Masculinity Is So Not Happening

My child says things like "I just love Martinis" and "could you stop being so dramatic?" on a daily basis.

A 21st century Noel Coward perhaps?

Bad Weather

There's shitloads of snow. Like, proper shitloads. Inches, four or five of them and degrees in the red night and day alike.

And yes, that is odd, because down here in the south we don't normally get snow till 'bout january, if that. White christmases are well rare, to put it bluntly. If you're an avid follower of this here blog (hey A, wazzup?!) you might recall how last year the snow set in just before New Year and stayed till March and that was uncommon enough, but like I said, shitloads. November. Not good. It's gonna be a long'un.

But on the positive me and Monster got ourselves one of them plastic bum-slidey-thingees today and went down the tiny hill out back about two million times.

Other than that I'm watching a fair bit of Nurse Jackie and going "oh you naughty woman" about every three seconds.

Whoa Now! <--- What Nev Schulman Should've Said But Never Did.

I just watched an absolutely awesome film called Catfish. Download it immediately (I should write "go buy it" but heck, who do I think I'm kidding) and let it be a lesson learned. Next time you're tempted to get saucy with some random hottie off the internet, just whisper Angela Pierce's name three times and all lusting will disappear like fog in sunshine.

Anyway, if you haven't seen it yet, do.

Also I have a small feverish dude in my house and he's veeeery poorly and can therefore only eat Kinder chocolate eggs. And being a mother stuck at home with said dude I can only eat chocolate marzipan logs. It's a fact.

Also also, tomorrow at 11 am (my time, not stupid America time thank you very mucho) I'll be in a v. imp. meeting regarding my new position at work. Yes people...I'm being promoted. Yay me and so on. Thank you, thank you, that's enough applause now.

I Carry Your Heart (I Carry It In My Heart)

An old friend e-mailed me this morning to let me know another old friend has sadly decided this life was not for him. He went in one of the worst ways I can imagine, he put himself right in front of a train and waited for impact.

How shitty must your outlook on life and everything around it be if you come to the conclusion that all that is left for you to do is to throw yourself on the tracks? What anguish, what heart-shattering pain, what sheer and utter loneliness must you feel for that option to be the best, or indeed only, option left?

My heart bleeds. The world just lost a shining star.

Buying Things Just For The Sake Of Buying Things

So today I bought one of these...



...and one of these...



...and one of these...



...and also I'm reading this:



It's been a pretty good day all in all and I'm quite content although I'm up way later than I should be because I couldn't sleep again. There's a storm coming on tonight, the weatherman said, and it's clearly brewing outside. Rain giving the windows a damn good thrashing and all that.

Just hope it's all done by the morrow, it's seriously shitty riding a bike in a storm.

And Now For A Quick Recap

So my little brother got engaged recently.

Isn't it odd how we all grow up and do the things expected from us and all we can do is just hope and pray that we get to maintain some of the recklessness and happiness and devil-may-care-ness that we have when we, age 23, ask the girl we love to marry us?

My little brother is the most put-together person I know, he's serious and hardworking and reliable and organised to the bone. His girlfriend (oh sorry, fiancée...) is a great match for him; almost brassy but not at all without class, completely alive in every way, a reined-in revolutionary, probably the cleverest girl I know (apart from me, goes without saying, yes?). She will keep him fun. She will save him from himself, and he will save her from everyone else, and they will be one of those couples that manage. If they're lucky, they may even be happy.

They're getting married on January 7th. I'm already tearing up at the thought of it all.

It's probably nothing. Maybe cancer.

I'm starting to suspect that my right leg is somewhat longer than my left leg. When I have my MacBook on my lap it tilts to the left.

Five things you didn't know about me except it's just one.

My indian name is Katatonka. It means She Who Speaks With Sarcastic Undertones.

Five more songs I (inexplicably) know the lyrics to.

1. Islands in the stream - Dolly Parton & Kenny Rogers.

2. Copacabana - Barry Manilow.

3. Rainbow in the dark - Dio.

4. Hips don't lie - Shakira.

5. Breathe - Blu Cantrell feat Sean Paul.

Yes, people. Eeeeevery single word. I'm not sure how this happened, but I'm leaning towards some kind of alien abduction scenario, probably during the earlier half of my twenties (those years are kinda hazy so it'd make sense).

Pale runs the ghost swollen on the shore..

Seriously, Project Runway?! What were they thinking?? To pick Gretchen over April was just madness. Gretchen is boring. And she's white trash. She says "y'all" like thrice each episode, get rid of her! Lose the po' white folk, Heidi! I'm not even gonna bother haiku'ing this shit, frankly it's not worth my time.

Also, I recently quit Facebook, and for about three days thereafter I was proper hooked on Twitter and then I thought no…hang on…no more over sharing…and I quit Twitter too. So now I'm just a regular incognito person. It's nice. I feel a bit like my mum or maybe the Queen of England. I don't think she's got FB either.

Lately I've been spending a lot of time playing board games with a three year old. It's great cause he's got absolutely no trace of shame in his body; he cheats like there's no tomorrow and it kinda gives me carte blanche to do the same and I actually really enjoy being a board game anarchist.

'Sides that it's all the same, pretty much. I drink way too much red wine and read books when I should be hoovering and I recently bought this protein milkshake powder so now I rarely ever eat anything at all. Liquids rock. Being unhealthily thin rocks too.

Speaking of books, if you haven't read Tao Lin's "Richard Yates" you bloody well should. It's magical. And if you haven't downloaded Mars Volta's entire back catalogue you're a moron. Do it for chrissake you muppet! Now!

Ok, laters then.

This doesn't mean I'm back. It just means I'm bored tonight.

I just found this old boxaerobics dvd and thought I'd give it a go, what with me getting so fat and all, but seriously, boxing is for lesbians and aerobics are for people who like to take orders and I'm neither (sorry girls) so none of that, thanks. I'll just stick to drinking wine, me. It's what I do best. Who cares if I'm fat, I have big boobs and a winning personality..

Also, I'm tired of being a redhead, and I made a man and a dog out of Lego today. All in a day. What can I say, my life makes my head spin sometimes.

Ok, here's one of my famous lists. If you're an avid follower you may recognise the formula.

Last book I read: still reading, actually. Kelly Link's "Pretty Monsters". It's awesome and weird.

Last film I watched: oh, some shit let's-glorify-the-war crappy bollocks shit movie called "Brothers". It sucked.

Last song I listened to: Ms Dymanite's "Dy-Na-Mi-Tee" (it's fantabulous).

Last thing I ate: coleslaw with grated cheese.

Last thing I drank: red wine a.k.a. God's gift to humankind.

Last person I got a text message from: Joe. It said "How are you?" to which I replied "Good, ta. You?".

Last person I spoke to on the phone: someone at my son's nursery, telling them he'll be back tomorrow (stomach flu all dealt with).

Last person I spoke to in person: Kiddo. Said "Sleep tight, I love you" (insert naaaaaw here).

Hold Me I Need To Feel Your Pain And Maybe It Will Diminish Mine

I guess the only good thing about emptiness is the potential of the filling of the void.

Oh I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside

And then summer hit Sweden and we hit the beach.

Life Is Where You Live It.

So out here in the ghetto, the day only really starts just before nightfall.

They all come out in the evenings. The fat Balkan ladies, with their slip-ins chockfull of socks and their layer-upon-layer of cardigans. Three or four at the time they walk slowly filling the pavement with their enormous bulk but, despite size and age, they saunter like young women, swinging their hips, arms somewhat stiff with dainty hands at an angle to the body. They walk like I hope I'll walk when I'm 65, bodies saying "yeah I'm old and fat now and I live in this cold old country and I don't even understand the language of my grandchildren but you shoulda seen me when I was 19, phew, I turned heads I did, I was sassy I was" and they're so damn right to walk like that.

The arab women don't walk like that. The arab women, like tidy little penguins in their black cloth coverings, they walk with tiny little sharp steps, they argue with eachother and they laugh and they yell at the kids, they rush they do the women but they still manage to stay three respectful steps behind their more languidly strolling husbands who all wear woollen hats and smoke cigarettes without filters. The husbands walk slowly, fat bellies in front and hands on back, they all wear sandals and the children invariably wear pyjama tops. Do they not realise pyjamas are for sleeping in? Or do they prefer the softer pyjama cloth to a regular cotton? I'll never know because I won't stop and ask them. I just watch them as I swish by on my bike and then I go home and blog about them.

The children here, they actually play outdoors. Good or bad may the weather be, they're still outdoors wearing practically nothing, kicking a dirty deflated football around with their sandalshod feet. Minus five and no jacket, no hat, no mittens, they run and fight and shout and there's always a baby in a pram left right out in the sun in the summer and I wonder at how they even survive, but they seem healthy alright I reckon. At least they get fresh air and have loads of friends all over the place, that's possibly more important than dressing according to outside temperature.

I live in the ghetto. I'm just a number here, just another single mother getting just-about-by on a part time wage and a tired wad of cash from the government every month. I'm just a statistic and my child grows up another number: just another boy who never knew his dad who grows up in the ghetto and speaks four languages before he's seven but never learns to speak Swedish without an accent.

Out here in the ghetto, you either love it or leave. I live in the ghetto, I love the ghetto, the ghetto loves me.

Oi Icelandic Ash! Quit Being A Bitch!

Packing a bag full of clothes I won't want to wear. I do this every time and I never learn.

Are you allowed a nail file in your hand luggage? Last time I travelled by air they took my tube of handcream at the security check. It made me sad.

The Star Was Bright And It Was You

There was a time when we were lovers. There was a time, when I would call you late at night and you'd come round, your last tenner on the cab, a once when you'd light all the candles in my room and it was like a dream, walking in there. With all those candles lit and flickering and the high street sounds outside my window and you hunched in my bed, cigarette lit and eyes afire. You'd show me your scars and the fresh cuts on your body. You'd get drunk and try to break into the church, do you remember, the one on the hill, the one by the off-licence where we'd buy wine on weekdays, where we'd buy cigarettes and gum and then you'd call me and come over. The church was right next to where Baby lived and she would cook me breakfast and I would miss work and wait for you while pretending not to, pretending like I was just missing work and nothing else.

I remember New Years Day, the year when I lost the baby, but that hadn't happened by then. V and I coming round the pub where you worked. I ordered brandy, neat, my scarf high up around my face, I was bruised and screwed up and you noticed, it irritated me but I liked it too.

I remember the time we first fell out and how we made up. I remember the heavy silver rings you wore the second time we fell out and how you left them at my place, by the bathtub, and I kept them forever and then gave them back. Songs remind me, not so much of you, but of times spent, of endless nights and days I'd live to regret, of friendships sacrificed and things we did that we ought not to have done.

I loved you then, in my own way, and I love you now (my brother my lover my friend) in my own way: never quite enough but always a little more than I should. If I could go back I'd go back and do it all again but this time I wouldn't leave; I'd stay or I'd take you with me, or go somewhere completely different and forget everything that ever happened and maybe I'd be happy.

I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry I'm 29 feeling like 17, and you're even older seeming even younger. I'm sorry you're there and I'm here. I'm sorry you're torn up and I'm even more sorry at how torn up I am. I'm sorry I never told you how deeply in love with you I was.

Damn.

Or Maybe It Was Acacia, I'm Not Sure

So for the next month or so (seeing as how everything I ever do takes ages longer than when other people do the same things) I'll be fixing my flat up.

Project No 1:
New floor on the balcony. Eucalyptus trellis flooring been and bought, laid down a whole row last night but then it got kinda dark and I was demoralised.

Project No 2:
Bought and assembled new two-tier dish rack.

Project No 3:
Not sure yet. I may finish the balcony floor before starting another project. Just may, though.

Also, I spent 1500 SEK (that's about £110 or so) on sorting my bike out for summer. Rode it back home, parked it outside the house, came out the following morning and it's got a bloody flat. See? Life sucks.

Finally, here's a picture of me looking somewhat cute. Do enjoy.

Flowers Who Don't Obey Should Die

I'm feeling a bit sad today. So I've eaten everything the house contained and am now chewing on the sofa.

One of my peace lilies is looking all droopy and subdued and I bet she's doing it just to piss me off. I've done everything I could for her (i.e. watered her occasionally) but she's refusing to cooperate so she's going on the compost heap tomorrow. That'll teach her.

The dawn of this weekend will find me at the local car boot sale selling my trash and hopefully other peoples' treasure. The loot will go towards spending money for the Italy trip.

By the way, I'm going to Italy on May 18th. No, I won't bring you back pressies.

Did I Mention It's All Crooked And Bent?

My day today consisted of

Running jagged bare feet on asphalt oh come ON!
Did you know I can still taste you if the sun is just the way I want it which it rarely is, but still, I could

My days back then consisted of
Cigarettes and alcohol. Not going to work.

I'll have whatever she's having, they all said and pointed to me

Going Down The Coal Mine

So, I'm off on hols. I've taken a week off work and it's gonna be lush.

Kicking off tomorrow by going to see the pseudoaggressive pseudoalcoholic pseudoirish (oh, two outta three ain't bad) Dylan Moran strutting his stuff. So if you didn't know where in the world I hang, you're just a skip and a Google away from finding out. Oh the excitement.

Also, I've coloured my hair and bought a new phone. I know what you're thinking, "how does she find the time?", but as I say, sure there's only 24 hours in a day but you'd be amazed if you knew how much I can get done while I'm supposed to be working. Hahaha. (If my boss reads this: I'M KIDDING! Also, can I have a pay rise please?)

Right, I'll be back in a week or so with pics of me on boats and buses and other public transport.

And Now For Something You Probably Didn't Know About Me

I know every single word to Celine Dion's "Pour Que Tu M'Aimes Encore".

I Am Such A Writer's Groupie

This is a bit of a long story really, and I'm tired, so here's the short version:

Blake Butler has sent me a copy of his latest work, Scorch Atlas. I'm going to read it, and after I've read it I will burn it. Yes, burn it. I will also film the burning and send Blake the video.

Shame, it's a dead pretty book, and it's really good and monsieur B has even written "To Elle (and then something I can't quite make out) a monster everyday & have fun, yours Blake Butler".

Here Comes The Sun. Or Does She?

The skies hung really low today. Purplegray clouds sagging like an old woman's butt, threatening to spew rain but never getting round to it, a smell in the air like the inside of a black labrador's mouth; the foul stench of petrol fumes and smog from the industrial estate trapped in the atmosphere by the oppressive rainbags above.

I hate this weather. I hate it even more than I hated the snow, which was more than I've ever hated weather before.

Let There Be Laughter

I started reading this book yesterday. And if you're a parent, you should follow suit and head to your nearest library/bookstore immediately.

The philosophy is dead simple; five times more love than reproval is the key. Making room for "superspecial" time with your child everyday is the core to this, not just including him in everyday chores and such, but to actually take time and completely focus on your offspring to strengthen the relationship and bond.

I've started already. Today I popped Monster in a bath and, for the first time ever, got in the bath with him. We spent half an hour in there, splashing water and playing with cars and dinosaurs and laughing more than we normally do in a week. It was great.

It's not that I don't think I'm a good parent. I know I'm a good parent, but I want to be a GREAT parent. I want to be the best mum ever. And the most fun. And anything that helps me get there is ever so welcome.

Things I bought today

My favourite perfume ever which I coincidentally thought didn't excist anymore. Happy me!



"The Book of Laughter and Forgetting", a little booky-wook by Milan Kundera.




A Grand Sand "Chalk Gold" watch which I'm thinking will look GREAT once I have a tan...




A little pair of leopard ballerinas, although not this particular pair, just a similar looking bunch.

One More Day Like Today

There are days when I feel so damn lonely. Today's one.

I feel rootless, I feel shattered, I feel I have no one to confide in. I feel my life has just rushed past me and here I stand at the other end of the tunnel and the light wasn't a new light, it was just the old light reflecting.

I'm so bitter today and so angry, I'm tired, life hasn't been pretty and I've had enough now. I don't believe in happiness anymore and I don't believe in love and I don't believe in loyalty.

I lay awake last night convinced that I'll be alone now, because the only alternative is being a little less me than I am and I can't do that to myself again. I'm not good at relationships, people who are good to me bore me and people who are bad to me become obsessions. I just don't have the energy anymore, it's just an endless dance it seems and the last round wore me down.

Life is shit. Life repulses me. People annoy and irritate me and I want to be left alone. I've shared too much and given too much and sacrificed too much and here I stand now with nothing.

The Great Cornholio

Do you have TP for his bunghole?

Bad Hair-Life.

Very efficient today, very efficient. Me, that is. Toddler dance, shopping, lunch, laundry, fluff-and-fold, clear out shoe cupboard and so on and so on and so on. Dead efficient. Lots done. Bit tired now.

Also been in a complete state about my hair. I hate it. What does a girl have to do to find a decent hairdresser around these parts of the woods? What does it take to be a stylist out here, do you just buy a pair of scissors and open shop and start randomly chopping away at people? Cause I can't see how these dimwits that I happen upon could have passed their exams. Darn'em. I want Joi. Or Anton.

And now: crisps and Zombieland.

One Two Three Four Five

Right, so now for the music-only list.
Here's five toons I like right now, in (as usual) no particular order:

Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice...

Remember a few days ago I said how odd it was that I haven't slipped once this winter? I've fallen over twice since then. Idiot me.

Today You Were King And I, I Was Your Queen

Woke up and the world was buried, so I took a day off.

A day off like this, unexpected and for no particularily unpleasant reason, is what I call a lost day. And lost days should be cherished. No laundry or hoovering on a lost day, for example. No arguing about eating your greens. It's like getting a tax return, you don't spend that money on your bills do you? Oh no. You buy a Hermès bag.

So we ventured out in the snow and climbed icebergs the size of the one that killed the Titanic. I taught my son to make snowballs and how to throw them and we had his first snowballfight. He made me snow pancakes for dinner and fed them to me (no yellows, I checked carefully). We played with a cat until it got annoyed with M trying to feed it snow and scratched him in the face. He cried, but wanted to pet it again so no harm done. I saw that side of my child today that makes me so utterly proud of him. The curious, plucky, courageous side, the adventurer's spirit he carries, his questioning side. He'll climb up a heap of frozen snow six feet tall and then throw himself off it just to see where he'll land. I love that.

Then we walked to the shop and bought sweets. On the way there I slipped on the icy pavement and fell like a great lumbering bear right on my bum. No one was around though, so I'll just put it down to experience.

Music for today has been James & Karin's "Barnlåtar", Enter Shikari's first album and now Joni Mitchell.

Nigella Should Be Very, Very Worried

I made these today...




...and the Baby Monster made these.

Oh And By The Way...

...I'm reading this.

Life As We Know And Love It

Order of the day;

Oversleep. Rush off to brekkie at Sylwia's with whiny kid in tow.
Home again through snowstorm, still whiny kid.
Make dinner for aforementioned whiny kid. Rush to work, dropping whiny kid off with whiny childminder.
Work whiny job. Deal with whiny people. Whine to whiny colleague.
Home again. Snowstorm? Check. Whiny kid? Check. Catch a ride with Sylwia, thank you sweet fortune, today's only happy break so far, check.
Get home with whiny kid who at this stage whines more than humanly possible and now sounds like a small angry elephant that has been separated from it's herd and therefor is howling for Mama Elephant to come and get it (i.e. loud noises).
Crumble into a heap on kitchen floor and cry. Kid whines.

Wipe snotty noses (minimum two). Never mind dinner, make popcorn instead. Eat popcorn and watch "Where the wild things are". Kid happy.

Put happy kid formerly known as whiny kid to bed. Mama happy.

It Took Me Four Days To Hitch Hike From Saginaw

For years now I've wanted to do a coast-to-coast of the US of A in a pickup. Or, to be more precise, in a rusty red pickup with a dog with long ears riding shotgun (head out the window, ears flowing gracefully in the wind). The soundtrack to this dream is always Simon & Garfunkel's "America".

It did get as far as the planning stage at one point, when me and FooFoo kind of semi-seriously said we'd do it, but at that point neither of us had a driving license (actually, neither of us still has one) so we never got much beyond talking about it while drunk and stuff.

Now I'm actually thinking it could happen. Once the offspring is big enough, like in three or four years, by then surely I'll be all licensed up and we may very well go off. Me and our kid. Rusty red pickup. Route 66. Cheap motels and quite possibly ganging up with some dude with an Elvis hairdo and snake hips if the timing's right. The dog will have to go though.

And we'll be listening to the only option there is for a coast-to-coast with your son; two jewish boys and a love song for a turnpike.

Our Kid And His Mum Like

This is NOT going to turn into one of them "OMG I just luuuuurve my kid I do"-blogs, I promise. But let's face it, there's so much bloody snow out, I'm kinda stuck at home and so is the offspring. It's inevitable that we hang out.

Otherwise this week I have rediscovered microwave popcorn (oh heck they're so much better than the stove top variety) and my little bruv went to Birmingham and brought me back Wagonwheels and Penguins and possibly the odd can of Irn-Bru. I love him now.

Also, I recently had a naughty dream (not THAT naughty, just slightly) about Benicio del Toro and am now in love with him proper.

And now: Monty Python's Life of Brian and carrot sticks dipped in sour cream. Woo hoo saturday night snowed-in-stylee.

Odd But Good.

I realised somthing today.

There's been snow and ice on the ground since well before Christmas, more than two months now, and I've not slipped once. Weird that.

If You Care At All About What I Think...

"Five more things you mustn't miss out on" or "Elle's list of stuff she likes".

First of all, I should probably fill you in on The Book List (I like lists, yes). My literary snob-friend P and I did a list each of five bloody good reads, and then swapped lists and are now supposed to be reading these five books and then kind of reviewing them. So far I've read four of the five on P's list. He's read none of my books. NONE! But that's because he's busy being a rockstar and doing yoga and eating vegetarian food. Or something like that, I'm not sure so I won't elaborate.

Numero uno: Anyway, I'm reading book number four on his list now, and it's the marvellous "The Egyptian" (or in Swedish: "Sinuhe - Egyptiern" or in Finnish: "Sinuhe - Egyptiläinen"...) by the equally marvellous Finnish author Mika Waltari. Which is number one on my list this week. Very good book. I stay up much too late in the evenings reading this enormous brick of a read nowadays. It's quite funny too, in a pharaonic kind of fashion, and full of sexual tension sphinx-stylee.

Numero due: the Lauren Conrad-fringe twirl. Yes, it's an old one, and let's face it, it's sort of a bit...blonde...but it's a fantastic invention by the lovely Hills crew for that awkward growing-out-your-fringe-inbetween-stage where it just goes in your eyes but is a tad too short to quiff.

Numero three (my Italian stops here): watching telly on the 'putah. Yes, it's a fantabulous invention, the old computer. And even more fabulous is skipping the whole paying of the TV-license and instead bringing the laptop to bed and watching WHATever you want, WHENever you want, WHEREever you want.

Numero quattro (see what I did there?!): the end tail of the sales. Because if you're an odd size in clothes and/or shoes (and I am...) and not afraid of wearing odd fashions and slightly leftover-looking garments (and I'm not...), this is when you buy an entire new wardrobe for the monetary equivalent of a rat's arse (i.e. dead cheap).

Numero five: huge shades. Because sun on snow hurts. That's why eskimoes squint.

Right, make do with that. Next time will be a music-only list. Peace now.

Dame Edna Aged 2.

This is what happens when a boy grows up without a dad.

This Is So Becoming A Photo Blog

The view from my kitchen window this morning.




Baby Monster and his first very own money tree (Crassula Ovata, if you want the full details) that he planted himself (sort of).




Big hand, little hand.

Spike Jonze + Maurice Sendak = Good Shit

This will be the first film my child sees at the cinema.

How To Lose Friends And Alienate People

So how do you go about finding a person you've lost? Like, if all you have is their full name and year of birth (mmmm, possibly, roughly, give or take a year or two) and random details of places they used to live at and work at and such?

I had a great friend when I lived in London, but I lost all track of her years ago and now I have no idea of how to figure out where she's at. Any helpers?

Her name was Mia Nilsson, and she was Swedish but adopted from India. She grew up in Småland somewhere and I believe she had a brother.

We got to know eachother when we both worked at Whittard in the Bentall Centre in Kingston-upon-Thames in 1999. She was dating this weird bloke called Pete back then, he was all straggly-haired and aggressive.

Later on she moved to Tolworth and lived on top of a restaurant, she worked there for a while as well. Shortly after she moved back to Sweden because she was getting back with her first love, I think his name was Emil. As I recall she lived in Växjö, but I seem to remember her living way up in the north as well, in Luleå or Umeå I think.

I only saw her again once after that. We had a bit of a row and fell out. It was stupid.

I miss Mia. I'd love to know where she is and what she's doing.

Pictures Of Stuff That's Happened Lately.

The orchid decided to stop sulking and just bloody bloom, dammit.




The small monster "helped" with the baking of banana bread.




My mum bought me a microwave. Judging from this pic it's a slightly ghostly translucent little blighter. Not so much in real life however, just a standard opaque thingee far as I've noticed.

In The Time Of Chimpanzees I Was A Monkey

Home office day again, due to sick child.

I got a little bit more than nothing done, so good going, me. Most of the day was however spent making lists over things I should be doing and then looking at the lists, pen in corner of mouth going "hmmmm...what to do first...what to do, what to do...?" and then ambling out in the kitchen to look for something high in carbs to gnaw on.

So, top five this week then. Ready? Here goes:

Download: The Cosby Show. I don't think further comments are necessary, it's a piece of comedy history. If you haven't watched it, you're a moron. Go watch it. Now. Go on, get.

Music: Been kicking it with the oldies this week. Leonard Cohen's "Don't go home with your hard-on", if a tad on the naughty side (if you're my mum or similar) is possibly the best tune ever composed. And for some reason, "Islands in the stream" makes me wanna cry in a good way, so that's been on the playlist too lately.

Books: Just finishing off Douglas Coupland's "Generation X". I've read it ages ago but didn't particularily love it. I still don't. It's shit compared to "jPod" or "Generation A". Don't read it, just go buy a Reader's Digest or something until I come back with a better tip-off.

Wine: I'm still on the cheap Bulgarian stuff. It's great and the bottle's well pretty.

Keeping-warm-trick: Double socks! It's amazingly transformed my life! I no longer arrive at the office wet-footed and mardy, oh no, all you do is wear two pairs of socks, and if the outer pair gets a bit damp you just RIP'EM OFF once you get to work and hey presto, dry feet and happy face! Hang the wet socks on the radiator to dry and then put them on again when leaving work, and you're sorted for the return trip too. Nifty!

Remember where you heard it first, people.

Stuff I've Made With My Own Bare Hands

Lemon Curd.




Play-do Pingu.

Kicking It With The Polish Crew

These days, since becoming a mutha (and I mean that in the most maternal sense of the word possible), my nights out are somewhat thin on the ground.

Tonight however was film and martinis at lovely S's place. She'd had the fantastic idea of sending her child away for 24 hours or so. I'd had the terrible idea of asking my parents to babysit. They said "sure, anytime, long as you're home by ten".

Whatever. I can get drunk in no time.

But This Is How You Travel, This Is How You've Always Lived.

I've just finished B.E.E's Lunar Park. I didn't get it, but I loved it.


Also, did I mention I saw Depeche Mode on Monday? The most grown up gig I've ever been to. Everyone sat down gently tapping their feet while mr Gahan et consortes put their hearing aides in and did their thang and then we all applauded politely and Depeche Mode went back to their winnebago and had a nice cup of cocoa.

And I Wish It Was Me You Chose

Highlights Of The Year So Far

Seeing roe deer prance across the road, stop in the clearing no more than twelve feet away, so close you could see their shiny black noses twitching. They stood there frozen, three of them, for what felt like an eternity but was probably a minute and a half before breaking off in to the woods like on a given signal. "Mummy I want one" said the wide-eyed Baby Monster breathlessly. "Yeah I do too" said I.

Peace, My Lily.

The Greatest Toons Of The Decade We Used To Call "Now".

Not wanting to be left behind on the whole making-lists-rollercoaster, here's my contribution: the 20 songs of the 00's that (for various reasons) mean the most to me. Songs that remind me of good times, great times, sad times, fun times, people I loved, people I messed up with, places I went and things I did. The Noughties weren't kind to me, but I'm gonna miss them anyhow. Here's to the ten years that shaped me, raised me and turned me loose.


1. "Drive" - Incubus

2. "Tied Up Too Tight" - Hard-Fi

3. "Duality" - Slipknot

4. "Oceans And Streams" - The Black Keys

5. "Trouble" - Ray LaMontagne

6. "No One Knows" - QOTSA

7. "Seven Nation Army" - the White Stripes

8. "Plug In Baby" - Muse

9. "With Every Heartbeat" - Kleerup feat. Robyn

10. "Slow Hands" - Interpol

11. "Oh My God" - Kaiser Chiefs

12. "Laura" - Scissor Sisters

13. "Four Kicks" - Kings of Leon

14. "Pain" - Jimmy Eat World

15. "Elvis Ain't Dead" - Scouting For Girls

16. "Halo" - Soil

17. "Float On" - Modest Mouse

18. "Danger! High Voltage" - Electric Six

19. "I Bet That You Look Good On The Dance Floor" - Arctic Monkeys

20. "Like Eating Glass" - Bloc Party

That's What You Get When You Don't Take Your Vitamins

I'm very close to realising and accepting that I completely lack the discipline required for working from home. However, I blame J for keeping me up well past my usual bedtime last night. I also blame him for my sore muscles and for planting MacBook-seeds in my tiny little brain.

This year, the year of the Lord 2010, is going to be my notable year. I'm gonna start eating well and going to bed early and not drink wine in the week and being nicer to people. I'm gonna be a sociable, pleasant person who actively works towards widening my horizons and keeping au jour with my friends' lives and....stuff. No, really. You'll be surprised at the lack of sarcasm from now on.

Music this week: Florence + the machine and The XX.

Books this week: about to start on Donna Tartt's "The secret history".

Wine this week: Bulgarian. Red.

How Many Miles Must A Documentary...

Just watched this thing on the telly about Buffy Sainte-Marie. She's great, innit.