Guitar Hero.

It's epic.

Goodbye degree, hellooooooooo sore fingers.

London Baby!

We went to go see Patrick Wolf, he was wonderous. We saw wonderous museums and I took pictures, here they be.

Snobs tonight.

It's good and bad, good because it's the only place I know of, other than somewhere in Manchester (and even they aren't too egar) that plays more than one Smiths song a night...and...yeah I've forgotten the bad.

It's cold?

I declareuth.

That Mike Oldfield - In Dulci Jubilo makes me want to dance around my lounge on Christmas day like I were 6 or 7 again, not really understanding what was going on, but knowing that it was all we'd done in school for what seemed like forever and that everyone at home was happy and I was getting presents and the kitchen smelt amazing.

No matter how hard you try I don't think you can enjoy Christmas as innocently as a child.

This year I shall indeed try however!

Sigh.

Christmas really can't come fast enough, yet I still need to hand 3 essays in before we leave, and then another two the second week of jan and a drama exam, and hopefully have surgury on my knee inbetween all of that, go to london for the night, have christmas, see everyone, go to the imperial, most likely go up town for a seeing everyone night.

It's just all too much for mes petite head.

Also Nathalie has convinced me living slightly away from campus is good for the mind, so yes, I might be living the high life of inner city Birmingham next year. Which means I'll end up shopping even more than I already do.

Disaster.

I bought some superb christmas goodies.

I'd post pictures but I simply don't trust the security of this blog enough.

Hello, hello? It's me, Picasso.

Fucking bastard shitting fucking fuck fuck fuck FUCK. I fucked my English Language assignment, 4 marks off a pass. The fucking bastard could have at least given me a pass so I could fuck off and spend my time doing sometime I came to university to do in the first place, rather than this stupid fucking system where you have to try everything to get a ‘flavour for it’. No. I don’t want to any more. I’ve had a taste, it’s bitter as fuck and I don’t like it. But yet I have to do it, because to carry on to the next year of my English LITERATURE course I have to have passed a drama, sociology and Language module. It’s fucking madness. If they want to make literature students have a taste of something they’ve not come to do why the hell are they marking you to the point where if you don’t pass the modules you don’t get to progress to the parts of the course you actually came to do. I’m irate, I’m utterly devastated. I got a mark equivalent to a first on my fiction hand in, and I fail Language. The idiots on the top floor will see this mark, um and ar and stroke their beards before finally announcing that ‘my yes, he does seem to be getting a first pass in his literature module, however when it comes to Lexis and Syntax language understanding he simply doesn’t cut the mustard, how can we allow him to carry onto his straight literature course’. Makes me want to spit and scream. However I can’t. So for this next assignment I must increase my score I think by 10 or 15 marks. I’m going to shut myself away, consult with the lecturer, ask him to recommend books, send him first, second and third drafts, get him to help me craft this into the best fuck off essay I’ve ever written it’ll probably bore the shit out of me, and out of anyone other than him who’s going to read it but woop-de-doo once it’s done I’m fucked off out of it, I’ll be with my heroes and my comrades talking morals and ethics and finding new ways to believe in things. The language kids can keep treading their tired old path. My course matter changes every time someone turns the page, that’s immensely powerful. You can’t explain that with convention.

In other news I’m going to dress up like a pirate and go to my Student Union for the first time since freshers, even though it’s only over the road. I’m lazy and it’s usually empty. I just don’t want to be on my own tonight, because I’ve already cried to my mum over the phone about this, and I’m listening to Elliott Smith and that’s just not constructive.

I’m going to go to Birmingham tomorrow to buy presents for Nathalie, and my mum who’s awkward enough to have her birthday a weekish before Christmas. And for anyone else I can think of. Apparently there’s a German market on, so if it’s not a million pounds there might be something nice there worth getting too.

I’m just looking forward to going home and having Christmas and seeing everyone again. I was fine before this happened, it’s just fucked it all. Fucking fucked it.

Sighs and weeps.

Cheer me and you with some O-Zone - Dragostea din tei

A fantastic song, which when translated makes very little sense.

"You want to leave but you don't want don't want to take me,
Don't want don't want to take me,
Don't want don't want, don't want to take me.
Your face and the love from the linden trees,
And I remember your eyes."

Well why yes of course? I understand you Romania, ten four! The lyrics don't matter, get drunk or happy in which ever you chose. I'm going for chips. Shout the lyrics, numa numa yay, and you're in and around the right ball park.

Goodnight

x

Hugsum Daginn Minn, Í Dag Og Í Gær

Well then, nice week so far. Super nice week really, it’s been nice. Over the weekend went back home to see Sarah and the guys as she’d come back from London village so I thought it rude not to come back.

Went to go see “30 Days Of Night” a predictable vampire romp. Only this time in the snow and in a town at the top of America where they don’t see the sunlight for 30 days. Sounds really interesting and it really could have been if they’d have worked on it a bit. However the vampires they chose really did look the gayest vampires in the world, it sounds cliché but the one did look like the singer from the Pet Shop Boys (I’ll try to prove this with a picture). Whilst the others looked like the pink end of the world strongest man tournament. With two...maybe three lady vampires between the lot of them. So this band of camp vampires arrive by massive oil tanker and decide to tick all the horror boxes as they go along.

1) - They kill the protagonist’s close relative

2) - The protagonist’s friend becomes “one of them”

3) - They have the whole “he’s going to change...we’ve got to kill him” thing.

4) - They all go a bit mental and one person decides that “he aint staying here for
them to come and kill me” so he swiftly goes outside for them to kill him to bits.

5) - And a loosely pinned on romance story, which results in death. Obviously.

Some great lines too, a prisoner, half naked and panting asking Josh Hartnett “finish me off” raised more than a titter, as did “I saw what you did back there with your axe, think you can do that 3 or 4 more times?” Strewth Josh, I dunno, give me a break in between and I’ll give it my best shot?

Then onto the most homoerotic film I’ve seen in a while in “A Nightmare On Elm Street 2”. Basic premise being that Freddy’s spirit has lived on and inhabits the house which these unsuspecting Americanas move into. The kids a bit weird and has dreams where Freddy tries to possess him. Least that’s what I hope he was trying to do, because he walked around his dreams pretty much naked for a leering Freddy to tell him every now and again that he had the body he’d been looking for and that he wanted to be inside of him. Hm. The argument for the slightly mincing theme continues with the fact that as soon as Freddy has control of this body he takes it to an underground gay club, takes home the gym instructor and whips him (naked) to death. Quite. I’m excited for number three! (Freddy takes the form of a Golden Retriever!).

I ended up drinking vodka straight out the bottle, as there were no mixers. It made me very happy, zero hang-over, good times. Wolverhampton town was again slightly stunted. Yet again the Civic was closed and only the wulfren was being used to squeeze all of Wolverhampton’s wonderful people under one roof. And the Pigeon Detectives were on the decks, spinning tunes likable to that of “100.7 HEART FM INDIE HOUR! LET’S ROOOOOOCCCCCCKKKKK”. A bit gay, but the lead singer soon got tired, presumably out of stress of keeping that gigantic nose of his upright and went off for a sleep. Or to have sex with a collection of ugly femmes all waiting down my the barrier staring upwards at their greasy pale skin the epitomisation of raw sex.

But twas a very good night enjoyed by all, more so by Mike who was so drunk he thought I’d taken an entire taxi ride with him to Codsall, when in fact I’d gone to Tettenhall. And taken a completely different taxi in the first place. Going in opposite directions. Bless him.

But yes, from then another Sunday spent at home, every day is like Sunday there. Nothing really happens, it’s nice sometimes. Other times it drags a bit. It’s better when people are around too really. Means it’s not just me, mum, dad and my cat. Alarmingly LuLu gets included in more and more conversations.

“What are you looking at LuLu?” - they’ll say

“LuLu, for the last time David Cameron’s ‘yo blair’ antics don’t constitute a leader, it’s new labour in disguise lulu! Why can’t you see the situation for what it is? GOD!” - Who knows....maybe one day?

And then of course Biff on monday, you already know my feelings towards that, super awesome-o.

So I arrive back to university. This house is a tip, my room is tidy and lovely because I’m like that, I like to have somewhere where there isn’t complete chaos, I like a bit of lived in mess but I can’t seem to get a happy middle ground, cause this place is so small it gets un tidy so quickly. I cleaned my windows this morning, inside and out. Go me eh? My room to explain is roughly three feet by 4, with a sink attached to one of the walls next to a wardrobe. I have a desk with my computer and tv on, with shelves above. In the corner I get a wire mesh which I’ve had comfirmed by carbon dating to be an early Roman equivalent of a torture rack COUGH I mean bed. And I have two chairs, but there’s only one of me. So the other chair lives at the end of my bed, quite often with my jeans on. Fascinating. I have a lot of posters, since this picture, there are more.

One positive of university and living away from home I guess is the fact that I’ve lost some weight. Well so far two stone since September 19^th. So that’s a stone a month I guess? That’s pretty good, 3 stone by Christmas hopefully? Then I can put it all back on again in two weeks. Hurrah. Another good thing would be the independence, the new people, the course itself is super and will only get better I think. Those are the plusses. Oh and the internet connection, that’s bossing. Hellooooo streamed media. But still it’s not all perfect.

I miss people dreadfully. I try to stay here as much as possible but I’m always finding myself coming back for the smallest of reasons. I miss Nathalie dreadfully. In a way I wish I had been clever enough to go to Manchester, but on the same hand I wouldn’t want to corner her. It’s just nice when I get to see her more, it’s why I’m looking forward to Christmas so much I think. It’s really bad sometimes. Certain songs get to me more than they should, certain lines from fims or books. Currently it’s Starálfur by Sigur Rós. Which if the internet is to be believed is about elfs in the wood. Hm, but I think it’s just lovely, all pianos. I find pianos so provocative, it’s because I don’t understand them. I don’t know if I’d want to, because I wouldn’t be able to play what’s in my head, that’s the most frustrating thing about any instrument, when you’ve got something in your head that you can’t put down or make the thing in your hand do. And then inevitably you forget what it was you were trying to do, so I usually look for bands to write the music that I’m thinking of. And in many way that’s what Starálfur is, I mean it’s in Icelandic I don’t know what he’s saying but I know what I’d be saying. It’s hard to describe. But it’s beautiful, it peaks and picks you up and you almost float on top of it. It’s delightful, I’ll try and find a link to it for you.

I miss my friends too, being away from my comrades sucks. I feel like I’m constantly catching up. It’s sad.

Watched - ‘The Royal Tenenbaums” recently. Made me realise I still want to write more than anything in the world.

Read – ‘Brighton Rock’ by Graham Greene. Excellent morality and spiritual book caught me completely off guard. And ‘The Remains Of The Day’ by Kazuo Ishiguro, real slow burner frustrating but deeply sad novel.

That’s all for now.

Love you and miss you.

x

Sigur Rós. Hope you love it too.

Soulwax & 2 Many DJs

Tomorrow. 9 till 6. Should be E-pic.

However

Things stopping me from throwing myself to the mercy of rabid dogs...

Tickets to Hamlet this August bank holiday.
David Tennant as Hamlet.
Very near mine and Nathalie's two years.
Should be sublime, lovely seats, corker.


And, Patrick Wolf - Finalé show, Sheperd's Bush Empire 20th December.
Night in London, nearly Christmas.
Awesome.


See what I meant about oppertune moments?

N'night, tired head.

Summer pt3 Uni life.

And so to the final large development of the summer/early autumn, me leaving home and going to university. This has been a rather uprooting and traumatic time all round for me, and one that’s taken a while to get used to. Leaving everyone behind has been tough. Leaving Dickie after only just getting him back, leaving Mike who’s been my main man for the last few months and leaving Nathalie just when I was getting used to seeing her every day.

Most of all leaving my parents was tough, I love them to bits. Equal parts to annoyance.

Uni is fun though and I’ve made new friends and got to know people which has been fun. My course looks like it’ll burn my retinas out by the end of it all with the vast reading lists, but hey, I am reading English Lit. My lectures and teachers all seem thoroughly nice sorts, my tutor emailed me to wish me a happy birthday. I think I fit in here.

My university is no longer called UCE (University of Central England) however, I’m now a student of Birmingham City University, which sounds a bit grander and by the looks of it means we’re getting plasma screens put in the windows of the buildings. Hurrah for change eh?

Here’s evidence of my cooking skills,

Here's my cooking buddy Shaun



And the view of brum from my penthouse (complete with greyhound track)

Fun times await, I've blogged enough.

Night loves

x

Summer (Pt1) Leeds Festival

The months of august and September where particularly sparse writing times for me, for one I wasn’t really around a computer for too much of it all, and secondly I was too busy living the events and soaking them all up, I didn’t really want to ruin it all by rationalising it in my head. So now, in hindsight I look back on one of my favourite summers in a long long time.

Leeds Festival.

Leeds festival is good fun no matter what happens, that’s what we all had in our minds and to a certain extent that’s still universally true. I had to think this harder than most this year, because frankly the line up was sparse and obtuse. My favourite bands were clashing or on in mid day, people had gone mental for nu-rave and the beer were a ten pence cheaper. However, this all was eroded upon the first day of glorious sunshine and good old fashioned joshing.

Friday’s highlights included buying the guardian and thinking that Trent Reznor looked like David Gest.

Saturday’s highlight was seeing MAXÏMO PARK (sorry but they have to be in caps) blow the entirety of Leeds away with some as always jaggy art pop driven genius. I can’t hear them without smelling room oderiser. They just make me happy, they’ve got artsy lyrics about girls and love and roughly 14 amazing choruses. Me and Philip greeted each other on the morning after with –

“Five times five equals?”

“TWENTY FYYYYYYYYYVVVE!”

Amazing, topped off by a rather thin but ultimately sublime Patrick Wolf the day was one to be savoured.

Sunday came round with pangs of guilt and regret. I’ll tell you the tail but first you must agree not to judge me or condemn me until you know the facts. On Sunday I burnt my friend’s guitar. Right. “Bastard” you’re thinking and think you might, however here be the facts and in some way there is a redeeming logic to it all. Skip back a night to the Saturday of fun times, I’d had fun and as with fun, when 4am roles around you kind of get tired and in thinking that you’ll be up in roughly another 4 hours anyway it’ll be best to get some sleep. (Due to the transparency of tents, and the overzealous nature of Leeds campers). So when 5 rolled around and some CUNT sorry but CUNT was playing “Why does it always rain on me?” for the fifteenth time with boy band vocals added that perfectly rational part of my psyche snapped. I was not only over the edge of reason I was somewhere past Cuba lighting up a cigar and giving the US border guards a rounded V sign. I cracked that night in Branham Park. And I’m not proud of my exacting revenge.

Sunday passed without remark, the bands were average the cider was flowing and I’d finished off my box of wine, I’ll be very honest in saying I was very drunk. Yes very drunk in-fact. However not too drunk not to remember I had yesterday’s guardian in my tent that I hadn’t read yet and through utter despair at the line up headed that way with Sarah, possibly Hayley too. We arrived to find Phil, Nic, Georgia, Mike and Dickie. Possibly others were there, I’m not sure. They seemed to be stuffing grass into Luke’s guitar. Now call this full blown twatishness or sheer excitement but seeing my tormenter royally stuffed filled me with a passionate joy. And like most passionate joys when inebriated it bypassed my brain and went straight to my foot. And my foot went straight through the guitar. Oops.

I hadn’t quite intended it to all happen so soon, but then the memory changes and becomes confused and quite separated through myth and fiction. I can remember someone shouting “BURN IT” (this may have been me, though more than likely Phil) and I dutifully obliged, it seemed those fire lighters were in my pocket for the speed at which they were dispatched. The guitar was gone. No one claimed the deed, no one dobbed the other in. We passed it off as a moment of madness.

So there we go, judge me. (On a side note the guitar was a £9 child affair from Asda)

In true “American troops in Basra” style we decided not to just get our kicks but to incriminate ourselves with photographic proof.

So that was Leeds.

And here’s our truth.

Good Morning!

Ok well, half way through one hell of a weekend, which started thursday but we'll let that one go eh? Thursday was excess to the point of black outs, I have very little idea where we went and what we did other than me and Philip my fellow Smiths confident hijacked the jukebox to play 6 Smiths tracks in a row, which was most most excellent. Nathalie poured Jägermeister over me, and we had a very bad kebab. Most excellent.

Then woke up at eight the next day to spend all day helping Nathalie move out, most of which I spent outside feeling as if death was stalking me around every corner, extreme drinking, extreme hangover. Bleugh. I felt like slightly warmed death. Greasy hair gives me away more than smiles ever could. Judge me by my hair state. Always.

Which reminds me I'm getting it cut on wednesday. Awesome times. This blog has decended into a diary.

So yes, lots of moving and labelling done yesturday and Nathalie's new house is utterly gorgeous and I really wished I had the maturity and money to buy a house like that, it was old and lived in but warm and so so light every room just seemed warm and inviting, cosy in the winter, alive in the summer, it's the perfect house for them to become a family and I feel certain Nathalie will be part of it all, if she lets her mum have her way.

And then for Bright Eyes, which was absolutely stunning, I'll be honest, he's a brilliant performer, he's got the songs, he's got the confidence and he's got the band now, a whole ten piece, 3 drummers, one synth and brass and violinists and chelloists. They all appeared on stage dressed in white, all very impressive. I can't write reviews, but it was fantastic, but he needs a hair cut. But me and nat and me mum had lots of fun, and we met up with Joe from way back when, and that was really nice.

(Joe)

And so I'm home now, trying desperately to recharge batteries, and steady myself for a big houseparty/going out tonight. I've had a big breakfast and I'm off to the shops in a sec to sort out provisions, but the plan is to move around very little all the same!

No baby as of yet, and my gosh isn't LiveEarth a bit shit? They all seem a little pre-occupied with playing their latest singles.

xx

+ extra pictures cause I love you

(Bright Eyes, least my interpretation of)

Salut!

Let's all get drunk

And dance to 'This Charming Man'?



Oh go on then.

Latitude Excitement!

I have glorious news in the way of scoring (no one ever really says that) tickets to Latitude festival, the idea started a while back brewing in the mind of my mate Philip who whilst in the throws of some sort of university educed boredom or drink session came upon the idea of going to not one, but two festivals this summer, this idea was crazy too crazy for words.

Now, I know people who go to every festival under the sun, people say to their faces that they're cool but behind their backs call them rich idiots or elitist snobs, because financial wise, going to festivals in this country is an expensive affair. Firstly you have the fact that the average festival cost around £150 on face value, but once the website you buy it off, which you have to buy it off take their selling and transaction fees off you you're looking at around £160 before you've even set out the door. Then you've got to buy supplies for the 4 nights you'll be sleeping in a field, which is about £20 plus whatever alcohol you decide to take. And then you get there, and hope you've bought enough food and drink to make it not so desperate to spend £8 on a burger and a coke. It's weird when you come back from a festival and all of a sudden a can doesn't cost a quid and a bottle isn't two.

So yes, going to two festivals is a big step for me, and an exciting one and a really cool and fun thing and a quite naughty thing all at the same time. Hah, well my mum and dad have left for for two weeks and it falls smack in the middle of it all, and I'm supposed to be saving and looking for a part time job, however I can't really just say to them, "naaah I'm gonna spend £200 instead" so hopefully with a bit of help from my sister looking after the cat, they neeeeed never know. And if they ever find out, I'll just tell them it's a poetry festival, which kind of has an element of truth to it, just not that much...I mean there will be poetry there, and multi coloured sheep but I'm pretty sure with the exception of the sheep I'm really just going for the music.

And the words music festival usually fill them with a sort of dread that I'll end up dying of a drug educed coma, where in lies only a smidge of truth, if we're going to relapse then why not in a pretty safe as houses environment? I'd never get out of my head around here, it's too dangerous, it's a little dangerous getting drunk in Wolves, your mugging likelihood gets quadrupled.

So yeah, mega fun times ahead!

Barmouth Day Out! 15/06/07

Barmouth was ace and wet! And then dry!

We all caught crabs!

Hah, yeah I never get tired of that one.

Ok! Pictures!

(crabbing pictures supplied by nathaliedar)