On BBC iPlayer (UK only)
1st one
The one this edited version is from…
Sunday 29 November 2009
The Restaurant. The Cake.
I decided to be kind and edited some of the best excruciating television around for you. The Restaurant is on for an hour a week, and there are mainly only scornful yet true comments floating about on the interwet naves…. Never-the-less, I thoroughly enjoy this one hour indulgence and sat watching this weeks with utter amazement, laughter and sorrow. Laugh or cry. You decide.
On BBC iPlayer (UK only)
1st one
The one this edited version is from…
On BBC iPlayer (UK only)
1st one
The one this edited version is from…
Thursday 26 November 2009
You don't know.
The first time I met her, we were in a night class somewhere in London. I remember thinking that she looked like she could do with a good meal. I remember thinking I bet she is way younger than she actually looks, and then continued to learn whatever it was we we’d signed up for to learn.
Eventually she came and sat next to me. We started chatting and discovered we lived in vaguely the same area, she offered me a lift home, I was delighted.
Over the weeks we became more friendly, resulting in me asking her in for a cup of tea before she continued on her way home one evening. She accepted nervously, entering my home timidly and scurrying to the overlarge and decidedly uncomfortable lump of a sofa, looking even smaller than she really was. I made our brew and sat in a chair in the corner of the room. It was all a little be reserved and uncertain, awkward I suppose. I stood up, offering her a second brew, really unsure what to say and wondering to myself why she accepted the second cuppa, ease of conversation was not something that was happening. I came in and put the brew on the floor by her foot, moved towards my chair, turned around and to my surprise, she’d stood up very quickly, and was splurging at me “I need to tell you something….”
Hmm.
The mood was very tense, anxious, agitated, you could feel it humming all around us. “Shit!” What on earth was she going to say to me? Her nervousness swamped her and started to radiate out, heading in my direction. I was still trying to comprehend what was happening, to be honest. Struggling to answer myself as to why she needed to be standing up and telling me whatever it was she needed to tell. She was fumbling with the button at the top of her jeans, and then the zip, I remember thinking, “oh my god, is she trying to initiate some kind of ‘come on’?, Does she think I am gay? What is she doing? Fcuk, how can I explain to her she has somehow misunderstood me?” She had continued talking whilst trying to undo her jeans, I refocused on what she was saying “….barrassing, so difficult…. Don’t know how to tell you…”
I asked her to stop, told her that she was confusing and scaring me, this did no good, she was caught up in her panic, continuing to tell me “this is the best way, I don’t know what words to use, I am so sorry…” Her jeans puddled around her feet, she stood there in front of me, white as a sheet, eyes huge and dark. That silenced me pretty quickly, let me tell you. I was trying to make sense of what I could see and it took some time. Stick thin pale legs, knobbly knees, white knickers. Her hands were noticeably shaking, she had clasped them together in front of herself and she was fearful, and that didn’t make sense too me either, why was she scared? It was her causing all the fear and awkwardness, not me. I was in my own front room trying to be the good little hostess. None of it made sense, my brain was searching and rejecting several possibilities and coming up empty. She didn’t move from the spot she’d stood up in, that didn’t make sense for someone who was about to approach me. She was standing rock solid, like Little Nell in the Rocky Horror Picture Show, when she gets turned into a statue by the bloke in the wheelchair (Scotty?). Shaking visibly but not moving, at all.
We remained like this for (hours) probably only half a minute, and slowly as the atmosphere changed I realised that her hands were protecting my view. As she moved her hands, unclasping and then smoothly showing me her palms, moved her hands either side of her, as if they were the curtains of a theatrical show, and allowed me to see what she was in two minds whether to show me or not.
What I hadn’t managed to recognise, due to the complete unexpectedness of her disclosure, were the two nappies she had placed one on each of her inner thighs. My mind was struggling so hard to comprehend what it was she was trying to show me, that even though I could see the nappies, (shop bought, white and very, very small - preemie size I can only assume) their placement, on an adult female and on her thighs was just too much to take in. My head went off in a million directions, I could feel it actively chomping through all the possible and of course, impossible reasons for this entire scenario.
Now, almost ten years on, I realise why it took me so long to compute the images I was seeing into any form of understandability. I knew nothing of self-harm, had never heard of it, never imagined anyone would do it (let alone did and she was standing in front of me, entirely vulnerable) and so had nothing on which to latch the images too. My mind was coping with my logic, and that logic did not have any place in the world this woman was showing me. None what-so-ever.
I was recently asked to tell a group of people something from my past life. This scene jumped straight in to the #1 spot, I don’t recall actually searching it out, it just was there in my head, so I told it how I remembered it. Once I had finished recounting it, someone asked me, “what is your message then?” I hadn’t really thought of it as a message, to be honest. I thought about it for a moment and said, “just so people are aware, really. Aware that a fully grown woman could be sitting in your house now, right next to you and be wearing nappies on her inner thighs, cruelly cutting her-self, and you don’t know.”
The Dark World of Self-Injury
Monday 23 November 2009
File
I had to go to York late last week. There was an interesting training day and I was more than slightly desperate to be included in it. I even offered to go 5th on the waiting list and meanly hope five people found various ways of being unable to attend, therefore leaving me a route ‘in’. Fortunately there was no need for the five to ‘Find Treasure Island’ or ‘Go To Mystery Moor’, as I received a phone call informing me that the powers that be, were instead, offering five more places, bonus! Then I was in.
I had a strange day. Maybe you can tell, maybe not, the thing is I like talking lolol. Due to the disparities involved within the group of people I was attending the training with, little bubbles of two’s and three’s floated off to ‘be’ one. I was a ‘one’ and felt isolated. Of course the smoking thing also manages to offend, although why that makes my point of view or observation less important or interesting often amazes me, especially if I tell you this was a group of people, the majority of which were professionally non-judgmental – yeah, right.
Anyways. I spent the entire day there, avidly learning all I was taught. Received my certificate, praise - A4 shaped, to place on my wall, or hide in a file. Whatever.
I dashed off to catch the train home, a 45 minute wait at the station. One of those hideous paper carton’s, the size of which ensured my hands looked tiny, full of dish-water pretending to be tea, clutched snugly towards my heart, (it was cold outside (Baby)). All for only £1.7-fcuking-5, the robbing gits. I mean, queuing at the side of a ‘booth’ that could be mistaken for a lay by van parked up at the side of the road, handing over my good money, to be handed back a carton and a shite tea bag and then told to ‘go to the end of there, and pour your own milk in, and sugar, if you want it’, Ally McBeal said a few non-wise words in my head, I told her to stop interfering, that I just wanted a cup of tea or dishwater, I really was at the time of day when you stop caring and just want to get home.
So I took some rubbish photo’s.
The light was yellow and moody in that skanky Sweeny Todd and the foggy streets of London way.
I did enjoy the bike pile though :)
Amsterdam by way of York train station lololol
The bursting at it’s welds train for London appeared on time, along with the huge flock of people, oozing from the station walls (ok, maybe I wasn’t looking), all surging to fight for their place on it. Poor old Thomas. I do love the Brits though, you don’t see the Greeks, the Turks or pretty much anyone, anywhere else in the world, queue so formerly, or well, or that politely. I got on, found the first available seat and plonked myself down, the bucket full of dishwater still swishing (in it’s bibbity-bobbity hat). That was when I realised I no longer had my folder, or my A4 piece of praise.
My bag, my dish-water, my seat, my fight for the seat, my god, shit, shit, shit. The man I was almost sitting next too was a bit confused, can’t say I blame him, I must have looked like one of those people under the sway of a hypnotist told to stand up every time I tried to sit down, due to the seat being very hot, me bum barely touched the seat, before I was this mad woman, panicked, (off the train? Leave my bag to save my seat? Trust the man with my bag? Lose my seat. Where’s my file. WHERE IS MY FILE????) So I picked up my still swishing tea, and my bag and turned for the exit (how long till the train leaves? How important is the file? Can you manage to stand for the entire journey? Does that man think I am mad?). Three people blocking the exit, through them, to meet two guys attempting to put their bikes in the stables provided… “……’s no way this will hold four bikes, cheeky gits, that sign is lying, wh….” jabbering on in my ear, as I politely pushed my way through. Make way, mad woman in panic coming through…. I stepped on to the platform and the train bellowed. Fcuk. It knew... I moved quickly to the bench I’d been sitting on, file not there, the rest of me scanned the other bench’s either side like the Terminator, not missing my train for more searching at benches I know I wasn’t sitting on, turned and in-elegantly clambered aboard the heaving train. Bike wheels staring at me, raised up like spitting vipers, ready to strike, “there she is, she’s a loose cannon she is, lost her (marbles?) file, she has.”
He didn’t think I was mad. Which was a relief. He could see I was agitated and upset, and like Thomas, bursting at my welds. Angry at me, angry at all the time I’d sat there, not realising I had left my folder at the lay by booth selling all kinds of coffee and only dish-water tea. Silly me. Silly? Ally thought of other words, I told her to shut the fcuk up.
The man calmed me down, suggested several ways of retrieving the files (email, copies, pdf’s, another person on the training day) and then we chatted, he was really kind. He had a free training day, and I got someone calm and thoughtful, and with luck someone found my file and they too had a free learning day. Win / win really :)
I had a strange day. Maybe you can tell, maybe not, the thing is I like talking lolol. Due to the disparities involved within the group of people I was attending the training with, little bubbles of two’s and three’s floated off to ‘be’ one. I was a ‘one’ and felt isolated. Of course the smoking thing also manages to offend, although why that makes my point of view or observation less important or interesting often amazes me, especially if I tell you this was a group of people, the majority of which were professionally non-judgmental – yeah, right.
Anyways. I spent the entire day there, avidly learning all I was taught. Received my certificate, praise - A4 shaped, to place on my wall, or hide in a file. Whatever.
I dashed off to catch the train home, a 45 minute wait at the station. One of those hideous paper carton’s, the size of which ensured my hands looked tiny, full of dish-water pretending to be tea, clutched snugly towards my heart, (it was cold outside (Baby)). All for only £1.7-fcuking-5, the robbing gits. I mean, queuing at the side of a ‘booth’ that could be mistaken for a lay by van parked up at the side of the road, handing over my good money, to be handed back a carton and a shite tea bag and then told to ‘go to the end of there, and pour your own milk in, and sugar, if you want it’, Ally McBeal said a few non-wise words in my head, I told her to stop interfering, that I just wanted a cup of tea or dishwater, I really was at the time of day when you stop caring and just want to get home.
So I took some rubbish photo’s.
The light was yellow and moody in that skanky Sweeny Todd and the foggy streets of London way.
I did enjoy the bike pile though :)
Amsterdam by way of York train station lololol
The bursting at it’s welds train for London appeared on time, along with the huge flock of people, oozing from the station walls (ok, maybe I wasn’t looking), all surging to fight for their place on it. Poor old Thomas. I do love the Brits though, you don’t see the Greeks, the Turks or pretty much anyone, anywhere else in the world, queue so formerly, or well, or that politely. I got on, found the first available seat and plonked myself down, the bucket full of dishwater still swishing (in it’s bibbity-bobbity hat). That was when I realised I no longer had my folder, or my A4 piece of praise.
My bag, my dish-water, my seat, my fight for the seat, my god, shit, shit, shit. The man I was almost sitting next too was a bit confused, can’t say I blame him, I must have looked like one of those people under the sway of a hypnotist told to stand up every time I tried to sit down, due to the seat being very hot, me bum barely touched the seat, before I was this mad woman, panicked, (off the train? Leave my bag to save my seat? Trust the man with my bag? Lose my seat. Where’s my file. WHERE IS MY FILE????) So I picked up my still swishing tea, and my bag and turned for the exit (how long till the train leaves? How important is the file? Can you manage to stand for the entire journey? Does that man think I am mad?). Three people blocking the exit, through them, to meet two guys attempting to put their bikes in the stables provided… “……’s no way this will hold four bikes, cheeky gits, that sign is lying, wh….” jabbering on in my ear, as I politely pushed my way through. Make way, mad woman in panic coming through…. I stepped on to the platform and the train bellowed. Fcuk. It knew... I moved quickly to the bench I’d been sitting on, file not there, the rest of me scanned the other bench’s either side like the Terminator, not missing my train for more searching at benches I know I wasn’t sitting on, turned and in-elegantly clambered aboard the heaving train. Bike wheels staring at me, raised up like spitting vipers, ready to strike, “there she is, she’s a loose cannon she is, lost her (marbles?) file, she has.”
He didn’t think I was mad. Which was a relief. He could see I was agitated and upset, and like Thomas, bursting at my welds. Angry at me, angry at all the time I’d sat there, not realising I had left my folder at the lay by booth selling all kinds of coffee and only dish-water tea. Silly me. Silly? Ally thought of other words, I told her to shut the fcuk up.
The man calmed me down, suggested several ways of retrieving the files (email, copies, pdf’s, another person on the training day) and then we chatted, he was really kind. He had a free training day, and I got someone calm and thoughtful, and with luck someone found my file and they too had a free learning day. Win / win really :)
Sunday 22 November 2009
Tom McRae, Leadmill, Sheffield.
As you may have guessed, we did manage to get to see the wonderfully bitter egomaniac that is Tom McRae. It took a great deal of effort, time, planning and money and ultimately was worth every single flipping penny. Starting fairly early on with the announcement of a ‘loss of internet, I didn’t do anything to it – honest….’ text, from home, pretty much as we settled down on our outward bound train journey,…. after all, it could only improve after that particularly annoying piece of information, couldn’t it?
We tumbled off the train, high on excitement, waiting to see what Sheffield could throw at us.. we began our journey towards our B & B…
I saw a fabulous building on the Sheffield skyline – the skyline, that is from the tram lines… and was fascinated with this building, enough to take more of it on our way back home, with a different light and angle…. It's a car park. Allies & Morrison’s St Paul’s Place car park, Sheffield, to be precise.
"Anodised aluminium became the favourite because of its performance, low maintenance and durability, but it still cost £254 per sq m. (The overall cladding package came in at £1.4 million). Once the decision had been taken to use anodised aluminium in 1.2sq m square modules, Allies & Morrison found that by tilting the panels forward by 24 degrees, the right amount of ventilation could be achieved. Unusually, instead of tilting all the panels in the same direction, the architect rotated them randomly in four different directions.
The result is a powerful facade for a relatively humble building type, and one that achieves the ventilation requirement in an ingenious and original way."
And this. This. This.
Food however was high on our list of priorities and we stumbled upon some pub serving generic ‘wholesome but pub like’ food. It worked a treat, we ate like two soldiers back on home leave after some placement to another planet, a pint each and unabashed excitement to our onward journey to our place of sleep. I asked the guy behind the bar for a taxi and how far were we from said establishment..? He nearly came with excitement as he led me to the front door and proudly pointed towards our final destination… fcuk, I could almost read the signage above the front door from where we were standing, the guy became more excited, ‘I know, I know, me and my mate got a taxi to it one night, from here, wow, the taxi driver was soooo pissed off with us’…. (No shit Sherlock) So we walked the final 500 yards and entered our stop over joint. The Harley.
The ear plugs, they said in the literature, were required due to excessive noise during the night hours… we were ready. One of our major decisions was what to do about ‘Strictly’. So we watched it, that handy bottle of wine, stowed between our party clothes came in handy… Tuffers went, we weren’t nearly as upset as we would have been at home… and onwards to the Leadmill. We decided to leave our gaff through the side entrance, which led us to where the leprosy sufferers were offending the rest of mankind and, as we walked towards the main road, shouted up to the brave smokers… ‘How do you get a taxi around here?’ The guy shouted back, ‘like this’, and raised his arm and bellowed at the taxi ‘Oi!’ and the bastard stopped. We couldn’t believe it, and neither could the James Bond guy up on the smokers walk way… let alone his friends, who stood, open mouthed and silently impressed… Shouting our thanks to him, we jumped in the cab and asked for the Leadmill…. Finally we were off….
The taxi driver was impeccable, informative, courteous and friendly, chatted with us all the way to the Leadmill. It was a real treat to be treated so pleasantly. Sheffield taxi drivers are A OK. We had a pleasant 5 minutes inhaling the leprosy and then headed for the front door, were directed through turnstiles (what match was I going to see…?) and we were in like Flynn. Dark, echo-y and very moody, we could hear someone singing to the guitar, checked him out, it wasn’t Tom, so we went on the hunt for beer. A hint of black current with a Guinness, and a ‘straight’ Guinness for me… the bar tender was chatty and we started to quiz him on times of appearances, beer only poured in this room, so no-one could hear the annoying clinking and clanging that the bar makes, no throwing of bottles into the bottle bin, some lovely precautions and high forward thinking by obvious music lovers and people who give a shit about how to make their guest sound as good as possible. One hour! He was going to be on for one poxy hour? Unbelievable, unacceptable and several ‘un’s’ later we were gob smacked, Tom was only appearing for an hour. It was a bit of a shock, I have to be honest, I was expecting a 2 hour show, after all the man had let his hardcore fan base down, we had already bought tickets to two of his (cancelled) gigs, this was a ‘make up’ show, one poxy hour….
We needed leprosy. We had to get our hands stamped with some kind of proof that we’d already paid for entrance, before we left the building, so the doorman drew his initial on my hand, a sure sign to be able to re-enter the building after a nicotine intake. Done. My friend went for more beer, I headed towards the stage and on Tom came. Exquisite, he opened with Alphabet of Hurricanes and just kept throwing his words at us… I was annoying people on the left, my camera tries not to be intrusive, I keep my head down and yet, I find I am still in the way. The guy with the fcuk off camera was intensely annoying, with his whirring and clicking, I carried on like the good soldier I am, and just kept filming. The rapport between Tom and his fans in immense, he has a bitter and twisted moment for every comment made, his self-deprecation shows no bounds and his fans support this bitterness sweetly. We revel in it, he’s one of ‘us’, he is just more able to tell the world how it is we see life… Sadly it is incredibly funny and the crowd never know whether to laugh or cry. I think Tom particularly enjoys this cusp. The Ukulele song was sublime and Vampire Heart was also one to be pleased to know I ‘was there’ for. The entire gig was supreme, our heckle for more, paid off as he went well over time, we eventually got about one hour and twenty minutes of the great man. I want to thank him. A lot. It was just fantastic.
We met him in the bar a few minutes later. We’d been hoping he’d come and say high, people had come from all over the place to see him, dedicated fans. From the Isle of Man came Lisa and Adam, people came over from Ireland and France to see him. We make a special effort to see him because he is a special man. I don’t want to share him with ‘the world’. I don’t want to see him, along with 49, 999 other people, I want to keep him to myself, the best kept secret in the UK, he wants more, I wish him well and still hope he never makes it. I never pretended to want to share him with the general public. He’s all mine, I will share him though, just, not with many.
After we left the Leadmill....
We tumbled off the train, high on excitement, waiting to see what Sheffield could throw at us.. we began our journey towards our B & B…
I saw a fabulous building on the Sheffield skyline – the skyline, that is from the tram lines… and was fascinated with this building, enough to take more of it on our way back home, with a different light and angle…. It's a car park. Allies & Morrison’s St Paul’s Place car park, Sheffield, to be precise.
"Anodised aluminium became the favourite because of its performance, low maintenance and durability, but it still cost £254 per sq m. (The overall cladding package came in at £1.4 million). Once the decision had been taken to use anodised aluminium in 1.2sq m square modules, Allies & Morrison found that by tilting the panels forward by 24 degrees, the right amount of ventilation could be achieved. Unusually, instead of tilting all the panels in the same direction, the architect rotated them randomly in four different directions.
The result is a powerful facade for a relatively humble building type, and one that achieves the ventilation requirement in an ingenious and original way."
And this. This. This.
Food however was high on our list of priorities and we stumbled upon some pub serving generic ‘wholesome but pub like’ food. It worked a treat, we ate like two soldiers back on home leave after some placement to another planet, a pint each and unabashed excitement to our onward journey to our place of sleep. I asked the guy behind the bar for a taxi and how far were we from said establishment..? He nearly came with excitement as he led me to the front door and proudly pointed towards our final destination… fcuk, I could almost read the signage above the front door from where we were standing, the guy became more excited, ‘I know, I know, me and my mate got a taxi to it one night, from here, wow, the taxi driver was soooo pissed off with us’…. (No shit Sherlock) So we walked the final 500 yards and entered our stop over joint. The Harley.
The ear plugs, they said in the literature, were required due to excessive noise during the night hours… we were ready. One of our major decisions was what to do about ‘Strictly’. So we watched it, that handy bottle of wine, stowed between our party clothes came in handy… Tuffers went, we weren’t nearly as upset as we would have been at home… and onwards to the Leadmill. We decided to leave our gaff through the side entrance, which led us to where the leprosy sufferers were offending the rest of mankind and, as we walked towards the main road, shouted up to the brave smokers… ‘How do you get a taxi around here?’ The guy shouted back, ‘like this’, and raised his arm and bellowed at the taxi ‘Oi!’ and the bastard stopped. We couldn’t believe it, and neither could the James Bond guy up on the smokers walk way… let alone his friends, who stood, open mouthed and silently impressed… Shouting our thanks to him, we jumped in the cab and asked for the Leadmill…. Finally we were off….
The taxi driver was impeccable, informative, courteous and friendly, chatted with us all the way to the Leadmill. It was a real treat to be treated so pleasantly. Sheffield taxi drivers are A OK. We had a pleasant 5 minutes inhaling the leprosy and then headed for the front door, were directed through turnstiles (what match was I going to see…?) and we were in like Flynn. Dark, echo-y and very moody, we could hear someone singing to the guitar, checked him out, it wasn’t Tom, so we went on the hunt for beer. A hint of black current with a Guinness, and a ‘straight’ Guinness for me… the bar tender was chatty and we started to quiz him on times of appearances, beer only poured in this room, so no-one could hear the annoying clinking and clanging that the bar makes, no throwing of bottles into the bottle bin, some lovely precautions and high forward thinking by obvious music lovers and people who give a shit about how to make their guest sound as good as possible. One hour! He was going to be on for one poxy hour? Unbelievable, unacceptable and several ‘un’s’ later we were gob smacked, Tom was only appearing for an hour. It was a bit of a shock, I have to be honest, I was expecting a 2 hour show, after all the man had let his hardcore fan base down, we had already bought tickets to two of his (cancelled) gigs, this was a ‘make up’ show, one poxy hour….
We needed leprosy. We had to get our hands stamped with some kind of proof that we’d already paid for entrance, before we left the building, so the doorman drew his initial on my hand, a sure sign to be able to re-enter the building after a nicotine intake. Done. My friend went for more beer, I headed towards the stage and on Tom came. Exquisite, he opened with Alphabet of Hurricanes and just kept throwing his words at us… I was annoying people on the left, my camera tries not to be intrusive, I keep my head down and yet, I find I am still in the way. The guy with the fcuk off camera was intensely annoying, with his whirring and clicking, I carried on like the good soldier I am, and just kept filming. The rapport between Tom and his fans in immense, he has a bitter and twisted moment for every comment made, his self-deprecation shows no bounds and his fans support this bitterness sweetly. We revel in it, he’s one of ‘us’, he is just more able to tell the world how it is we see life… Sadly it is incredibly funny and the crowd never know whether to laugh or cry. I think Tom particularly enjoys this cusp. The Ukulele song was sublime and Vampire Heart was also one to be pleased to know I ‘was there’ for. The entire gig was supreme, our heckle for more, paid off as he went well over time, we eventually got about one hour and twenty minutes of the great man. I want to thank him. A lot. It was just fantastic.
We met him in the bar a few minutes later. We’d been hoping he’d come and say high, people had come from all over the place to see him, dedicated fans. From the Isle of Man came Lisa and Adam, people came over from Ireland and France to see him. We make a special effort to see him because he is a special man. I don’t want to share him with ‘the world’. I don’t want to see him, along with 49, 999 other people, I want to keep him to myself, the best kept secret in the UK, he wants more, I wish him well and still hope he never makes it. I never pretended to want to share him with the general public. He’s all mine, I will share him though, just, not with many.
After we left the Leadmill....
Friday 20 November 2009
Scarborough Belles
I had no idea just how much of my life is only available to me if I am on-line. Quite a scary thought, even worse when it became my reality. The names, dates, numbers I always had to hand via my little black book… yeah, I did have one of those, well mine was red, and not really that little, you get the drift though? I reached for this trusty book, upgraded over the years to lime green at the moment, and lo and behold…. nowt, sweet FA, empty, somewhere over the rainbow… no updated info. Wham! That’ll teach me to rely on computers and technology won’t it? So several long, long days later, the Internet was back up and running and my mo-jo has pissed off and taken the list of things I ‘woulda if I coulda’ posted, with it. So I think I will go random….
I’ve been a bit of a busy bee this week, appointments here and there, one of which was in the beautiful sea-side town of Scarborough. It took me a while to get there, and the damned appointment had been cancelled, so I had some free time and very easy access to good old M+S, way down there at the bottom of the main high street, only after managing to sneak by the rampant rabbit shop first though.... and I was in PUrane (Per Una) heaven…. I slowly drifted through their entire range, unable to keep my hands off the beautiful textures, feasting my eyes on the myriad of muted tones and colours, indulged, shivered and went upstairs to the department of panta-lunes…. Hehehe, nuff said. Red and hot pink seem to be ‘the colour of ladies UK undergarments’ this month though… leaving M+S and it’s warm comfortableness of nostalgia I turned left and wandered up the hill backwards, meeting supercreeps and some lesser scary monsters. Scarborough hides it’s lesser scary monsters out in the open, so if you aren’t careful you fall in to the spell of deleting them from your sight, they are there though, Zombie’s in the background, often wearing furry slippers having casually slung their Sunday slobbing clothes over themselves and actually leaving their homes with it not occurring to them that 1) it isn’t Sunday and 2) those clothes shouldn’t been seen outside a Sunday or for that matter, their homes. Ever. For the first time I actually saw the statue in the centre of the high street, of course she was only placed there quite recently in April 2008, so if she was there the last time I visited Scarborough, I wasn’t paying much attention… this time I was, for two good reasons, I had my camera on me and I had some time to spare, I also deviously thought, I wonder if I stand here taking photo’s as the people walk past, none of them paying ‘Our Belle’ any attention, will they stop and try and look at what I am seeing, or see what it is I am looking at, you know like the Candid Camera show where the bloke just stops in the street and looks up? How many will stop next to him and look up? All I can say is, it worked a treat, you want an important phone call to come through? Just get in the bath, you want to try and catch the sweet disposition on that dog’s face, setting up the shot, and, just as you press ‘click’, the bastard moves? Here it was, a perfect photo opportunity, a fairly tall statue, with no people around it, just asking to be photographed in private, willing to show just that extra little detail, or a hint of an angle that so many may have missed, or dismissed…
I dared to remove my camera from my bag, took it’s protective eye cover off, opened it’s back to show the screen, pretended to fiddle with the dial (it looks good) I just make sure it’s on ‘auto’ and left my ciggie dangling from my mouth, ensuring all those who did not require leprosy would stay well back, of course that didn’t work either, as someone who also already had leprosy was not put off, *obviously didn’t think that one through* and interrupted me actively taking photo’s to ask ‘You got a light?’ ‘Of course’, I said, and handed her my lighter, with a lovely Ally McBeal moment going on in my head, Ally reached over, picked her up and turned the woman towards ‘down the hill’ and gently shoved her off, saying, ‘don’t interrupt the grown-ups now dear and fuck off…. And was back to taking my photo’s. I took 37 in total.
The Bathing Belle is made of galvanised steel by artist and blacksmith Craig Knowles, who also made the Diving Belle.
This is my favourite.
I’ve been a bit of a busy bee this week, appointments here and there, one of which was in the beautiful sea-side town of Scarborough. It took me a while to get there, and the damned appointment had been cancelled, so I had some free time and very easy access to good old M+S, way down there at the bottom of the main high street, only after managing to sneak by the rampant rabbit shop first though.... and I was in PUrane (Per Una) heaven…. I slowly drifted through their entire range, unable to keep my hands off the beautiful textures, feasting my eyes on the myriad of muted tones and colours, indulged, shivered and went upstairs to the department of panta-lunes…. Hehehe, nuff said. Red and hot pink seem to be ‘the colour of ladies UK undergarments’ this month though… leaving M+S and it’s warm comfortableness of nostalgia I turned left and wandered up the hill backwards, meeting supercreeps and some lesser scary monsters. Scarborough hides it’s lesser scary monsters out in the open, so if you aren’t careful you fall in to the spell of deleting them from your sight, they are there though, Zombie’s in the background, often wearing furry slippers having casually slung their Sunday slobbing clothes over themselves and actually leaving their homes with it not occurring to them that 1) it isn’t Sunday and 2) those clothes shouldn’t been seen outside a Sunday or for that matter, their homes. Ever. For the first time I actually saw the statue in the centre of the high street, of course she was only placed there quite recently in April 2008, so if she was there the last time I visited Scarborough, I wasn’t paying much attention… this time I was, for two good reasons, I had my camera on me and I had some time to spare, I also deviously thought, I wonder if I stand here taking photo’s as the people walk past, none of them paying ‘Our Belle’ any attention, will they stop and try and look at what I am seeing, or see what it is I am looking at, you know like the Candid Camera show where the bloke just stops in the street and looks up? How many will stop next to him and look up? All I can say is, it worked a treat, you want an important phone call to come through? Just get in the bath, you want to try and catch the sweet disposition on that dog’s face, setting up the shot, and, just as you press ‘click’, the bastard moves? Here it was, a perfect photo opportunity, a fairly tall statue, with no people around it, just asking to be photographed in private, willing to show just that extra little detail, or a hint of an angle that so many may have missed, or dismissed…
I dared to remove my camera from my bag, took it’s protective eye cover off, opened it’s back to show the screen, pretended to fiddle with the dial (it looks good) I just make sure it’s on ‘auto’ and left my ciggie dangling from my mouth, ensuring all those who did not require leprosy would stay well back, of course that didn’t work either, as someone who also already had leprosy was not put off, *obviously didn’t think that one through* and interrupted me actively taking photo’s to ask ‘You got a light?’ ‘Of course’, I said, and handed her my lighter, with a lovely Ally McBeal moment going on in my head, Ally reached over, picked her up and turned the woman towards ‘down the hill’ and gently shoved her off, saying, ‘don’t interrupt the grown-ups now dear and fuck off…. And was back to taking my photo’s. I took 37 in total.
The Bathing Belle is made of galvanised steel by artist and blacksmith Craig Knowles, who also made the Diving Belle.
This is my favourite.
These are 'nearlies'. Enjoy.
Tuesday 17 November 2009
Arggg
Hi,
I am currently off line at home and therefore unable to blog as Mr Victor 'One Foot in the Grave' would say, I doooon't believe it!
*really annoyed* grrrrrrrrrrrrrr
I am currently off line at home and therefore unable to blog as Mr Victor 'One Foot in the Grave' would say, I doooon't believe it!
*really annoyed* grrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Saturday 14 November 2009
Tom McRae
No more sleeps!
We are off to sunny Sheffield in about an hour.
Will upload any songs if I get any good ones (hopefully it will be an acoustic set and the camera will find nothing to distort). Hmm :/
We are off to sunny Sheffield in about an hour.
Will upload any songs if I get any good ones (hopefully it will be an acoustic set and the camera will find nothing to distort). Hmm :/
Thursday 12 November 2009
Better not to bring this teacher an Apple (Mac)
Sadly yesterday was the last day of my 3 day adventure in to wanderland, learning how to promote my business on the web, with the insightful and thoughtful Delia. Hear her here.
If you think all that twitters and blogs is not gold, then think again.... She brings experience, enthusiasm and a great passion for all things 'Geeky', Delia makes Geeky look cool.
In fact Delia is cool.
I did learn not to bring her an apple though, Mac's chew up her work and then melt at the sight of her - there is no love lost between them.
I worked with several people on this course, all of them invested in improving their business and their life styles, we were all eager to learn and the comeraderie developed at a pleasing rate.
We were an assorted bunch, the 'rules and regs' guy Ralph, who went from suited and booted, to casual in a week, the quiet man at the back, Steve, a talented artist, Martin, Mr Debonair Green Party, and he does seem to be all over the web, here, here and here... Bill, ready to teach english to Brazil, person by person, and then have a party or three... to the cheerful and helpful Nick, the man with the lightsaber *oo-er missus*
May the Force be With You, and you and you and you.....
I would like to thank Delia for our lunches, her support and enthusiasm to us all in our lovely little group. And my new found addiction - blogging....
If you think all that twitters and blogs is not gold, then think again.... She brings experience, enthusiasm and a great passion for all things 'Geeky', Delia makes Geeky look cool.
In fact Delia is cool.
I did learn not to bring her an apple though, Mac's chew up her work and then melt at the sight of her - there is no love lost between them.
I worked with several people on this course, all of them invested in improving their business and their life styles, we were all eager to learn and the comeraderie developed at a pleasing rate.
We were an assorted bunch, the 'rules and regs' guy Ralph, who went from suited and booted, to casual in a week, the quiet man at the back, Steve, a talented artist, Martin, Mr Debonair Green Party, and he does seem to be all over the web, here, here and here... Bill, ready to teach english to Brazil, person by person, and then have a party or three... to the cheerful and helpful Nick, the man with the lightsaber *oo-er missus*
May the Force be With You, and you and you and you.....
I would like to thank Delia for our lunches, her support and enthusiasm to us all in our lovely little group. And my new found addiction - blogging....
Wednesday 11 November 2009
Tom McRae
There's this bloke me and my bezzie regularly go to see, called Tom McRae, he's been around for a while, the song that caught my friends attention is called Bloodless. I have to be honest, it certainly didn't grab me with both hands and 'tango' me, in fact it was the opposite, I was 'deognat' with it, couldn't quite understand what it was she found so beautiful. I have now changed my mind. Seeing and hearing him sing it, can do that to you. She dragged me to a gig, probably at the Cockpit in Leeds :/ and I was hooked. We've seen him several times and he's become a bit of an addiction. Clever bugger cancelled his latest tour and re-arranged all the dates, put us out of pocket (nearly) and we were both prepared to forgive him, the downside was we wouldn't get our 'fix' on the date we had planned. He's a kind old soul - if a little grumpy now and then (and he could do with a shave.... and it seems a new brolly, his appears to be broken, very sexy image though) and has given us all new dates, with a bonus gig in Sheffield THIS WEEKEND *yippee*
So we are going to the land of the 'full monty' booked ourselves in at a hip hop happening little b+b and plan to drink, sing, smoke (0utside of course), and sing a bit more, hopefully have a chat with him after the gig *you never know* and then go and check out some Sheffield pubs and clubs, alternatively we'll sing and drink and be back at the gaff by mid-night. This is effing fabulous and so is this.
So we are going to the land of the 'full monty' booked ourselves in at a hip hop happening little b+b and plan to drink, sing, smoke (0utside of course), and sing a bit more, hopefully have a chat with him after the gig *you never know* and then go and check out some Sheffield pubs and clubs, alternatively we'll sing and drink and be back at the gaff by mid-night. This is effing fabulous and so is this.
Tuesday 10 November 2009
Monday 9 November 2009
Spitting Rainbows II
I always told you
I'd spit rainbows on cloudy days
Let the colors ooze from my body
Until the gray is vanquished
With bright
~Shardae
When I Am an Old Woman
When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and a pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.
By Jenny Joseph
With a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and a pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.
By Jenny Joseph
Stan, the dog that brings a smile.
This is Stan. Did he make you smile..? He's listening to the hens, the one's just on the other side of the fence... (Our Ladies whom art in the Backgarden...) I used to be the owner of a bigger breed and always swore I'd never, ever have a 'little' dog, this guy has changed all my perceptions. Sod. He belongs to my bezzie ;) (best friend, for the none locals) and he is a delight to be around, he is always such a happy chappy, sharing a feel good feeling with whomever he meets. He's that kind of dog, small with a HUGE personality, we call it little dog syndrome... lolol Small dog, big attitude.
Sunday 8 November 2009
Crowded House / When You Come + Supergroove / Sitting Inside My Head
I really love Crowded House, I have loved them for many years now, so many memories attached to their songs… I had a copy of their final gig, the one they did at Sidney Opera House, and have always wished I got to see them before they split. Then they re-formed for some strange reason and I was fortunate enough to get to see them in New Zealand, Christchurch to be precise, and to be even more precise November the second 2007. They were pretty cool, I only wish that I'd had a better camera way back then :)
Then I found the Supergroove "Sitting Inside My Head" taping I did, with the wonderful Che Fu on lead vocals (I had never heard of Supergroove until then) so I thought I'd put it up here along side it, don't really think it's clear enough for YouTube to be honest. The NZ crowd went crazy for them, the place was rocking. Good gig.
Then I found the Supergroove "Sitting Inside My Head" taping I did, with the wonderful Che Fu on lead vocals (I had never heard of Supergroove until then) so I thought I'd put it up here along side it, don't really think it's clear enough for YouTube to be honest. The NZ crowd went crazy for them, the place was rocking. Good gig.
Saturday 7 November 2009
Ladysmith Black Mambazo Soundalikes in York
I have been looking through my old video clips and found this one, taken in the great City of York, England mid-August 2009. Sadly I never thunked to ask them their name, so the nearest I can get is to say they are similar to Ladysmith Black Mambazo.
Ladysmith Black Mambazo is a male choral group from South Africa that sings in the vocal style of isicathamiya and mbube. They rose to worldwide prominence as a result of singing with Paul Simon on his album, Graceland and have won multiple awards, including three Grammy Awards. They were formed by Joseph Shabalala in 1960 and became one of South Africa's most prolific recording artists, with their releases receiving gold and platinum disc honours.
This performance absolutely blew me away, although the friend I was with couldn't quite understand my pleasure in watching and listening to them.
I feel really sad that I cannot put their name up on this blog as I would love to help them get a bit of publicity, so if anyone out there knows who these guys are.... please let me know.
Ladysmith Black Mambazo is a male choral group from South Africa that sings in the vocal style of isicathamiya and mbube. They rose to worldwide prominence as a result of singing with Paul Simon on his album, Graceland and have won multiple awards, including three Grammy Awards. They were formed by Joseph Shabalala in 1960 and became one of South Africa's most prolific recording artists, with their releases receiving gold and platinum disc honours.
This performance absolutely blew me away, although the friend I was with couldn't quite understand my pleasure in watching and listening to them.
I feel really sad that I cannot put their name up on this blog as I would love to help them get a bit of publicity, so if anyone out there knows who these guys are.... please let me know.
Friday 6 November 2009
200 Quid and a Dyson
I suspect David Ford is going to be playing at a wedding in 2011 and this got me to thinking "I wonder if....?" If me and my friend made a great offer, would he then come and play a gig at our house? My friend suggested 200 quid and a Dyson should make him happy, I collapsed with laughter at the thought of someone attempting to 'play' the Dyson. Great thought thunk though.
Thursday 5 November 2009
Ana (Anorexia)
A few of my thoughts and opinions on Anorexia.
Another part of my homework *rolls eyes*.
One of my passionate interests in life is of the self-destruct buttons we all have and how some of us choose to use them. I love life and have met many women who loved life enough to starve themselves to death, silently screaming.
Another part of my homework *rolls eyes*.
One of my passionate interests in life is of the self-destruct buttons we all have and how some of us choose to use them. I love life and have met many women who loved life enough to starve themselves to death, silently screaming.
Sally / Homework
So for my homework I had to start a blog, this is it and I am already wanting to change all the settings again!
I found this on Youtube and was surprised at the nostalgia it evoked within me. Katy Carr confused me somewhat, a regal lady in 1940's attire, with a strange little hat on her head, she didn't look out of place until you realised she was behind a synthesizer and the crowd were dressed in the usual jeans and a tee.... then we found out she is a pilot, this lady is full of surprises.
I found this on Youtube and was surprised at the nostalgia it evoked within me. Katy Carr confused me somewhat, a regal lady in 1940's attire, with a strange little hat on her head, she didn't look out of place until you realised she was behind a synthesizer and the crowd were dressed in the usual jeans and a tee.... then we found out she is a pilot, this lady is full of surprises.
Dame Gracie Fields, DBE (9 January 1898 – 27 September 1979), born Grace Stansfield, was an english-born, later Italian-based actress, singer and comedienne widely hailed as one of the greatest stars of both cinema and music hall.
Born over a fish and chip shop owned by her grandmother in Molesworth Street, Rochdale, Lancashire, she made her first stage appearance as a child in 1905. Her two sisters, Edith and Betty, and brother, Tommy, all went on to appear on stage, but Gracie was the most successful. Her professional debut in variety took place at the Rochdale Hippodrome theatre in 1910 and she soon gave up her job in the local cotton mill.
Her most famous song, which became her theme, "Sally," was worked into the title of her first film, Sally in Our Alley (1931), which was a major box office hit hit. She went on to make several films initially in Britain and later in the United States (for which she was paid a record fee of US$ 200,000 for four films). Regardless, she never enjoyed the process of performing without a live audience.
Ironically, the final few lines of the song "Sally" were written by her husband's mistress, and Fields sang this song at nearly every performance she made from 1931 onwards.
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