was reluctant to sip her tipple, not knowing how much the drink would cost her in the end.

Strangely, we take comfort in not being trusted enough to pay on a tab. Or maybe its just that after years of queuing endlessly at the bar, carrying a full round back to the table yourself and always having to ask your mate for that extra 20p so you can upgrade to Guinness AND black we just don't trust ourselves to cough up when we're bladdered on what seemed like free drinks at the time.

hic.

Deutschland - The Advent of Oddity

2007-12-01T04:21:00.001-08:00

This year, I'm using the time of Advent to find 25 curiosities about the German culture that either flummox or amuse me on a daily basis.

Hö Hö Hö Fröhliche Weihnachten!

Post-fast : The Fallout

2007-11-29T03:42:00.001-08:00

It has been 2 weeks since the fast began and 3 days since we've been off the lemons, saltwater and laxatives. We've hobbled back into the real world of nutrition with a highly refined sense of somatic purity and a new found respect for tasty looking recipes.

The first day off the cleanse we went to the massive church opposite our Wohnung. Every Sunday we are woken by the bells and decided we should attend at least one service. When better than straight after our (questionably) spiritual journey. I mean if anyone could relate it'd be Jesus right? He endured a right bummer of a fast in the desert.

We didn't even have the devil tempting us with the authority of all the kingdoms of the world! The service was pleasantly German and while I was in church, I took the opportunity to pray for intestinal stability.

For the rest of the first day we sipped OJ and apfelsaft, both of which tasted shockingly sweet. The last few days we've munched on seeds, sprouts, fruit juices and veggies. Its all been very nice and the perfect time to re-cultivate a healthy vegan diet. Eating is so much fun again, although very very small amounts fill up very very quickly. A soya yogurt is still banquet status at the moment.

The purity of my regime can into question on Tuesday night however. I though it was about time to reintroduce my innards to the misadventures of alcohol consumption. Of course I felt like I should drink responsibly, so I decided the fruity, minty concoction that is the Mojito would be the freshest choice for my gut. My friend Gabriella joined me for an evening of tipple and japes.

The first cocktail was mixed with careful attention and precision, but upon drinking, the rum entered my bloodstream unusually quickly. The alcohol was like a vicious colonial, on a mission to corrupt my pristine fettle. Pretty soon I was conquered. I got very drunk very quickly which, by the mathematical equation of the piss up, fueled more drinking.

Lashed, we left the flat in search of more debauchery. The cocktails were decanted into the empty Maple Syrup bottles for ease of mobility. Drunkenly swigging from a canteen that was a vital prop of the cleanse mere days ago made the whole evening seem filthier still. My fall from grace was vast. Outside, my neighbourhood Kreuzberg awaited; a hotbed of dive bars and further drinking opportunities.

Drunk as skunks, we stumbled all the way to Ankerklaus, a canal-side pirate bar themed around all things seafaring. Arrrrr! As we glugged back what seemed to be barrel-loads of gin and rum the night spiralled into an ocean of hazy memories.

I woke up the next day feeling utterly and totally atrocious. I often find the self inflicted misery of a bad hangover to be fairly amusing but this time it really felt like I'd been poisoned through and through. So much so that today, a whole day and half later I'm still hungover! Weak and trembly, sickly and rotten. Damn those Mojitos and their Cuban charm. I feel like a baby who was accidently given a litre of vodka instead of a bottle of milk... and at the same time, the inept Mother who was meant to be in charge.. For shame.

Cravings : Water and rest.

Notable Differences : 10lbs lighter, constitution of a toddler.

DAY 7, 8 & 9 - Die Fast ist fast fertig

2007-11-23T13:01:00.000-08:00

I haven't written for a couple of days because the effects of the fast have become somewhat homogeneous and predictable. I've been feeling quite hungry, although when I actually dwell on eating, usually nothing in particular comes to mind. I think I miss the ritual and the joy of eating rather than the nutrition. I've been sleepy early, but rising early too. Ever so slightly more out of breath after normal exercise.

All in all, I don't feel like I haven't eaten for 9 days. I feel completely normal. Which is a bit boring really. I was kind of hoping to lose a limb or develop a full body rash or get dropsy or something. Alas, the fast is grinding to a slow and uneventful end.

On the plus side, we get to eat something different the day after tomorrow!! Well I say eat in a loose sense, the first post-fast day is strictly watered down orange juice all day, so the digestion can get used to the idea of food again. Then the day after I'll be sipping some real watery broth. The day after that, its pretty much safe to say the world is our oyster, if the oyster has plenty of soft veg in its little shell.. and fruit yoghurts and a bowl of oatmeal, ooh and some Peanut butter on apples. yes the oyster must have all these things at once and we will feast like romans. Hurrah!

Day 6 - Weil ich Hunger habe

2007-11-20T14:09:00.000-08:00

Today I had no access to Maple Syrup until 5 o clock p.m. so was relying on the spiritual powers of herbal tea to get me through the day. It really has been my weakest day by far. Unlike before, I've wanted pastries, felt weak and weary, yearned for a proper cuppa and had a piece of chewing gum!! Oh for shame.

Also, my stomach actually howled earlier. One step further than growling. Whats going on? I've read many a story about the 'Master Cleanse magic day 5 threshold'. Apparently the days following this are bountiful, full of spiritual enlightenment and lightness of being.. Instead I have water tasting like blood, werewolves calling out from my belly and ghostly fatigue haunting my bones.

Strangely enough, my teacher ended school today with a message for the class "Wenn Sie Hunger habe dann essen, und wenn nicht, dann diet!" - 'If you're hungry eat and if you're not, diet!' It was a very strange comment as it was only loosely relevant to the grammatical lesson we'd just been taught and wholly irrelevant to anything else. And he doesn't know I'm fasting. Old Rüdiger Stapel, the odd yet apt Kraut.

The fast is becoming both dark and heavy.

Cravings : A peanut butter and honey sandwich

Notable Differences : A strong sense of the supernatural

Day 5 - Astrid is itchy

2007-11-19T13:51:00.000-08:00

I went to school today for the first time after our little week-break. I enjoyed my lemonade flask at pause and didn't miss my normal kaffee und kuchen. My Serbian mate Aliza was pleased to hear I was fasting and was very encouraging, but she's Muslim so she can like, totally relate.

Hi Aliza.

But, it reminded me, I'm surprised at how panicked the majority of people become when I tell them I'm fasting. My parents won't even hear me talk of it. I've honestly never thought of not eating for a couple of days in anyway dangerous or health threatening. Surely our bodies are robust enough to cope with a deficit of calories for a short amount of time. From what I have gathered about human biology there are a number of complex systems that work to ensure that we can function normally for a while without any serious damage occurring. I even read something tonight to support the idea that short term fasting promotes cell regeneration in old injuries. When fasting, the body needs to rely on the energy it has stored in its cells. It immediately seeks out the damaged or diseased cells first and so a common symptom of fasting is pain reoccurring in old injuries. When the fast ends the tissue around the injury has fewer dead cells and is partially regenerated by the body.

Well, before this turns into a gospel on the positives of starvation (because I obviously don't have the technical language to make this post informative enough) I'll make a quick detour back to the more entertaining negatives and the fact that all water has now started tasting like blood! IT IS FOUL. I'm just sipping peppermint tea from now on.

I hope I'm not a vampire.

Cravings : mushroom and ale pie, the souls of virgins, mint and chocolate ice cream.

Notable Differences : My breath is a bit stinky and I have a pimple. Right arm is still chilled to the bone. Bit more hungry today too.

Day 4 - Magnum bastards

2007-11-18T11:28:00.000-08:00

Things went all gothic this morning, the salt water flush tasted exactly like blood! Very strange. Assured that it couldn't be blood by the transparency (although granted it could still have been plasma) I guzzled it down and a morning of hokey-cokey with the bathroom went on. This is going to be a normal part of my day for the next week, so i'll just spare you the details from now on (unless, of course, something bizarre or super gross happens).

The rest of the day saw some hunger pangs, mainly for nuts and green veg. Coffee seems quite unappealing unlike before and I found the picture of a greasy falafel bap on the side of the takeaway more technically interesting than appetising. Like an anatomically correct portrait of a baboons arse or something. Or maybe I'm just becoming preoccupied with bottoms..

Too get out and about Astrid and I went to the cinema to watch 'The 11th Hour'.
As with most American documentary-film things it was a little bit patronising, but I can understand the need, and overall a very clear, well evidenced truth is brought out with shit-your-pants urgency. Anyway, I digress, we were sitting in the theatre, proud to have made it past all the yummy popcorn and tempting sweeties without so much of a flinch, when a massive advert for Magnums lit up the silver screen. The sight of oozing creamy vanilla ice-cream and sound of cracking chocolate booming over the speakers was too much. We looked desperately at each other until the torture ended. But before we could heave a sigh of relief in the wake of temptation a chirpy cinema usher popped into the room with an array of tasty but forbidden delights including Magnums. I think I went cross-eyed.

Really now, all we wanted to do was go to the cinema and watch a movie in peace without being plagued by this temptress of ages, since when do they bring stuff to your seat anyway? Are we in 1950s U.S.A????! So, with biblical strength we declined and sat back to enjoy the flask of herbal tea we brought with us. After a few more days of semi-starvation I'll be able to take comfort in knowing that an ice-cream would probably crash into my virginal digestive track like a drunken trout at a party for refined salmon, and therefore wouldn't be as enjoyable anyway. .. Would it?

owww it probably would.

cravings : Magnums and Magnums and Magnums. Kale.
notable differences : My right are is STILL cold. WHAT!

Day 3 - Water Pistol Pete

2007-11-17T10:46:00.000-08:00

I woke up refreshed, precisely 8 hours after falling asleep, without the aid of an alarm. Since sleeping-in has become my new winter pastime, this early rising is not a common occurrence. I'm not sure whether to credit the cleanse yet. More likely it was too do with my insatiable excitement at the thought of another saltwater flush.

Determined not to have another failed attempt at colon cleansing I upped the amount of salt and the amount of water. It wasn't so bad the second time round, although toward the end my tummy was painfully full and I was feeling quite nauseous. I rubbed my colon a little, whispered a few sweet nothings and sat in my room waiting for gravity to work wonders.

Forty minutes later it began. I bounded across the room and leapt onto the toilet before the fireworks began. Really, just like fireworks, but with more water. So waterworks really, except less technical. More like, I was a one-woman water pistol! fighting a dirty looking colon in a hick town called The Lavatory. The drama ensued for the next 3 hours probably on account of the greater amount that I drank. Lots of speedy back-and-forths, I'm sure you can imagine.

Despite Astrid and I drinking the saltwater at the same time we still managed to get onto different 'evacuation schedules'. We must have really polite intestines.

The rest of the day was spent tracking down more maple syrup + visiting the nice warm Waschsalon to clean our clothes (not because they got poop on them, just because they needed a wash anyway ok?). After some cycling around and much stair-climbing we both found ourselves a lot more tired than usual, an effect only to be expected. I haven't been hungry at all today up until the last hour when ideas of nut roasts and cabbage and sticky toffee pudding with custard all seem quite nice. Strangely, the smell of food is more satisfying than tempting. I've heard that the sense of smell becomes heightened on this cleanse. Walking round the ocean of imbisses in my area will be akin to a banquet. albeit a slightly greasy one.

Onwards and Upwards! ..then downwards and out my bum.

Cravings : Peanut sauce, Sesame snaps, Nut roast, Cabbage.

Notable Differences : My right arm and hand are always significantly colder than my left, despite the left being near the draft when I sleep.
A weird muscle cramp type pain in my legs that lasted 5 minutes.
Tiredness increasing with a lack of energy.
Tongue still a bit peeky and I have a runny nose.

Day 2 - The subtle difference between teaspoon and tablespoon

2007-11-16T11:40:00.001-08:00

I woke up to the wails of Astrid this morning. A terrible mis-concocted salt water flush had left her all of a kefuffle. She had mistakenly put two tablespoons of salt into the water instead of the more palatable 2 teaspoons. Still, she persevered, drinking most of it before becoming overwhelmed by the salty shock and threw it up. An hour later she still managed to have what didn't come out her mouth come out of her bum!

I got up afterwards (we worked out we had better time our diets differently, since we have only one toilet and two bums) and made myself the saltwater flush. It really was quite repellent. The first moment of the sip is the worst, tasting a bit sickly, then it is just a case gulping as much as possible before the urge to vom takes over. Toward the end of the litre I found myself having a stand off with murky salt water. I'd wander round the kitchen looking distracted and then, when least expected, I would grab the glass and chug. I don't know why I thought the element of surprise would make the foul taste any better because it really didn't. But by the time the glass was empty I felt pleased that I would be doing some good for the body, taking up the colon-stimulating cobra pose with a triumphant smile.

To my dismay, 3 hours later I hadn't yet visited the bathroom. Either my colon is a stubborn bastard, full of toxic waste refusing to budge or I am already clean as a whistle. The only other explanation is that I need to put more salt in the water. It's like Diet-Fad-Goldilocks has visited, it's always either too much or too little. Surely between mine and Astrid's mistakes we'd make the perfect Master Cleanse.

Throughout the day I haven't been very hungry at all. Only once or twice really and even then some water would suffice. It seems a lot easier not to eat when you've made up your mind that you're really only going to have the lemonade and nothing else. I'm certainly not craving anything in particular.

My thoughtful friend Gabriel sent me an mp3 of a spoken recipe last night. The German voice explained how to cook fried bratwurst and potatoes and once cooked to enjoy the dish with a cold beer. Unfortunately my German is now good enough to understand precisely how nice it would taste. Methinks that this desire is really just for the beer though. I've come to realise just how much socialising depends on food or drink. Cafes, pubs, clubs, bars, restaurants, fikas, even the cinema has popcorn! The only exception I can think of being team sports. Perhaps now is the time to form that softball team I've always dreamed of - The Old Kreuzberg Bellenders. ahhShwiiing batter.

Cravings : fish and chips (but only now after writing the word batter)

Notable differences : Tongue is feeling a bit peeky.

Hot Toddy Senna and a Celtic Cocktail

2007-11-15T13:43:00.001-08:00

Astrid (my roommate and fellow master cleanser) and I tried our first batch of the lemon mix this morning. Given the perishingly cold climate of Berlin this time of year we opted for a lemony tea to start the day, mixing the juice, syrup and pepper with hot water. I wondered about the various guises this simple mixture could take. Starting the
day with a hot Lemony tea, enjoy a mid morning lemon cooler followed by a warming lemon broth for lunch. We could have happy hour mid afternoon on the old lemon and pepper cocktails before a hearty evening meal of lemonade. Then just for a bit of variety a nightcap oflaxative tea. Nevertheless the lemonade did taste lovely. Whether I will express those same sentiments after nothing but the lemonade for 5 days remains to be seen.

Tomorrow morning I have my first salt water flush, also know as the Celtic Cocktail. I looked on colon-zone to try and familiarize myself with the process. I must say, the image of what looks to be somebodys darkened soul dangling over a toilet bowl was somewhat disconcerting but I feel we must keep going in the name of science. Hark! the sound of senna tea being brewed.
Bis Morgen Bowels.

Cravings : Chocolate Santas (thanks Doug) and spinach raviolli

Master Cleanse

2007-11-14T23:11:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I'm going to start the Master Cleanse Fast. Basically I have to drink a mixture of 2 tbsp lemon juice, 2 tbsp maple syrup, a dash of cayenne pepper and mineral water 6 times a day. I'll wash it all down with a nightly laxative tea. Every morning I'll drink a litre of water with 2 tsp of sea salt, acting as a topdown enema for the whole system. Thats it.. alles. No food or tea or coffee or alcohol or anything. I can have a glass of mineral water if i fancy a treat. i can even have some more mineral water as a snack between meals... if weird lemonade comprises a meal. oh God. By the end of it I apparently should have released quite a few nasty old toxins from my cells and shifted some age old material out of the olde colon. I'm interested to see if my cynicism about detoxing will be removed along with the crusty fragments from meals i injested in 1996. only 10 days of starvation will tell.

Cravings Today : Lemon juice, syrup and cayenne mix.