My Siren Voice

2005-06-14T09:41:00.000+01:00

A Bonny Scottish Holiday (Part I)

Ben and I have just returned from the most wonderful weekend away. Scotland offered us a much-varied experience, ranging from the immense luxury of a classy hotel in Edinburgh’s city centre, to the not-so-luxurious b&b that we happened upon in Perth. Thankfully, there is one running theme when you go to Scotland, and that is the sheer beauty of the place, so whichever side of the spectrum we were on, happiness was sure to prevail.

Thursday night was spent making the comparatively short journey to Leeds, where Sam (after a quite strange and very stoned game of Buffy the vampire slayer top trumps) made us comfortable in his living room. Mental note number one: If you are prepared to move to this slightly grey city, the average wage will allow you a beautiful Victorian two bed house, complete with bakelite doorknobs, a garden with nothing short of day Of The Triffids poppies and about 10 times my weight in cast iron fire places. Which is saying something.

By the time the sun had risen on Leeds we were back on the road to Scotland, deciding to avoid the boredom that the motorway offers and take the “scenic” route. What entailed was nothing short of entertaining, what with the rollercoaster roads, the just shy of inbred villages, deep fried haggis (ben’s stomach is clearly constructed of steel) and the sheep count reaching quite staggering wooly preportions. Arriving in Edinburgh, I felt as though I had come home somehow, so suited to me as it was. I think that Ben had known this might be the case and he allowed me hours of wandering, proudly leading me up intricate cobbled streets. It was here that I found the holy grail of Vintage clothing shops, neatly placed in one of the oldest parts of the city. Where most shops of this sort have taken advantage of just how fashionable antique clothing is at the moment, the lady (calmly perched on a burgundy velvet chair, sewing and humming, silver strands of hair falling about her pretty face) that runs ‘15, Grassmarket’ has chosen not to exploit her wonderful wares but keep these sumptuous items available to the masses. Or anyone who happens to enter her little treasure trove of delights. It was easy to see that her passion was lace, as almost every surface was adorned in some way, but I soon found my place with a jumble of dresses hanging from an old mahogany coat-rack. Whilst admiring the chiffon and brocade, the silk and the satin, some small thing caught my eye on the other side of the room. There I found a 1930s jacket so perfect I almost bought it without seeing if it fit. As the polka-dot crepe swathed my shoulders, I knew I was in love. My purse a mere £12 lighter I bounded out on to the street, delighted to my very core.

Saturday found us in Perth and at the aforementioned B&B. To be honest, it wasn’t bad at all and quite sufficient to our needs (drunken sleeping, chiefly), but the bar downstairs was definitely of the sort that wouldn’t have been complete without pork scratchings and Miss June from Bognor Regis. We were informed that our “continental” breakfast would be “brrrought t’ yer in the the night - ye can ‘ave it in yer rrroom come the morrrning”; as we doled ourselves up for the evening’s wedding reception, our only worry was at just what time this croissant-carrying Santa would arrive.

And so to the wedding we went.

2005-06-09T15:33:00.000+01:00

WE WON!

As all good victories are, it was a close call between us and another team (lucky for us "Quiz-Team Aguilera" were absent that week, otherwise we may have had a second challenger). Jumpy made a welcome return to our quiz table and dutifully went up to answer the tiebreak question:

In which year did Madness release the hit single 'House Of Fun?'*

After a short deiberation, his answer was deemed entirely correct and we were declared the winners. Much cheering ensued and were walked home feeling every bit the 25-pound winners that we were.

*1982

2005-06-07T17:00:00.000+01:00

Tonight will be my second visit to The Prince public house, and to the excellent pop quiz hosted there on tuesday evenings. Last week, we came second, but we are pulling out every stop known to us to win tonight! I have been drafted in to cover the "under 25" bracket (and with that all topics relating to such embarassing subjects as Take That), but I'm okay with that. Will let you know how it goes...

2005-05-23T20:18:00.000+01:00

I Write, Therefore I am?

It sure as hell doesn't feel like it at the moment. Have taken to D.H. Lawrence to cure this.

2005-05-13T13:42:00.000+01:00

I have had a week of coincidences. This is not a complaint by any stretch - it is these things that add interest to life, and indeed caused the people of bygone eras to invoke superstition and warrant praying to all sorts of gods. while these last seven days have hardly entered the realms of folklore, it has definitely made for a less boring week and may have even reduced the yawn factor at work.

1: People On The Silverlink
I have lost count of the amount of times that I have noticed a fellow passenger on this malodorous vessel only to encounter them again the very same day. Model with portfolio. John Lennon look-alike. Goth man; every one of them destined to come back into my life for some reason. I did think that perhaps it was just because they flashed a light into my otherwise tunnel-visioned journey to work that I would notice them again, but the idea of fate is so much more fun.

2: Tyabbs
This heaven for curry eaters has recently reopened under the highly original name of “New Tyabbs” to the delight of anyone who arrived at the restaurant without a reservation. The refurbishment has made it possible for twice as many diners to enjoy their spicy gastronomics and was a subject of debate around my dinner table the other night. The debate being that we couldn’t for the life of us remember it’s name. Last weekend, both the Guardian and the Observer ran restaurant reviews featuring it.

3:A Reoccurring Word
One day you wake up and everyone is saying “flowery”. Well at least in this instance they were. I’m sure you have had something like this happen to you before; a word you had previously forgotten about is suddenly everywhere. In books, the television, on the side of the packet of cheerios. What made the word flowery particularly interesting this week is that two people used it in totally different contexts - one to describe the wine we were enjoying and the other to interpret the compilation of psychedelic music I was playing that afternoon.

Like I said, none of this is a complaint.

2005-05-06T16:53:00.000+01:00

This morning was defined by the certainty of a Labour government for a record breaking third term. While I am not entirely opposed to this (in terms of it being the lesser of the likely-to-succeed evils), it was with an undisguisable cringe that I imagined the stench of ego that had, without a doubt, stifled number 10 this morning.
Somewhere in the background, unnoticed by the celebrating PM and his family, the fax machine calmly whirring away; the Whitehouse crest, followed closely by the words: 'We did it, Bud!'

2005-04-28T15:46:00.000+01:00

Doctor Dolittle

I went to the doctors yesterday expecting to leave with two crisp new prescriptions; in actual fact, I left with a list of hayfever medicines you can buy over the counter, a blood test and a frown!

2005-04-21T15:22:00.000+01:00

Sew What!

Come one, come all, come those with a passion for wool/cake/sunday afternoon time-wasting to the Pleasure Unit on Bethnal Green Road. Here you can be taught how to knit one, purl one, eat home baked cakes AND drink wine (after which you may well knit one, hurl one - though not a reflection of the chef, just not always the wisest combination).
Tim, Ilona and I will be playing records too.

In other areas, some of my friends have been having horticultural difficulties. Well I say, just call me Alan Titchmarsh - (do I really mean that?) - because my garden is in full swing, and I have, as yet, put in little to no effort. Oh the pleasures of a house share.
We have the end of the daffodils, lavender, a full herb garden in lovely old pots, honeysuckle, forget me nots (my favourite), roses, snap dragons, and loads of other things that I can't remember the latin for. But! We are in the process of organising a garden cocktail party, so feel free to come and trample our flower beds in envy.

2005-04-12T12:20:00.000+01:00

Rain, Rain Go Away!

And I really mean it, you know. My garden is in dire need of some t.l.c. but I have been prevented from tending to it's leafy limbs by this schizophrenic bout of weather we've been having. Every day that I've had off in the last two weeks, the weather has boasted nothing more than flat grey skies, or worse still, April showers. I'm sure you are thinking that flat grey skies would suffice, and certainly the avid gardener would not be deterred my a mere shower, but when it comes to horticulture, I am of the sort that's attention will be gained by things like gingham aprons, packeted seeds and deckchairs; tea served from an enamel pot, wellington boots and watering cans, rather than such mundane things as green wire and slug pellets. To commit myself outdoors without a postcard perfect sky would not fit in to my fairytale world of what it means to be green-fingered. This is not to say I'm not willing to put in some hard labour where the garden is concerned, but I'm sure you'll agree it far easier to be outdoors when the sky is blue, the birds are singing and the lemonade's on ice.

2005-04-08T15:23:00.000+01:00

A Poem That I Wrote A Very Long Time Ago
(Might add a smile to your face on this grey, windy day)

"I'm bored, I'm bored"
Said the Lion,
Then he roared:
"What on earth can I do?"

"I don't know, don't know"
Said the Lion,
Then he snored,
I think I'll fall asleep too.

2005-03-23T16:13:00.000Z

Lunch Trauma
Is it bad to eat your own blood? If that's the case then I have fucked myself right up. What began as a simple cheese and pickle sandwich has become something of a cheap horror film in the form of my lunch today. I won't tell you just how our store of plastic cutlery came to be depleted as it will turn your stomach and make you want to eat with your hands forever more, but needless to say, there was not a cutting device to be found when I came to make my sandwich this afternoon. In these desperate (and lazy - I should have just walked over to Marks and Spencers and nicked some more) times one becomes rather resourceful, and I found myself scavenging the shop for a suitable replacement knife. Having had a fruitless lap around the place my attentions were turned to the DIY box (a horrible place to which I've vowed never to return) and I found a - for the record - brand new box of stanley knife blades. Before long I was slicing away at my mature cheddar like there was no tomorrow and was mightily pleased with my solution. Pleased that was, until I found that this answer to my problems was truly a double edged sword and I had in fac,t cut my fingers to smithereens. This realisation came after I had grapped my baguette with both hands. Of Course.

2005-03-18T16:12:00.000Z

The Littlest Boho

So last night I'm almost a week late in reading the Guardian magazine, and I find myself on the fashion page with my usual gritted teeth. Jess Cartner-Morley (even the name makes my skin crawl) really is on the top of my list of hated people - actually, that would probably make a good read, more soon - but this week something strange happened: she made me laugh. Dear old Jess was describing the Kate/Sienna induced trend that has become known as 'boho', but complained that the only way you could truly pull this look off is if you have masses of time on your hands and are a creative, arty type (in short, a bohemian then). The reason I couldn't help but giggle was that I filled her criteria! In fact she had me down to a tee...
In Order to be a bohemian you must:
a - Get up at 10am or later (does 9:30 count? I suppose it does when you don't have to be anywhere til 11)
b - Proceed to mill about in a vintage kimono (that'll be my 1940s rayon one bought from a charity dhop for three pounds. Three pounds!
And...
c - Drink your Lapsang Soushong from your mismatched 30s china (you can't move for the stuff in my kitchen).

Oh Jess, you've done me proud.

2005-03-14T19:00:00.000Z

Folk Off!

This year has been one of discovery, and I made another amazing one on Sunday at a lovely little pub called The Harrisson, where a club called In The Pines made it's debut. Here I found newspapers, roast dinners, good wine and most of my record collection as background music. What more could you ask for to end your weekend? If you want to know my opinion (and if you don't you're in quite the wrong place) people put far too much focus on Saturday. Sunday's where it's at, and clubs like In The Pines serve only to convince me further. Now if we could just go to the next step and arrange something like this but with pajamas and cups of tea then we'd really be on to a winner....

2005-03-04T16:48:00.000Z

Proper Posh
Last night Ilona and I went to Liberty's, where we perused the fine garments, admired cross-stich and sipped champagne. Well, we did have a voucher for two free glasses after all.

2005-03-03T18:37:00.000Z

I think I'm still in shock from going to see Entrance play at the 12 bar on Monday night. He probably is too - after playing for damn near two hours, he fell from the stage and collapsed at my feet (yes, Guy Blakeslee fell at my feet)...

2005-02-24T15:33:00.000Z

Whenever I read the interview in the Guardian's Saturday magazine, I can't help but wonder what my own answers would be if I were important enough to be asked. Of course, a lot of my mutterings would be time-dependant (who can say what cause I would die for in the future?) but there is one response of which I am certain. 'Which trait do you most deplore in yourself' would be met by an answer of "jealousy!" before the interviewer had time to finish their sentence.

I was acutely reminded of this particularly dislikable trait of mine when I visited Sarah and Jason's new pad last weekend. It started with the bricks (I never knew it would come to this): perfect pale taupe, and the ideal surroundings for the long arches of the windows and the glossy black door. Even the doorbell was a well-worn antique brass. By the time my feet found the elegant curve of the staircase, my mouth was open in wonder, but there was much more to come. To my right,a duck egg blue bedroom with Amelie-worthy furniture, to my right The Bathroom. It was at this point that I swallowed the rather large lump that had formed in my throat and I was unable to contain my envy any longer. My eyes fell apon the free standing bath tub, my knees almost fell to the floor in worship. This, for me, is the stuff that dreams are made of, the sort of thing that only exists in films and the homes and proberty section of the Evening Standard. After that, the kitchen, living room and study (study!) paled into the Farrow and Ball painted insignificance, beautiful as they were.

2005-02-17T14:38:00.000Z

Having not actively made an effort to listen to the musical leanings of Nick Drake for quite some time, his silken tones made an unexpected request on my ears this morning. Caught unaware, I was but a prisoner within his words, the soft sure ways that he clawed at the strings of his guitar and (oh my) that voice, that voice!
I know a man that could explain this feeling a thousand times better than the mere drop in the ocean up there... When I first met him, I could sit and listen and learn about Nick's music for hours on end - he took such pleasure in his knowledge that it was impossible not to be spellbound myself. And all without being arrogant or boastful, without claiming in any way that he had ownership of this wonderful man and the way that he used the wood and wire... At a time when there are so many people for whom the rarity or the "finding" of the music is more important than the music itself, this is surely a rare thing, and one to admire.

2005-02-10T16:18:00.000Z

Is There Anybody Out There?

A "friend" mine is (supposedly) coming to visit this weekend. Obviously wanting to make arrangements to meet him, I have called every day since Monday and to no avail. I mean, if he's not coming then he could at least tell me, right? Anything could have happened to me! Why on earth would I be so persistant with my calls if it wasn't important? Okay, maybe there was an element of proving a point, but none of my others friends would act in this way. There are certain ones who give an average of two seconds to reply to text messages... maybe they're the ones worth keeping.

2005-02-07T16:41:00.000Z

Down With Love

A week from today couples all over the world will be celebrating Saint Valentine's day. Roses will be bought, candles lit, baths filled and cards sent. Giant white and red bears will constitute feelings. Well I say, forget about it all. It's February, it's still bloody freezing and they're not even showing the all new CSI:NY on a reasonable week day. What's to celebrate?

2005-01-25T13:17:00.000Z

I have been spending rather a lot of time in the bath recently. This is not an unusual thing for me, indeed many an evening you will find me with a teapot and the Guardian for company bathing the hours away. What has changed is the sheer amount of time I have been spending bathroom-bound of late, and I have put this down to one thing: floating wine glasses. Yes, I have discovered an excuse not to have to sit up from the soapy confines of the tub for (in some cases) literally hours. The trick is to not fill the glass too full, and to choose something with a long-ish stem, then simply LET GO. Difficult to do at first, but once you see your glass of rioja floating happily away with no thought of filling up with bath water, you too will be able to enjoy this wonderful discovery!

Also, have been working out some sort of device that would allow sleeping in the tub, but more on that later (patent pending).

2005-01-24T15:02:00.000Z

Things I am excited about:

*Going to see Six Organs Of Admittance at the 12 bar TONIGHT!

*Going to the masked ball at the Victoria & Albert museum

*My friend Oliver coming to London in February (if he doesn't keep his arrangement this time I shall have his guts for garters)

*The next Offline (featuring a debut performance by Treehorn Songs!)

*My new Diptique hair and body wash; at £18 you may call me mad, but insanity has never smelt so good

Which, now that I look at it, isn't bad at all for January. I have come to the conclusion that if you want to stay happy in this month, the most miserable of all, you need things to look forward to. You also need a king's ransom in tea and a bloody good scarf.

2005-01-19T17:56:00.000Z

it isn’t often that you meet a cult icon on the way home from work. Even less often that you meet a dead one, so you can imagine my surprise when I boarded the Silverlink train from Highbury and Islington to find John Lennon sitting opposite me. At least that’s what I thought for a good 10 minutes before surmising that even London Transport was incapable of raising the dead in order to convince more people to leave their cars at home. This didn’t stop me staring (probably slightly and rather unattractively open-mouthed, as it goes) at him for the whole journey home. I mean how often do you get the feeling of sitting two feet from someone who has changed the world like Lennon? I had to absorb the moment, as it might be the only time I got to feel like that. And all the while, I was looking round to see if anyone else had notice that we had one of the fab four in our carriage... but to my dismay most were too engrossed in playing tetris with their bags of shopping/bikes/children or testing out every ringtone that their phone offered before settling on Sean Paul (yes, all of them) to notice. We went through Cannonbury and he didn’t even look up from the copy of Private Eye he was reading. We passed Dalston, Hackney Central, nothing. Surely it couldn’t be that John lived in Homerton with the likes of me? Of course I had to follow him as any self-respecting looney would have done, and I discovered that he lived just streets away from the place I call home. It has made my commute to work a lot more interesting, believe me.

2004-12-02T13:04:00.000Z

Why The Actionettes Are Way Better Than The Spice Girls

Last night was amazing for many reasons: 1 - I was sitting in Nick Drake's old boozer ("Mine's a large glass of cabernet sauvignon thanks, Nick"), 2 - DJ Wheeliebag, who played Elvis records out of a modified well, bag (complete with lights, glitter and snakeskin - don't ask about the flying Barbie dolls, my hair is still recovering) and 3 - The Actionettes. Never in my life have I met such a startling bunch of intelligent, colourful, sassy, creative, shiny happy women (did I mention that they're all gorgeous too?). They write, they sing, they draw, they DANCE! These are the sort of girls we should look up to. They would not be so undignified to brand themselves with the slogan 'Girl Power' , they would never define themselves with a stereotype such as posh or scary... Which is exactly the reason why they put Geri, Victoria et al to shame.

2004-11-30T16:58:00.000Z

Wine addiction is becoming ridiculous stop Don't send for help stop bring more

2004-11-24T16:20:00.000Z

Oh Wouldn't It Be Nice?

If I could find some way of making winter bearable. My friend Oliver thinks I may have some extreme case of S.A.D., but what does he know, he's a flippin' carpenter for God's sake (and as we all know, this is a good time of the year for them, what with the foster dad of Jesus being one). So anyway. Despite so very many amazing things happing in the next month or so, I am finding it rather difficult to lift my spirits, or anything for that matter. I feel tired, drained, void of any kind of christmas-is-coming, the-goose-is-getting-fat notion. I need cheering up on a monumental scale, and I while realise that about two people actually read this, it would be good to thing that someone might reply with something to turn my frown upside down... A knock knock joke, anything.

2004-10-28T16:50:00.000+01:00

I am starting to wonder whether my ipod has been good for me.
Although I cannot say that it has not enriched my otherwise yawn-some journey to work, I fear that it may be another cause for the general public to regard me as a lunatic. You see, it is all very well to walk down the stret when something like Vashti Bunyan is playing, because it does not neccessarily dictate that you dance. But change the mood with 'My Boy Lollipop' (which I listen to worryingly often), and you will find that movement is involuntary. There are these "bop-bop" trumpet bits before it goes into the bridge, that simply do not feel right unless you thrust your hips from one side to the other on them... Oh dear.

2004-10-27T16:22:00.000+01:00

My new house is starting to feel like home.
My room in particular, has come on in leaps and bounds from the squat that it was last week (wooden floorboards may be in vogue, but add an old mattress and some half empty cardboard boxes, and you half expect a rat to scuttle across the floor). This is largely thanks to the wonderful Ben, who worked like a six-foot-five oompa loompa all weekend: I now have shelves, a mirror and some rather too comfortable pillows. I will be interviewing for painters and decorators, so please pass on your cv (alright with a paintbrush will suffice) if you would like to help me in this department... Much tea and biscuits will be provided, of course!
And how brilliant it is to live with a cat. She is one of the most elegant, intellligent, b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l creatures I have ever come accross, with all the charm of a kitten. In the morning, she has realised that there is always a little bit of milk left in the bottom of my cornflake bowl, so she has taken to miaowing outside my door to be let in and drink it. It's too cute!

2004-10-26T15:00:00.000+01:00

John Peel R.I.P.

2004-10-15T16:40:00.000+01:00
What a busy, busy weekend I have ahead of me. Aside from moving house (a damn good reason to live on the streets, if you ask me), we also have on offer one private view and two of London's most amazing nights out - namely, How does it feel to be loved and The Actionettes. Really, the choice is simple: spend an evening swamped under pillowcases, musty old towels and whatnot, or dance the night away surrounded by sequins and/or bobbed haircuts? Not really a difficult choice, except that I think the new tennants would be slightly dimayed if they turned up on Monday morning, to find the flat intact and me watching Trisha with a hangover.

2004-10-11T16:53:00.000+01:00
Does anyone know of a good place for second hand furniture? I'm positively bed-less!

2004-09-30T16:43:00.000+01:00
Busy as a bee
Today, I am a little stressed, as I have a deadline tomorrow. It wouldn't be so bad (I have 99% of the article written), but this is the first time I have contibuted to this particular (wonderful, well-respected, aspirational) magazine, and I want it to be perfect. Perfection, I have discovered, is something difficult to attain.

2004-09-26T15:15:00.000+01:00
Observer Magazine Readers, Turn To Page 38

... Where you will see my humble abode. I lent it o Simon Finch so he would look cool in his interview.

2004-09-22T13:50:00.000+01:00
Today so many horrid things have happened, not least the fact that the bus driver would not let me off the bus (isn't that due cause for false imprisonment?), because I'd rang the bell on the way down the stairs, and by the time I'd got to the bottom we were "not at an official bus stop". I am therefore channeling all my thought towards tomorrow night, when I will be worshipping at the church of the French Martini with Tim and Ilona.

2004-09-14T14:30:00.000+01:00
In London this afternoon, the weather boasts some of my most favourite characteristics. It is a blustery sunshiney brilliant kind of day, and has put me in the mood for berets and cake at Valerie's.
If you are lucky enough to be able to go about walking today, how about putting these windy sort of tunes on your walkman, I think they'd suit the mood.

* Marianne Faithfull - This Little Bird
* Espers - Flowery Noontide
* Gorky's Zygotic Mynci - Poodle Rockin'
* Vashti Bunyan - Where I Like To Stand
* Davy Graham - No Preacher Blues
* Millie - My Boy Lollipop
* Vetiver - Oh Papa
* Smog - Teenage Spaceship

Coincidentally, If anybody happens to be around Holborn on Sunday, come and say Hello. With any luck I'll be watching that wonderful Bill Callahan at the Eat Your Own Ears festival.

2004-09-09T18:50:00.000+01:00
Like The Black Widow Spider...
...I tricked Theo into staying over last night so I wouldn't be frightened. Not with the promise of anything sordid, mind, but rather a home-cooked meal and a decent bottle of red. Before he knew what was what, the sofa bed was out; pillows plumped provocatively towards sleep.
It has to be said, however, that I had good reason. While I'd rather not relay the awful details of exactly what it was, suffice to say I would have had one of the most sleepless and hellish nights of my life had he not been there.
On another note entirely, may I present my top three televisual advertisements:

1: Lynx - Because you never know when

2: Clarks - For every kid, there's a shoe that fits

3: Kellogs - "What about fish? I 'ate fish"

2004-09-03T19:31:00.000+01:00
Last night was wonderful, and was made perfect by the fact that I got to sleep on Tim's extra comfy sofa bed. It was a good thing too: after Wednesday night's sleep, I'm not sure I could face another eight hours of insomnia. I always sleep badly when The Tall One is away, but Wednesday's offering was particularly bad. After a few hours of being uncomfortable, and hot pillows (both sides), I eventually resigned myself to the fact that sleep was something I could only dream (ha!) of, and settled in for a night of rubbish early morning television. First came the obligatory Trisha repeat - 'I don't want to roll down the aisle', in case you were wondering - then channel 5's American football, before I finally found something worth staying up til 5:30am for: Zero To Hero. For those of you that haven't yet had the pleasure, this is basically scrapheap challenge with fire, chemicals and latex outfits. The basic idea is that each team of two (a superhero and their sidekick) must create a persona for themselves and make real their special powers, with the aid of the resident boffins. They must then race the other team to see who can foil the baddie the fastest, all the while saying things like "Take that!" and "The powers of good always win!". I am now considering becoming nocturnal for the purpose of watching this every night.

2004-09-01T21:01:00.000+01:00
Tomorrow...
...I will be making cocktails disappear at brb with with some of my most favourite people. Ilona in particular is someone that I don't see half as much as I should, and I have to say that tomorrow night will be nothing if not looked forward to. The only thing that worries me is that I have friday put aside for writing (yes, someone has trusted me with their music page), and I fear that even picking up a pen would pain me so, what with the hangover I have planned.
In other areas, I have become an Aunt for the second time. My older brother Sebastian has just welcomed into the world his second child (a little girl, born on my 21st birthday, no less), and I am positively itching to see this putty of a person as soon as I can. I have bought baby clothes (Ben: "don't you get any funny ideas, now"), and have been finding it very difficult not to spend a small fortune on cashmere sweaters, and socks that would fit on my thumbs.

2004-08-22T15:09:00.000+01:00
Well Kyle, you've really done it this time. I am fresh from the butchers (sorry, barbers), and am virtually fringe-less. And who is to blame? Mot moi, of course, not the hapless hairdresser, no... none other than the"friend" I had so eagerly been looking forward to seeing this weekend. He's not coming. Joking aside, I am genuinely upset. So I did what I always do when hurt wells up in my throat: something stupid. Thankfully, I am now out of my teenage habit of random piercings, but my hair is not yet immune...
Now I find myself in an awful place where people are not prepared to appreciate the depth of my annoyance, nor are they going to let me drag them into my wallowing cesspit of sorrow (did you hear that Ollie? A freakin' cesspit). Tim has already taken me out to Wagamamas for a most delicious katsu curry, and last night I saw an actual windmill... which would force even the most stubborn of miserablists to crack a smile.

2004-08-19T17:04:00.000+01:00
A Wolf In Street Clothing
Have you ever felt that you were being a fraud, merely by what you chose to wear in the morning? I have this feeling every day that I go to work. As you might not know, I work in a popular "urban Street wear" shop (sorry, store - my working day is a constant battle against the Americanisms I am forced to endure) in Covent Garden. Don't get me wrong, as far as a carrer in retail goes, this is alright. I have some interesting, likeable people to work with, and I can switch off completely at the end of the day... BUT I have to wear a silly sort of get up that I am not at all comfrtable in. For example, today I am wearing jeans and a tee shirt. Not that bad, but on a wonderful blustery, bright day such as this, I would feel far more myself in the beautiful 1940s number I received in the post this morning. Ho hum...

2004-08-18T18:40:00.000+01:00
Teenage Kicks
I am very excited about this weekend, pas ce que my friend Oliver is coming to stay. It has taken me nigh on a year to convince him that it isn't as awful as he might imagine (hell, he's even coming round to the idea that he might like it), so I am sure that much drinking will ensue this Saturday. But where on earth will we go? I would like him to leave with the sort of feeling about this city that has kept me here for almost three years, so... Libertys, The Tate, Columbia Road Flower Market, Valeries, Hampstead, Denmark Street... and after a couple, The Candybox. It'll be just like being back home...

2004-08-17T16:50:00.000+01:00

I woke this morning to the delightful discovery that I had slept in my clothes. This outfit also included a smear of red lipstick (or was it wine?) accross my face and dirty fingernails - two signs of definate debauchery from the previous night. With a groan, I dragged my sorry self to the shower (thoughts at this time along the lines of: 'if I just stay clothed, I can sleep for twenty more minutes...'), and was just preparing myself for a day of untolerable headaches, when I realised just why I had been so drunk. This put a whole new perspective on things, as I was quite willing to suffer a little for all the fun that I had last night. We went to see Joanna Newsom at the 12 Bar. This was a wonderful experience for a number of reasons:

*Seeing Marc and hearing his extraordinary New York tales
*My front row view of Joanna and her harp in all their majesty
*The glasses wine that kept on being placed in my hand and
*The music itself - surely one of the finest gigs I have ever been to.

My apologies are also extended to Oliver, who I fear suffered rather a lot at the hands of my altered state. Oops.

2004-08-16T16:00:00.000+01:00
A Thousand Thank You-s
Ben, Tim, Theo, Oliver, Max, Jess, David, Jeff... You have made the last week the most parfait it could have been. Thank you for...
Running from work to the train
Playing your songs
Your beard
Putting up with my wine-drenched talk
Getting me home
Taking your pictures
A Windmill on a rainy night
Making the music play
A shoulder to lean on
Braving the waves
Tea in a cup and cake on a plate
A velvety pouch
A kiss on a cheek
A kiss on the lips
A jukebox to play
For the most perfect of days....

2004-08-09T20:49:00.000+01:00
Where's That Tall One When You Need Him?
Today I would very much like a hug. This is not possible. That makes me need a hug even more. Boo...

2004-07-21T20:36:00.000+01:00
Another Lost Summer

Wow, it’s been a long time. I know when I’ve been slack when Tim updates more than me...
This week has been a funny sort. Having spent the last weekend in Cornwall, drunk on the summer and cheap red wine, the fact that I have had to get up and go to work in the morning has been a reality check of startling proportions.
Admittedly, my little sojourn to the South West was not exactly the stuff that dreams are made of (ha! I was right - one Sunday spent bored and alone was enough to make me pine of London’s gritty streets), but it is undeniably the place for me during the summer months.
Let me tell you a little bit about the Saturday night I had. When an evening begins in the prefabricated quarters of a Wetherspoons pub, you know the next few hours will be special. Oh, and special they were. After entering The Bosuns , the drinks came faster than I could knock them back, having stupidly chosen wine as my beverage du soir. The resistance to the red stuff that I have so lovingly built up over the last few months was tested to it’s limit, and after (I think) 8 glasses, I was pretty smashed.
So was Ollie. We began eating Love hearts at about quarter to two, and the height of our drunkenness. Ollie decided the logical thing to do was to give a somewhat butch and definitely topless raver one of the aforementioned sweets, with the slogan ‘Heart Throb’, before winking and sidling away. You may laugh now, but at the time, one of three things could have happened: 1 - he could have got away with it, as he always does; 2 - he could have been left a pulverised mess on the floor; 3 - he could have been left with a pulverised mess on the floor (if you get my drift). Luckily for him, it was the latter that came about, and Oliver was left unscathed. After that, all that was left to do was stumble away, cross my fingers and hope for a taxi.

2004-07-08T16:36:00.000+01:00
It's a hard rain that's gonna fall...
So tonight I'm missing out on going to see the wonderful Actionettes play records at the Ritzy because I have to pack my stupid stuff to go to Cornwall. This isn't usually something that would bum me out, but the vicious storm that kept me awake last night is coming with me. The happy-go-lucky days I had planned on the beach and browsing through car boot sales are down the pan, basically. The beautiful 1940s sun dress I was going to swoosh around the town in will be left hanging in my wardrobe. The skirt with the print of a sailing boat on it will be alone in my room, begging for sunshine. Ballet pumps? Forget about it.
And so, it is with slight contempt that tomorrow will come, along with the rain. I wonder if I'll have a cartoon cloud over my head (complete with thunder bolt) when I arrive at Penzance's shores tomorrow evening. At the very least, I'll have a grimace.

2004-06-23T17:53:00.000+01:00
Today there is a record level of low pressure, the consequence of which is that I have a rather horrible headache. Boo. Indeed this week has already been rather stange, and has been one in which I have: Come face to face with Jack White, dreamt about having a baby named Mike, watched a disgusting programme (don't ask me why) about people that have sex with their Pets, and have actually become a little bored of Big Brother. I mean, what is the world coming to?! I'll tell you what I need, and that's a cult horror film from the 50s. If you're in a similar frame of mind, I 'll see you at the Other Cinema in Soho on Saturday, where they're showing Les Yeux Sans Visage.

2004-06-17T16:05:00.000+01:00
The Bathroom Of Horrors
Don't get me wrong, I love my bathroom. In fact, it is the sort of bathroom that I dreamed of before it was mine. It has a huge enamel bathtub, a beautiful old sink, with taps that say 'hot' and 'cold' (and look as taps ought to), a 1950's magazine rack filled with old guardian magazines for whiling away the hours in the bath and amazing water pressure. HOWEVER. These past few days have been something of a nightmare, owing to two things: 1 - my perfect mother of pearl pendant falling off my necklace and smashing on the damn tiled flooring, and 2 - a wasp that flew in the window this morning while I was showering, leaving me, soapy haired and naked, totally helpless (the fear of a wasp is somewhat more apparent when you're in the nude, believe me). I know that wasn't the bathroom's fault, but I'm blaming it anyway.

2004-06-16T14:14:00.000+01:00
We have Ben and Massey to thank for this.

2004-06-13T21:12:00.000+01:00
Age Envy
So today I was at work, hating every second of my air conditioned, over polite, retail environmment, when who should walk past but a group of elderly men and women, all dressed up to the nines in full World War two regalia. At first, I was just jealous of their beautiful dresses and perfect pearly hat pins, but as I watched them saunter off down the road, I realised something that made me even more envious, in the strangest sort of way. The way they moved, the heads thrown back with laughter, the linked arms -- all of these things that they had (although the dresses I have in my wardrobe would perhaps rival theirs), I could never posess with this mask of youth. Where I might be tutted at for trying too hard with my "Vintage" outfit by the fashionites of Hoxton, these wonderful people had so much grace with their style, earnt with age. My jealously lasted only a minute, before I smiled again, thinking I had all that to look forward to.

2004-06-10T23:20:00.000+01:00
It's been a while...

Yes Indeed. Summer has brought on a bout of laziness which I have only recently addressed. The laundry that has been dry for days, waiting to be folded; the fridge crying out to be defrosted, my undone laces... all of these things mean summer is here and I have a definate lethargy. If you want to find me, it might be easier to:
Go to anywhere that serves Pimms (including Sam's incredible degree show);
Wander over toThe Other Cinema, where they're showing the Honeymoon Killers this Saturday;
Tap me on the shoulder as I become enchanted by the sounds of Joanna Newsom;
Listen for high-pitched sneezes in Covent Garden;
Look out for an awkward looking girl tripping out at the sight of a lampost in Hampstead;
Or walk past Valerie's, and I'll be the one salivating, wishing it was my birthday sooner.

2004-05-27T22:53:00.000+01:00
Being Clothed By A Stranger

What a funny old day (excuse the expression, but I’m in Cornwall after all). I am fresh from a car boot sale and completely laden with things that I don’t need. Perhaps that’s too strong a phrase... who in their right mind doesn’t need a parasol? Anyway. A strange thing happened while I was there: a man gave me a dress. A man (or a woman for that matter) has never give me a dress before so how queer to have the first from a total stranger. I’m not entirely sure how his price dropped from £20 to nothing, but he did say it suited me so...

And this is just what I miss in London - not gifts from strangers exactly - but the gesture, completely unselfish and full of heart. In the city, I’m lucky if someone says “excuse me” while they step on my toe.

2004-05-27T20:34:00.000+01:00
The Good Life

Marriage is a funny thing. I’m sure it’s right for a great deal of other people, but not I. For me, to get married now (or for the next forty years for that matter) would be a dreadful fuss over a piece of paper. For now, my knickers next to your socks on the washing line is enough. Two names on christmas cards is enough. Love is enough. But when I hit sixty... well, I’m getting me a husband. Who knows, I may already have found him. We’ll wile away our golden years together, completely content, in total understanding of each other without having uttered a word.
Most importantly, we’ll need a house. Yes, the kind of dwelling that dreams are made of (I had toyed with the idea of a barge, but I don’t think the cats would get on with the water. In case you wondered, mine will be called sapphire, due to her piercing blue eyes, and his something inane that will annoy me with it’s non-description). I’ve come to the conclusion that it ought to be something grand with far too much room for the two of us... But we’ll need our space you understand, this will no longer be the heady days of living in each other’s pockets. A blossom tree here, a battered leather armchair there, some pretty little vase found at a jumble sale, a belfast sink and enamel bathtub... bliss.

2004-05-19T16:47:00.000+01:00
Today I have been:
Eating this,
Listening to this,
And reading this.

2004-05-18T16:18:00.000+01:00
"You love him, you hate him, you can't fucking live without him: it's Barry"

2004-05-17T16:26:00.000+01:00
My friend has my favourite ears, they lean forward when she hears...

Oh Devendra, you are divine. The Water Rats in Kings Cross played host to a very special guest last Thursday in the form of this poncho clad creature. Amazing doesn't even cover it. Incredible would be getting close, but I think magical is nearer the mark. He makes me think of that song by Donovan called The Hurdy Gurdy Man... ("'twas then when the Hurdy Gurdy man came singing songs of love")..... Three glasses of wine and some serious coaxing from Marc and Ben and I finally had the courage to go and give him a copy of my fanzine. I hope he likes it...

2004-05-16T18:55:00.000+01:00
I haven't written anything here for a while. this isn't being lazy; the truth of the matter is that I haven't had anything to say. Not that my existance has come to a lull or anything... I just haven't been able to find the words.
Perhaps this is writers' block.
I can still bring my pen to the page, my hand will still scrawl the curves of my writing, but somehow nothing is right. I don't like what I write. I don't like what I'm writing now. I know that when I come back to this page tomorrow or whenever it is, i will still dislike it, probably more so.
So what do I do?
Do I stumble on as I have been during the last two weeks of this "block", with feeble metaphors and easily related anecdotes that could have been written by anyone? Do I (horror of horrors) treat my poor readers to another dose of the Cornish seaside?
Writing for the sake of writing.
No. I think i will turn my attentions to the thing that inspired me in the first place: reading. Wonderful, soothing black words on a page. Mr. Blake, you're first up.

2004-05-11T18:37:00.000+01:00
This is what I feel like today.

2004-05-02T14:05:00.000+01:00
Sunshine = Happiness

Yes Indeed. Far from claiming to have seasonal affective disorder, I just feel that sunshine seems to bring out the best of my personality. How can you be sad when visions of the seaside curl themselves around your thoughts? Mm-hm, it has come to that time of the year when I yearn for Cornwall. That's the thing: you don't really have a summer in London, the city is just the same, but hotter. And what could be more perfect on a day like today than slipping into the cool blue of the ocean?

Well, perhaps what I have planned. This evening will be spent at The Lock Tavern where the wonderful Wolfboy is playing (Jerry Lee Lewis, Dennis Wilson, Dion to be expected), and a lot of my friends will be there. Much wine drinking, a balcony and the best roast dinner in Camden will (hopefully) make tonight special.

Other good things:
* Finally asking Emerald about being in the Actionettes
* My New screensaver
* Clean Sheets
* The new Loretta Lynn album

2004-04-28T18:00:00.000+01:00
Hey Maria Papa said
You better go to bed
Maria Mama said
You better go to bed
And little sister said
You better go to bed
The older brother said
You heard what Papa said
You better say goodnight
You better shut the light
And Papa told you no
You can't go out tonight
But Papa didn't know
Maria had a date
And couldn't let him wait...

2004-04-27T16:27:00.000+01:00
Sunday - Prune toes

Sunday unfortunately meant work. Luckily for me it was one of those days where you actually rather enjoy it, and the time goes by quickly enough. As with all good Sundays, my day was rounded off with a steaming hot bath, accompanied by my favourite sections of both saturday and sunday's papers. Add to that Marmite on toast and a pint sized mug of Early Grey and I think I was as close to Bliss as it comes.
All in all, the nicest weekend I've had in a long time.

2004-04-27T16:12:00.000+01:00
Saturday - Happiness is a duck and a palace

(Please note - I had originally planned to type these excerts all together, so forgive me if it looks a little disjointed). Saturday started off with the unhappy task of waving goodbye to Chris at Paddington. After that, we were late to meet Tim, who made us feel even worse about that fact by presenting us with gifts (Quiet Life tee shirts, in case you were wondering). After an exhausting half an hour in Covent Garden, the only thing left to do was to go to St. James' park and consume hideous amounts of wine in the company of ducks. Two bottles of my favourite rose later (I tell you it's like alcoholic ribena) we were suitably tipsy and began the stumble back to Bethnal Green.
Off went Ben to Soho and the Other Cinema, leaving Tim, Theo and I to rejoice in having found a new place to eat in the form of Shish. After two kebabs, a bowl of halva ice-cream and a spat-out cardomom pod it was definately time for bed. At least that's what I thought until I had the idea of going to meet Ben in Soho for coffee... Well, grande latte or not - by the time I lay my head on my pillow, it was for the sort of sleep that only the thought of the Hollyoaks omnibus in the morning could break.

2004-04-26T16:57:00.000+01:00
Friday - A Magical Flight

Chris, Ben and I spent Friday mooching around the East end - coffee, Beyond Retro, dropping into Neil and Pete's studio, sitting in the park, enjoying the casual excitement that leads up to a gig. After a delicious stir fry (a la Fowler) we were picked up by the very kind Pete and Suzy and the five of us went to the Half Moon in Putney for Wizz Jones' 65th birthday party. And what a party it was. Aside from the unfortunate absence of John Renbourn and Beverly Martyn, the evening couldn't have been better and Wizz seemed delighted. In what other situation would Wizz, Steve Tilston and Jaqui McShee play together? Not to mention the footage - a lot of which Chris had gladly provided. Almost three hours later, reeling from what we had seen (with Chris leaving an astounded Colin Harper feeling "mainstream", I might add) we jumped in a black cab and waved at Buckingham Palace on the way home. I slept heavily, with a smile on my face and a song in my head.

2004-04-26T11:57:00.000+01:00
Thursday - Baby's On Fire

After finishing work, I rushed excitedly to the Water Rats in Kings Cross to see Marc play his jingle-jangle, strumming, soaring, goose-bumped music. After being awfully dense at the door("so, you're DJ-ING tonight Kyle") and almost giving the game away, I slurped back a most delicious Vodka and orange juice and was just relaxing in the evening's twilight when... FIRE! FIRE! EVERYONE OUT! Ben and Marc, with thoughts of records and guitars, rushed to the blaze and rescued their treasures in time to see flames licking out from the skirting board. On realising that the floor may give way at any moment, they hot-tailed it out of there just as the fire brigade arrived. It was the first time I've been in a 999 situation, and it was abslolutely horrid. A fire investigation squad began tearing up the floor, thus cancelling any chance of music. Frowns all round, then...

2004-04-22T11:38:00.000+01:00
Here Comes The Sun

Walking to the tube this morning, I found myself smiling a very broad smile. It was a little to do with the fact that I'm going to watch Meon play tonight, a little to do with the fact that Chris is coming to stay for a couple of days, a little to do with the fact that I noticed what a lovely hue a glass has after you finish your wine - a pink memory of something more potent - and a lot to with the fact that the park I was strolling through looked like a scene out of Willy Wonka. What colour! Amethyst pansies, lillies, powder pink blossoms and so much nature. Just a minute later I was in that rat race in the ground, but my technicolour moment lived on and I smiled at strangers all the way to work.

2004-04-21T13:07:00.000+01:00
C'est en Francais, mais...

I still adore Colette

2004-04-20T15:48:00.000+01:00
Sew What

The answer to your problem lies here.

2004-04-20T13:27:00.000+01:00
J'etais perdu dans la rue
fatigue et mal au cul
J'ai vu un petit cafe
avec une fille dedans
et je lui disais
'Puis-je m'asseoir aupres de toi
pour te regarder?
J'aimerais la compagnie de ton soleil.
Je ne veux pas plus que ca
Non, ca n'est pas une grande histoire
Encore un beau sourire
et apres ca je peux partir
'Puis-je m'asseoir aupres de toi
pour te regarder?
J'aimerais bien la compagnie de ton soleil.

2004-04-19T12:00:00.000+01:00
P.s.

Comedy award of the weekend goes to Brophie and Chris Mas-say, who had me in stitches, nearly choking on my catsu curry. "Snake's blood is as good as any energy drink."

2004-04-19T11:08:00.000+01:00
Tell Me Why I don't Like Mondays

What a lovely weekend. Saturday was spent at Borough Market with wonderful company, in the form of Tim , Ilona Theo and Ben. We drank good coffee and walked a long way, before arriving at the design museum where we checked out some amazing gadgets and toys. The walk continued over Tower Brige, where on taking the first lick of my ice cream, I watched my hair curl right round it, and I was sticky for the rest of the afternoon. As for the evening, it was spent at The Actionettes , and Ilona and I are now going making a concerted efffort to join (if they'll have us). Although I had to work on sunday, I still managed to make the most delicious soup, thanks to the BBC's website. Mm, tomato and creme fraiche. So what did you do this weekend? I'd love to know.

2004-04-16T16:34:00.000+01:00
Amongst other things, sweet relief
I am one of many people who uses the alarm clock on their phone to get up in the morning, and every day I wake to the apalling sounds of polyphonic samba. This morning howvever, was different. Instead of switching it off and getting up as I should have done, I drifted off into a peaceful doze, phone still in hand. Believe it or not, I began dreaming about giant maccaroons, great big delicious almond ones. The next thing I know, I'm wide awake because I've tried to eat my phone. Oh, how Ben laughed.
So my day got off to a strange start. That, together with the blissfully mild weather has put me in something of a good mood. Plus, I have a day off tomorrow. if all goes to plan it will be start something like this: coffee, marmite on toast, breezy sunshine and the Guardian; continue at borough market with Timmy, Ben Theo and Ilona, and end with a yum yum cocktail at Frevds. Parfait.
In other areas, I have just finished reading a biography about Sylvia Plath. It has been in equal parts intriguing and infuriating. I always find biographies strange to be honest - for all the research you can do, how much do you really know about the person? The lack of Ted Hughes' input within the book says far more than the writer, Anne Stevenson ever could. She even has the audacity to chastise Ted for burning the Journals that lead up to Sylvia's death, to protect her children!
What else? I have been reading a little about Lillian Gish, not to mention being astounded by her beauty, running down streets, looking forward to seeing Chris next week, taking some mediocre photographs (I like the one of Richie's brogues the best), wondering if taking a cutting from a beautiful blossom tree in the park near my house is wrong, and going to the new Cybercandy shop on Shelton street. Man, I feel sorry for my teeth...

2004-04-15T23:24:00.000+01:00
Notes To Self:

*The shop that you work in has goldfish bowl-like windows; avoid dancing

*Cut down on comma usage

*Black jacks do not constitute a meal.

2004-04-13T17:35:00.000+01:00
Marc My Words

Is it possible to breed star quality? I think Mr and Mrs Shearer gave it a damn good try. Fresh from my S&M Extravaganza (that's sausage and mash, you filthy thing), we hot footed it to Cargo on Sunday to see Meon (amongst others) play. Time, unfortunately, was not on our side and we only caught the last couple of songs. Still, in those few minutes my mind was blown, a smile creeping wider and wider across my face as the set reached it's melodic, shimmering conclusion. Ben and I gazed in awe at this incredible man and wondered why the likes of David Grey are allowed to exist when things like this are being created in a warehouse in Stoke Newington.
Marc has often commented that he has an album in him, and I must say I agree - though less an album, more a full blown symphony....

2004-04-13T12:40:00.000+01:00
Maccaroons in the afternoon,
Maccaroons in the morning,
Maccaroons at tea time,
I'd never find them boring.

2004-04-12T19:45:00.000+01:00
A Small Favour

Dear ITV,
May I first congradulate you on your choice of Easter Monday entertainment; Monsieur Poirot was exactly what the doctor ordered after last night's excess (my lips still bear the stains of that scarlett vice of mine). The whole thing was a delight for the eyes, and as usual the dialogue impeccable: "What an ugly woman! She looks like the sort of thing one might find at a dig". The wardrobe was simply to die for, I would be tempted to perform an act worthy of Christy herself to obtain one or two of those gowns. Oh, the jewels! What glittering prizes for the weathy and clever. And doing away with that frightful American woman as soon as possible? Genius Agatha, genius.
Just one thing, I fear your choice of actress for the part of Jacqueline De Bellefort may have been somewhat hasty. Perhaps in the future, you might consider me for feisty vixens aux cheveux noir - I would promise to do the part absolute justice. And my fee? Just one dress, a mere string of pearls, that shade of rouge good sir! A pittance for what I could offer, I can assure you.

Charlestoning til then,

Kyle Lonsdale

2004-04-10T17:54:00.000+01:00
That's not a silly old rabbit...

Tomorrow will be spent at Cargo watching the Marc (Meon) and Adem play suitably relaxed and ethereal music for an easter sunday. I'm rather looking forward to it, actually - a lot of people are making the effort to come out (apart fom Mr O. - you know who you are!), and I think all the right things are there to make this bank holiday one to remember.

2004-04-10T13:39:00.000+01:00
It's all about this .

2004-04-07T18:05:00.000+01:00
There is a lady that I see sometimes on the way to work. She's always at the bus stop at the same time every day. She'a sort of a late-lady, because if I see her, it 's a near certainty that I'll be making a sorry-I'll-be-there-as-soon-as-I-can call. She's really quite old, and has lost her elegance, if it was there at all; her face and hair are all one pale colour - bleached by age, each year another line on her brow. It made me think: How long until my moves look gross, without the mask of youth? How long until I stop painting shades of scarlett on to my lips, stop curling my lashes, start brushing my hair, too tired to care?

2004-04-06T15:46:00.000+01:00
How To Wear Clothes, by Kyle Lonsdale

Oh Reader, I fear I may have a moan coming on...
Every Saturday, I buy the Guardian (the whole thing usually doesn't get read until about now, which is why I may seem a little tardy in my comments). Every Saturday, I tut, tsk and huff. Why? Because of that trumped-up little idiot Jess Cartner-Morley. She honestly has the writing skills of an amoeba (and a dim-witted one at that). Surely this "article" that she so gracefully brings us each week should not have got past its's debut? I mean how difficult is it to wear clothes? My word - I've been doing it all my life without even realising it!

And so I give to you (for one week only, I might add) - How to Wear Clothes, By Kyle Lonsdale.

1: Put body parts through their respective holes

2: Don't be take in by H&M (see below)

3: For Christ's sake, make sure it fits.

2004-04-03T22:43:00.000+01:00
Ilona, You Were Absolutely Right

I knew I shouldn't even walk through the door. The awful sound of the dj "mixing" that rang out into the street told me that. But as soon as I stepped into it's air-conditioned climes and the sweet smell of cheap cotton hit the back of my throat, H&M had reeled me in. To be said in my defence, I defy you to walk in there and not at least like something. Boat neck jerseys, faux brettons, button fronted shorts - all calling my name! Buy me, don't even think about it, the till is just over there... and then a snap back to reality and I was acutely reminded on closer inspection of these garments just one of the reasons why I favour vintage clothing over what the high street has to offer; it was all synthetic rubbish, really. A quick, cheap translation of the catwalk that is easy to swallow. Even with all that in mind, I couldn't resist a sweater that had a deep, flattering V shape at the back. Based on what I scooped up within thirty seconds of being in there, I think I got off pretty lightly. I'm strong, but not that strong.

2004-04-01T17:19:00.001+01:00
I thought It Only Right To Wear a Cravat

Yesterday afternoon was spent mostly at the Chelsea Arts Club in South Kensington. My friend Theo took me there, and the contrast between my gritty, grey Bethnal Green and the bright, immaculate SW7 was evident the second I stepped off the (clean) tube.
What a way to spend an hour or two! If I'm entirely honest, I was suitably impressed by the electronic entrance system, and could have gone home delighted as soon as Theo produced his entrance keyring. It was as though we were part of some secret society, a group of plotters, spies in world war two... Okay, I'm getting a little over excited now, but this is the way my imagination works I'm afraid.
The bar itself was an absolute treat for people of my disposition - battered leather chairs, a grand old fireplace, parquet flooring with the sort of wear that only years of parties can bring, sash windows, a cheap bar and a cheshire cat. Bliss.
We ended up sitting in the garden and ordered lunch in the calm of the fading sunshine. Looking around, the place was scattered with scholarly looking old gentlemen, with such poise, such wonderful lines on their faces (one even had an eye-patch), that I thought I may propose to one of them at any minute. They were the sort of men that if you could pry them away from their newspapers, and perhaps offer a decent bottle of red as a starting point, you could spend an evening listening to their stories.

2004-03-30T16:04:00.000+01:00
The first time that Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes kissed, it was with such passion that she ended up biting him on the cheek and drawing blood. Ted walked back out into the party with his torn cheek, completely inconspicuous.What a strange time to be a part of, the fifties. So much oppression and taboo, but a poet could walk through a croud wounded by lust, and go unnoticed.
So what else have I been thinking about, apart from the curiousness of by-gone society? Well, as you know, there is a gig coming up that I have mixed feelings about. I've been listening to Cat Power for most of today, and I must say, I can't help but be excited. Plus I'll get to hang out with dear, sweet Marcus , which is always a pleasure.
Also, I have been eating cheeseandpickle sandwiches, wearing a sweater that's too hot for this change of weather and sending a lot of post.

2004-03-26T16:54:00.000Z
Looking forward to seeing you again Miss Marshall, but will it be the same?

There are life-changing gigs and there are life-changing moments. When the latter meets the former, it is simply something special.
A marvellous Marc man that I know did me a huge favour last year and gained me entrance to probably the most talked about gig in London at the time. I don't know if you've ever been to the Union Chapel, but it is an experience in itself, never mind who is playing there. Combine the cool clean atmosphere of this brilliant building with music, and religion suddenly makes sense. Whatever it is that you have to give praise for, whoever you are, you can see why places of worship were made quite so beautiful.
The music being played that wonderful summer night was that of Cat Power. What took place was so powerful, so full of passion, I can remember every last detail of the evening. I remember the pale fleshiness of my bare legs; the old formica table Ben and I sat on, tears rolling down our cheeeks with awe; I remember her voice, like silk and sandpaper, cutting through the space between us; I remember the sun setting through the kaleidoscope of the stained glass windows; I remember my coca cola getting warm in my hand as my mouth fell open with wonder; I remember the whiskey running from her lips as she spoke and the looks of amazement as she chain-smoked beside the altar... I remember all of this and I have to wonder: In Shepherds Bush Empire, with over double the capacity, on a dreary night in April, Could things ever be the same?

2004-03-23T15:23:00.000Z
Being Hurt By The Ones You Love The Most

Well reader, it is a sad day in this world of mine. I have decided to cut down, nay, GIVE UP sweets forever.
For some reason, when I go to my folks' house I check my weight. Don't ask me why - I have never bought into diets or have ever eaten anything that I don't like the taste of for the sake of being healthy. And up until now I have been able to approach those rusty old scales with a certain smugness brought on by the fact that I have been more or less the same weight for the past two years. But not any more. Within a month - a mere four weeks, dear reader - I have put on half a stone. So goodbye astro belts, au revoir cola bottles, my friends the black jacks, adieu. It was delicious while it lasted...

2004-03-12T15:31:00.000Z
Homeward Bound, oh yes I am
Tonight I will be departing from London town to visit beautiful, clean, quiet Cornwall (there may be those of you who are thinking "wasn't she in love with London a minute ago?", and you're right; but variety is the spice of life, don't you know). Saturday will go something like this: Wake up, open curtains, stroke cat, Earl grey tea, shower, towel on head, get dressed, go to the Yam Parlour for a delicious French breakfast, more tea, charity shops, walk to the sea, and the rest is down to fancy. I honestly can't wait. This weekend I will be chaperoned by the four most lovely men a girl could wish for (not including Max) - Theo, Ben, Tim and Ollie. They're the best.

2004-03-10T14:02:00.000Z
P.s.
Thank you so much to Ben for your excellent gluing skills and to Tim for being a bloody genius. Unfortunately, the show's not over yet, and I fear you may see a more banchee-like side to me as Friday comes around. So I'm saying this now, just in case I say "why aren't you gluing you fool, can't you see I'm stressed here?!" when I really mean "you're the best".

2004-03-10T13:53:00.000Z
Wearing a silver thimble
I can't wait for Claire to move to London - she'll just have to make friends with it and then she'll be fine. The best thing about London is that you can really find your niche here; I spend my time in gardens, nice restaurants, museums, watching people play music, in old musty shops and feeding the squirrels in the park. All of these things make me perfectly happy, and I just think that it is only in places such as this that you could find so many lovely, personal things to do. And all the while, someone else will be existing in their own London, completely different to mine, yet just as magical.
I have been preoccupied this week with the imminant release of the first issue of My Siren Voice. Typing, gluing, writing, sewing. I was even sewing on the bus this morning, much to the bewilderment of my fellow passengers.
I hope it'll be okay, I think it'll be okay, It will be okay, won't it?

2004-03-04T16:43:00.000Z
Frostbite no more or the joy of heat logs

Well, Jack Frost, I am not beaten yet. You may have folied my previous hot water bottle plans, but I have made a mean ally in the form of the heat log. Bow down to it's superior warmth providing! Quiver at it's fiery glow! Shy from it's heated embrace! No longer will I have to consider making clothes from eiderdowns...

2004-03-02T21:40:00.000Z
Thank God For Mr. Kipling
Today I am poorly. Being poorly (for me anyway, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend this, should you want to hold on to your teeth) means pastel coloured icing, fluffy white cakes, and enough Earl Grey to satiate the most ardent of tea-drinkers. Clothing must meet certain requirements, in the way of bigness and softness. It is also essential to keep a tissue to hand at all times, which has caused me to fill a gap in the market. The ‘Saint Bernard’ is a wonderful contraption that enables you to be snot-free (for the most part - sleeping is a different kettle of fish), leaving you to eat baked goods and watch daytime television. Simply take a shoelace, ribbon, belt - whatever you have handy, and a fresh roll of toilet paper (Costcutter will not do, you’ll thank me later). Simply pull the shoelace through the roll and tie around your neck. Voila! The only problem you now face is quite how to keep your credibility, should anyone see you with this device.

2004-03-01T21:51:00.000Z
The Crocuses are out. The amethyst buds, polka-dotted within green, struggle to avoid drowning within the frosty confines of the blades of grass.

2004-02-29T16:53:00.000Z
Being Kyle
Being Kyle can sometimes be very difficult. I find myself thinking sometimes that I dislike myself (which in itself goes against human nature, for if it is our own self that we hate, then what is the point of living?). And yet I primp and prean before the mirror, fascinated my by own image before me. So what is it that I dislike? If it is not the outer shell of the body then it must be what certain circles would call the soul, thus confirming that I must have an adversity to the very core of I, me, Kyle.
Days like this are definately flower stall days.

2004-02-29T16:48:00.000Z
Is hoarding a proffession? If so I should like to apply.

2004-02-27T15:31:00.000Z
Tim is going crazy. First he's dreaming about being a giant mushroom and then the Devil's offering him Pizza? Mad, mad I tell you.

2004-02-26T22:56:00.000Z
Claire, Claire, Claire. The girl's in love, and I couldn't be happier for her. She'd be the first to tell you that she's had more than her fair share of villainous boyfriends, which is why love is so well deserved in this case. I don't know whether you've ever met a Claire before, but they're a very special breed, and certainly not one to treat unkindly. I guess it took an Ainsley to realize that.

2004-02-26T16:17:00.000Z
Theo was 21 yesterday, and to celebrate, I did my usual party trick of getting hideously drunk. This morning I felt like a sack of rats, and definitely felt the consequences of my actions (it's always nice when you turn up for a meeting with wine stains on your lips). The sight of me standing on Kingsland road with a glass of red wine in my hand is becoming a regular occurrence, much to the amusement of Oliver who I was speaking to on the phone at the time (Ollie, if you're reading this, I'm terribly sorry if I tried to speak french to you - this may have just been a horrible nightmare, but the memories persist). Ah well, It was all worth it for the darling Theo. I bought him a red lamp, I hope he likes it.

2004-02-25T17:23:00.000Z
Patti Smith, eat your heart out. Last night I went with Tim and Theo to see the incredible Fiery Furnaces. Amazed as I was at the tiny size of the venue, I vowed to get a front-row view and witness my piece of musical history. And that I did.
It was one of those gigs where you're quite sure you must be pissing someone off with your hip-skaking, but you couldn't care less (Note to elbow lady behind me: you can poke your boney little arms into my back as much as you like, I ain't moving). How to describe what I saw? How about a musical margarita containing The Velvet Underground, 1967; Louise Wener, 1995; Biff Rose 1968, Os Mutantes, 1969; and of course, Miss Smith, 1975. Damn...

2004-02-20T11:59:00.000Z
Have you ever thought about life after death? I would guess that most of us have, and I was brought to thinking about it whilst in an attic the other day. Amid the dust and dirty yellow insulation were the usual piles of stuff (including a proud box of home made costumes), but it was one particular corner that interested me. Admittedly, I was drawn at first by a wonderful old leather suitcase, but I soon realised I'd happened upon the remains of someone's life that had been carefully placed in these dark quarters a very long time ago. There were bibles, clothes, a radio, camera, and a wealth of other musty items that were waiting to be found. I thought how strange it was that when someone dies, all their earthly possessions out-live them in this way, in places such as this all over the world. The things that were so dear to people when they were alive now sit waiting for their owners return, because the relatives they have been entrusted to find it too painful or too tiresome to relieve them of their dingy confines. If I could have any job, It would be to go through attics all over the world and rescue these brilliant things - make people see that they are far too beautiful, too precious, to leave alone.

2004-02-19T22:44:00.000Z
Lying on freshly laundered sheets, a purring tabby cat on one side and a steaming cup of tea on the other, I have never found february quite so wonderful. The sweet scent of the morning's dewy grass was marred only by the smell of my breakfast cooking in the next room, the smile curling around my face inevitable. I have just got back from a trip to my native Cornwall, and I have a heavy heart. London still has so much to offer me, but it is these perfect moments in time that lend themselves so easily to that place that makes me want to go back. I have to remind myself that sunshine in February is a rarity even in Cornwall and that the bleakness of a month such as this is especially apparent in off-season Penzance (It just happens that I took a weekend away there during a heavenly period of sunshine and sea breezes).
And I miss my friend Oliver. He's a terribly special person who has more to give the world than I think he knows. It's difficult sometimes to condense a friendship into such fleeting hours spent together, and i always leave having forgotten to tell him about some record or other. Still, I'll be back soon enough...

2004-02-11T12:17:00.000Z
PEOPLE THAT I DON'T SEE ENOUGH OF: Claire, Mags, Jess, Max, Ollie, Ilona.

2004-02-10T16:07:00.000Z
My friend Tim lent me a cd the other day by a band called Blanche. He said he'd only really listened to the first track, but I'd probably like it. As it turned out, I absolutely ADORED it: "The banjos, the slide guitar, oh all the charm in the world!" I said. In the last week, I've talked about this band A LOT. Track one this, track three that, etc. "If only I was able to comment" said Tim, "but you've got my cd."

2004-02-10T13:33:00.000Z
Today I have puffy eyes and a heavy heart. Luckily for me, across the road from my shop there is the most wonderful flower stall. If ever I'm feeling blue, I just go and look at the names of all the beautiful flowers and you can't help but be soothed by names such as Silly Whites, Lilly of the Valley and Pussy Willow.