Friday, 25 November 2011

Emigrating is hard work. Who'd've thunk it.

Who would’ve thought that running away with your eyes closed would be so taxing.

In my head: I throw a few key items into my Longchamps weekender, weep a silent tear and shuffle off in a black cab, Berlin-bound to start my new life.

Real thing: Stressy Armpits, chewed off nails and living out of giant friggen laundry bags.

There’s cancelling of water, lines, contracts, accounts bla bla bleurgh I know the waiting line tracks to O2 by heart now and don’t even get me started on EXCESS BAGGAGE!!!

The man (who came with the van) communicated in grunts and f*s (really? 1million sperm and you were the fastest?!), so I will be amazed if he turns up tomorrow, let alone gets me to my destination in one piece.

There should be a service where you pay a one off fee and they sort your shit out for you. There. Now someone go patent that and make a buck.(and then call me please?)

#NowListeningTo Devo – Big Mess

Thursday, 17 November 2011

Staycation destination: Glasgee.

After going out last Saturday to work at the formidable Love Fever and ending up at various trance squat raves and warehouse parties I thought I might take it easy this weekend.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind trance: I spent my late teens in trance raves, in questionable parachute pants, swirling glowsticks around my head and chewing on my face like it was going out of fashion (apparently it never did). But rolling home at 6pm Sunday, in heels covered in paint and enough dog hair to make an industrial strength fur, is really not The One.

So yes, this weekend I am taking myself to sunny Glasgow for a staycation with the ladies (I use that term loosely).

The wonderful Tie will be showing us around her home town, and I’m told there’ll be more Indie nights than you can shake a bottle of Buckfast at (said drink apparently cause of  >80% of alcohol related violence. Such as shaking bottles of Buckfast at idioms).

So far we are doing this and this and maybe a bit of this (oohh errr), but suggestions welcome.

If I make it back in one piece there will be photographic evidence. If not, have my liver spread on toast. It’s pretty much delicatessen by now.

In Londoncentric news I am doing wees of excitement at the imminent opening of Hoxtons next big thing, The White Horse. Had a sneaky preview earlier this week, courtesy of owner and provider of most eastern decent nights A.Bird, and it is looking shit hot right now. If anyone wants to throw me a surprise leaving do this one is definitely The One.

Opening night next Friday – come show your beautiful faces kids x

Wednesday, 9 November 2011

Why farting in a bin trumps Videogames

I like all of the songs in my iTunes - I bought the CD (or more likely risked accidentally downloading malware) for a reason, yeah? 
Except for when it's on shuffle, cos then I like about one in every twelve songs in my Library.
You can’t really go wrong with Jose Gonzalez though. He could basically fart in a bin and it would still be music to make babies to and probably feature on inspiring car ads.

I do love him, old JG. He is mostly nose. I’d say 79% with a bit of beautiful boy attached to it. And owned the Midas Touch.
So no surprise then that his most recent colab with Norwegian belle Ane Brun, the  beautifully dark Worship, has garnered immediate radio play and general hype reminiscent of a recent duck mouthed songstress. Only this is clearly better. Much better. See...

Can I get a communal sigh for the nose please...

*le swoon*

Ane Brun's Album 'It All Starts With One' was release 07 Sep on Balloon Ranger Recordings

Friday, 4 November 2011

Boredom is rage spread thinly. Reduce your rage – adopt a Llama.

There comes a time during the day - you never quite know when, and it always creeps up on me - when BANG and your productivity is o.v.e.r.!!

Today my bang appended around 11.38am.

So I have spent the rest of the day researching deafness. And by ‘researching’ I mean looking at Flikr. And by ‘deafness’ I mean Llamas...

Seriously! How bloody ace are Llamas? Look at their tragic hair! I relate to that.

So I have decided that Llamas are my spirit animal. BEST animal there ever was!

In non-Llama news tomorrow is bonfire night, which I don’t really approve of but will get involved in anyways.  You will find me at Netil House 360 trying to decide whether I’m hot or cold or just really really drunk.

Play safe kids! xx

Tuesday, 1 November 2011

Hackney or Halloween?

Halloween and the start of Movember - a funny time of year which leaves me overwhelmed by confusion to say the least.

Yestereve, casually boy cruising, I remained completely baffled as to whether there was a new shit hot look or just loadsa resourceful costumes. Yes. I generally have a hard time deciphering the fine line between Hackney or Halloween. It’s a thin line. A rexy line.

The other day on the bus I was eavesdropping on a convo which, in all seriousness, went like this:

“[something something],  but I can’t tell whether he is really fit or a bit special needs.”

Which made me think that maybe their gene pool needed a dash of chlorine.

Anywho. I eat my words. Cos on reflection I have, on more than one occasion, thought out lout “he’s either totes lush or a bit homeless”.

And tbh I’m still in two minds as to whether a certain ex was really a troubled musician or actually just a tramp who was using me for a roof over his head and hot meal a few nights a week. (I have on occasions been told by mates that it’s DEFO the latter).

And then there’s the guy with all the bags who I thought was a tramp but then once saw outside Kingsland Road studios sitting on a step reading Vogue (true story). Is this how Hackney tramps roll nowadays? Or is this kid actually just trialling bonkers Galliano’s A/W 11 Homeless Chic (again, true story)...

Either way I remain confused.

 (I don’t mind. It’s a good look. Gives me dimples.)

On a loosely relate note HAPPY MOVEMBER!!!

If you are growing facial joy post visual proof below and I WILL sponsor. Beards make men look 68% hotter, which is a scientifically proven fact.*

(*Not actually a scientifically proven fact)