How Do You Do, Procrastination?

My procrastination knows no bounds this week.Normally I can rattle out a rant with relative ease but lately my creative blogging efforts have been limited to nudging my laptop with a stick. 

I never thought I’d long for the day when machines become self-aware. The other day I found myself thinking, “What if I came home from work and found a mysterious message on the laptop screen? Something like, ‘welcome home’, or ‘I’ve been waiting for you’, or ‘your spice cupboard is a disgrace’? At least then the computer could do my writing for me. (sigh) I shouldn’t have bought a white laptop. Black ones are more evil.”

Getting Clean at KITCH

I awoke in a daze.

It was the morning after 14^th February, and I knew I had done something very wrong. Something shameful, and sinful. Something the beau could not forgive. The air was thick with the scent of wine, grease, secret spices, and shame. On the bedroom floor, an empty cardboard box lay open.

The plan had been to spend Valentine’s night alone, as the beau was booked to play folk music for the baying crowds of Kent. He had foisted gifts of chocolate, Prosecco and a sonnet upon me that morning (I had delivered beer and dark chocolate digestives in an Asda carrier bag as a token of my love), and had left for work, not to return for many hours.

It was a rare Friday night in alone, and I had been weak. I had turned to an old vice: chicken. Fried chicken. The kind of chicken that doesn’t have a phone number – just a card in a phone box. It wants the money up front and you’ll need to see a doctor in the morning.

A Tall Tale of Great Minds

A tall tale from 2008. It's not real.

It had been some weeks since his last case had concluded, and Holmes was oddly quiet. When not fixated on an unsolved riddle, he was prone to long periods of quiet contemplation. It was not for me to try to shake him out of this reflective state. I’ll admit I rather enjoyed those quiet times when I could lose myself in books while he journeyed to the depths of his magnificent mind.

So it was that we spent one peaceful evening in front of the fire, me with a glass of port at my elbow and a book in hand, and the great detective sitting across from me, lost in thought. An hour passed in silence, and I felt my mind beginning to drift. It was then, quite unprompted, that he spoke.

“Yes, my old friend,” he said softly, a calm knowing smile on his face. “It was a truly awful piece of fish.”

I shook my head, dumbfounded. “But...”

Holmes held up his hand to silence me, smiling and nodding. “I know, I know. Let me explain how I just read your thoughts.”

I sat open mouthed as he began to speak.

“First, I saw you flicking through the Shakespeare tragedies, and a look of awe and reverence crossed your face. It was clear that you had been reading Hamlet, and you were confused by the sheer brilliance of the words. Then I saw you turn to look at the fire, your mind still lingering on literature, you no doubt thought: ‘what if I burned all of the books I didn’t understand?’ 

"Then, from your glance at the chimney, I deduced you were pondering just how much smoke it would take to make the chimney explode. You then looked down at your shoes, clearly thinking how the word ‘explode’ sounds a bit like ‘toes’ and that if you only had one toe, which one would you want to keep. That was when you glanced at me, knowing how I once lost a bit of my toe when I was nine and my father came at me with a carving knife in a drunken rage, and that I told you that story while standing on London Bridge watching a boat with exactly 25 tourists sailing underneath us. 

"If you take four away from 25 and then divide it by 7 you get three, and it was three years ago I suggested we visit that restaurant in Oxford Street that reportedly serves the best roast beef in England. Your look at the grandfather clock only confirmed this point, and that was when I remembered that we didn’t actually go there in the end because it was shut and you were so hungry that I made you eat that bit of discarded cod I found in a dustbin.”

Holmes reclined slowly in his chair, and nodded softly once again. “Yes, my friend, it really was a truly awful piece of fish.”

I gulped. “Umm, actually....I was just thinking that I need a new watch.”

“OH WELL FUCK OFF THEN!!!!!!!!!!”

He didn’t say much after that. Though he did leap up at random points of the evening and slap me around the face and neck.

Obvious Beauty - A Journey to Dermalogica & Precleanse

Today I bring you guidance on how to make your face so squeaky clean that window cleaners will happen upon you and remark “damn, that is one clean face.”

Oh I jest! This post, in truth, is all about my favourite skin care range, Dermalogica, and the current member of its family I am lavishing attention on. As ever, I advise you to skim through my beauty basics before burying your head in any recommended products, and you should do so at your own risk.

A Week of Days and Tankus The Henge

It is Valentine’s Day later this week, but let’s not forget the other days. Days like Wednesday and Sunday.

There will be no escaping the Valentine's Day massacre betwixt those who believe in cupid and those who think the occasion has an apt abbreviation.The war will be raged in offices, with pink princess hurling stuffed teddies, floral bouquets and champagne truffles at a sea of black-garbed goths, who spew out fire and God-awful songs about female independence while pointedly refusing to shave.

But if you think Valentine’s Day is bad, let’s look at some of the other national days so frequently forgotten at this time of year.

Today (Monday) is…

Umbrella Day

I’m not sure what this means, or what you are supposed to do, but I like to think that it came about in the following way.

Dying powerful man: “I wish…for a special day to mark my passing…”

Son: “Oh father, I will see to it! I will ensure that you are honoured in - ”

Dying powerful man: “And it shall be called Umbrella Day.”

Son: “………you want your day to be named ‘Umbrella Day’, even though that isn’t your name. And you’ve never had anything to do with umbrellas in your career. And you’ve never even owned one.”

Dying powerful man: “Umbrella.”

Son: (To his mother) “How much morphine has he had?”

Mother: “Oh just do it, it’s his dying wish.”

Son: “Seriously? I have to go out and find some way to make February 10^th a day in which everyone in the world gives thanks to their brollies, and the only explanation for my father’s desire to see this happen is ‘umbrella’?”

Mother: “You older brother would do it.”

Son: “Stop going on about Craig! You ALWAYS take his side, just because he once shook hands with Burt Bacharach!”

Tuesday is…

White shirt day

This marks the end of a union strike by employees of General Motors in 1937. Sadly I can’t think of anyone who will realize they are acknowledging it when they dress tomorow morning. But a high proportion of office workers may be labelled communists…

Satisfied Staying Single Day

Of course you are. That’s why you had to dedicate an entire day to showing people how fine you are with it. 

Extraterrestrial Culture Day

This day is officially recognized in New Mexico, and is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard of.

Pro Sport Wives Day

Essentially, the wives of pro-sports stars are recognized for all the hard work they do at home to support and love their amazing husbands. Read the following:

“Many pro sports wives act as silent partners and household managers: they keep their darling athletes focused; determined to win and succeed in meeting their dreams; to create the beautiful feeling of being a winner in every heart in the country. Pro Sports Wives Day is held...to support the cause, all you need to do is make sure that you respect the hard work which these women must go through to aid their husbands as best as possible.” 

Let’s take a moment to picture the disgruntled sports wife who came up with this. And what monumentally stupid thing their husband did to warrant this kind of grovelling. 

And also remember that it only applies to the little ladies who stay at home because pro-sports stars ARE NOT GAY OR WOMEN.

Wednesday is….

Darwin Day

Birthday of Kent’s own Charles Darwin, the father of evolution and annoyer of religious types the world over. Mark the day by constantly asking a Christian to explain thumbs.

Thursday is….

Get a Different Name Day

The perfect day to commit identity fraud, or pretend to be Batman. It WILL hold up in court.

Madly In Love With Me Day

You’re starting to see how the approach of Valentine’s Day affects people’s brains? Created by a self-help guru, this day is geared entirely at ladies on the premise that ‘in order for a woman to show true love to others, she must first be empowered to love herself with apology’.

So….spend all day focusing on how much you love yourself…..then spend Valentine’s Day demanding further attention. Honestly, sharing a day of love is not enough? It's a little bit like playing a sport in a group, but someone who isn’t very good at is ‘allowed’ extra tries or points because because because or they won’t play.

 

Friday is….

Well we all know, but here are some handy alternatives:

Pet theft awareness 

Some people will do anything to cover the fact that they forgot to buy a Valentine’s gift

Ferris Wheel day 

Sit on a ferris wheel and watch the world go by SO ALONE

Donor Day 

In the US, February 14^th is also national donor day to encourage people to register for organ donation. Wherever you are in the world, please become an organ donor. If you haven’t already, stop fanning about with stuffed toys and those giant walking balloons, and give a gift that actually matters 

Saturday is…

World Whale Day

Because you are so fat from the Valentines indulgences. No, no, no, I jest! This is an annual one day festival in Hawaii to celebrate the humpback whale and to raise awareness of conservation threats.

Hippo Day

This one IS because you are so fat.

******

A WORD ABOUT THE HENGE 

 Last night (a Sunday of all things) I went to The Gulbenkian café bar to watch Tankus the Henge.
The lovely Miscriant will publish a fuller post on this gig in due course, no doubt, as she actually brought her camera with her, where as I forgot mine and had eight seconds of battery left on my phone to take one picture. But I wanted to share a few words nonetheless.

I first encountered this eclectic sextet of Londoners at in The Playhouse Tent of last year’s Lounge on the Farm festival. Having co-hosted the Boom and Bang circus’ evening show, zoot-suited front man Jaz Delorean wheeled his smoking-spewing upright to centre stage and he and his cohorts on lead guitar, bass, drums, trumpet and sax embarked on a finale set that blew my tiny mind.

I could have put my enjoyment that night in a Canterbury field down to the festival haze, or the eight pints I’d had that day, or the strange incantation the woman at the octopus curry stall had said over my food when I refused to compliment her glasses. But Sunday’s show reinforced my acclaim.

Their sound is hard to describe - a cross between Madness and a Balkan carnival troupe, with some jazz funk touches and all delivered in a gravelly cockney drawl. The arrangements are tight and the mood is deliciously decadent, plus any band that goes to such lengths to entertain their audiences wins my vote.

I strongly urge anyone with the ability to crawl to go and see this band on their travels. They are everything a great live act should be – larger than life, witty, theatrical, friendly and frighteningly talented. They are also a thoroughly nice bunch of chaps, and were extremely chatty with spectators after the show.

Find them on Facebook, Twitter, Spotify and iTunes.

But don’t listen to me, though, don’t you listen to me, shush, shoo, stop – observe:

Places To Quaff and Quarrel - Cafe Des Amis

Why. Why, I pondered wide-eyed. WHY must it be so hard to get a decent margarita these days?

True,  I don’t spend ALL my time looking for one. And…well several places in Canterbury appear to be offering them now I do a Google search…and I know a lot of people in the UK may be more concerned about being underwater…....but, damn it, this is important!

This pondering took place last Friday night, as I gulped down increasing ales in one of my usual dens of inquiry and found myself craving my favourite cocktail. Nobody panic – I still like beer that tastes like twigs and beards. But every now and then I want to pass the evening sipping something sharp, strong, and full of bite (for I am but a girl). Frozen or shaken, just make sure there is a nice layer of salt on the rim of the glass and we’re golden.

2014 and 'The Plan'

I rejected new year’s resolutions this year almost as fervidly as I rejected dry January.

I’m all for self-improvement but the first few of hours of a new year should not be spent sitting primly in front of a crisp new notebook, jotting down whimsical yet thought-provoking ‘dreams’ for the weeks and months while sober. No, January 1 should be spent curled up on the bathroom floor, hugging a bag of bread. One eye should be glued shut by an errant false eyelash (even if you are male) and your booze, ash and vomit covered clothes should be in hurled mess in the bath. Ideally, a child (possibly yours) should come in around midday to drape a towel over you and say ‘there, there’.

This is why I have waited until February to write of the year ahead, lest my thoughts be lost in the tidal wave of positive thinking spewing out of my dearest friends’ sauvignon-starved brains.

Now, there was no good reason for my not doing dry-anuary; I succeeded admirably last year and did a bit of dry September once. A bit. But screw it, there was still drink in the house come January and I was damned if I was going to let it spoil. (Booze spoils if you leave it untouched for more than three days. It’s a fact, look it up, it’s definitely probably true, ignore the French).

Thus, with a few extra weeks of excess accomplished, I met February with a more agreeable stance on my general well-being. Plus I have a show coming up in just over a month’s time that requires Victorian costume i.e. skirts so tight that you look permanently faint and furious. And when hiring my outfit, I was so taken with a fetching lilac number that I insisted to the director that it fit perfectly when in truth I lost a kidney moments later. If I want to survive this show, those extra 5lbs have to go. (It won’t be a booze free month, you understand – I have Places to Quaff and Quarrel at and I’m also probably a drunk)

But it was when I reached this point of determination on one element of my life that my brain began to get ideas above its station and started trying to make me do other things.

Let me put this perspective. I am writing this the night before I attend a Cuban salsa class.

ME.

As I said, I don’t like new year’s resolutions because they are invariably hollow, doomed to fail and are made on your bathroom floor as you recant your sins. But now that January and all its pious judgement has finally died, I’m suddenly all up in the rest of my life’s face.

Hmmmm...(I’m musing)…learning a proper dance has been on my ‘to do’ list for a while…and it would be nice to learn some steps other than the Kate Bush freestyle/Michael Jackson disgrace/shuffling the cards/stabbing the hooker moves I’ve worn out so thoroughly…..of course the blog is my biggest priority this year, but there could be room for other stuff…pretty stuff…and it's not like I don't enough to do already. Aside from the day job, blog, am dram, music and trying to fit in eight bottles a gin a week...

My mind was set, and a plan had to be drawn up. So here it is, for you all to gaze upon. For what is the point of a life plan if you don’t publicize it so that others will envy and hate you and wish wish WISH they were you?

Oh. Sorry, I mean (sigh) I’m publishing my 2014 plan so I will be compelled to do most of it because if not I don’t know the social media Gods will find me in the night and cut off my hair and the lands will dry up and probably something like a plague upon my houses and various wombs.

Plan for 2014, in no particular order

1. Make more phone hats
2. Write something every day and be totally brilliant at it
3. Complete my writing schedule and monthly plan for the blog (instead of scribbling random words and obscenities on open Word documents and then accidentally sending them to my boss)
4. Launch weird vaudeville/cabaret music act, and therefore sing in public at least six times. Or in pubic, as I first wrote. Either suits
5. Pick a name for the music act. We have it narrowed down to two, and we need to move on because it’s just getting sad
6. Run three big-scale digital media projects at work
7. Buy more light bulbs for the living room so that I can see what I'm doing for once
8. Drop final 5lbs and reach target weight
9. Reach at least 500 followers on Twitter. Because I NEED this
10. Ring up the security alarm company and ask them if cats make a difference to the sensors, and pray that they don’t
11. Take a dance class. Attempt to be good at it.
12. Boost the blog’s pageviews and reach X by its first birthday (I have the figures written down somewhere but I’ve had some wine and I don’t want to go looking. But I do have a target! I think)
13. Cook a new recipe once a month (I cook all the time, so I am being realistic, and because of no. 8)
14. Go to Paris on Eurostar
15. Engage with more bloggers and contribute to at least two forums regularly
16. Read at least six novels (look, it’s not much for some of you but with the amount of shit I am doing already, even this is pushing it!).
17. Go to Edinburgh and photograph the shit out of it
18. Write more songs
19. Fuck, this is taking a while. Better put on some espresso
20. Buy espresso
21. Decorate the main bedroom. Somehow. Maybe a few pictures will do…the espresso will help me plan this
22. Write honestly about my ‘crashes’
23. Improve my French (when I say improve, I mean for the love of GOD make it better)
24. Shop at more thrift/charity shops and try fixing up three outfits myself
25. Direct a play (I’ve added this because I know I’m already doing it in the summer)
26. Continue last year’s furniture up-cycling prowess (I’ll share details in the future) for other people as well as for me
27. Once current blog features have bedded in, set up film review feature because it’s your true love
28. Ooo and that should include a regular bad movie night!
29. Continue to dream about writing part-time and using one of those nice shared-office spaces with similar type! And then imagine hanging myself in that office
30. Maybe do some vlogs!!! Maybe….

And that's that.

******

I just wanted to say that I’ve felt a bit bad for Facebook this week. All it did was try to brighten up your day with a film just about you, and suddenly everyone is baying for blood for such cursed sentimentality. Twitter positively went in to melt down due to the sheer volume of hate.

Oh Facebook was fine when you wanted to show off about your big night out, tell us all ‘I’m just so confused right now’, or post pictures of your awful children. But when FB reaches out to you, you fling the gesture back in its face like so much rotten meat.

And on its BIRTHDAY!

If your film was filled with banal updates and pictures of you looking fat, you only have yourself to blame. You should lived better, and been less fat. And have words with all of your friends for only liking posts involving someone’s death or a new home. They only did so because they want invites to parties or wakes.

But the truth is, I feel bad because I’ve been neglecting FB on a personal level, when it has been a good and loyal friend. Once a FB addict (but only for the most witty reasons), I have now moved my daily ramblings to my blog and have started courting Twitter as a result (bigger audience). Poor Facebook barely gets a look in from my personal account, and when I do update, it’s only so I can scream “read my blog!”. I’m a bad Facebook friend, but a worse friend to Facebook.

This should be another aim of mine this year: to better balance the love on social media. Assuming I have time. Or that any of you notice.