KnockBack

I'd rather be reading books

2012-01-10T11:51:00.002Z

Because there's 'Chicken on a Stick'. Not kebabs, actually chicken-shaped re-formed chicken that comes on a stick. Like a lolly. A meat lolly.

And there's a lunch rush in the Chicken Cottage on High Holborn.
And there's High Holborn.

And there's the Northern line between 8 and 9 and the Central line at any time.

And there's America, no offense dude, I love you I really do, but seriously what the Fox is your News trying to prove?

This isn't supposed to be a poem by the way, it's a list, but there's some coincidental rhyming and line breaks that make it easier to stay tuned.

And there's scented toilet paper. Hey scented toilet paper WHY ARE YOU?

And there's gyms, the ones with big, street-level windows where you can see all these muscle monkeys using electric machines to run off their dietary excess. They're transferring their greed into sweat and smug. It's a closed circuit of glut.

And there's festival toilets. Not the organic sawdust ones but the blue chemical plastic hell-cabin ones. And there was one of them in our garden all summer.

And there's builders EVERYWHERE building buildings to fit more people in.

And there's Soho on Fridays.
And there's the Olympics logo on everything and it's SHIT.

And there's Christianity. Forgive me for putting you on this list but Jesus Christ if most of these aren't basically your fault.

And there's no Male Pill. WHERE ARE YOU MALE PILL? why should I fuck up MY hormones? I'm a delicately balanced, unbelievably sophisticated ovary equipped life growing, cramp suffering baby making MACHINE and that's just a sack of spunk. Thanks for nothing SCIENCE you c*nt.

And there's the packaging in Wasabi, and also in the fruit section of M&S, and there's no Chicken Tikka in M&S anymore, so what is M&S even for? Not that I mind because there's way too much chicken anyway and I would never buy a genocide sandwich.

And there's Heat magazine and the poor screwed up little girls who read it and believe it and hate themselves. Hey girls, don't hate yourselves hate everyone else it's their fault.

And there's most Saturday nights on the town
And there's every hour I spend doing what I do that I'm not allowed to talk about
and there's Twitter.

That's why I'd rather be at home reading His Dark Materials, or Tom Robbins or Miranda July, and definitely NOT James Frey because that clown has his own list and it's way worse than mine.

The End Of The World™ - a poorly considered theory

2012-01-04T19:46:00.000Z

I've been thinking about the end of the world since way before it was fashionable. In January 2010 my new year's resolution was to stop worrying about it, since there was nothing I could do and stress gives me belly ache. But I never stopped being interested; I've been keeping my eye on the New Scientist and I still live here.

Somehow in 2011, I ended up as a low-level project manager for some of the End Of The World's most prolific advocates which, alongside the Mayan calender thing, means I've been thinking about it more than usual.

Yesterday I watched Inside Job (narrated by Matt Damon) and that got me thinking about why it's got to be this way.

While we were watching Inside Job it occurred to me that all those greasy-lipped, lizard-faced fuckdroids knew full-well what they were doing. No 'perfect storm' or 'unpredictable outcome' or 'just hadn't thought about it.' No, they really knew what they were doing, and they knew what would happen if they kept doing it. It was as if they planned it.

Watching/reading/hearing/witnessing all the stuff about Credit Default Swaps and homes foreclosure, political payoffs, Reagan, Bush, Clinton, Cameron (and most gutting) Obama's appointments and tall cartoonesque men in suits give gut wrenchingly dishonest testimonies while the General Public picked up the tab and started doing things tramp-style was all just a few shades beyond the pale. This isn't new information to me, I'm not naive or anything, I knew they were corrupt, greedy assholes who knowingly ruined global economics and gave themselves bonuses for it, but seriously, like, you guys?

Anyway we're watching all this go down (admittedly Inside Job actually 'went down' in 2009 but I had to brace for it and let's face it nothing's changed in finance since then anyway) and I'm thinking, 'this is what the guys I deal with are like.' The big companies are knowingly doing to the environment what bankers did to economics. They are going to BURN THE FUCKING WORLD DOWN.

'Scuse me, I get heated....

That brings me to my new and poorly considered theory about what is really going on at the top.

Before I lay it on you here are some not terribly accurate facts:

People have known about the effects of industry on the environment since the '70s (at least)
The banking industry started to 'deregulate' in the '70s
The rich have been getting steadily richer since the '70s
Ditto poor people and being poor
Oil production is increasing
Global industry is growing exponentially
Carbon mitigation attempts are bullshit
They're drilling in the arctic
THE ARCTIC
In extreme climate change scenarios the rich are the most likely to survive
The current environmental scenario is directly comparable to the finance scenario that lead to the banking crash but this time instead of money, jobs and homes, it will be food, water and weather
WE HAVE BEEN WARNED, over and over again, for ages.

Here we all are, right now, watching these companies behave in ways which explicitly spell doom, and thinking 'Why are they doing this? Why behave so shortsightedly? Why act so fervently on the side of evil? How can they be ignoring SCIENCE so blatantly? What can they possibly hope to gain out of having EVERYBODY die? Is this really happening? Why isn't anyone doing anything about it? What the fuck are we thinking?'

So here's my theory, The top tier (financially speaking) have decided to get rid of poor people. And I don't mean people below the poverty line, I mean anyone who isn't a super rich tycoon, oligarch, magnate, mogul, businessman, financier, captain of industry, billionaire, merchant prince, big shot, bigwig, honcho, fat cat or politician.
They've decided that the world will be a nice quiet place for them to hunt, quaff and generally slime about, if they don't have to share it with the rest of us oiks. And they've decided to make this happen by burning down the world, and charging us for the privilege. It's evil genius at it's most thorough.

In the not that distant future (my money's on a decade but I'm a pessimist) all the non-super-rich people will be proper-poor, homeless, underwater, starved, obese, illiterate, droughted, diseased, frozen, burned, poisoned, hunted, mutants... you name it, we'll suffer it, and all the while we'll be paying civilian-sucker tax to the 'democratically elected' government (who will be (already are) made up of JP-Chase-Stanley-Fannie-Citi-Bear-BarclaysWest-Stern-Loyds Associates being advised by WalMartShell-ConocoGlaxo-MacNewsCorp consultants) while they're on their yachts, in their bunkers, up their watchtowers and all round snug (smug) as bugs (thugs) in rugs (heavily weaponised mansions).
And that's how I see this panning out.

Boom. Theoried.

On the upside we won't have to live with the smarmy cunts.

NEW AGENDA

2011-12-06T19:45:00.000Z

Work gave us a 'personal challenge' to find out more about what makes us 'tick' (one of the perks of my job is a lifetime's supply of inverted commas). The assignment was 'write a life agenda':

Apologies

Any other business

'Finished'

Stack Magazines

2011-11-03T10:46:00.000Z

Everyone should have a subscription to Stack because they are sound, they have impeccable taste and they send out the best in paper based word collections. Seriously, sign up.

Also look at what I said.

http://www.stackmagazines.com/blog/knock-knock-knockback/

Morning people

2011-05-27T15:17:00.000+01:00

In my new capacity as Team Assistant for a corporate branding agency (shut it) I have discovered a secret world. It's a quiet, well turned-out world but it could flip out and kill you at the drop of a hat.

After (let's call it) 5 years of freelancing I am back at the grindstone with the morning people.

If you're anything like me you probably don't deal with the morning people, you probably didn't even know they were there, but they are there, every morning, and they are bananas.

Morning people above ground wear fluro and zip about with their feet locked to their pedals (really? Is that wise?). They carry tissues in their sleeves. They masturbate in vans and they tut, a lot. They worry, they yell and they stink.

They live for the weekend, they were born in suits, they go shopping as if it counts as a hobby. They drink instant coffee at seminars and they save up to go on holiday once a year. Poor bastards.

Morning people are for sale, they make deals, they care about things and get shouty about them. They get building work done and they wait for plumbers (they actually wait for plumbers though, they didn't make it up). 1 in 20 has a banging hangover and is usually my favourite. None of them are Jack Donaghy, ever. But that's to be expected because he's in a town car, in New York and I am not.

Were real morning people ever young? What did they wear at university? Did they wear slacks and T-shirts, did they wear flip flops and cargo shorts? I bet they did. What did they do at the weekend?

Morning people still talk about that stag night, it was the best weekend EVER. The one where they made Steve wear a dress for the duration. The one where Gary puked in the first class carriage on the London to Brighton train so they all had to sit with the plebs (they bought first class tickets, they do shit in style).

Their passwords are the names of their first born. What did they talk about before they had kids? What do they do when they've finished the paper on Saturday morning, when they've left the cafe without tipping 'Service IS included you know' It's not included, fuck face, it's part of the wage. Pounds you leave on the table get spent in bars by waitresses who tip bartenders because they know how it feels.

Morning people go camping on bank holidays. Camping, not festivals.

I'm one of them now, with my Metro under my arm. I live for the weekends and like bank holidays. I have an MP3 player and tie my hair up. I tutted when a lady fainted on the train. Man up fuck nuts I'm late. I walk on up the escalators and wear a blazer. My business lunches don't have any booze in. I don't mind the morning people yet, they are still a novelty to me. I am still just visiting their world and it's funny.

7am though, still nothing funny about that fucking clown.

Hard sell, Hard times, Hardcore

2011-05-23T18:35:00.001+01:00

Congratulations, you are the first to know, why? Because I like you best, because you read my blog (thanks loverrrrs).

THE NEW KB is finally in a print house near you (if you live near Coggeshall, Essex). It will be out the moment it lands on my doorstep and you can pre-order NOW to get it first, if you do we'll also guest list you for the party, which will inevitably be funbunctious to the max. Like the last one, innit.

Buy it here (or ask me for it for free because technically it's supposed to be)


KB Party people '09 (photo by Abdul Yusuf, sepia by iPhoto)

Tory Chic

2011-05-09T22:29:00.010+01:00

Seriously though, look at these clowns. I hate them on contact, I hate their faces and everything they say and I want them jeered off the stage... That is, until they do their number and it's all Lady Fois Gras, then I'm all O.M.G., that wuz well good. (I get a Britain's Got Talent twang on Saturdays).

Tory Chic is IT right now

for the executive waiting to happen.

Meanwhile, elsewhere on the internet, in pops Sue. Sue's offering an ephemeral handshake in the form of a PR introduction, riding high on the blazer tails.

I get loads of PR people waving at my inbox. Who can forget the Cheese People of yesteryear? I can't tell you why I double clicked, the subject line simply said PR Introduction - fashion samples, which would never normally blow my hair back. Maybe I was chronically bored, or maybe it was Tory chic calling out to me, trying to get me to turn right. I even went so far as to download the attached PDF. Sue had me at the socks. How do you get 100 colours on a sock?

"One particular piece I thought might interest you is our new Boating Jacket ready for Henley – however we have a great range of clothing and accessories from over a hundred coloured socks to cricket sweaters and watches with colourful watchstraps."

Why would she think a Boating Jacket ready for Henley might interest me? Does she know me?
Has she seen my wedding pictures? How does she know I love boats? Well Sue, now that you mention it, it seems I am interested in a Boating Jacket ready for Henley:

He is so ready for Henley

The fun doesn't stop there though. I have a whole PDF's worth of this solid gold (solid blue).

I thought he was holding a baguette

Earning executive stripes


"I sold the NHS in this blazer, mworr haw haw"


and childhood obesity

Be a pushy twat on the underground

Seriously, this photo shoot happened.

Yikes.

What women want?

2011-05-09T09:08:00.000+01:00

Once upon a time, in a land far far away (N1), my soon to be husband bought me an exotic treat.

Mmmhmmm.

It wasn't his idea, it was Heather Buxton's. She spotted a deal on a website where you could have £80 of treatment for £25, so 5 of us womenses decided that would be a nice day out and then promptly forgot about it. Except Josh, who did a nice thing and bought it for me. Thanks Josh.

When my voucher arrived I booked into the O Spa on New Bond Street, probably the least relaxing road in London (bar Kilburn High Road - Yeeesh). On my way there a group of accountants ran up to me and asked if I could take a picture of them outside a shoe shop, they needed the purple boot in the shop to be in the picture. I had a hangover and didn't particularly want to play their game but I took the picture and burbled something supportive along the lines of 'this is the lamest treasure hunt I have ever been a part of, well done finance workers.'

The O Spa had changed my appointment from 1 to 2.30 but they didn't feel the need to let me know, I thought that was kind of rude, they had my phone number and email address and how could they possibly know I had nothing better to do than mooch about posh shops smoking roll ups and looking haggard?

When I went back at 2.30 I sat and waited and looked at their products. People were orming about in dressing gowns. I waited 20 minutes. There was a big Swedish looking massage dude ticking all the stereotype boxes. I hoped he would be my guy. My guy was a very tiny Asian lady. She didn't tell me her name and I didn't tell her mine.

An exotic treat involves this:

Wellness consultation
SPA London Refresh Facial
Balinese Head Massage
Therapeutic Catalonian Mud Soak
Foot and ankle massage
Hasta Abhyanga hand and forearm massage
Signature Fire and Ice Ancient Stones massage
Refreshments included

I know right?

I guess the Wellness consultation was when she said 'how are you?' and I said 'fine thanks, you?' and she said 'fine'. Consultation - check.

The bit I was most looking forward to was the Catatonic mud soak. I like getting muddy and I was picturing a mud pool, cucumber eyes and cling film.


filth

Once me and my lady get into a tiny, warm, silent, brown wooden room with a gurney in the middle, I have to get down to my bra and pants and sit on a chair in a dressing gown. There's nothing sexy about dressing gowns. She leaves me to it. There's a little bowl of water at the foot of the chair. I'm assuming it's for my feet but I don't want to do anything presumptuous so I just sit there kind of straddling it. I reckon if there was a camera in that room it would have recorded a hilarious short film.
I would have called it 'gown girl'.

She comes back in and looks at me surprised. It's my first time remember, I don't know the protocol. She tells me to put my feet in the bowl of tepid water. Then she kneels right in front of me and puts some oil in the bowl too. She said she's using Essence of Catalonian mud oir. So I don't get muddy (I get oily instead). But... I like getting muddy. Obviously I just smile and nod, because I don't like to make a fuss. She's kneeling in front of me and puts my feet on her lap. I don't like her being down there and I don't like my feet on her lap. It's like I'm touching her. That's not part of the deal. Paying a lady to rub my toes doesn't sit right with me. Call me prudish (I clearly am) but something about the way she's crouched on the floor with my feet in her hands makes me feel like some old world colonialist dickhead.

She's working on my feet and I'm trying not to laugh. Turns out my little toes are totally ticklish. Don't get me wrong, I love getting my feet rubbed but only by Josh, on the sofa.

Phase 2 is the Balinese head massage.
This is essentially tilting my head, left to right, front to back, right to left. You get the idea. She's very gently wobbling my head about. I'm thinking 'really? Is this helping either of us?' She also presses my shoulders a bit and pummels the top of my arms which I become immediately self conscious about, the stream of consciousness that has led me to hating my pudgy bicep area stresses me out so I try to close my eyes and enjoy my wobbling head (I fail).

The head tilting pauses while she runs her fingers through my hair. It hurts a lot because I have thick, knotty hair that's full of products. Then she grabs it by the bunch and squeezes tears out of it. OUCH. From pulling my hair she moves to rubbing my eyebrows, squeezing my cheeks and eventually pressing me on the nose for good measure. I guess that was the refreshing facial since she oiled up repeatedly during the process. The water in the bowl has gone totally cold by now so I'm glad when she dries my feet off and moves on to my hands. She takes each finger individually and makes it draw a circle. First clockwise then anti-clockwise. She does it twice for each hand. It's boring and her face is too close to mine. I don't know where to look, my fingers keep wrongly preempting her next move and wiggling about on their own. When she stops I wonder if they feel relaxed or if they're on the same page as the rest of me thinking this is fucking guff. Does this stuff only work if you believe in it?

Once the finger waggling is over she tells me to lie face down on the bed. I am disappointed to find it doesn't have a hole for my face, but only because I've seen them on Friends and it would have been a relief to have my face hidden for giggles sake.

I lie on my front while she tickles my bits. I have some really tickly bits. Also because of the time delay on my appointment, I haven't had lunch so I'm starving and my tummy is well vocal. GRRRRrrrrrwl, it's like an orchestra down there. Hilariously half way through the rub down her belly joins in. We both chuckle, my kingdom for some light tunes in the room.

She tries to undo my bra but I wear the same underwear I had when I was 14 so it's a crop top from American Apparel and doesn't have a clasp. She watches while I take it off over my head and gets a good eye full of boob. I am suitably mortified.

After a session of rubbing that I find difficult to enjoy over the belly interlude and giggling tickly bits (evidently my side-panels are as ticklish as my toes) she stops to get going with the Signature Fire and Ice Ancient Stones massage. She takes some stones out of a little kiln in the corner and says 'tell me if it's too hot' as she puts the first one on the base of my back. WHOA lady how's burning my ass lid supposed to be relaxing? Surely the fact that you used oven gloves to get the stones out should be fair warning that they are fucking burny. She takes the stone off and I hear a sharp intake of breath normally reserved for bandage removal, there's a red mark where the stone was and she apologises for the injury. While we wait for the stones to cool down she continues rubbing but is definitely bored. Eventually she puts the warm stones in a line on my back, I've seen photos of this and wondered why it would be relaxing, the mystery prevails.

really?

By the end of the process I am totally covered in oils, I've been tugged, burnt and tickled. She gives me a second to put my clothes back on and returns to complete the 'wellness consultation' - "you feel better now?" To be honest I had a banging headache, sore shoulders and a dull throb where I got burned but for the sake of an easy life I say 'yeah, amazing, thanks'. I don't know if you're supposed to tip these people but decide against it. I hadn't had or been offered any of the 'refreshments included' so I stole a display apple for good measure.

I left the building, tense, oily and with hay for hair but you know how it is, if it's not funny, don't do it.

I asked for a job at the pound shop

2011-04-15T16:26:00.000+01:00

They laughed at me and said 'No'.

Then I realised I should set my sights a bit higher. I should set them to 11.

Fingers crossed.

Ask me what my highlight was

2011-04-11T13:21:00.002+01:00

Go on...

What was the highlight of our three-month USA road trip you ask?

Well it's a tough call because there were some really good bits, but if I really had to choose, I suppose it would have to be... SPIDER MAN THE MUSICAL, on Broadway no less. Fuck off it was amazing. Yeah for real.
I had to beg Josh to let me go. "Pleeeeeease Jossssssssssh, pleeeeeease let me, it will probably be amaaaaaaaazing". Like a 5 year-old and Disney Land but much better because it's Spider-Man, the musical and I'm pushing 30.

It's a 'visual feast'. Here's the trailer. I can't stop watching it. At first Josh said no because it was the last day of our trip left and we had run out of money. I say 'we' but my credit card stopped working the first week we got there. Also he said no because tickets are one hundred and fifty bucks. Gasp, if you will. That's a serious wad of cash. It's also SPIDER-MAN the MUSICAL though. A once in a lifetime opportunity. I even said I would go on my own, to save money, I didn't mind. Josh said it sounded shit. All the reviews are terrible, the production has been plagued with drama including several serious injuries and one death by falling. The week before the director had been sacked. The whole thing had cost over 65 million dollars and, according to one review, would need to sell out every night for 8 years to break even. That's what I mean though. Once in a lifetime (it has since shut down for three months to re-write the ending, again).

Some quite degrading begging later I found seats that cost a mere $76, they were in the very highest balcony, at the back. Here:


the red dots are our seats

Cheap seats is an understatement. Eventually Josh let me get them. "If it's shit, I promise, we can leave and it will be all my fault". I said it gleefully though, even if it's shit it's got to be amazing. It's SPIDER-MAN the MUSICAL.

That Sunday, our last in town, we set off for breakfast. I don my Spiderman top, it's from a set of kids pajamas that Dan gave me for Christmas, at least 4 years ago. It's for 7-10 year olds. It's amazing I can get it on. It looks like this:


Spideytime

We had about three hours to kill after breakfast so we walked 50 blocks to Time Square and Broadway. Well, Josh walked, I practically skipped the whole way. Josh the resident grownup, looking after his 7-year old wife. I practically dragged him the last 5 blocks 'what if we're late, hurry UP Josh, we're nearly there, it's nearly time. SPIDER MAN!' (yeah, exclamation marks and everything).

We get to the theatre with a throng of general public. Suddenly I feel an idiot clutching my Spiderman wallet and I do my hoody up to cover the fact that I am a woman in a child's t-shirt. I'm still excited on the inside but I half wish we had a kid with us to pretend it was for them. We make our way up the bazillion stairs all the way to the cheap seats. Even right at the back it looks cool as fuck. We have to lean right forward to see the stage at all but who cares? It's actually going to start and I am super excited. The guy sitting next to us chucks an eyebrow at me 'cheap seats huh?' You knows it gent. I wondered what he was doing there on his own.

At this point a kid in the official spidey show t-shirt comes up to us 'you guys are excited right?' Josh says 'she is, like you wouldn't believe', like he's my dad making excuses for my behaviour. 'And it's just you two in your party?' it is. Then he says 'would you rather come sit at the front?'
At the say what now? I think I might pee a little, he says 'if you give me your tickets, I will give you tickets for seats at the front, would you like that?' typical Londoners, we don't trust this punk. He's trying to trick us. Dubiously I say 'yesssss, I would like that. Quite a lot' he laughs at us and goes 'come on then' and we're off! Down the front like! The cheap seats guy goes 'lucky you' as we head back down the stairs to the fucking super pricey seats, here:


Fuck yeah

We are enjoying our new row when the same guy leads a handsome couple of boys to sit next to us. They are similarly excited and were also sitting in the top balcony. The guy sitting next to me says 'I have heard this is truly terrible' I say 'I know me too'. We can't wait. On our way to the good seats the staff kid said 'do me a favour? I want you to cheer and whoop when it's time, get involved and make yourselves heard?' he has got the wrong crowd for that kind of thing but we assure him we'll try. Josh says 'if there's audience participation I'm leaving' I assure him if there's audience participation it will only be in the form of an accident (apparently in one performance a baddie got stuck in his wires and dangled above the crowd for 10 minutes while they and fixed it).

The 'orchestra' is a Russell Brand lookalike who stands on the stage next to us rocking out on various electric guitars. It's genius. We're in stitches and it hasn't even started. There is a definite sense of nervous tension in the crowd and in the actors alike, there have been so very many accidents.

The first half of the production is relatively sensible. The plot basically follows the story from Spider-man 1 with the slightly weird addition of 'Arachne' the spider queen (I think) who has a crush on Spider-man (I think) and so makes his suit for him as a present (I thought). She, by the way, has been turned into a spider by a Greek God whom she beat in a weaving competition (WTF?)


Arachne - awesome at weaving

The best (funniest) bit of the first half is when Spider-man has his powers and it's all go and then for no apparent reason they use a toy, an actual toy doll version of him and just hoist it up on a string, it's hard to take any of this seriously (and why would you?). At one point Spider-man gets raped by the baddy spider queen woman. I think technically he's supposed to be dreaming it so it doesn't really happen? Or maybe she drugged his suit so he loves her?. It's hard to say for sure, it's hard to watch with a straight face. Spider rape shouldn't be funny, but it is.

The songs, by the way, are fucking AWFUL. They are written by Bono and The Edge and they all sound like vaguely fiddled with U2 songs. The lyrics have been written by a GCSE student after a heavy night out. Most of the rhymes are either one syllable or so tenuous you have to laugh. I don't know why this isn't billed as a comedy because we spent the whole time rocking with the giggles.

When the lights come up for the intermission I say I'm almost disappointed in how not too stupid it is, Craig (giggle buddy #1) reassures me that the seriously stupid stuff happens in the second act. For a start they have done the whole first film in act 1, the green goblin is dead, Spidey and Mary Jane are an item, Mary Jane has made it on Broadway, technically speaking the plot has tied up and is done. I can't help but wonder what act two will hold.

The short answer to that mystery is 'I have absolutely no idea', in the second act you meet 7 new bad guys, some of them are true to the comic and some of them are just made up. There's one character that the director invented, based on a Swiss Army Knife and called Miss Swiss. She is totally silver and has a toothpick for an arm. I'm not kidding. And her other arm is a spinning drill that they must have forgotten to charge because it starts to splutter and slow down while she's doing her thing. Craig leans over and whispers that it's Lady Gaga dressed as Grace Jones. The other baddies come out one at a time in a cat walk style show, the boys roar with laughter at each new character, they are so ridiculous it's amazing. The costumes are unbelievable. The premise is unbelievable. This experience is unbelievable. I'm pretty sure groaning and laughing isn't what the boy had in mind when he moved the four of us to the front but it's all we can do. Our row is in stitches, Russell Brand slings us evils. This is so good. Here are some of the baddies:


toothpick armed Miss Swiss


Freddy Mercury in Lion Skirt

Carnage (like the script). I know he looks cool but in real life he was all plastic and too short to be a proper baddie (and he shoots jam at the crowd)

Aside from the incomprehensible plot and insane characters, there's the additional thrill of the flying about. It's quite exciting watching them jump around the place but even better is watching the Mexican wave of fear in the crowd below as they go over.

Just when we think it can't get any better/camper/nonsensical(er) there's the scene which finishes us all off.

It's a musical number featuring Arachne, the evil Spiderqueen who raped Spidey. She says 'What does Mary Jane have that I don't? All she has is two legs and... and some SHOOOOES' I have eight legs and... BRING ME SOME SHOES' Craig says audibly 'no. fucking. way.' and before you can finish saying whaaaaaaatt? there's a pile of shoes on the stage, and spider dancer girls singing a song called (and I am not making this up) 'Can You Resist, My Spider's Kiss' It is so totally inappropriate we all just sat there gaping at them. The one at the front puts her fanny right in our collective face.

short answer = YES

The second half gets consistently more baffling as it goes on. At one point all the baddies that Spider-Man has previously fought come back for more. It doesn't make sense until the Spider Queen says she made it all up, because she has control of 'the World Wide Web'. Then it makes even less sense. Seriously? All that for a joke about the internet? Did that just happen?

This is where my blog ends, because that's pretty much how the musical ends. Spider Man loses the fight and then the spider baddy makes a bad joke and then she goes 'actually, you can win if you want, I'm bored of this' then she decides to go to heaven (or just go up a wall? Or a spout?), then some kid sings a song about something (love? victory? Spiders?) and then the curtain comes up and there's a collective 'sorry, what just happened?' from the crowd and we all go home.
That's actually what happened. For real. It was genius.

I've changed

2011-03-22T17:02:00.002Z

I don't smoke (occasionally)
I floss
I'm chubby(er) especially around the middle, try not to stare
I like driving
I wear a (Snoopy) watch
I am 1 quarter vegetarian
I have a beautiful (light/fast/cool) computer
I can spell 'Nacho'
I say 'Awesome' a lot
I say 'bucks' even when I mean pounds
I don't want to brick Steve Bliss
I want a puppy
A PUPPY
I know beyond a doubt that fun is where your friends are
I have a handful of new friends who bring the fun in fine style
I like people
I'm not addicted to 'Zuma'
I don't have a phone
I live with my parents
(and my HUSBAND)
I've gone off cheese

But

I still like going on boats.

'Never go with a hippy to a second location'

2011-03-07T21:54:00.002Z

We should have known we'd made a mistake when we arrived in town. The first thing we saw was a house with a sign in the window saying 'OBAMA LIES. LIBERTY DIES'.

Uh oh.

We had left Portland and the luxury of good times, good bars and a ton of funny (thanks x 1000 to Jordan and Jimmy and the Alberta Pub). And set off down Highway 39 towards Sierraville, right on the cusp of California and Nevada. It was an amazing drive, it was all sunshine, scenery, winding mountain roads and snow covered fir forests.

Eagle Lake

We saw hawks chasing rabbits and deer darting about with their massive ears and bad ideas (they lurk by the side of the road until you pass them in your car and then they spack out and run right in front of you, giggling and pretending to be Bambi).

I didn't take this so I have no idea why it looks so bananas.

We stopped in a town called Adin to get a sandwich in the most quintessentially rural American general store that sold a bunch of everything and terrible coffee and it was run by an old friendly couple who cared where we came from; ‘Hey Baaaarb, get out here, these guys arrr frum Laaarndarn, they’s on thur honeymoooon’. It was well cinematic.

We were driving south because we're heading to LA but we thought we'd stop off in Sierraville on the recommendation of the guy we met in Hawaii. He’s a fire dancer at Burning Man if you get my drift. He suggested the Sierraville Hot Springs resort and it sounded awful nice. You probably know that we're not exactly outdoorsy, but we both like a festival and think of it this way, you hear 'hot springs' you picture this:

Fantasy

Right? I mean, I can deal with a bit of spiritual gubbins it if means hanging out in heaven. To me 'spiritual stuff' is just people trying to get happy. Hot springs sounds like the sort of thing that will make me happy, so to hell with my hippy hang ups, let's go.

Reality

So, for the rest of this story you will likely rest in one of two camps, you will either be a member of team chortle, or you will sit on the side of shut up whining. You might think me ungrateful and know that, if it had been you, you would have enjoyed it because it looks idyllic and beautiful and not to be missed. To you I say, yeah well, it wasn't you, it was us, and we tried to enjoy it, we really did, honest.

Before I go on have a look at the website. Have a good look at it. It wasn’t until way too late in the plan that Josh noticed a few choice details that might have put us off the 8 hour drive to get to a place that might very likely be not our kind of thing. Seriously, no booze? Pfft.

I really should have done more research, where the holy hell is Semi when you need her? WHERE WERE YOU? Since Semi wasn’t with us we didn't know the 'town' was just an array of badly laid out shut stuff with one bad restaurant and no bar whatsoever.

So 28 hours after Portland we pulled into a snowy side path a couple of moments after the ‘Liberty dies’ sign with furrowed brows. As we trundled up the path the place came into view and the feeling of dread grew, Josh’s relief that this was not his idea was palpable. We pulled up to the lodge and walked in. The couple in the lobby were about our age and seemed reasonable enough. They asked a bunch of questions while we waited, hanging out and reading signs. There were adverts for a wide variety of Yoga sessions (standard), a warning about alcohol, a list of prices for various types of massage, a few notices for lost jewellery, prices for renting towels, instructions for the kitchen, strict rules on nudity (allowed everywhere except in plain view of the main road) and a brief but poignant welcome to The Divine Church of Human Spiritualism.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Uh Oh.

The pop sitting behind the (bullet proof?) glass reception desk had a bolo tie and long grey hair. He was the same guy I spoke to the morning before but he didn’t remember me. He said curtly ‘a lot has happened between then and now’. I wondered how much could have happened in a place at least a thousand miles from anything but didn’t want to rile the old man. He gave us a map of the place, a key to our room and a stern warning about towels and where they should be stored between uses. He also said we could use any of the equipment in the kitchen at the hotel but would need to clearly label our food if we didn’t want it chucked out by the cleaner. Tense and disappointed that this was essentially a brick house next to some puddles wrapped in tarpaulin, we headed back to the hotel about a mile down the path. I got to drive there though, which was probably the highlight of the trip.

We had booked for 2 nights because it’s 2 for 1 in the winter, with membership to the pools it came to $93, which is pretty standard. The guy actually asked if we wanted annual membership for an extra $10. We did not. The hotel looked pretty cool from the outside, especially with 2 feet of snow all over it. We were vaguely optimistic.

Optimism

We entered the kitchen through the back door using a code the bolo dude had given us. There was a sign saying ‘SHOE FREE ZONE’ which made me want to turn around and walk out, my socks are nobody’s business man, just buy a hoover and deal with it. We took off our shoes and said hello to a couple sat in the lounge who completely ignored us except for a sneer from the girl, charmed I’m sure. We tried to find our room but instead found a giant black poodle, he seemed friendly enough if you like that sort of thing (I have become remarkably accustomed to it).

Friendliest guy in town

Our room smelled of rotten lemons and was only big enough for the bed. It was supposed to be Mexican themed so they’d painted it mustard colour and put 2 paintings of Matadors and a Flamenco dancer up. There was also what I guess was a poncho but looked like a knitted Space Invader character. Near enough I guess…

We sat there for a little while, Josh trying not to apportion blame and me trying to convince myself that I wanted to head straight back up to the pools for a dip. In the end we watched a movie until we realised, at 7.45, that if we didn’t hit Los Dos Hermanos in the next 15 minutes we’d have nothing to eat bar an old banana and some pepper jack cheese from the journey.

At the Mexican place we saw a Walter Mathou, a real life county sheriff who tipped his hat at me (big grin) and a couple I assumed were also staying in the Springs, because the old lady had damp straggles for hair and they both ordered fish salads and drank water. We ordered two different things that turned out to be the same thing folded in slightly different ways (standard). We ate a bit a put the rest in a takeaway box so as not to imply ‘this is f*cking gross but thanks anyway’.

Back at the hotel we tried to be positive despite the unnatural dampness of the room, the bangy ramblings of the other guests and the frightening communal bathroom (no locks) at the other end of the house. It’s all fun and games after all.

The next morning we lay still for ages. We can’t just leave right? We have to give it a bash? we’ll regret if we don’t at least try. We put our PE kits on (me - vest and pants, Josh – massive shorts over slightly less massive trunks) and jumped in the car to the springs. If it hadn’t been raining insanely hard we might have been less apprehensive. I was trying to persuade the boy to bosh some shrooms and have a revel in the nature with me. But when we saw how cold and crap the day was we put operation fun on hold in favour of ‘let’s just f*cking do this’.

hot spring face

At the lodge we debated which bath to try, most of the good ones at the top of the hill were closed for winter so we could choose from two. The meditation pool, which isn’t really a natural spring, it’s a fake one that they keep at about 100˚, and the obligatory silent geothermal dome, which is really hot water and has an outdoor pool next to it. Both had been cleaned that morning (allegedly) and were supplied direct from the mountains above with water rich in minerals and all that. We started up the hill towards the dome, judgement well and truly reserved.

We trudged along the icy path to the dome. We encountered an old couple with long hair and tumbleweed smiles and they said it was lovely in the dome and had just been cleaned and was super-warm and full to the top and really wonderful. We were a bit dubious about the number of shoes in the communal changing room. So many shoes, such a little dome.

There was a naked man in the changing room who bounced off to the pool with two kids. The shower was cold. The outdoor pool had the two kids, two women, an old man and naked dude. We hesitated before deciding to skip it and go straight into the dome.

The thing is, everything was just a bit shoddy, you know? Like there wasn’t a door on the dome just some sheets of plastic over the opening that you had to scrabble through like a shower curtain. Naked dude #1 had already depressed the hell out of me but naked dude # 2 was also a bit sore on the eyes. He clambered out of the bath when we got in, and went and sat in the cold plunge thing groaning and grunting all the while.

Man gazpacho

Also in the tub were a Spanish couple sitting on each other and a hairy angry looking chap. They all had clothes on, the couple chatted in Spanish despite the rule of silence (least of our worries).

This is probably the right time to describe the smell. The water from the springs is full of sulphur. Hot bubbling sulphur. You probably know that sulphur stinks. Breathing inside the dome was like getting a big egg belch right in your face. Yummers.

Trying not to look disgusted we got in the super hot pool and sat there, in the stinky egg water. Listening to the couple chatting, the water filter farting, and quite amazingly, at that moment, some dickhead using a power washer to get the verrucas off the pool mats right outside the dome’s ‘inspiring, beautiful, unique’ stained glass window. Groan with me would you?

We managed to sit there for ten minutes. Josh even tried to close his eyes and enjoy it. Good luck with that champ. I wanted to have a shout about the bits of human skin and hair floating atop the water. I wondered why these fucking hippies had taken the awesome natural occurrence that is a piping hot spring in the middle of a snowy forest and surrounded it with tatty crap, then had the audacity to charge a hundred bucks a night to sit in it in the name of the Devine Spiritual whatever. Fucking nonsense.com

We decided we’d had (more than) enough and got out leaving the couple to grope each other, just as naked dude#1 decided to join the party. Cock soup anyone?

We stood outside the dome looking doubtfully at the pool. There were still a bunch of kids in it, a few old people and a couple of women shouting at the kids for shouting at each other. It seemed like we should give it a bash for the sake of not wasting a 15 hour drive. Just as Josh said ‘do you want to go?’ I glanced up at a massive old guy leaving the dressing room, most of him was obscured by the gate but just as I opened my mouth to reply to Josh the gate afforded me a full frontal of fat old man cock. I said ‘yes, let’s please get the hell out of here.’ Images like that stay with you for a really long time, There’s a story of a tramp taking a piss at my friend and I that lives on in my mind’s eye despite 10 years of trying to erase it. That image is now joined by geothermal dude and his wrinkly little friends, in my head, forever. I don't want it. You have it.

Sorry*

As we trudged back down the icy path towards freedom, we tried to figure out what people find relaxing about sitting in a (much too) hot fart bath with a bunch of naked strangers.
The mystery remains.

Despite having a room until the following day we decided to evacuate the area, partly because it was forecast to snow heavily the next day and we didn’t want to get stuck, and partly because it was an epic pile of shit. We drove away at top speed, trying to think of things we would rather do than go back there. Top of the list; have mild flu.

2,567 people like the springs on Facebook (check it out, have a scroll down, enjoy). I am emphatically not one of them. I guess it's me, but that’s fine, because I am happier at home.

*not an image search I enjoyed.

Kayaking

2011-03-07T20:04:00.001Z

I would have written a blog about kayaking around the coves in La Jolla, San Diego, but having donned our life jackets, left our shoes in a locker and walked three blocks to the beach in bare feet. The instructor stood us up.

We sat on the sand in the rain for 45 minutes and went home.

And that was that.

Also, guess how much it costs for a ticket to Sea World... go on guess... I'll give you a clue - they want $12 to park nearer it. 15 bucks you say? 20?

Fuck off it's $69.99.

Shamu wasn't even working that day. No joke.

Seattle

2011-02-26T00:59:00.000Z

Is sponsored by Starbucks and Christmas trees. There are Starbucks on every corner and Christmas trees at every turn. And that's what I can tell you about Seattle.

This was our list of things to do here:
- see a band
- get a watch strap
- watch ice hockey
- climb space needle
- glass blowing party
- dirk's list
- fun

We didn't go up the Space Needle though, it was $18 and looked lame. We went on the monorail instead, which was $4 and lame. Stuff they tell you to do in guide books is nearly always lame. We also went to not look at Eagles and I mowed a lawn. I got all the way through when the mower flipped what I thought was a frog into my boot. Actually into it. It turned out to be a piece of poo. I flipped it back out and carried on. That was the low point of lawn mowing.

Also I made the finest roast dinner I have ever had, by way of thanks to our hosts Alin and Cheryl who are by far the most excellent grownups since the Kemps, they don't like being called grownups though, which is just another example of their combined excellence. They really make being grownup look good. They have an AMAZING kitchen in which to make an epic roast. It was such a treat.

I even made Yorkshire Puddings from scratch. It was a journey of firsts for me. Check out these bad boys:

Also featured in the BEST ROAST EVER. Were toasted sprouts (YUMMERS) rainbow carrots, sprouting broccoli and a slab of beef as big as your head (along with all the necessary crispy sundries of course). It was choice.

The Seattle ice hockey team though, not so hot, we got 'PORTLAND SUCK' stuck in our heads but Portland were winning 7-1 by the third quarter (when they stopped serving beer, played yet more adverts and forced us to leave in search of something funner).

The watch Mark gave me in hawaii got all strapped up in Macy's as well. We nailed our list (or near enough). It was excellent. 10 points to Seattle.

Snoopy salutes you.

True Brit

2011-02-16T20:15:00.004Z

We went to see True Grit on Friday. It was good. That girl is hardcore...

You know who's not hardcore?

Me. That's who.

We went to a shooting range in Renton, Seattle. We went with a grownup on Valentine's Day. I was nervous when we walked in, because it's a shop full of guns, and there's guns everywhere. Proper ones.

I like to tough talk (in jest). I'd like to be hard. I'd like to say guns are frickin' awesome and people who buy, sell and play with them are frickin' awesome too. I don't think that though. I sort of feel about guns like I feel about cars. I can understand why people are obsessed with them, once in a very rare while I wish I knew a lot about them so I could look and sound cool, but on the whole, the world would be better without these metal bits of fuck off.

We got a .22 to start off with, because I'm a girl, or a beginner, I'm not sure which. A .22 looks like this:

Nice huh? It costs $324.27 and can be shipped anywhere in the USA except Hawaii or Illinois.

We took the gun and our ammo and went through a couple of safety doors on to the lanes proper. The guy showing us the ropes saw my face and offered me ear plugs to go under my ear protectors, I was trying not to cry.

Josh couldn't do anything because when you're trying not to cry, if someone hugs you or asks if you're ok you will definitely cry and he knows that. Thank fuck. Can you imagine how embarrassing it would be bursting into tears on a shooting range? VERY. I was having trouble dealing with the noise. The actual lanes were in a massive metal room so the echo of the bullets was unbelievably loud. I was leaping out of my skin at 1 second intervals. I pulled my fucking act together and had a go on the .22 though. You get ten goes per magazine, I got all mine in the middle two circles of the target. Josh got all his almost bullseye. He'd be a good partner in a Western. I looked like this.

Compared to some of those guns in there it made a noise like an air rifle, it's practically a POP. The kick back was quite pleasant and it wasn't too weighty. The noise of the gun is directly proportional to the size of it. This was the smallest on the range. While we were playing with this little fella, a bunch of guys came in with a Magnum 500.

Which is the gun on your right, by the way.

It sounded like a fucking BOMB going off. They were taking it in turns and holding each others shoulders so they wouldn't fly backwards. It made our .22 sound like a knock at the door. It made everything in there sound tiny.

The guys with that though, they weren't the really scary ones. For a start they were all grownups, and they showed due reverence to that monster gun. One of them even refused to shoot it because it was too big and insane. The really scary people in there were two boys. Actual boys with bumfluff and spots and issues. Those kids were straight out of Columbine and they were way too gleeful of shooting shit. Out of everyone in there it was them who were picturing women and kids on their targets. Sharing a room with pubescent retards toting guns on Valentine's Day is rattling. Beginner girl or not.

So for the sake of experience we decided to up our number and get something with a bit more meat. Our resident grownup actually inquired about the 500. He made me say no, more than once. I said absolutely no fucking way. I have no desire to break my own face with a gun that was making grown gang members squeal. Instead we went with the Magnum .357. I was up for that because it's the gun they have in Fear and Loathing, apparently it's also Clint Eastwood's piece but screw that cowboy.

By this stage I had stopped crying and got used to the bang bang bang. I was still edgy about the other people though. But I think that's reasonable, considering they all had massive guns.

A Magnum .357 looks like this:

Shiny like. It costs $934 and weighs 76oz, if you were wondering. It is quite enjoyable loading a revolver instead of a magazine, the bullets are bulky as hell and when it fires it makes a helluva bang. One guy correctly said 'it's a controlled explosion right in your hand'. It really explodes. The kick back is intense and it was impossible to keep your eyes open, for me anyway, which explains my aim.

Every time you fire your ears ring, and not just your ears, it goes all the way through you, like fireworks or bass lines. I got them all on target, but not on bullseye. Not by a long chalk. Josh got them all in the centre 3. Who's a good boy?

I was so fucking pleased to leave that place. I wanted to enjoy it but I didn't. It took about 2 hours to calm down and have my hearing go back to normal. It was like being mugged. I used to think guns were exciting. But they are violent and loud and stupid. That's what I think now.

I'm glad we went though, ticked that box.

You know what's funny?

2011-02-14T00:07:00.004Z

This for a start:

Ha. He has his tongue out. That made us laugh.

You know who else has his tongue out?

This guy:

Look at his little mittens. Ha x 2

While we're laughing at mouth based stuff, check out the guy I nearly hit in the face with a handsaw:

eeep

Anyway tongues out was not really the subject of this blog. It's actually about eyes. More specifically it's about animals with mad eyes. Like these guys:

flash moo

No really.

He looks mad.

And I know I've posted this before, but it had me in stitches for days.


hidey eyes

Speaking of hilarious, look what happened here:

Boo

The most recent addition to my animals with crazy eyes collection, is this bananas cat from Seattle. Check out his beams. (there's a hidden magic kitten as well).


Well wizard

Close up he's less jazzy, but you've still gotta love it.


weeeeeeeeee

Finally, for now at least, is the most unbelievable picture in my collection. You remember I told you about the Cane Spider in Hawaii? Well apparently I did take a picture of the one that was dominating the shower. Not only did I capture it on film. I got flare in its EYE. It's EYE!

Can't see that? Allow me to zoom in for you

Still too small? Really? Look at its f*cking EYE though.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

He's looking right at me.

Yeah.

web in eye = spider on back

2011-02-10T20:59:00.001Z

As you may have gathered from previous posts, Hawaii is a haven for spiders. Spiders like coffee farms for their rows of trees from which to make nests, their warm cabins from which to hang and a constant and quality supply of screaming women to terrify. Here are the main spiders we had to deal with.

Up first and by far the most prolific is the Crab Spider. At first I thought Crab Spiders were very big, but very timid. I thought they were rolled in to a ball to hide. Turns out they just have laughably little legs. Ha Ha Ha little legged spider, you're not scary at all.
Of all the spiders, however, they make the stickiest, biggest, most incredible webs, and they make them everywhere. I also began to suspect that Crab Cpiders and coffee tree mites were in cahoots, because where there were many spiders, there seemed to be many mites. I rehoused approximately 25,000 of these little buggers in my time at the farm. Some of them got emergency housing in my hair. They have since been moved on. They look like this.

awww.

pretty

They are, by the way, about the size of a peanut. Totally tolerable.

Next up, and also reasonably prolific, is the Hawaiian Gardener Spider. These guys are worth a look if only because they look exactly like X-Men. They are shiny bodied and black legged and they hang about in a very tightly defined X shape. Here is a photo I didn't take because it's hard to take photos of spiders:

This picture makes it look way worse than it is. For a start they are not this 3D in real life, they hang really flat. Also, they are about the size of a MacDonalds' burger (just the patty*) absolute maximum and usually much smaller. Here's a picture Josh took of two hanging out in the greenhouse.

shiny

I got used to Gardener Spiders because they don't get up to much, the major downside of them, compared to Crab Spiders though, is that their webs are practically invisible so you don't find out they're there until they are right in your f*cking eye. And the worst thing about that happening is that when there's web in your eye you can be confident that there's spider on your back.

Lastly and most atrociously, the Cane Spider. Look at this monster:

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

According to everyone who isn't scared of spiders, these guys are fine, they don't bite unless they are deeply distraught. To that I say 'SO FUCKING WHAT IF THEY BITE? IF THAT THING IS ON MY BACK I AM GOING TO SHIT ON THE FLOOR.'

Cane Spiders seem to mostly hang out in darkened corners of rooms like the shower and toilet. Luckily for me I guess. They really test that old adage 'they are more scared of you than you are of it'. I find that hard to believe because if it were true that Cane Spider would be clinging to some dude clutching a broom and crying. And it's not, it's just sitting there, in the shower, looking like a furry death cage.

Seriously, their bodies are about the size of an egg, their legs vary from stout and hairy, to long and jumpy. I hate them, and I suspect they hate me. I saw maybe 5 of these bad boys altogether, until our last day of work when we had to move about 30 massive sheets of corrugated iron. Evidently when Cane Spiders are not getting damp and terrorising washers, they are hanging out with lizards in corrugated iron. Holy fuck batman. We saw at least a million of them, at least 10 per sheet, at least. Here, have another look at photos I didn't take (too busy screaming and doing the GetOffMe dance)

So it was with heavy heart that we left Hawaii (eventually, blog pending), but there's a certain spring in my step knowing that my tan, early mornings, sugary food and these critters got left behind (I hope, OH MY GOD IS IT ON MY BACK?)

Aloha.

* I HATE the word 'patty'.

Mahalo

2011-02-08T23:26:00.007Z

Things I will miss:

the farm cat
driving the gator
turduckens
coffee
garden eating
stars (and sleeping under them)
geckos
chameleons
Mark Cocucci
Kelis
the view from the toilet/kitchen/cabin
the horizon
volcanoes
possibility
the potential for seeing a whale leap about at any given moment
quietness
a sense of purpose
Albert
manual labour
the fire pit (that Josh mostle built)
the sun
suncream
handsaws
the beach
fishes
banana trees
intrigue
excitement
exercise
cows

Things I will not miss

Spiders
spiders
spider webs
fuzzy hair
fuzzy hair full of spider webs
monsoons (I have been trying to think of that word since the monsoon)
catfood
flies
cockroaches
goose shit
geese (they are noisy and rude although admittedly hilarious)
roosters and their sense of timing (early)
food that's full of sugar
lack of toaster
lack of sarcasm
lack of bars in walking distance
going to bed at 8pm
getting up at 6.30am
popping ears
insect repellent
long silences
whales
dirt
hard work on a hangover
THAT hangover
that story
superbowl sunday
screaming like a girl
banging my shins
cutting my fingers
itching
mosquito bites and their subsequent infections
plastic sheets
bubba gumps
shit reggae
shit pop
shit internet
chickens and their cannibalism
coffee tree mites
outdoor toilets
unfathomable darkness
realising I'm scared of the dark (I know right?!)
being scared of everything
being confronted daily by the fact that I am a city girl from top to toe
work gloves and the weird tan lines they give you
crab spiders, garden spiders, spiders as big as my face (tried and tested)
spiders

Guttin' a Turducken

2011-02-05T03:33:00.009Z

One of the Turduckens got hit by a truck. They are pretty dim. They are also friendly (unlike Geese) and funny and not scared of trucks

Albert (blog pending) called us to say 'if you want dead bird, can go get dead bird. Bird dead down dair.'

I set off in the gator (I love to drive) and we picked it up. I say we, I mean Mark picked it up because I was too chicken (the adjective 'turducken' meaning- dumb enough to have a nap under the wheel of a truck).

We took him (technically her) up the hill to the shack. And I jumped in the shower. When I emerged this is what I found:

Josh and Carly guttin the turducken. Who knew Josh was au fait with gutting turduckens? They had already defeathered and beheaded the blighter, now she's hacking off his feet with a machete. You go gurrrl.

Next they pulled out his gizzards, innards, heart, throat and soul. Carly was loving it caveman style.

They put all the crap in a bag and chucked it over a fence for the mongoose to chow on. Josh got a hand up there for good measure.

When it had stopped being a turducken (pretty much when the face came off) it was all supermarket-duck-like (and in a soggy, bloody box), we drove to the beach. We ignored the tropical storm because this island has lots of mini storms and they are usually localised and short lived. We drove through the storm with Josh and Carly in the back of the truck. As in the actual back, as in getting pissed on tropical style. It was a pretty funny image but I didn't catch it on camera.

We got to a beach where it was still pretty tropical raintastic. Albert set up some fishing rods. They had bait bigger than any fish I would be happy to catch. He was shooting for a 60 pounder. 60 pounds of fish? Whoa dude. He had to swim out past the tidal swell to dump the bait. That alone was an impressive act, those waves were pretty big. He built a shelter out of two trees and a massive tarp, and set up everything for a tropical storm barbecue. Seriously, this guy could give classes on how to be a man. He wouldn't though, it's not manly enough. He'd just send you out with a six pack and a spear and be disappointed in you when you couldn't hack it.

Well crashy. This is normally a sand beach but the storm pulled all the sand into the swell. Albert came back from swimming the bait out and said 'I nearly got drowned out dair'. We all thought 'thank fuck you didn't because not a single one of us would know what to do without you.'

That big green thing on the left, by the way, is a massive squash. We stopped at a shop for some beer and Albert disappeared across the road, when he got back he swung that beast in the back of the truck. Manly as hell.

Scenic. That bucket is full of massive hunks of fish belly. It's pissing with rain even though you can't tell in this picture.

Josh got a hand in for good measure. Albert respects him as a MAN even though he often stands with his hands on his hips.

We tried to sit out the rain. We were having a barbecue because it was Carly's last night in town and Albert likes her very much (because she's cool). We hadn't put the tarp shelter over the grill though, so we had to make a fire in the rain. When the fire was going we chucked the duck in there to burn off the downy feathers that were left over. The worst bit of the whole procedure was when the turducken was good and burnt on the outside (and smelling pretty crispy). Albert took it off the grill and ran it under the tap. He did it because we hadn't washed it out after the guts came out. But watching someone run water through a dead, partially cooked turducken is pretty unsavoury.

We were getting sick of the rain by this point, we were good and drunk but good and damp with it. For the sake of seeing the tale of the turducken to the bitter (crispy) end. We decided to grill the fucker and run.

Because only one person had the foresight to bring a knife (that wasn't a blood stained machete), Mark cut it into little portions and dished it out bit by bit. It was delicious.

We got most of the way through it before the rain eased off enough to call it a window to leave.

We went and had a proper barbecue at Albert's house. I thought it was rude to take pictures of his place but I wish I had because it was a proper man shack. Have you seen Cry Baby? Iggy Pop should have been in this place taken a bath in a metal tub, it is totally awesome.

If you haven't seen Cry Baby, by the way, get yourself on a bit torrent right this second. Then we can talk.

Quack.

Life is beautiful

2011-02-04T05:19:00.001Z

only joking, I'm not a fucking hippy. Yet.

Life is pretty interesting though, I'll give it that.

Here's some stuff that might amuse you.

There's a spider trying to build a web on the washing line outside our cabin. I would happily have him live there since it might provide some respite from the mosquito army currently using my arms, legs and FACE as their mess hall, but it's impossible to see a spider web in a pitch black night time so most of it has ended up in my hair.

One of my (53 and counting) bites has turned a worrying yellow colour and is hurting much more than the others. Eeep.

While out in the fields of coffee trees, I heard a helluva Mooo from one of the cows. Then I saw Nui, the farm cat, sprinting through a line of trees followed hotly by the mumcow. Nui has the best sense of humour here but he's a bit bite happy as well.

I didn't know how coffee was processed before I came here. I didn't know how it grew either. Isn't that ridiculous? I've been drinking it for nearly 20 years, you'd think I would have had the common curtesy to find out where it came from. In case you have also neglected to find out, here's the skinny.

It comes from cherries that grow on trees. First you pulp the cherries so all the fruit stuff comes off, then you have a coffee bean wrapped in a little furry jacket. When the jacket has dried it's like paper, that's probably why they call it parchment. They get the parchment off in a big machine that goes brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Then the take the beans and divide them by size. They do that by gently shaking them over air. The big ones are the best beans, the little ones are the least best (still pretty good though). Then they sack 'em up and hand them to the roasters.

Voila, coffee.

We got here just after they harvested the cherries. Disappointing. The trees still need a lot of looking after though, so most days we've been out in the field. For a couple of days we were chopping down whole rows of trees, we're trying to get rid of a mite that's eating twigs. We were using little hand saws. The trees aren't too old so they're still pretty thin in the trunk. It probably takes about 5 minutes to cut through a whole one, assuming you don't meet a chameleon and stop for a chat (chameleons = FUN). Probably the worst thing about chopping down the trees is the spiders. In fact the worst thing about being in the fields at all is the spiders. The spider's make really amazing webs, it's really thick and strong and massive. I feel kind of guilty, rehousing all those spiders, some of them span a few meters. Some of them have formed whole communities and have village halls and bus networks, it's really impressive, at least until I come along with a big stick, squealing like a twat and obliterating them. It's a shame but you have to get rid of the spiders if you don't want them all over your hair and face.

The one guy here is immune to all the insects now and he spends most of the day with spider webs all over his hair and face. He also has the strange habit of standing right outside the bathroom when you're in it. He also has the ring tone from Trigger Happy TV, and spends quite a lot of time in the bathroom, chatting some deep shit on it. Yesterday when I was in there (and enjoying level 3 privacy because everyone else was sat around the new fire pit) I heard the ring tone and said outloud 'HELLO? NO I'M IN THE TOILET IN HAWAII, NAH IT'S SHIT'. Then I opened the door and he was right there. It's a good job I already used the bathroom. I'm not totally sure I like that guy.

After a few hours of chopping down trees, my face was so red people got worried. It went really hot and puffy too. It looked a bit like I might pop. I took the sympathy as an opportunity to stop working but actually it was probably because it's hard work at high altitude in tropical sun. It's also likely to be because I haven't done any actual exercise for nearly a decade (except for a sit up in San Fran).

I could go on but my screen is crawling with bugs and toilet dude is having crisps right there so I'm going to go and sit in the dark and wish I hadn't shared my smokes. Life is interesting, and still pretty funny. Here's to it.

point and shoot

2011-02-03T03:29:00.001Z

We just went on the most scenic weekend of our lives so far, we drove out to molten lava and walked over it in Nike Air Max (brap). Then we camped between a forest and the sea where the waves crashed higher than the cliff. Then we drove up the tallest mountain in the world, which was well spinny (altitude sickness = wetty specs). We watched the sunset, ate pork n beans out of a can and got good and stoned. I nearly fell off the edge of the world.

On the way down the mountain we stopped at the visitor's centre. There was no moon out and no clouds so we could see every single star that is visible to the human eye. We also saw Jupiter and its four moons and some space dust and stuff. It was really something.

The next day we went and looked at whales but they were being pretty coy, we just saw them spouting clouds out of their heads. We also saw a hammer head shark (a fin) and some dolphins (several fins) darting about. Then we got good and drunk.

It was scenic as hell.

My camera arrived yesterday (we salute you Alan Kemp), just in time for duck gutting and a tropical storm barbecue. So instead of spectacular scenery, whales, views that would make you puke, starry skies and Hawaiian musicians, I have 45 pictures of a cat up a tree.

See.

caps LOCK

2011-01-31T21:26:00.001Z

ROASTING COFFEE SMELLS LIKE TOAST

I can totally understand why someone would punch a goose in the face

I SAW A CAT FALL OFF A JEEP

A gecko peed on a New Yorker

ROOSTERS ARE STUPID

Lava cracks when you walk on it (and makes a truly spectacular noise)

WAVES CRASHING ARE GOOD AND LOUD

When you watch the sunset from the tallest mountain on the planet, you can see the horizon from ear to ear. That's the first time I've nearly fallen off the world (while relatively sober).

THERE IS SUGAR IN EVERYTHING

Bubba Gump's is an awful themed ripoff nightmare

DON'T EVER READ 'THE BONES' BY SETH GREENLAND IT IS UTTER SHIT

I'm still itchy as hell.

Farming in Hawaii

2011-01-28T02:52:00.004Z

Things I want that I never thought I would want so much.
1. A pair of white linen trousers
2. A pair of sturdy hiking boots
3. A light linen cardigan
4. A utility belt
5. A baseball cap
6. Conversation with a group of people who have a firm grasp of sarcasm and its merits
7. A toilet with level 3 privacy (minimum)
8. A CAMERA
9. A local bar

Things I have that I have never had before.
1. A cabin up a mountain
2. A cabin with nothing but mesh for windows
3. A toilet with mesh for windows (level 0 privacy)
4. The company of several billion insects
5. The company of free roaming cows, geese, chickens, mystery chickens, Turduckens (is it a turkey? Is it a duck? No it's a massive winged gobble faced aggressive) a cat, several dogs, at least 20,000 coffee trees, Wwoofers (a new breed to be sure), geckos, chameleons (they get angry if you pick them up, but they're pretty cute when angered). All the spiders (mostly gold), a hippie, an idiot, two New Yorkers and a vast array of locals.
6. The blood of at least 30 coffee trees on my hands (also the blood of at least 5 mosquitoes, but I think it was my blood so screw them)
7. A bunch of hand-harvested bananas
8. A machete
9. 2 hand picked pumpkins
10. Hand picked oranges, limes, grapefruit and guava
11. A frightening Hawaiian boss (only frightening when you've stopped chopping down coffee trees with a handsaw and taken the gator to the citrus orchard 2 miles away)
12. Achey arms
13. A group of nearly sort of friends (colleagues) who don't get sarcasm at all, ever.

Sample chat:

We are outside the workers cabin having breakfast and homegrown organic coffee, the guy who is a trained massage therapist and physiotherapist has bust his knee and it's swollen and achey.
Him: It hurts a lot but I don't think it's torn
Me: If only we had a qualified massage therapist
Josh: Yeah, or someone who knew about physio
Him: The trouble is that's me
Us: ...
Him: My knee hurts.

Yikes.

Also I got bitten about 40 times, mostly on my legs, I have reacted badly, it's ugly as fuck. I also have several on my back and shoulders a couple on my neck and a biggie on my face.
Oh and a lizard fell on me.
Oh and we haven't been anywhere near a beach.
Oh and we're renting a car this weekend, but it's with two young Americans and they want to go on a double hike, once to the top of a mountain to look at stars, and then to a lava flow, to walk on lava, at night, to the ocean, for at least 2 hours.

If I was a hippie or an insect (or a cow, goose, cat, lizard, turducken or outdoorsy type) I would be in heaven right now.

The view from our mesh cabin though, that is really something.

Consider yourselves updated.

No photos. It hurts.

I LOVE AMERICA

2011-01-23T04:02:00.000Z

Actually I just like it a lot. I don't love countries, I love people, and also cheese.

One of the things that has struck me about the good ol' U.S of A. Is the unerring patriotism. This isn't a massive surprise or anything, I know American's have always LOVED America, but I never realised how fundamentally engrained it was in them.

I figured, like a lot of the less savoury elements of America, that it would be limited to red neck territory, but it's way more sinister than that. (There is also a prevalence of loyalty to whichever state you live in, the rest of them suck). I knew there was East Vs West coast rivalry, and I can understand that I suppose, because they are totally different fish. But it's even from states and cities right next door to each other. San Francisco thinks San Diego is right wing and boring, and it thinks Portland is stuck in the '90s and full of failed hipsters. Colorado thinks Utah is a red neck inbred cocksucker and Illinois wishes Michigan would sort its darned act out. New York thinks everyone is a dick, but we knew that already.

I had an argument about British people secretly thinking they are the best at everything. Is that true? I don't think we're the best at anything. I'm pretty proud of myself, but as a nation? Nah, I'm embarrassed to be English a lot of the time and the rest of the time I'm in England and wishing I was somewhere else. I have a dose of serious Englandism every 4 years during the World Cup, and even that inevitably ends in embarrassment. God bless England? Fuck that. God bless football.

Blind love for America though, it's across the board, it's in both the smart and the stupid, black and white, old and young. I honestly don't understand loving something so ephemeral so unconditionally. It's just sand and sewers same as every other country in the world. I love a lot of things but my geographical upbringing isn't one of them.

I suppose it must seem harmless, to love the country you were raised in. And actually America is pretty good, it has an unbelievable number of places to visit, for a start. It's very good to look at and it knows how to treat its guests. They generally have a good attitude and everyone knows they have a dream. The unfortunate bi-product of thinking/KNOWING that you're from the greatest country in the world is that everywhere else, by definition, is inferior.

For a country so in love with itself there seems to be a lot of suffering. It's starting to look more and more like battered wife syndrome. Battered Yank Syndrome. They love America despite some serious issues. I could be wrong but you don't get often homeless people in London shouting God Bless Britain and if you did you'd think, wow, that guy is more fucked up than he looks.

Don't get me wrong. I love America, but mainly because they put cheese on everything.

Wildlife in the USA

2011-01-21T20:48:00.006Z

There are lots of interesting birds and animals in America. But beyond a doubt this guy is my favourite.

He is hiding in the worst DVD collection I have ever seen in my life (and I obviously love it). Romcomtastic. Also, he's not scared of cushions.

Thermostats in America

2011-01-07T16:55:00.000Z

Every place we've been, every hotel, bar, restaurant, apartment, bus, tram, train and car, every single place, has been unnaturally warm.

Outside it has been chilly. Not epically chilly but ya know, chilly. Inside it has been so fucking hot it makes my skin peel off and die, which is hot.

Hey heating, chill out.

Good eggs though.

My hair hates America

2011-01-07T16:53:00.000Z

Apart from Chicago, which it loves like a brother. It thought New York was stressful and straightened right out. It has no idea what to make of Denver so it's just gently waving at it.

I would post photos but I'm the only one with a camera so I'm not in any of them. Thankfully, because my hair looks shit.

89 days

2010-12-25T14:48:00.000Z

When we got to America we had to wait for ages to go through the passport gates, they are super uptight. I went first and the guy just barked at me to put my hands on the scanner, no Hi's or please or anything remotely friendly. Then he asked how long I was staying and I said 89 days.

He could not.fucking.believe it.

What are you doing for 89 days?
We're going to San Francisco and then getting a train back in a bow tie formation
In a what?
In the shape of a bow tie.

That doesn't take 89 days. 89 days is one day short of your visa, why are you staying for 89 days?

Umm, because it's one day short of the visa.
What are you doing for 89 days?
touristing it up
TOURISTING it UP?
Well, yeah, visiting friends, seeing sites, you know, being a tourist, with my husband, who's over there, it's an extended honeymoon.
For 89 days

At this point I'm like, dude, stop saying 89 days, I get it, you think 89 days is a long time.

Have you got your return ticket?
It's an E-ticket, I can show you the email.

He then barks at Josh to come forward and goes through the whole process again from the beginning. It seems the 90 day visa waver is just for show, you must be fucking mental to go to America for 89 days. Like, what the fuck are you going to do in a county this size for 89 days?For one thing I am going to spend some energy fucking HATING that dude.

so eventually, after some long pauses where he taps his pen on our passports, he takes all the paper work, sneers 'follow me' at us and chucks us in a room full of equally baffled people, hands our papers to some chump and barks at us to sit down.

We're thinking, but.. but.. we're English.

After a while this guy calls us up, You already get the idea about the 89 days line so I'll just give you the best bits:

Why are you guys in America for 89 days?
We're on an extended honeymoon
For three months? I never heard of anyone going on a honeymoon for three months
(you've never heard of Science either, don't let that be your guide).
When did you get married?
May
Pause, eyebrows, it's D E C E M B E R

Well spotted.

This goes on for ages, it's really embarrassing and more, Josh and I are both standing two feet lower than this tiny chump, thinking: Do not say anything funny. Do not take the piss. Do not apply sarcasm. Do not get angry. Do not tell him to go and fuck himself in the Americas. Hold. It. Down.

What do you do for a living?
We're both writers
Writers? So you write?
no we spit at things and cook. Jeeeeeeeeeeez
What do you write about?
Josh: I'm a music journalist
A music journalist?
Stop fucking repeating everything we say, it's making this nightmare take twice as long.
What kind of music do you journalise?
Wow, umm, new music mainly, I'm the UK editor of a music magazine in New York.

An you? What do you write?
Me: Feminist satire mainly.
F e m i n i s t s a t i r e?
Yep.

And that's your job?
I also work in a gallery print house place
So what are they going to do? Just shut it down for 89 days while you 'honeymoon'
Umm, no, there are also other people who work there.

So, what are you guys doing for 89 days?
this again. Crickey.
We're staying in New York for two weeks, then going around and visiting people all over the country.
How come you have so many friends in America?
How do you answer that? Because... umm... It's a fucking massive country full of people

He started to get angry that we don't have a flat in London anymore, we realised we should have kept schtum on that one but when a little customs freak is barking shit at you it's really hard to lie, especially when there's two of you, and even though we should never have mentioned that we moved out, I think if we had got caught lying we wouldn't have stood a chance.

So you don't have an apartment?
We're staying at my parents
For how long?
Well, we're not staying there now, we're going on holiday
for 89 days?
Fuuuuuck offffffff.

Yeah, for 89 days, and then we're going back.
And then you're going back?
Yeah, we're going back.
And then what?
We were thinking of moving to Berlin
Berlin?
Yeah
Why Berlin?
...
It's nice
In Berlin?
Yeah
It's nice in Berlin?
Yeah
And it's that easy is it? You can just up and move to Germany, just like that?
It is SO hard to not take the piss out of this guy. It's the fucking EU you stupid bastard.

Then he says 'I'm sitting on the fence with you two' and we're running through the scenario where we get sent back to London and we walk into Glo Glos and have to tell everyone that fucking America wouldn't let us in and I think I might start crying, and wonder if it's worth the satisfaction of tell him to shove it up his illiterate ass and go and fuck himself. I don't even want to stay 89 days if it's going to be this cunty. We've been standing in front of the prick for nearly an hour at this point, and I'm starting to break.

Then he says, ok, you can go, but I'm going to watch you and you better be on that flight on the 21st of March, and you better not do any writing while you're here. I've got my eye on you.

Then he gave us back our passports and a tiny bit of me was disappointed because I've never wanted to go home so badly before.

It got better after that though.
It got drunk.

In other news

2010-12-24T18:15:00.000Z

Our landlord is a massive crackpot. He moved in to the house underneath ours which is mainly why we left. The final straw came when he wanted to give our keys to the new tenants two days before we moved out. That's bad enough but instead of calling, emailing or ringing the doorbell, he just stuck his head through our front door and shouted up the stairs. Ewwwww old man get out of our house.

We've been having a fight with him about £100 for a tap. He ripped us the fuck off basically, in the last bout he said he wished he had charged us for the damp, because we hadn't circulated the air in our flat properly. Um, that's because we're not a ceiling fan and a draft. He said we'd scared away potential tenants with the funny smell. That was his final word, 'you stink'.

So, to give you an idea of the kind of batty old twat we're dealing with, when they moved in they obviously didn't have any curtains, so at night you could totally see all their boxes of stuff through the basement window. You could see it twice because they installed some very classy mirrored wardrobes. Anyway, I guess they got paranoid that someone would look in and see an immense pile of tacky crap so they wanted to block out the windows.

If that was me, I would have tied a bed sheet, towel or similar to the curtain rail from inside the flat. But our man in the basement had a better solution, and it looks like this:

Genius.

Goodbye Ernie

2010-12-23T22:45:00.000Z

We left the building from which Ernie and I whiled away many hours staring at each other. But not before he bust out his winter wardrobe in full. It consists of this one item, which Ernie is modelling for our farewell pleasure.

See you around Ernie.

silly pigeon

2010-11-25T13:48:00.002Z

I just saw a pigeon get popped by a car

it was super surprising

Feathers and bloody lumps went everywhere

it went proper POP, like when a car goes over a juice box

hardly anyone else noticed.

I stopped and put my hand on my mouth and I looked around for some shared response

but nobody else saw except a guy who was on his phone

and he looked at me and did a shocked face and I agreed at him and we shared the moment.

Then a bunch of boys from marketing (educated guess based on prevalence of scarves in group). Shouted 'earmuffs' at my earmuffs.

Bang. Done.

That wasn't supposed to be a poem, but I copied and pasted it from a chat so it might look like one.
Lazy.

Dog of the day

2010-11-23T21:07:00.000Z

woof

From the mouths of students

2010-11-22T14:21:00.003Z

I am at my parent's house trying to chuck away my adolesence. It's fun in an embarrassing way.

My top quotes from my college sketch book so far:

"Cardboard that pisses me off"

"My unique sales reference is the same as yours"

and

"Schedule:
Monday - Free
Tuesday - Free
Wednesday - Free
Thursday - Lecture AM. Free PM
Friday - Free"

Hard life.

How to get in shape in one easy step:

2010-11-19T20:42:00.000Z

Buy clothes that fit.

Who knew?

Gok Wan. That's who. And now me.

Turns out it's better to be a 12 in a 12 than a 12 in a 10. Seriously I've spent the best part of my married life punching myself in the ego because all my shit split the day after our wedding. Yesterday I went in a shop and got jeans that fit. I feel like a new woman. I feel like a woman whose jeans fit. It is sweet.

Gok Wan though...
Actually, I don't have any beef with him, he's probably a fun guy.

And there's my lesson of the week. Banal isn't it.

I call him Rover

2010-11-17T14:51:00.002Z

Because he's looking over there.

Hello Rover.

The three ages of dogs outside shops

2010-11-17T14:50:00.001Z

1. SIT

2. STAY

3. G'BOY

Otis Redding dog

2010-11-17T14:47:00.001Z

Sitting here resting my bones. And this loneliness won't leave me alone.

2000 miles I roamed. Just to make this shop my home. Now I'm just sitting like a dog on the bay. Watching the mushrooms roll away. Yeah I'm just sitting like a dog on the bay. Wasting time.

Dog Day Afternoon

2010-11-08T12:11:00.000Z

People tie their dogs up outside the shop and then I take photos of them.

See.

One time this guy tied a dog to the sign outside the curry shop. The dog went ballistic and ran off down the road being chased by this big metal sandwich. I didn't take any photos of it though, it happened pretty fast. Once I got a picture with 4 dogs outside the shop, but it got deleted by some button pushing chump. Now the aim is five, or four dogs and a cat, or three dogs, a cat and a baby.

Search of the week

2010-11-02T20:28:00.000Z

My blog stats tell me we had a visitor who found us when he searched 'anal big fuck'. Thanks to Bearshare (what the what?) for pointing them in our direction.

http://search.bearshare.co/web?q=anal%20big%20fuck&

Hilary Has

2010-10-27T11:42:00.000+01:00

I started my own blog, but nobody looks at it and I've forgotten how to log in to it. Stupid wordpress.

Email exchange of the week (from a guy who calls himself a dojitsu(not a word) master no less):

Hello

I have previously written for various leftist publications and have recently become interested in the way male subculture reinforce patriarchal ideologies and very reactionary views of women. I would like to propose an article which would focus on the phenomenon of PUAs (pick up artists) as an example. I was wondering if this would be of any interest to you and whether in general you accept articles from men.

regards

I think referring to martial arts in your email address is a risky strategy for a writer, but who am I to judge? Oh yeah, I'm the contributions editor. Doh.

Hi there, thanks for thinking of us, unfortunately the words 'male subculture reinforce patriarchal ideologies and very reactionary views of women' sound like they would be better suited to a magazine that takes itself seriously. Have you considered submitting to the New Scientist, the Huffington Post or the F Word?

We like words like 'bubbles' and 'ha'. Sorry I can't be more helpful. I didn't even realise PUAs were a phenomenon.

Thanks again for getting in touch. Please feel free to contact me with any other ideas you might have.

Best
Hilary H.

he took it very well but he 'LOL'd in his response so he goes straight in the NO box. Silly billy. I toned it right down because I get upset when people tell me to fuck off. It's a constant battle of rage versus fragility. I'm winning though, so don't worry about me.

World wide whoa

2010-10-25T22:37:00.005+01:00

Greetings international visitors
Or should I say...

Howdy
Привет из Великобритании
comment avez-vous me trouver

방법의 생명이 어디있어

agradable y cálido espero
أنا آسف ترجمة لايوجد لغتك الحقيقي

Madness innit.

This week I are been mostly...

2010-10-25T19:06:00.008+01:00

Worrying about families that get a KFC family bucket for dinner, and their skin. (this is vaguely smirksome: KFC facts and Fixshun)

(also wondering why when you Google image search KFC family bucket you get pictures of Russell Brand)

Being furious that the Tory's are:
A) Taxing my mum's state pension 46%
B) Selling off Britain's ancient forests
C) a bunch of massive c*nts

Wishing my landlord wasn't such a big part of my life. He looks like a tortoise who's been pulled out of his shell and thrown at a bad suit. His English is really basic so trying to reason with him using sentences like 'I think you should take into account the duration and severity of the disruption' just don't rinse. He looks at you blankly and then goes 'what are you meaning?' to which I have to reply 'we want rent to be cheaply please because noise men here.' I wouldn't mind that but I really craft my moaning sentences, ya know?


POP

Throwing away jeans because I can't get them over my knees, I can't do them up, or the arse has fallen out of them. Be warned fiances out there, when you get married your arse expands and will burst out of your jeans at inopportune moments (Playing pick up the box with your face).

Wishing that time would slow right down and give everyone a free week to sit quietly and finish articles for KnockBack.

Missing a donkey called Elvis and everything he and his noise represented.

Asking people who would win a fight between a donkey and a bee. And knowing the answer having witnessed exactly that fight last week (best of three, Bee wins by a country mile, literally).

The building schedule

2010-10-11T11:35:00.000+01:00

The builders ruining our lives fit their work into a very tight schedule:

8:17 - 8:53am - Hammer, drill, shout and spit

8:53 - 9:30am - stare at naked angry couple

9:30 - 10:00 - Dump shit in front garden, lean on spades, watch female resident cycle away

10:00 - 5pm - FUCK ALL

I see red people

2010-10-06T13:22:00.000+01:00

I just went jogging for the second time ever in my life.

I say 'jogging' but actually I jog to the end of the road, walk around the park for a bit, cough up some worrying and head home via the shop.

All in it takes about 10 minutes and I feel about a 5 on the smugometer. No wonder people who jog properly always look so pleased with themselves.

SMUG.

Also,
my calves hurt.

Introducing Ernie

2010-09-27T14:19:00.007+01:00

This was the view from my office window two weeks ago. Nice innit.

This is the view from our bedroom window, as of three months ago. That plank you can see is a walkway that goes all the way around our house.

You might wonder why the view from my workspace is so... industrial. The answer to that is - Builders. Loads of 'em. Usually they just bang things about, they drill for 7 minutes before 9am and then not again for the rest of the day and they loiter, looking like a motley crew of rapists, idiots and imps.

I should add that my 'office' is actually our lounge, my desk is our dinner table and for the record, working from home sucks ass. It has a TV in it for crying out loud, how the fuck am I supposed to write a novel with that big box of nonsense in the corner.

We have grunned and bore the filth, noise and abject voyeurism all summer. The summer where we got married and set off into the sunset to live happily ever after. We got back from our honeymoon to a building site, the front was a makeshift tip and the back has been host to a dazzling array of visual affronts. They cut down all the fucking trees for a start. I've not seen a squirrel for months, apart from the one drowning in a bucket, (but that's another story). We gave those fluffy tailed critters names and everything. I miss Itchy the most.

This was the view from our bedroom this morning:

For the record, we don't know that guy, we didn't ask him round. We would have shut the curtains but it was day time and we thought builders drew the line at staring at sleeping newly weds.

It's been a bit unpleasant.

However. This isn't about them. It's about Ernie. Because prior to the scaffolding full of fukwits staring into our every window, nook and cranny (chortle), there was Ernie. Ernie has been staring at us for over a year, and he looks like this:

Please excuse the massive ladder in the shot.

That's Ernie, his name clearly isn't Ernie. I would ask what it is but he doesn't talk to me, sometimes he nods a hello but I think we both find it a bit weird. See, Ernie's job is to stand outside that shop all day, I guess to make sure nobody steals apples, although I would have thought a couple of stolen apples was cheaper than paying a dude to stand outside a shop all day.

Imagine when Ernie goes to parties. "So Ernie, tell me, what do you do?" "I stand outside a shop and look at fruits".

Sometimes he touches the fruits.

Like so.

Mostly though, he stands and stares. Stands and stares at our house. Sometimes he sits and stares at traffic, but only in his break from staring at us. Sometimes he multi-tasks and stares at us while he touches fruit and throws mushrooms at cars.

Josh is annoyingly adamant that he can't see in our windows. Regardless of the fact that we can see in our windows from the shop. We've had conversations about leeks through our windows. I try to make sure I'm always at least partially clothed when Ernie's likely to see in. Josh couldn't give a shit though and I'm sure Ernie gets regular eyeful of Josh's morning glory.

Hubba hubba.

I tell myself that Ernie isn't a filthy nosy old fuck, but on his day off they have a younger guy come and watch the fruit and he doesn't stare at all. Ever. He keeps his eyes on those apples.

Also when I go to the shop, Ernie stops watching apples and follows my ass about.

Did you know

2010-09-27T12:36:00.004+01:00

If you put dirty porn tags on your blog, you get loads of extra traffic?

Writer's block

2010-09-20T10:39:00.003+01:00

When the mooon hits your eye...

2010-09-13T11:47:00.001+01:00

Yesterday we had a pizza from the pizza oven that Christopher and Alaine Dunne have built in their garden. They built it themselves, out of stuff. It burns wood chips and cooks the pizza you have handcrafted.

I was skeptical about it at first, but not anymore, that was genuinely the best pizza I've ever had. And we had it with old friends, drinking beer and watching football. I honestly don't know if life gets much better than that.

But this is not a story about that pizza, this is a story about another pizza all together...

Josh and I went to France on our honeymoon. We drove from Bordeaux to Castillones and on the way there we drove past this:

We talked about it a lot while we were honeymooning. And on our way back to Bordeaux, at 7.30AM, we stopped to have a closer look.

They had the sort of flavours you'd have doubts about in a decent pizza place, there were flavours that don't even exist. The Norwegian, for example, was topped with smoked salmon and potatoes, they all had at least three types of meat on and most had some sort of fish top too.

It was at this point that we probably should have taken stock of the situation. We are in the south of France, just outside a beautiful village where it's breakfast time, the patisseries are open and selling all kinds of wonderful, it's not even 8.00 am, we're in hangover town, it is not, I repeat NOT fish pizza o'clock. Or is it?

The only one that wasn't utterly disgusting was the 4 Cheeses, Josh stuck in a tenner and this happened:

In 3 minutes from now, we're going to see our first ever 4 cheese machine baked pizza pie. 3 minutes. It must be a super nuker in there.

This was emphatically NOT the best pizza I've ever had. Plus it's not cool to eat hot pizza before 8am, especially when you're in the south of France and there's a beautiful patisserie right there.

Still, pizza box, interesting experience.

I have a lot of weeks

2010-09-07T21:10:00.006+01:00

I said 'I'm having a hungry week' and Josh said 'You have a lot of weeks' and I thought 'that's true, I have a lot of weeks'. Then I wrote a list of them

Hungry week
Fat week
Busy week
Happy week
Angry week
Skinny week
Clean week
Clumsy week
Sexy week
Sad week

Fuck off, week.

If you make the best meal ever, but there's nobody around to hear you go 'MMMMMMmmmmm? ' Is there really any point?

2010-09-03T23:20:00.005+01:00

Yep.

Cooking like this explains why I'm getting fat. That and WIDE ANGLE lenses.

Raw peas though, they're not a snack.

Taking stock.

2010-09-03T19:04:00.005+01:00

This guy at work eats the healthiest stuff ever. A lot of it is just plain healthy but once in a while he gets weird. Like he always has mint leaves in a massive bowl of water, it's one of his 'things'.

He always brings the snazziest lunches, but sometimes he brings in random ingredients, once he brought the leaves off fresh beetroot. He was super excited about how fresh they were, he said they go wilty real quick. They are really deliciously bitter salad leaves. He gave me some to try, then I bought some the next time I saw them. The downside was having to cook the fucking beetroot. Well pink.

Anyway we were chatting and he said 'there's loads of things you could eat, but people just don't'. The next day I bought some garden peas in their pods. I don't really care about fresh peas, they're powdery and hard and, like new potatoes, they remind me of being miserable in restaurants when I was little. But I bought them because I fucking LOVE podding peas, it's in my top ten past times.
I'm learning French because my mate gave us Michel Thomas French classes on CD for a present. It's well satisfying podding peas and learning french.When I had podded 2 quids' worth of peas I had a small bowl of peas and a fucking huge sack of pods. It seemed awful wasteful. Bearing in mind what the guy at work said, I tried eating them. They are kind of like sugar cane, in that they taste nice and fresh but you can't do much with the texture because they're stringy and tough.

Instead of chucking them out, I stuck them all in a massive pan with a bit of lemon grass, some old, flaccid ginger, half a sweet potato, a carrot, two chillies and some spring onions (basically all the crap that was about to start rotting in our fridge).
Then I took all the outside leaves off some spring greens, the skins from the potatoes and the rest of the scraps from dinner and stuck them in the pan as well. Then I boiled the fucker to within an inch of it's life.

I pan fried pork chops and made mash and greens for dinner, it was pretty good because it's good clean eats, but I made the gravy out of the stock from the pea pods and that made it fucking sensational.

What I'm saying is, make stock out of pods.

Trop bon. For reals.

Because vulvas are worth it.

2010-08-28T12:47:00.001+01:00

Cheryl Cole has got a new lipgloss. It's exactly like her old lipgloss but it looks like a fanny. They call it a 'heart shaped wand' but that's just advertising lingo for lady bits.

My ad campaign for this would go more like: Do you like lipgloss? Do you like fannies? You are GOING to love the new lipglossing fanny glammer wand. Buy it, Because Cheryl Cole wants you to*.

*She doesn't really want you to, she just said that 'cos they paid her. For realsies.

National treasure.

Things I would rather do than write a novel:

2010-08-28T12:24:00.007+01:00

Look at pictures of myself
Look at pictures of Josh
Look at pictures of people I don't like to make sure they're not doing anything good
Re-read old blogs
Phone my dad
Look at bike parts on Ebay
Buy mouse ears on Ebay
Look at bikes on Gumtree
Look at flats on Gumtree
Eat
Cook
Eat again
Clean out cupboards
Re-pot pot plants
Sweep the mud off a ledge
Bite my nails
Watch porn
Fetch a glass of water
Dust the printer
Sweep the floor
Roast beetroot
Have a wee
Dance about
Go to Paris
Clean windows
Post letters
Reply to old emails
Drink pints
Drink anything
Roll cigarettes
Watch TV
Pick my nose
Sing
Star jumps
Chase fruit flies around the kitchen
Walk from one room to the other and back
Look out the window
Throw bits of paper at a target
Clean the area around the target
A socks wash
Put my hair up in a variety of ways
Send texts
Stumble.com
Download box sets
Watch the little blue download bar progressing
Watch box sets
Change my ring tone
Stare into space
Make playlists for parties I'm not playing at
Look for jobs I don't want
Update my CV
Write a list of ways to procrastinate
Have a coffee

Nap.

All hail Cock Chops

2010-08-26T19:47:00.007+01:00

It goes without saying that epic fukwits* are a bit of a nightmare. But let's face it, without them the art world would seriously struggle. Some (most) of my best work was sponsored by knobs.

I admit heartbreak is a high price to pay for inspiration but when your heart can afford it, it's a sure fire way to new material.

So purely for the inspiration, Bastards, KB salutes you.

* we also offer a nod to all the low grade bastards: tosspots, dickheads, knob ends, cunt buns, bollock brains, bull mooks and weasle dicks. You know who you are, well done.

Big Shop Blues

2010-08-22T14:54:00.006+01:00

It's that week again, the awful, inevitable week that rolls around once every few months. The week where the all the condiments, cosmetics and miscellaneous pieces of daily useful are in sync and together they leave for the great abyss of the recycling bin.

It started innocently enough, with a pasta sauce that hailed the week of desperate last drops. The tomato puree was out, that's no big deal, and I knew the olive oil was waning I really should have put it on the list. But when the chillies, garlic and jar of mixed herbs all went the way of the puree, I knew it had started, there could be no doubt.

Next it was butter, cereal, risotto rice and things in tins. Soon after tea left the building and took sugar with it. We've started to go out in the evening under the fool's illusion that it will probably be cheaper... But we'll have to face facts soon, there's 'A Big Shop' on the way.

Even so we're making a fine show of getting by. I've been aware for some time that a trip to Boots wold be costly, but ultimately beneficial. Again there were warnings that The Week was fast approaching. I've been using a blunt razor for days, but hell, the hand soap is full so surely the bathroom is keeping it's cool? Yes, until today, this sleepy Sunday in London, The Week has finally struck the loo too.

Cosmetics is one thing but this is The Week, and simple cosmetics are the tip of the big shop iceberg. We need cleaning products for every kind of surface up to and including, glass, wood, floors, sinks, ovens, tiles, clothes powder, fairy liquid. The Week is hitting hard in the kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and wardrobe. We've got to stock up on the lot. I wouldn't mind the cost of that ravenous pack, it's more the very silly shapes and wastefully elaborate bottle designs that get me riled. That and the weight of the blighters. I do so hate to carry things.

Back to the bathroom where the dregs of the shampoo are gone, the bottle's been filled, shaken and squeezed to it's very last. Add to that a farewell fart from the shower gel and desperate banging of conditioner bottle which, for the record, was the emergency hotel mini conditioner in the first place.

My mascara's looking spidery as hell, I dropped my eye shadow so it's a powdery mess, I haven't moisturised for days. My curls are drooping from lack of support, my pits smell like a boy's and there's not a cotton bud in sight. I'm terribly glad it's not period time or I'd be a real mess. Thankfully it was my birthday last week and so my perfume has been replaced (thank you). But that's at the top of the product pyramid. What of the little things?

even after scraping through a shower and getting a superficial clean up on the go. I sit back only to find the batteries in the remote need a rub to get going and I still haven't replaced the bulb in the lounge.

If anyone needs me tomorrow I'll be in Pound Land getting my shit together.

What's up with the Vue

2010-08-16T19:48:00.003+01:00

Last Christmas I got the gift of knowledge. My computer savvyier than me brother bestowed the information necessary to downloading films for free. Ever since that marvellous day my computer has got notably slower, my gigabytes are deteriorating rapidly and damned if I haven’t seen a bazzilion films (although only those that have been out on DVD for a not-reeeally-pirating amount of time).

I had some reservations about what is essentially stealing from the film industry, but have managed to justify it thusly:

First and foremost I have vowed to spend what I would have spent on DVDs on Claire Wilson. She’s an astounding screenwriter and will, I have no doubt, go on to make some of the best films to come out of Britain since, well, since everything coming out of Britain was shit. This has an added benefit in that she works at a cinema, that cinema is 12 pounds a pop and since she started working there we’ve not paid a penny. Is that also stealing from the film industry? Hey, Film Industry, I’ve got your money money money.

The other reason I have few if any qualms about this brand of thievery is the Vue cinemas. Specifically the one in Angel but I’m sure the concept is nationwide.

The concept I’m referring to is executive seating. Have you been to a Vue recently? I have, and let me tell you what happens. First off you stand in a queue, then you pay the teenager behind the desk £9.50. That’s a twenty quid tick for two of you, AKA massive wallet ouch.

After you’ve guffed another 20 up the wall on crazy maize, Ben & Jerry’s and bottles of water you give your ticket to another teenager and they say (listen up because this is the good bit), they say ‘sit anywhere you like except the black leather seats’.

The which what now? The first time we went I assumed the black leather seats were going to be some ultra snazzy numbers situated in something akin to a royal box at the theatre. But no. The black leather seats are actually the only three rows in those mega screens that are any good. If you’re like me and invariably late for films you might run into the same problem. It’s fucking dark, it’s a fucking tenner and when you said ‘sit wherever you like’ I took you at your word. Black leather be damned.

The first time we encountered the black leather seats was watching Men Who Stare At Goats, I liked it a lot but Josh…. Well, we walked in late and there were maybe 20 other people in there, none of whom had been so bold as to sit in the leather seats. True to form I was riled and insisted that we sit in them because THEY’RE THE BEST FUCKING ONES AND THEY’RE EMPTY ANYWAY. It’s not like the desk teenager had even asked us if we wanted black leather seats or not.

So we were sitting in them, nice and spacious, oak veneer cup holders, and numbered. When this speccy dude clutching his ticket and a box of nacho flavoured cardboard clambered up the stairs. He got to our row and peered deliberately at his ticket. Now, if that was me and I’d invested in membership to whatever cunt club you have to be in to even qualify to sit in the black leather seats, I would have taken one of two stances. The one, for which this guy would have had to grow a pair sharpish, would be to say ‘Excuse me, I’ve paid to sit in these seats and you’re sitting in the seat that was allocated to me, and my additional cash/cunt club membership’. The second, and probably more socially capable option would have been to shrug it off and sit in any one of the empty rows and rows of black leather seats.

What this chump opted to do however, was lurch about at the end of the row and then tut some and take the seat at the end of the row, right next to Josh. Personally I was tickled by his decision. Josh was not tickled, he was pissed right off. He blames that guy entirely for his not enjoying the film. I blame Josh for not moving, or at least farting at the guy.

It’s possible, of course, that the guy was also rebelling against the leather seat situation, and by sitting with us he was showing solidarity, he was saying ‘fuck the system, fuck the Vue, I wanna be in your gang, I’m gonna sit with you in this nice big back leather seat. HA.’ Although I strongly doubt that, I think he was just being a prick, melted cheese included.

The next time we went to the Vue the insult was two-fold. First we sat illegally in the black leather seats because there were only three other people in there. And second we watched 2012. The apocalyptic one where John Cusack refuses to die in a number of insane ways.

After those 3 hours of the worst film ever made I was forced to conclude - if that’s what the film industry is spunking amazing amounts of cash on then I hope my downloading does bring it to its feet, Claire can write plays and I’ll pay to see them.

You can't beat a well-placed apostrophe

2010-08-15T14:18:00.001+01:00

Except for the coffee shop. You could beat that with a dried up scamwich.

But.. But... I'm nearly 30

2010-08-10T19:47:00.002+01:00

I got ID'd again last week. I was on my way to Camp Bestival and had to leap from the car for some last minute bits we needed for medals and stuff.

I got to the counter and the guy asked me how old I was. "I'm 28 but thanks for asking".

He scanned my purchases - 7 packets of Party Ring biscuits and 4 mini cans of Gin & Tonic. Raised eyebrows "are you sure?"

Clutching my Spiderman wallet I assured him I was very sure. He tutted at me when I showed him my provisional driver's license ID and adjusted my lens-less wetty specs .

I think he thinks I should grow up.
I disagree.

Toy Story + Imax = eyesache

2010-08-09T18:55:00.003+01:00

London's BIGGEST screen is really big, especially if you sit in the front row. We had to lie all the way back in our seats and still couldn't see the top.

That was my first 3D film as well, I quite like it in theory but I don't reckon Toy Story went crazy with it. There was an ad for a film about fighty owls that looked more the ticket.

We went to see Inception at The Screen on the Green in Islington as well, that was super comfortable, sofas and everything. Inception is a bit like The Matrix meets Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind and frankly, that's a helluva combo...

2010-08-09T13:45:00.003+01:00

I know you shouldn't buy Mars products because they make honeycomb out of dried bees and deep fry Scottish children BUT...

My campaign for Maltesers with a caramel centre has gone unnoticed and if you stick a pack of Mars Planets in the freezer it's the next best thing. Both the shops on my road have stopped selling Mars Planets because nobody wants them, nobody but me anyway.

I suppose it's for the best.

Say What Now

2010-08-07T15:44:00.003+01:00

When Claire told me about the Human Centipede I thought she was joking. I just saw the trailer. I literally can't believe this film exists and it's a major release. I think I'm genuinely horrified. I feel like a prude or something, I don't think I can find it funny. I watched the trailer about an hour ago and I still can't wipe the expression of aghast horror from my face. I really feel it signifies the beginning of the end. I need to spend some time with kittens and sweets and flowers to try and regain some sense of nice.

Cyclists hate me

2010-07-28T16:10:00.003+01:00

And I hate them. But not as much as I hate cars, pedestrians, buses and lorries. And not as much as they hate me.

Why are cyclists so rude? I'd like to see more solidarity and less sneering.

Hey, my bike's a piece of shit, I am well aware, I can hear that ridiculous croaking as well as you can, there's no need to tut at the old girl, she'll get there eventually.

Some kid actually slowed down while I was waiting at lights, just to let me know that I was riding a piece of shit. 'YOU'RE a piece of shit squire' was my default response, I know, snappy.

I quite like my piece of shit, poo brown Raleigh Transit. It has a frog for a peddle and it eats umbrellas. It gets me around and about and even when I don't lock it up, nobody nicks it, because who wants to steal a piece of shit? Not even the most base robbers evidentally.

Anyway when I'm on the road I am using every bit of my energy to not get dead, I don't have time for looking cool or cussing kids.

You know what else depressed me today. 3 million people on Facebook 'like' the blue fish out of Finding Nemo. 3 million.

Doomed, that's what we are.

BT - bloody terrible

2010-07-28T15:55:00.003+01:00

I just voted for YES, Jane should be pregnant in the BT ads. That's how busy my day is.

Those ads must be the worst on TV. For a start what the fuck were the guys trying to watch on his stag night? It MUST have been porn right? Maybe some MILF hardcore shit.

And WTF, isn't it obvious that the glorious end to this fucked up, incestuous relationship is going to be when he finds out she's really his mum? That's why I voted yes, because in 9 tedious months of Kris (fuck off you weren't funny in My Family and you suck so hard it's embarrassing) Marshall and Jane Who The Fuck Are Ya? BT squelching about on various screens, they will inevitably give birth to a three legged toad child.

That's what happens when you fuck your mum Kris. She's 50 and you're 18. It's not cool.

He was once in a short film called Je T'aime John Wayne which was quite good, but not good enough, not by a long pop.

The best cake I've ever had

2010-07-08T13:35:00.006+01:00

Once upon a time in a land far away, I had the best cake I'd ever had. If there was a chocolate scale and at one end there was pure melted chocolate and at the other there was the purest form of cake, this cake was exactly in the middle of the scale.

That cake was from the Cheerful Chili in Otley, near Leeds, and until yesterday it had been number one in my cake chart for nearly a decade.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday I had a cake that shit on the pillow of the cheerful chili and left it for dead.

It looked a bit like this:

Except much more delicious, the sides were taller and the berries were strawberries and the white stuff was chocolate and the leaf was mint.

Fuck man. Hannah had a bite as well and we talked about it for at least half an hour after that. I want my bite back.

I dunno what they were called or how much they were because the staff decided to ignore us after that, probably because I had filo pastry and chocolate all around my face.

I'm not even gonna tell you where it was from because I don't want to stand behind you in the queue.

They also do the best coffee you can get outside of Flat White on Berwick Street and it costs less and you don't have to go in to Soho. Dora took me there. I owe her a cake.

Never get your boyfriend to write your biog...

2010-07-05T16:44:00.000+01:00

Marie Berry lives in the Cotswolds with her partner Joshua and her two horses Maggie and Jessop. Previously she had a career as an arachnid and appeared in films such as Parenthood, Uncle Buck, Avatar, Last Tango In Paris and Gulp Fiction as a background actor. Her interests include sky diving marquetry and tennis.

Previous titles of hers have been "Massive Planes and Where To Put Them', 'The Fifth Musketeer', 'The Art Of Mustard' and 'SHUT UP, COME ON, FUCK OFF'.

She has a cute face, cracking can and the best tits in the world.

Crack (whore Yoghurt) Pot

2010-07-03T14:19:00.002+01:00

People keep saying this area is rowdy but I think it's ok. I went out this morning to get bacon sandwiches for the three of us on our little writing retreat in Leeds. I went out the house the back way because it's easier. There were kids playing and people doing gardening and stuff. At night it looks a bit like an alley but today it was all sunny and family nice.

I went to the bakery and got three bacon sandwiches. There was a guy in there shouting about cakes. He bought a chocolate one and then a pink one. He didn't look like a cake kind of guy.

I left the bakery and outside there was a little crackwhore trying to get in a car, she clocked me and walked a bit ahead, then she tried to get in the next car and I went in to the shop. She followed me into the shop and I thought 'ah fuck I'm being followed by a crack whore'. I went to the baking section and stopped to see if she was really following me. She rifled through some boxes of Nesquick so I thought I was probably right. I picked up a Guardian and queued and she seemed to have fucked off.

In the queue in front of me the woman said goodbye to the cashier and said 'I'll see you Tuesday' the cashier sighed and said 'yes, if I'm still alive'. Jeeps.

I walked out the shop and crack whore was right in my face 'you got a light?' she wasn't holding a fag, she was holding a yoghurt. I said 'no sorry mate' and went round her, she followed me. I'm thinking 'ah fuck' I'm thinking 'this is the first time a yoghurt has made me nervous. But she's got a yoghurt and she's wearing flip flops, and I've got three bacon sandwiches, a Guardian and boots on so if she goes for my bag I'm gonna stamp on her toe and smack her with the supplements'.

Luckily I knew the alley was full of friendly so I dashed round the corner and she saw the nice and fucked off with her yoghurt.

And then we had bacon sandwiches and cheated on the crossword.

Open Monday Mic

2010-06-22T00:19:00.003+01:00

I don't think you can get further from the Pyramid stage at Glastonbury, than Monday night at Ryan's in Stoke Newington, thank fuck. I hate Pyramid stage anyway and no, I'm not gonna see Stevie Wonder, you know why?Because I don't like him. I can't get over the songs of his that I hate and although I know he's got some real bangers, they aren't worth scrabbling about with 100,000 people to listen to them. Especially if there's any risk that he might drop Ebony and Ivory. And anyway, I have it on questionable authority that he's not really blind.

Open Mic night at Ryan's is funny. It's mostly old guys doing solo numbers with guitars an average of 14 thousand times cooler than their hair cut. You can't help but wonder what they do with their time when they're not playing an open mic night.

I saw the Wait A Minutes who played at my wedding but I didn't catch much of their set because I was getting kissed on the cheek and spinning round. They were good. I missed the first few people but I'd put a tenner on them being the best ones there. Next time they should tell more people.

I was drinking Vodka and soda. Turns out I don't like tonic.
Who knew.

Is that really all you've got?

2010-05-14T17:00:00.002+01:00

Although it's my own fault for writing messages on Mondays, one can't help but despair. This is the least of them. I had one dialogue with a 'contributor' that I can't wait to post but since I am certain she's still concocting her reply I think I'll wait... It'll be worth it though.

I am Hilary Hazard. I suffer fools for money.

Bill mother f*ckin' Murray

2010-04-28T12:21:00.007+01:00

I wrote this for somewhere else, but I thought I'd broaden out its scope because I want someone to start a fight about it. Kisses...

I’ve recently discovered that I love, love, love Bill Murray. I know, I’m a late developer. Obviously I’ve loved Ghostbusters for ages but that’s because it’s a kid’s film and I was a kid.

Instead of revelling in the sunshine and making things worse this weekend, I decided to sit back, download and get a serious fix of Mr. Murray based goodness. If you’re like me and you like him, you might find my ultimate guide to Bill Murray useful, I compiled it for my own procrastinating benefit but hey, share and share alike I say. If I’ve missed something unmissable or you want to disagree with me, go ahead, help yourself, I’d be happy to hear it.

I’ll start with the most recent because he only has a cameo and you’ve probably heard of it if not downloaded it already.

5. ZOMBIELAND
The script is super tight, the zombies aren’t the main focus and Bill Murray’s cameo takes Zombieland out of the realm of ‘quite good film’ and bangs it right up into wicked flick. I normally hate zombie films but this is Shaun of the Dead meets Sin City and you can’t argue with that (can you?)

4. MEATBALLS
A very young Bill Murray is an instructor at an American summer camp, fairly formulaic stuff but with some pretty sharp laughs along the way.
If you’ve seen this already you’re probably thinking I’m an idiot for mentioning it. I will grant you that the plot, direction and overall vibe of Meatballs are essentially pointless, but Bill Murray’s speech about winning is so funny and so unlike anything you see in normal Hollywood, that it makes Meatballs one of those films you’re glad you’ve seen.

3. OSMOSIS JONES
I came up with the same concept as Osmosis Jones ages ago when I was going out with a nurse, he wanted to write it and sell it to Pixar, but I just wanted it to exist so I could watch it. Turns out I can.

Bill is a zookeeper whose daughter is trying to get him to buck up and do some exercise and the film follows his descent into illness, but the other half of the film is based INSIDE Bill’s body! And it’s a cartoon! With Chris Rock as a white blood cell with a bad attitude who teams up with an aspirin voiced by Niles from Frasier (who probably has an actual name but I don’t know what it is). Together they battle with Bill Murray’s internal politics against Scarlet Fever. It is wet the bed brill.

2. RAZOR’S EDGE
Bill Murray as you’ve never seen him before, a Second World War soldier who has a terrible run of luck. It’s intense, sad and sweet and it proves beyond reasonable doubt that Bill Murray is a brilliant actor.

1. WHERE THE BUFFALO ROAM
This went straight into number 1 as my favourite film, maybe ever. Did you know that Bill Murray and Hunter S. Thompson were great friends? Have you seen Fear And Loathing in Las Vegas by Terry Gilliam which stars Johnny Depp? Did you love it? Me too!
This film is Bill Murray playing Hunter S. Thompson, and he does it better than Depp, which is hard for me to say because aside from his Caribbean nightmare, Johnny Depp is probably my second favourite actor. This film covers roughly the same period as Fear and Loathing but it’s far superior because there’s no effects, no nonsense, just Bill Murray off his face and on the mooch. All the music is by Neil Young and it’s gritty, surreal and absolutely awesome.

So that’s it folks, my top 5, I didn’t mention Coffee and Cigarettes because you’ve probably seen it and well, I give it a nod in the title.

All that’s left to say is my boyfriend saw him with an entourage hanging out at the hillbilly night in the Axe pub in Hackney, and if that’s not cool well, who wants to be cool?

Countryphobia

2010-04-21T17:17:00.010+01:00

We caught two fish that we threw back. Josh had 3 bites on a ledger line but the line broke each time and the silly fish took the hooks home to show the kids. I pictured them in an underwater waiting room with their faces all pierced looking sheepish 'it happened again doc, it was smoked salmon and sweetcorn, I couldn't resist' garbled with blood and bubbles.

It must have been feeding time, they start getting all feisty around 3pm. We changed the lines to spinners because they are more fun. Josh went to the lodge over there to get something and while his back was turned a fucking great trout took a hefty bite of my fake silver fish and I dragged the poor bastard on to the grass.

I shouted for Josh to come back and the trout did a token flap about before glaring at me, right in the eye. He looked like a Graham. He looked like he was saying 'LET ME GO' the hook was caught on his cheek. Josh rushed over. What shall we do? 'LET ME GO' Graham said with his eyes. 'let him go let him go fuck man fuck get the hook out of him'. Josh went to get the hook out but Graham gave a massive flap and the hook came out on its own. He went quiet. 'Kick him back Josh, I don't want him, we can't do anything with him' Graham saw Josh coming and flapped his way back in to the lake. He stopped to say 'yeah fuck you' before he hot tailed it to the doctors for a check up.

About 5 minutes later, Josh's spinner went mad and he dragged a fish up too, it looked like a Simon to me, he didn't have Graham's authority, he was panicking 'oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck' that's what he was saying. Then he gave up fighting, I guess he thought his number was up. Josh lurched the hook out the mouth and we kept him beached up long enough to take a photo. When we looked at the hook we found that the silly fish had already had one of them in his gob. He fell for it twice in an hour, what an idiot. Or maybe the first hook was doing his head in and he was trying to get the second hook to out it. Clever Simon. Either way it was a bit bizarre.

It was pretty exciting catching Graham and Simon, but we didn't want them dead, Josh doesn't like fish anyway and it turns out I have the sentiment of a vegan (if not the fridge). However, unfortunately for Graham, Simon and their pals, Sarah Semicolon and Matthew Eyeliner appeared on the scene.

Turns out 3pm is definitely feeding time for fishes. I reeled one in, the hook was right through the jaw and tongue, it looked painful as hell. We decided collectively that we would eat it, so I didn't give it a name, or even a gender (Ian, male, into horoscopes). Josh got a stick and coshed him right in the face. He did a death flip for good luck and with one more, very manly, unflinching bash to the skull Ian was pronounced dead and edible. RIP.

Me and Ian meeting for the first time. (oh, and I went all body warmer, country style)

With Ian dead we kicked back to get a bit lean and drink beers. Matthew decided to change to a float rig because he's lazy and you just let it bob about in the water. He stuck a bunch of salmon and sweetcorn on it and put it down. It was there maybe ten seconds before a fish decided it looked too delicious to miss and took the whole lot under water and tried to swim off with it.

There was some seriously Shoreditch fishing going down.
I think the fish Matthew dragged out was a girl, I think she was maybe a single mum fish just trying to get some dinner for her little shoal. There's no doubting she was a fighter, let's call her Lucy. Unfortunately for Lucy the single trout mum, Josh had gone home and taken his manly fish beater arms with him. That left me the closet vegan, Semi the closet hates fishing woman and Matthew who had to step up as the man of the lake, alas, he's a bass player and pretty nifty with a pen knife but we didn't have a pen knife, or even a bass guitar to tonk Lucy with, we just had a bit of stick and only Matthew had the balls to do it so he did. The second hit popped her eye. The third hit seemed to do it but when Matthew tried to pick her up her mouth fell open and she swung her tail about. After about 8 hits we assumed she was done but she wasn't, her gills were still at it. It was fucking serious, this poor fucking fish lying there gasping for breath with her head caved in. Then she threw up the salmon and sweetcorn, that was really really rank.

Eventually we thought it would be best to let her die without being repeatedly boshed with a stick, and went and sat away from her.

Harrowing is an understatement. Eventually she was dead and we crowned her The Most Tenacious Trout of all time. She was saluted. All hail Lucy, the fighter, the flapper, the dinner.

That evening, a couple of pints to the wind, we set about gutting the blighters. (I say we, I mean Matthew), I'm a sap. Sarah maintains that I could have done it if the situation demanded, she said she had faith in me, I'm not so sure. We watched a video of some red neck American gutting a little trout and making it look super easy. With the blood, guts and faces in the Chicken's breakfast bin. We baked the trouts and had them with creamed fennel (mmmm) and a potato salad, it was a bit tasteless (the fish), apparently they don't get much flavour when they live in a lake. Hunger prevailed but soon gave way to empathy and we had to move on to (a really very nice, Matthew baked) cake. Better the devil you know or what?

Cake by Matthew Eyeliner, Icing by butter and sugar (cheating)

The next day was kind of tainted by the deaths of the fish, I really like fishing but it seems kind of harsh on those guys and I didn't fancy doing it again. So instead of sitting by the lake all day, we sat in the pub all day. In the morning we have to feed 8 chickens, they go mental for the breakfast bin, which was full of fish entrails. Watching the chickens dragging the heads of Lucy and Ian about the place was a real low point.

In another chapter of country life, we had encountered a mum duck and her 14 tiny meepers, pretty much the cutest bunch of quacking fluffballs I've ever seen. Over three days the mum duck marched the meepers all around the gardens, to and from the house and the pond and lake, I think she was trying to teach them their bearings. When one or two would get left behind they'd meep and meep until they caught up. It was hopelessly funny when they hurtled around the house looking for the others. This is the only evidence I have of their existence. If you listen carefully you can hear the meeps.

On the fish massacre day, the meeper's were reduced to two and the mum duck was being harassed by a gang of man ducks. It was well council estate. The rest of the meepers must have got killed. I missed them. And I missed Lucy and Ian being alive too. The countryside is riddled with death.

Sad face.

The final straw in the battle of Berry Vs Fish happened this morning, and made me glad we were shipping out back to the city. We sat down to salmon and womb fresh eggs, but we'd been using salmon as bait for the whole time (it works), so my fingers stank of it for a week and when it got on a bit of toast I couldn't handle it. We've also gorged on fresh eggs over the last week in the great outdoors, and I've had my fill.

Ian and Lucy died in a bloody battle for dinner, but in the end they won, I'm not going to catch and kill a trout again, and damn it if they didn't take smoked salmon to the dark side with them.

I still like fishing though.

'zine count

2010-03-22T17:28:00.003Z

I shouldn't mock this email because I didn't reply to it and that is hypocritical of me, but, I'm busy and obnoxious and a hypocrite. So sue me. (We once worked out that if KB got sued for everything we had, they'd owe us 5 grand).

How many times is it possible to say zine in one email? Is zine even a word? Here's a perfectly reasonable email that I would rather stick on a blog than reply to. Sorry poppet.

I hope you don’t mind me contacting you. I am a PhD Student and am currently doing some research into zines. As a zine contributor myself, I have an interest in the practice of zine creation.

I am currently interviewing zine creators and am familiar with your zine ‘KnockBack’. I would be very interested in discussing some aspects of zines and the zine community with you.

The interview would take place face-to-face (in which case I would travel to you) or online if you are currently not living in the UK. All names will be changed (unless you request otherwise).

Please let me know if this is something you would be interested in doing.

Has a fishfinger ever come out of your nose?

2010-03-18T22:22:00.003Z

No? Oh wow you are missing out big style.

Not really.

I'm on a diet. Not a proper diet, just a deep fat fryer diet, a Friet if you will. Hey chef, if it's fried I don't wannit.

I had four bananas, a box of strawberries and a yoghurt for breakfast. Go me. Go to Waitrose and spank a tenner me. Fruit though, doesn't stop you being really hungry, have you noticed that? I read a thing in the Guaaaardian that said it's something to do with dopamine levels. I'm not giving up dopamine though... one step at a time.

Then I had a salad for lunch, a monkey salad with shaved bastards and a sprig of whatever.

Then I found out I was on a double shift and had a sulk. A big one. And I broke and got fishfingers and peas (PEAS though, NOT chips).

And apart from 7 cups of coffee (standard). I stuck to soda water throughout. Oh yes.

I'll tell you something you already know. I fucking HATE the people who drink in the pub I work in. I'm sure they're all fine, but I can't help wishing they would fuck off and do it fast.

That is beside the point.

I can't burp. Bet you didn't know that. Never have, never will. Sometimes my belly and ribs make a creaking gurgley sound that might be what most people would turn in to a burp, but I just creak, I have no idea how to make that manifest into something outward.

Anyway I think that might be what made the fish finger force it's way out of my belly through my nose. Trapped bubbles started a fight, lime juice got involved, fish fingers were having none of it, my nose bore the brunt. My nose and the toilet.

Although it was rank and lame and nasty I am a bit relieved because I got to get the hell out of the pub, and technically I think my Friet is still intact.

Pow.

HH

2010-03-07T11:33:00.002Z

I answer student's questions all the time and they don't say thank you. Hey students, Lesson 1 - MANNERS.

Dear Hilary,

I have recently bumped into your website, and bought the last issue of the Knockback magazine. I admire your work and am interested in feminism/women's writing, thus I decided to write to you. I am currently in the 4th year of my undergraduate degree in Edinburgh and I'm researching gender writing for one of my journalism modules, called 'Specialist reporting'. We've been asked to choose one area of interest and prepare a short presentation for the rest of the class. I would like to include your magazine, so I hope you could find a minute to answer a few questions.

1) What do you do for funding? Is it sustainable?
3) Do you employ any permanent staff/freelancers, if so what is the standard pay (if any) [sorry I have to find out this for the 'employability' purposes!]
4) How do you source your articles,
5) What is the target audience of Knockback? and finally
6) Is there a style guide to follow to be published in KB (apart from that published on your website)? what advice would you give to young journalists interested in gender issues/journalism?

I would also consider submitting an article to your magazine later on this month, after I've learned what exactly you're looking for from the contributors...

Looking forward to hearing from you, Hilary!
kind regards

I found one minute.

Hi there, thanks for getting in touch. I'm going to attempt to answer your questions in exactly one minute...

1) we rely on donations from the public. it's sustainable as long as no-one except printers get paid...
3)we are a team of three, only two of us do any work
4)people send articles we reject them and write them ourselves...

ah damn, minute's up... I'll give you another minute since there's no question 2...

5) Women with a sense of humour, men with a sense of humour, people like us in any way.
6)be funny, spell KnockBack with a capital B in the middle, don't rant, don't think anyone cares about you, remember people only care about themselves, relax, smile, check your spelling.

Times up again, yikes. Hope that helps
HH

That's what I wrote. Maybe future students will read the blog and find the answers here instead of getting me to find new and exciting ways to answer them, only to be completely ignored. They all ask the same stuff, it's so dull, who gives a fuck about funding? It's meant to be FUNNY. There's nothing funny about money. Fact.

Hilary Hazard hurts too.

2010-03-03T21:39:00.002Z

Hi, it's been a while, I'm Hilary Hazard, how are ya?

I'm in pain. Not much pain as it goes, but pain nonetheless. I really try hard to be nice to people and help where others can't (Berry). I want to help but hey, I'm not a fucking sucker and in return for my assistance I ask, not much, but something, at the very least some bounce.

Does this make sense? In short, the bulk of my job at KnockBack is response-based, people ask me questions (pretty much all the same ones) over and over again, and I try to answer them in new and exciting ways. I don't get paid for this extensive chore and all I really want out of it is a bit of fun. Is that too much to ask? Well yes, evidently it is. Much too much.

You may have read the abrupt response of yesterwhenever that ended amicably eventually when Berry stepped in, there have been others, and lots of them, but I've been asked to keep my shit together and watch my mouth so my approach is slightly different these days...

Ach who am I kidding, no-one gives a fuck about me, I will cut to the paste...

Here's my latest, exactly the same but a bit more laborious email from a student... I was actually up for helping this chick (despite the continuous misspelling of KnockBack) as it's flattering when someone is interested in what we do, especially someone in Urmurica...)

Dear Hilary,

Greetings.

I am a freshman at Cottey College in Missouri(USA).I am taking Media and Society as one of my classes this semester and I have a project to do a research on the magazine industry and make a presentation to my class.

In relation to this I have sought to do my work on your Magazine- Knock back.My project is based on researching two different magazines.I am working with a US Magazine and the Knock Back as my international one.I have checked all your sites and I would kindly appreciate your help with some of this questions that I need to work with.

1)How is Knock Back distributed?

2)What group are you targetting?

3)How do you earn revenue for the magazine as you do not rely on the advertisement?

4)Is there a specific class of people you want to reach out to?

5)How many people in approxiamate do you reach with each copy?

6)How often are your productions?

7)Do you make any money out of the production of Knock Back ?

8)History of Knock Back?

9)What is the future of the magazine?

10)Do you plan to go International with the magazine?

11) How is the production of the magazine?

12) What social impact has Knock Back created?

I would greatly appreciate any material that could help with my case study.Hoping to hear from you in the near future.

Kind regards,

Girl in America who I don't want to name because she might be upset about it.

So I was kind of up for this but fucking hell there's quite a lot of them and I am a busy woman and although I have been asked to can my attitude, I am still allowed out to play, plus, you know, tit for tat...

Hi there. I am flattered and honoured that you thought of KB when deciding on your topic for research.

Before I answer your extensive questions I would like to know a bit more about you and your presentation. I very much hope you will be ok with that.

1) Who is your presentation for?
2) Will they listen attentively for the duration? If so, what is the duration of your presentation?, If not, for which duration so you expect them to listen to and what will you do for the remainder of the duration?
3) In your presentation, do you have an absolute point, and if so, what is that point? If not, do you have a general point and where do you expect KnockBack to fall within it?
4) How do you finance your college study in the states?
5)As a media and society student, are you gravely, or indeed remotely concerned about the negative influence media has on society, if so do you intend to use your education in media and society studies to right that balance, or simply to capitalise on it?
6)How is Spring treating you?
7)Do you expect to finance your life out of projects directly pertaining to your media and society class?
8) Are you funny? if yes, how do you cope with the stereotypical idea of America's lack a sense of irony. If not, how do you cope with America?
9)How do you pronounce 'Quinoa'? (please answer phonetically)
10) How is life treating you, all things considered?
11) Where are you from, how long ago were you produced, and do you expect to reproduce? (all things considered)
12) Do you think global warming is real? Given the choice would you rather freeze in the northern hemisphere, or boil in the southern hemisphere?

I will work on the answers to your other questions, most of them have stock answers so won't take long but some might take longer. I feel specifically question 11 is rather obscure, but will do my best to answer with aplomb.

Many thanks for getting in touch. I wish you all the best.

HH x

I wanted a response, however brief, is that too much to expect?

Having said that, it's only because I posted this moan that I've realised I said I would get back to her either way.

My bad.
HH

Well good

2010-03-01T18:53:00.001Z

This is well the best blog I have seen for an awfully long time. I wish it was mine.

www.takeaweirdbreak.com

The hard way

2010-02-25T18:51:00.002Z

You know why I got a job in a pub? Because I was working as a freelance writer for six months and sitting in my house, getting gradually fatter and finding outside more and more worrying. I had also started to hate people with a vengeance, probably the result of too much facebook and not enough real life. That's why I got a job in a pub, to reactivate my social skills, get some exercise and buy Josh a pint (or ten).

It worked for the first month, lots of running around, December is fun because everyone's generous and happy and the people on my side of the bar re-established my faith in people being sound.

That era has passed, I have got myself a sack of porky that I carry around my waist, the result of about 50 fish fingers a week. Also January was so bleak and mean that I came to realise my suspicions were correct, nearly everyone is a dick, a mean, poorly mannered dick. The people on my side of the bar are still sound, but apart from that I am over it.

So I don't think I'll do it anymore. It's Josh's round anyway.

The end.

I'm drunk

2010-02-16T21:17:00.002Z

But that's not really news. I drink a lot. Big whoop.

Moving along. I was thinking about training as a chef, or just skipping the training and taking the place of the Polish chef from work who's gone and got himself a proper job, albeit in Rickmandsworth which isn't really a proper place. It probably does have a proper spelling but that's not the point.

The point is I quite fancy being a chef. No. Not strictly true. I quite fancy getting paid to make dinner every night. My dinners are bloody good, I invest in them, I research them, I experiment and develop and consider my recipes. I sulk when they fuck up and gloat when they go well, to cut to the chase, I enjoy it, and experience has taught me that there's very little I enjoy that I can also get paid for.

I was at work in the pub on a quiet day and the chef asked me what soup to make, then when I told him a recipe I had tried (then adapted, developed and perfected) he said I should make it, so I went to the shops and spent most of the afternoon making enough 'Spicy squash and coconut soup' to feed a tiny, pub based army. That was the highlight of my working week and that's what got me thinking about it. (That soup was a top seller and everyone finished it all up too).

So the Polish chef is leaving this weekend. I like him, he looks like santa would if santa had to get a real job. Today I asked if I could have his job, thinking he made decent money. He doesn't though,he's on the same money as me, and behind the bar I get to give my friends free drinks. (why don't you drop by, by the way? It'll be free as birds).

In other news, I was so close to getting hit by a bus today that I actually patted the bus to say sorry for cycling right in front of the fucker. And I'm allergic to soap.

Oops

2010-02-09T11:45:00.004Z

Turns out if you serve a murky pint of Directors ale you will give the person who drinks it dysentery. I've been serving Directors for 3 months and only just found that out.

And that kids, is why it's good to have a thing called 'Training' when you start a new job (unless you work in a place where the punters like dysentery, in which case don't bother).

Blaggards and try-hards

2010-01-31T13:34:00.004Z

Some blags are just plain rubbish.

One girl ordered a vodka and coke and I wanted to I.D her but couldn't be arsed, then when I poured her drink she said 'can I have a bit more vodka in here, I can't taste it'.

I said yeah but it's £2.70, since that's how much a shot of vodka is, she said oh right, forget it.

You can't taste the vodka? Get new taste buds kid. What kind of blag is that?
The too young to serve kind.

Forged notes are proper criminal and so when two guys came in and ordered two halves of Red Stripe and then did this daft-arse performance to cover using a fake twenty, I found it a bit alarming. If the pub had been busier, or if the note had been realer they would probably have got away with it, but it was an empty pub and a really lame £20, it was on normal copier paper. We said it was fake and gave it back (you're not allowed to give them back but it was alarming and we didn't want any beef). They finished up sharpish and left.

My favourite from this weekend was a guy who looked pretty cute, not the blagging type really. I went to serve two girls and he butted in over their shoulders and said 'scuse me, a bit aggro. I apologised to the girls and went to him, he had three quarters of a pint and said 'this pint is off, it smells really bad' I asked him what it was and he said Directors, a cask ale that frankly, smells horrible. I told him it wasn't off, I knew this for a fact because the barrel was fresh that day and loads of people who actually like Ale had been drinking it without complaint. He said 'well smell it then, it's definitely off'. I said 'I agree that it smells horrible, and I'm not surprised it tastes horrible, but there's nothing wrong with it, except that it's a horrible drink, I'm not replacing it just because you ordered a pint you don't like' he looked all incredulous and said 'you're impossible to argue with' the girls were looking impatient, I poured a quarter of Directors into a new glass and smelled it, and tasted it and I was right, it's fucking horrible. 'I'm not impossible to argue with, I'm just right. In fact mate, I'm very easy to argue with, as you will find if we carry on with this much longer. Next time get a Red Stripe and pipe down'.

Know what he did? He took the quarter pint I'd pulled and scarpered as if he'd won. I turned to the girls who were waiting and asked them what the hell that was about. They said 'blagger'.

Happy chat

2010-01-24T15:02:00.005Z

When you work somewhere that lets the public in you have repetitive chats. If you're funny they can be quite good, if the chatter is funny it can be great.
Here are a couple of recurring chats that went particularly well.

On the menu it says 'World Famous Fish Fingers'

Them: How come the fish fingers are world famous?
Me: They were on the cover of Time Out
Them: Wow really?
Me: Yeah wearing high heels and a boob tube
Them: On Time Out? That's pretty cool
Me: Yeah people said they looked just like Keira Knightely
Them: Fish fingers?
Me: Yeah sometimes we call it a Keira and chips

When the pub is empty, just before lunch, the first people to come in always remark on it. I have stock answers but my favourite dialogue was with a guy and girl who were insta-nice.

Guy: It's a bit quiet in here innit?
Me: No it's packed, it's national invisible day, did you not get the memo?
Guy: Oh no, shucks I haven't checked my email.
Me: Shame, it's a great day.

(I turn to get a glass for their drinks and when I turn back he's gone)

Guy (from under the bar): Oh yeah it is heaving in here
Girl: He's checked his email
Me: Brilliant.

The World Famous fish thing is a gift that keeps on giving.

Guy: What's so famous about the famous fish finger?
Me: It was a baddy in a Bond film
Guy: Which one?
Me: Golden Fry, you seen it?
Guy: Nah I must have missed it, I saw The Man with the Golden Crumb though, did they have a cameo?
Me: You're thinking of Gold fingers

Then we just descend into puns, the only natural direction for this conversation...

Guy: Tomorrow never fries
Me: You only fry twice
Guy: Fingers are forever
Me: The world is not a fish

I laugh, we all laugh, it's laughs all round.

Nice people, good jokes, pleasant exchanges, they make my working world go round.

Why am I so sexy?

2010-01-20T13:56:00.003Z

I don't use the word Umbrage enough

2010-01-20T11:54:00.007Z

Frankly I don't like to be censored, who does? I also, as you may have noticed, have an excellent knack for publishing things I shouldn't. Either because they lose me jobs and get me taken to court for breach of whatever (it was '98 I worked in the Guinness factory on reception, I was this close to doing time man, but that's another, not absolutely true story...)

Once in a while though, I feel well, wait, whats the word for 'in the right'? Righteous? Had to look it up, entirely new sensation, enjoyable. Mmmm, righteous.

Basically this guy asked me to delete a blog post from absolutely ages ago. Firstly I don't like being told what to do, even in the context of being asked 'nicely' and secondly, in the end, I felt the guy in question won the battle... here's the full story.

this is the original blog...

Tuesday, 3 November 2009

Invitation

From Martin K. This email makes me sad and happy in equal measure.

The subject was:

'afternoon tea at The Hempel with Gloria Hunniford'

chortle.
So bad I quite want to go.

The product is:

Everlasting is a brand new online service that will invite the public to create a fitting tribute to a loved one who has passed away.

Launching on Remembrance Day 2009 Everlasting is a free virtual space where anyone can compile a tribute for a loved one who has passed away. Then by inviting family & friends to share their thoughts, stories and photographs the tribute will shape into an intimate celebration of someone’s life. A special book containing the collected memories can then be printed & bound by EVERLASTING, offering a permanent keepsake to treasure for years to come.

“ We are in an era when a lot people feel more comfortable posting their feelings online.” Says Psychologist Dr Loftmore. “ This is not a criticism, if people are expressing themselves this is infinitely more preferable to people suppressing their emotions” Dr Loftmore goes on to say “ An online tribute will help people express their grief, which is invaluable.”

No Chortle.

Facebook for dead people.

-------------------------------------

Personally I don't think it was that bad, but ages later Martin took umbrage and here for your reading pleasure, is our discourse. If you ask me he's lucky he didn't send it to Hilary Hazard.

Hi Marie

I noticed that you had featured an invitation I had sent you for a client's launch.

Is there any way you can take it off your blog please? The invite was for you to attend a really nice afternoon in a great venue, if you did not want to come then you really should have ignored the invite or simply said no thanks.

The site is not facebook for dead people, there is no advertising on the site or gimmicks and it helps some great charities as is communicated on the site and in the press releases. My father died in August after a long battle with lung cancer, this site is good place for the public to pull tributes together, collect memories and print off into a book to hand down for generations.

I feel your blog entry is in very bad taste even for someone with my dark sense of play and very open mind.

CLearly it was an error of judgement when I sent this invite to yourself. Whilst I accept all my clients get bad press from time to time I feel on this occasion the invitation got into the wrong hands. As the write up is about an actual invite rather than the product I feel this is unfair. The site was not launched until 11th November therefore you had not had the pleasure of viewing the quality of the website for yourself.

I look forward to your response on this matter. I am sure you have a view and a response you would like to share but can I ask you kindly to simply remove the blog and accept my apologies for sending you something you did not want.

I am also happy to say no one came along to the event out of morbid fascination. Many members of the press and charities such as Bowel Cancer UK, Child Bereavement Org and The Alzheimers Society, but no one came for the reasons you were tempted to.

Many thanks

Martin
Head Groom

So i said....

Hmm, if I take that down can I put this up?

Marie

He didn't like that one bit...

I have said sorry to you asked you kindly if you can take it off. I do not want anything from myself or my client on your site please.

I started my company early this year and it has been a tough year without loosing a client from something you put on your site.

if you wont then there is nothing I can do. I just thought I would ask.

Thanks

Martin

Frankly I was quite surprised. So I replied

I don't know Martin, if I were you I'd be more concerned about losing clients due to shabby spelling and inappropriate content in emails.

I honestly don't even know what you find so offensive about the blog (which has 10 followers and less than a thousand views in 3 years), it was Gloria Hunniford that tickled me, not the client or product, I have lost friends and family too as it happens, though I'm not sure why that's relevant. I know the importance of tributes on and offline and I don't think anything in the blog suggests otherwise.

In short, if you could be more clear, what exactly is your problem?

I haven't decided whether or not to take it down yet. This is the sort of thing I prefer to deal with on Mondays so I will give it some thought. Saturdays are for X Factor and parties so I will leave it at that for now.

Good luck with the company in year 2.

Marie

Harsh but fair I thought, so he goes 'I will call you Monday then.'

Now that's an exciting prospect since I can't imagine where he would have got my number, and anyone who knows me knows to leave me the fuck alone on Mondays. I was quite looking forward to having a chat with the Head Groom. He never called though, and I left it a week before I started to pester the poor bastard. I figured by this stage he pretty much knows I want a rise out of him so I can publish and be damned. And look here, I think he actually won.

Martin, I waited all of Monday and you never called. Is everything ok?

I unlinked the blog but I left it up, will that do or do you still want it binned forever?

Regards
Marie Berry

no reply

Martin, seriously are you ok? I thought we were going to have a serious discourse on the matter of life and death and the internet.

How about if I take down the blog post about Hunniford but I publish this email exchange instead? It's the sort of thing our three readers would just love and it might be good publicity for your grooming services?

Marie

And finally....

Hi Marie
No I am fine. Been with my mum for a bit as she has not been so good.
Please leave the blog,my client are fine about it.
Cheers
Martin

Head groom 1 - My attitude 0

you know what's not a good idea?

2010-01-13T21:22:00.003Z

calling someone a racist under your breath.

I was only joking like.

I'm pulling pints, they're having a chat, the scenario goes like this.

Bloke: do you have any low alcohol lagers?
Me: We have crest which is about 3.8%
Bloke: No, like, no alcohol lagers, I'm doing a dry January
Me: No
Bloke: Well then give me a sparkling water.

Bloke's Asian mate: I'll have an IPA please
Me: OK
Bloke's other mate: Is that because you're Indian?
Bloke's Asian mate: No it's because IPA is nice. But it helps that I'm Indian.
Me: chortle

I am not taking part in the next section...

Bloke's other mate (to Bloke): have you tried Erdinger, it's weisbier, they drink it for breakfast in Munich

Bloke: Ah Munich, no wait, it was Hamburg, they really took us for a ride over there, wasn't it something
Bloke's mate: it was really something, I hope we never drink like they do
Bloke: We won't, no-one but the German's drink like that.

Bloke's mate: That there Paulaner's nice as well, you tried that?
Bloke: No
Bloke's mate: yeah that's a nice pint, you excited then?
Bloke: No, I'm drinking sparkling water and it's cost two pounds
Bloke's mate: yeah... well... have you tried that Kirin Ichiban? That's not bad neither
Bloke: Japanese beer? No thanks. Wouldn't trust 'em

Me (under my breath): racist.

Bloke: Sorry what?
Me: nothing
Bloke: did you call me racist?
Me: Not really
Bloke: you called me a racist though
Me: I was being sardonic
Bloke: and you think that's ok?
Me: you think that's not ok?
Bloke: You want to watch what you say
Me: you want to watch what you eat
Bloke: What?
Me: your sparkling water will be two pounds please
Bloke: Yeah, cheap at half the price
Me: racist.

I was only being sardonic. Amazing what people can hear when it's an insult.

Blue collar wobbly

2010-01-13T15:56:00.005Z

We are the underdogs, the underpaid, the undersigned.

I'm on the blue collar dollar, I banter with the window cleaners, bakers, postman and milk dude. I like a nice cup of tea. We don't stay in our pajamas and work from home, we get on our bikes and in our vans and get the job done. There's no remote access for us, we're the grafters getting shafted by the bastards.

Tee he, not really, I'm a freelance writer, I work in advertising in the evening, it's my dirty secret. I'm a bonafide bullshit muncher, media whore, overpaid punkfucker. I have meetings and brainstorming sessions, I push the envelope and think outside the box. I'm one of you. I'm a knob too.

But by day I get minimum wage to be treated like a twat and pay too much tax.

Yuhuh.

skank basket, dick boots, knob chopper

2010-01-11T17:47:00.005Z

I'm on minimum wage and the Government took two and a half shifts worth of my money for themselves. I wouldn't mind except that seems like a lot, and I only factored in a few quid for them.

I can't afford a haircut, or trainers that cost more than £8. I like my £8 trainers but they're rubbish in the cold, it's like going out in sandals.

Someone stole one of the grips off my handle bars. Only one of them though, so I only need one glove which is lucky because that's all I can ever find. I half hope someone does steal my poo-brown Raleigh so I can buy a decent bike. I can't though, like I mentioned. Minimum wage.

The title phrases are all ones I used in reference to customers this weekend. I thought they were more creative than 'cunt'.

Your umbrella's inside out. Yeah well your face is upside down.

2010-01-10T13:00:00.003Z

Can you believe it? I still don't dread going to work. Even when I start at 11am on a Sunday. That might not sound that bad to you but I rarely see any time before 12 anymore. My body doesn't care for such hours.

I worked on Friday, the first one for ages, the worst bit was realising that we open until 1 on Fridays. 1AM! Bananas, that is gutting at ten to twelve, I'll tell you that for free. I was working with the main manager though, which made a nice change, I like the other manager but our chat isn't that good, at least until we get bollock-chopped, then it's ok.

Anyway, Friday, Jon Favreau was in here, you know him? He's the chubby one in Swingers with Vince Vaughn and he was the millionaire guy who went out with Monica in Friends. Now he's a big shot director guy, who drinks in the Slaughtered Lamb.

I was pretty sure it was him at first, but after we stared for a couple of hours we still couldn't swear on it. I had my doubts because he was wearing a rubbish jacket, Jon Favreau would be wearing a snazzy jacket for sure right. Yep. And I reckon he would probably be American. And I guess he would have a cool looking entourage. Not a bunch of suited dorks. So eventually we established that it wasn't him, and we debated whether or not to pretend. By the time we got there though, we had pretty much been staring at him all night, so he quite obviously thought I wanted him. Embarrassing. His mates kept winking at me. Pffft.

Apart from that it was uneventful. At least until the manager got out the plant food. Have you heard about this shit? You buy it on the internet under the guise of plant food, and it's called methadone or something similar. We were bombing it on New Years and it was quite nice, a bit like a speed/mdma mixture. If you schnarf it though, you rush for about 15 minutes and then feel a bit empty, then if you're like me, on Saturday your nose bleeds and you stay in watching films.

So now it's Sunday. And I'm at work, I'm writing this at work and I can watch films as long as not many people come in. There are 3 tables full right now, and this is probably as busy as it will get. It's weird but customers are like buses, they dawdle about and all come at once. You'd think they'd know better but they don't.

One of the tables has a little ginger dog at it, I went over to see if it wanted a shot of tequila and it growled at me like it wanted my fucking lungs out. I half hope it goes bananas. Something to write about innit.

Christmas is shit

2010-01-06T18:01:00.002Z

Actually I quite like the festivities, it's jolly, it's red and green and there are presents and parsnips and they are some of my favourite things.

Christmas season behind a bar though, it's bleedin' mayhem. I couldn't even write up my shifts individually because they were too mental. And I'm too lazy. And sometimes nothing much happens. I'll try and remember some highlights/lows.

So this one time I worked on the tiny bar downstairs with the guy I call Serious (because he is so serious). And it was an office Christmas party with mulled wine and canapes and all the rest of it. I dunno who the company were but I wouldn't mind working for them, that's how good their party was.

At the end of the night the MD had to close the tab and Serious tells me to do it because of my well-documented ability to get company parties to tip big, but I was oozing No, I was sweating fuck off and I said if I do it I'll get nothing. I told him to ask the guy if he'd had a good time (he clearly did), I told him to mention the food and how delicious it all looked and add that we don't normally cater for parties, then I told him to tell the guy that service isn't included, and to have that conversation before he took any money.

I guess it went well because when Serious told him how much the bill was (£2,630) the MD guy told him to round it up to three grand and split the tips between us. Pow. The MD guy was like, 'it has to go to you guys right! It has to end up in YOUR pockets. Don't give it to the man. I'm not tipping the fucking MAN' We assured him it would go straight in our pockets, and it did.
That was a good night.

Then there was a lunch time when I had such a severe hangover I couldn't have got stressed if I'd wanted to, which I didn't because I was busy concentrating on not being sick. We were flat out, it was madness, packed right out, full to bursting and all that, we were having a nightmare and then I walked out of the kitchen carrying three plates of dinner (I hate plate carrying) and some cunt waved a menu in my face and said 'how do I get some service around here, why is there nobody behind the bar?' I told him it was because we had all gone to take a nap and since it was so very quiet in the pub someone might be with him in an hour or so. He told me he thought it was ridiculous and I told him if he didn't like it, he could go somewhere else. Then I implored him to go somewhere else. "seriously, mate, you're not enjoying yourself and we don't want you here so please, just go somewhere that wants you". He stood there like a fucking dork anyway and I was on my way back to the bar to kick him out and make sure he didn't get anything off us, but he was already being served. That fucking cunt, I hope his half of bitter was warm.

What else. Oh yeah, I tried out the NICE TIPS t-shirt on New Year's Eve, surely the most tip heavy of nights. It didn't go down well. Nor did my idea that all the staff could only walk clockwise all night, but that was because we could barely walk at all from about 1 onwards.

Anyway yeah, NICE TIPS. I think maybe it was too subtle, black on black with yellow hairspray highlights (don't ask). But people seemed to not want me to serve them, and nobody really commented and everyone just guiltily avoided eye contact with my boobs all night, which is something I suppose. Apart from that New Year was alright, the minimal house room downstairs was choc-full of wankers but at least they were contained to one part of the pub.

At exactly midnight when all the whooping broke out I was waiting for an angry Irish man to put his pin number into a credit card machine. I took a moment to think about what I was doing with my life, and what I was up to this time the year before, but I couldn't for the life of me remember so that was largely pointless.

OB from Hollyoaks was there with a friend of the bar, the bar has friends. You know those people who walk in and everyone else goes woo and yay and hiiii, and they drink for free and never introduce themselves but eventually you know who they are and join the whoops? One of them. Anyway yeah, that's the only person off the telly I've ever seen in there. There was a fancy photographer dude called Martin something in there once but that's not a good story.

What else? When I don't like the drink you order I put lemon in it instead of lime. Cutting I know. Like JD and diet coke, that well gets a lemon, or anything with slimline tonic. Most people probably want lemon in their drink anyway so nobody gets hurt.

The longer I'm there the harder it is to keep things separate, I sort of want to talk about the characters I work with but I'm pretty sure one of them will find me on facebook and eventually they'll get lead to this blog and I can think of better reasons to get fired.

Also, and perhaps most bizarre of all, I don't really want to get fired, I think this is the first job I've ever had that I don't absolutely despise. It has it's ups and downs but honestly I don't dread it at all, and that is a first.

Having said that, my next entry is going to be a sneak peek at the DAY MANAGER job description, and that might be the last straw. That was a bar pun. Did you enjoy it? Me too.

Bored already

2009-12-16T16:27:00.004Z

Can you tell? I've lost interest to the extent of not even writing about it anymore.

Last Wednesday I got very drunk at work and we made 24 quid tips each, 20 of that was some guy tipping my arse for being fit. I said thanks. The rest was Christmas parties who give loads at the end of the night even when we spend all night scowling at them. I don't mind big parties of people because they usually order whole rounds through one person so although it looks busy, we're not up to much.

I tried to do a day sober but it was too mind-numbing, so I got drunk. Then I called in sick because I fell off my bike and hurt my arm. Honest guv.

So anyway after a weekend getting thrown out of shit pubs (The Dove barman is a chump) and drinking ourselves ridiculous I thought I might just call it a day because minimum wage for working my bollox off and becoming an alcoholic isn't enough.

Instead the manager made me a firewarden and asked if I fancy being the day manager. In case you don't know the day manager is the person who gets there on time and makes sure everything runs smoothly during the day. Ideally suited to that role then, since my love of punctuality is well documented.

I said yes anyway and then I got a raise. A tiny tiny raise. I groaned when he said the most I could ever earn was fuck all, then he said if I want proper money I should work somewhere swanky, then he implored me to stay put.

I got shit-faced again on Tuesday and we made 18 quid tips each. Then yesterday I tried to stay sober because my liver is starting to shrivel, but it was too hard, I can't humour people when I'm sober, I can't do maths or remember orders or pull pints or smile, it's too hard and I don't like to fake it. So I thought fuck it if I have a drink things will speed up a bit, and within ten minutes a rum and coke and a mulled wine I had got tipped a tenner and perked right up.

Three nights in a row is killer though, and nocturnalism is setting in, the prospect of getting up at 10 tomorrow is well daunting.

I'm trying to instigate a pub staff dance routine for new year's eve but so far there aren't many takers.

Sigh.

bang, a decade's worth of shi(f)t later

2009-12-09T11:20:00.003Z

I was right. It was awful. It goes to show - it's not what you earn, it's who you work with. I was working with B.O boy. Eww. He did not appreciate the cow-like game or even food charades. All he cares about is bands and songs and making a mess. He's a scruffy bugger and it transfers to everything he does, so he never puts anything away or wipes anything up. He's one of those sticky mitt people you find with their feet on the seats.

I think when bartending it's useful to be instinctively neat because the more symmetrical and tidy everything is, the easier it is to maneuver. That's an odd spelling.

Anyway yeah it was achingly dull, since I care very little about bands and songs and I care a lot about nonsense games that kill time.

I changed a barrel of Guinness and when I came back upstairs he had left the pump down and at least 6 pints of Guinness had poured over the bar. He apologised profusely but what good is that? I couldn't give a shit, I thought it was funny and anyway, it's not my Guinness, I just don't want to clean it up.

I did my first morning shift yesterday, started at 10.30, I guess that was shift 11 (also the time I actually started). I quite enjoyed it because there were no customers until 12 and you just have sandwiches and chat to the chefs and hang out (amongst other daunting tasks such as turning on the iPod and taking clingfilm off taps). I'm going to try and do more of them and less of the 2am finishes in the future.

Either that or get a proper job.

9 nein nine

2009-12-07T12:40:00.003Z

Can't really lose count when there's a count on here. Can scroll down and find out. Maths genius at work again.

Actually my maths has improved, or at least now it's beneficially bad so I predict an amount and the till decides it's actually less and I stick the difference in the tip jar. Is that bad form? Maybe, but so is not tipping after a meal so it's swings and roundabouts if you ask me.

I was dreading yesterday so much it hurt, I got in a proper rage just before I left and got rained on to serve me right for taking it out on Josh when it's really not his fault. I was mainly pissed off because I did an extra shift last week and the boss guy said he would definitely get someone to cover my Sunday, I should have just played dumb and not text to find out if he had but I didn't and I did and he hadn't. In all honesty the only reason I couldn't do it was because I like Sundays for going for a roast and watching movies with Josh, and Batman Begins was on. It's a feeble excuse but seriously, I look forward to Sunday all week.

Anyway I marched into the pub in a right huff and scowled at all the bastards drinking in there. There was only one girl behind the bar, she's very nice, I've only worked with her once before and it was the morning after an awards ceremony so I was well worse for wear and we didn't really get to know each other.

She was in a bigger huff than me, she'd been there all day on her own and it was really busy. That sucks, it's hard when you're alone and it's quiet. She said 'if anyone crosses me right now it'll be... well... not good.' I felt better because at least she could get a break. Plus I think the more you are dreading it the less actually bloody awful it is when you get there.

So it was pretty much just the two of us behind the bar all night, after a couple of hours small talk it got really boring, so first up we played Food Charades, where you mime a food product and they have to guess what it is. She's rubbish at that though, didn't even get Yorkshire Pudding (although came pretty close with Muffin and then got stuck on sweets). Everyone gets Yorkshire Pudding - it's the training level.

Anyway that got old pretty soon so we played squiggles where you have to do some squiggles on a page and the other person has to make a picture out of it, hers was a really elaborate and quite impressive Santa and mine was Moby Dick.

We took a break for dinner.

Then we played the game where you take it in turns to write a paragraph of a story. We wrote a novella called Pulp Woodlands, with a rabbit and a caterpillar as the main protagonists looking for a gang of squirrels that make home-brew cider out of acorns in the park. It got too elaborate eventually and we couldn't remember who was who.

The last game we played was based on a classic quote from Team KB member Monika, I was telling the girl about a wedding we went to in the country, where Monika said 'there's a cow-like creature outside' I asked her to guess what it was and she couldn't, when I told her it was a horse she fell off the stool laughing. That gave way to the new game called, 'There's a cow-like creature outside'. It goes like this

Me: There's a cow-like creature outside but it doesn't have any legs
Her: Is it a snake?
Me: Yes

Her: There's a cow-like creature outside but it has long eyelashes
Me: Is it a goat?
Her: No it's got really knobbly knees
Me: Is it a Horse?
Her: No it's got little horns
Me: Is it a deer?
Her: No, it's more cow-like than a deer

I'll be honest that one foxed me (it wasn't a fox), if you know what it is why not get in touch? See, see how much fun the cow-like creature game is?

Anyway I suppose the icing on the new-best-friend-cake was right at the end when we were just hanging around waiting for everyone to clear off, she went to get her stuff from the staff room/disabled toilet/bag storage/games cupboard and when she emerged she was wearing a full Ghostbuster's outfit complete with Proton pack and boots. She shuffled people out dressed as Venkman. What a legend.

That is the thing about this shonky job, the people are wicked fun.

Although now I'm not really dreading tonight it'll probably be fucking awful.

lost count, last shift

2009-12-06T14:06:00.003Z

The best thing was the first hour when I drank coffee and decorated the Christmas tree because the other girl was allergic and the guy hates Christmas, I don't hate Christmas. I hate working.

I dunno how long it's been exactly, but I can tell you that this is exactly how long my enthusiasm for jobs lasts. I've got to work Sunday night and then everynight next week until 1am. Epic yawnadelic.

I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go.

In other news, an ad agency I used to work for before I decided I don't want to write for money. Asked me to write their Christmas news letter thing for free. You know the only thing worse than working in advertising for a week's worth of pub cash per day?

Three guesses.

That guy that couldn't work the door is still making me chuckle though. Goon.

Day 7 - has it only been a week's worth? Yeesh

2009-12-04T00:31:00.002Z

Today begged the question - 'Why would someone who hates people get a job dealing with people?'

Drunk people to be precise. Drunk tight young smug people while I'm precising.

I hate people, I hate people as a concept and as a group and well, you get the gist.

When my dad asked me why I would want to take such an enormous step backwards, I said it was because behind a bar you can get your own back. As a cyclist, for example, if some car behaves like a dick, you can shout 'fuck you' all you want but they probably won't hear you, and if they do and they're a real cunt they can knock you off your bike. Bang. Done. I told my dad that aside from the exercise and the money saving tactic that is free beer, I wanted the opportunity to call a cunt a cunt and hit them where it hurts, right in the mouth. I remember(ed) bar tending as powerful, if you don't like someone you just don't get them beers. It's not true though. When they're horrible you get them their beer and you feel horrible because they are. So that's a downer. I hate people, they're horrible.

On the upside, these three guys said I was the only member of staff with any personality, itwas nice to hear but rude really because I like the people I work with.

The only other thing that made me laugh was a guy in a suit, a tall, bald guy in a sharp suit, marched up to the bar and said 'Is that actually the exit?!' pointing at the door. It was. 'Why the hell won't it open then?! I've been pulling it as hard as I can.'

'Have you tried pushing it?'

'PUSHING IT?'

'yeah'

'Well... No'

'Push it, it's a push door'

'THEN WHY ON EARTH DOES IT HAVE HANDLES?'

I couldn't answer the question, I didn't build the door, but when he stormed out and PUSHED the door open and marched off, all the people at the table next to the door cheered.

The end. Till twelve tomorrow. pfft.

...

Spot the deliberate mistake...

2009-12-03T16:33:00.001Z

JOGGING BOTTOMS SET TO BE A FASHION MUST-HAVE FOR 2010!

The jogging bottom - which is traditionally worn in the gym - has now taken pride of place in a woman’s wardrobe, according to new figures released by fashion store Debenhams.

A spin job for your gym kit? PR wonders will, regrettably, never cease

Shift 6 revisited

2009-12-02T12:28:00.003Z

Mo was really nice. He was managing and there were only a couple of us. It was fun. His iPod is miles better than the other ones. We had a lock in and everything.

So either my shitfaced warped reality (highly likely as when I recounted the details he looked totally bemused, and the guy snogging some chick in the doorway was definitely not him and was just some random), or else spraying cleaner in a bastards face gets them off your case. Like punching the bully at little school and finding out he's a nice guy underneath but his uncle beats him and he takes out his frustration on younger kids but doesn't mean it really. (that's never happened to me, I think it was Grange Hill).

In other news, a guy asked for a glass of milk to take home, and then bitched about the price of a shandy (£3.50) even though he'd been drinking it all night and not said a word. I was like, you got free milk and a glass to take home bollock chops, step off.

People don't like it when you sneeze over their pints, but you probably knew that already.

Two French people came in and tried gravy for the first time. When they asked me what it was I said it's like thick-flavoured meat juice. They also wanted to know what Mash was. I said it was potatoes that had a fight with a stick. I said together they were and institution and not to be missed. They had it with pies. They knew what pies were. They liked it.

Someone else ordered an apple crumble, it comes splattered on a little plate with custard draped round it in a circle and raspberry jelly garnish. It's well funny. The people didn't eat it all.

Nobody tips in pubs, even when they've had really good service and a three course meal. Fuckers.

Everyone thought my Nice Tips T-shirt was a good idea, except the manager who thought I said Nice Tits, idiot, that's not funny.

4, 5 and 6

2009-12-01T16:06:00.003Z

Gah bloody fucking shifts, now all I do when I'm not at work is dread going to work. And how, why, what the hell happened, to make me say, 'yeah, I can do New Year', double pay you say, let's do the maths - I'll make at least Fuck All instead of the absolutely Fuck All I make on a normal day.

So now I'm a seasoned pro (tabasco, salt, worcester sauce) I've noticed they play the same soundtrack every night. All of them. Gets a bit dull after a while, a short, short while.

I did my first double shift yesterday. Yikes that's lonnnnng. Nothing good happens between 3 and 5.30 except some standing, if you like standing you would love this job. Me, I've always been pro-horizontal but beggars choosing and all that.

I'm avoiding the real thing that happened because I'm a bit ashamed but here goes.

So there's this guy, let's call him Mo because he has the worst Movember tash on record.

Mo's an Aussie, he's a big curly Aussie and he's been busting my chops since day 1. He decided to call me V-plates because of a bloody Mary conversation that his dad-joking turned into me being a virgin. Hysterical. Then he found out I'm 28 and decided it was hilarious to bust my aged chops about my that. Again, the hilarity was palpable. Finally he decided to make fun of my being a bit of a stink. In his defense, I wasn't too fresh that night but it was my t-shirt and not bad hygiene. Honest guv.

I turned up to the shift off my face, a business lunch poured a bottle of wine in my face and a couple of gins later I was well away. Then they made the managerial error of putting me on the downstairs bar by myself. Uh oh.

It was a DJ night run by these old guys, I was texting Josh between rounds (rounds of Tuaca, between me and me and that girl on the bar, me) 'I'm gonna buy a place on Shitfaced alley' for example.

Anyway by the end of the night I was truly wankered, fine style, and Mo comes down to mock my pits and generally make fun. Then he goes 'don't you think we'd be like, real good friends in real life?'

Nup.

I say 'I've got enough friends thanks' (too many actually if you consider how much I hate socialising) and he flies off the handle, he hates people who say that (hears it a lot no doubt).

He hangs around while I'm cleaning, and well, to cut to the chase, I was wiping the bar and he said something and I had a spray bottle in my hand and squirted it pretty much directly in his face.

Eek.

You know when you're shitfaced and you do something without thinking and then you realise you probably shouldn't have done that. It's quite sobering isn't it? It is. So I immediately apologise and that but he just grabs his chops and goes upstairs and tells everyone that I sprayed kitchen cleaner in his face, and I guess that I'm basically nuts because when I went back upstairs everyone looked at me like I was nuts. Gah.

He won't talk to me so I wobble over to the girl behind the bar and ask if he's alright, she's like, yeah but you should apologise because that's well out of line, and I say I know, and I tried but I'll try again. So I go over to him and, to be honest I don't know what I said but it was definitely something apology based. He wouldn't go for it anyway so I left.

By the time I got my stuff together he was snogging some drunk bird in the doorway so it can't have been that bad. Anyway yeah I was irked because it's shit when someone won't let you apologise so I just fucked off without saying anything. Hopefully it wasn't a big deal because I've been back and nobody mentioned it but I haven't seen anyone who was there on the night so I can't tell.

Tonight is his last night and I am working as well. Maybe he'll be a man about it and it'll be water under the bridge but considering his capacity for chop-busting dad-joke nonsense I'm guessing he's gonna make me feel shit all night, he'll be really officious and cunty to me but nice to everyone else. That's my educated guess. But we'll see.

Actually we'll see right now, got to go listen to the same soundtrack again.

Oh, after thought. I might make a t-shirt that says NICE TIPS. Is that funny or lame?
You decide.

This is why Hilary Hazard is not allowed out...

2009-12-01T15:56:00.003Z

We like opportunities for publicity, especially in the national news, we need them, so that people hear about KB. For some reason I can't fathom, people are forever contacting Hilary Hazard and not me, the editor.

Sometimes I think Hazard should actually go on the telly box and radio and such, and then she replies to a journalist from the Independent, at 2 in the morning while shitfaced, and makes me realise why she can't.

From The Independent

Hi Hilary,

If you see this could you give me a ring please? Or let me know how I could ring you?

Am doing a piece for Sunday's paper about how feminism is having a resurgence and would love to hear a bit more about KnockBack, plus your views more generally.

Many thanks, Susie

Susie
News
The Independent on Sunday,
2 Derry Street,
London, W8 5HF

**Please note, I only work Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays**

From Hilary Hazard at 2.37 am

Hi Susie. I'm not allowed out in public but I double dare you to ring Marie Berry on a Thursday, Friday or Saturday double stars each side. plus two fours and all that.

Berry and I share very similar views.

Love ya lots
Hilary Hazard
knockback with capitals and stuff

Needless to say she didn't get in touch.

Hilary Hazn'tard

Day 3, newbie agogo

2009-11-28T20:31:00.003Z

I hate it when it's all new people because nobody quite knows what's going on. There was an American band downstairs so we made decent tips. It's embarrassing when Americans don't tip though, you just stand there wondering what you did wrong.

I learned how to change a barrel, thrilling stuff.

There were a few worst bits. Some heavily made-up woman who was with her kids, all wearing tracksuits and smoking Silk Cut ordered a Koko Kanu and Coke. A what? There's a drink I've never heard of? Lanfear what happened? Koko Kanu is coconut flavoured rum, she wanted it with Diet Coke. Philistine. Then her daughter wanted a Southern Comfort and lemonade, I couldn't find any Southern Comfort, nor could anyone else, except the daughter who could see it in a cupboard over there. I didn't even know there was a cupboard over there. Fuck sake.

When the guy who's been there for a year came back, the woman said to him 'is that what you've got for staff these days? Where's Dave?'

That was rude. It was after 11, nobody's heard of Koko Kanu, I don't care about this job but I'm not fucking bad at it, there's no need to look at me like I'm a twat.

I also realised it's near impossible to not smoke fags when you work in a pub. That's irritating.

The only thing that happened that I liked was some Asian guy in a suit who spoke hardly any English. He asked for a Stella but when I said we didn't have it, and suggested a lager we do have he didn't get it at all and just read Guiness off the tap. When I poured it he looked horrified. 'Is that beer?' he whispered over the bar. No, it's stout, silly, I did try to warn him. He looked gutted so I poured him a pint of lager, he didn't want to pay for it. I drank the Guinness myself.

Josh and Zena sat at the bar for a while, I always wondered why people who work in bars want people to go and sit in them, you can't really have a chat or anything. Now I know it's because it means that not everybody on the other side of the bar is a dick. So that was nice.

Day 2 behind a bar

2009-11-25T11:48:00.006Z

Day 2 was a Tuesday so much less painful, my mental maths skills are improving, and I had a pie half way through. I'll tell you what though when 9.30 strikes and you know there's still three hours and 40,000 glasses to go, it hurts, it really does.

The best bit of this shift was two-fold, on the outside, my super lovely man-friend cycled past the pub and stopped to blow up my bike tires and oil my chain. Cycling with flat tires is well hardwork and the journey home was positively zippy.

Inside the pub was good too because the band playing downstairs were hot young Scots so they brought their hot young Scot friends in. One ordered an Iron Bru and a chip butty, we don't sell Iron Bru but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

I digress, a guy behind the bar brought up a laptop and we watched football then tennis. Ace.

The shit bit was when some dozy architect type left a £1.60 tip, I say left it because actually he wondered off without it but didn't seem the type to tip. When he came back to the bar (ten minutes later) he wanted to order a sandwich but was short on change and asked where his £1.60 was, I said it was in the tip jar. He said he needed it to buy a sandwich, so I had to take it out the tip jar and let him have his fucking sandwich. Later when he ordered a round he paid with a tenner, the change was £1.20 and he didn't leave it.

Who does that? Tight-arse rich people, that's who. I hope his sandwich was soggy.

I have to go back tonight and do it all again. That's a depressing thought. It's only Wednesday though, maybe they'll let me put True Blood on.

Highs and Lows of bar work - Day 1

2009-11-25T11:29:00.003Z

I got a job in a pub because writing for money was making me hate writing, plus I was getting a bit on the porky side and thought if I am behind a bar I might finally be able to get my mates a beer. It is well my round.

I did my trial shift on a Friday, I am pretty confident I can pull a pint and handle the baying crowds of Friday night London. I figured since every shift has a high point and a low point I should document them. I think it's the writer in me putting a tentative toe back in.

The worst bit of my first shift was some snotty little underage chubby ginger shit cock indie kid asking for his pint to get topped up. Kid, my little IDable friend, 2mm of Red Stripe isn't going to help your sorry life, get what your given and be grateful.

Maybe it sounds overly vitriolic, but what was really bad about it was I tried to top it up, happily, it had an inch of head on it, but the Red Stripe was well frothy so after a few attempts I thought fuck it and handed it back much the same as it was, which honestly wasn't far off the line at all. He rolled his eyes at his specky mate (who looked mortified) and said 'actually, that's much worse' and gave me a withering look. Then I filled it so there wasn't a head on it at all and had to stop myself throwing it at the cunt. I will hate him forever.

The best bit was realising, right at the end, that change for a £13 round should not involve a tenner. Eep.

Mental arithmetic aside, I quite like working in this pub, the staff are all good fun, good looking and just slack enough to be good to work with and the punters, well, they buy drinks.

Hilary Hazard's email of the week

2009-11-23T14:41:00.005Z

I am Hilary Hazard, contributions editor for KnockBack. Here's an example of the sort of emails you will get if you run a magazine.

I despair. Hourly.

Hey,

I'd like to contibute something but i'm not sure what yet! I'll have a think, but just to try and funnel the cogs, any suggestions / guidelines etc? Are you looking for creative / articles / reviews / comedy / all of the above??
Also, when's the deadline?

Oh, and I managed to loose my Knockback pin badge and I loved it so!

Get in touch,

A.Nightmare.

Actually, I thought my reply fairly subdued, I was asked to tone down my contempt after the 'please set your facial hair on fire' debacle of '06. I don't know why I should though.

Hi, the guidelines are available on the website which it's generally a good idea to read before getting in touch.

We mention on there our feelings regards exclamation marks and the same applies to bad punctuation and spelling mistakes generally. I am also a bit of a pedant when it comes to the title, there's a capital B in KnockBack, but that's the least of your worries.

The deadline was the 20th of November so unfortunately the opportunity for me to provide you with ideas and / or suggestions has passed.

I'll get Work Experience to send you a new badge. Feel free to contact info@knockback.co.uk if you would like further correspondence.

With regards

Hilary Hazard.

Remarkably low key by my standards. Don't get me wrong, I hate hurting people's feelings, especially when they are naive and inexperienced as opposed to just plain fucking dumb, but seriously, I get this shit on a daily basis and it makes me want to die, inside and out.