Installing Haloscan is a bitch!

Or I am just really slow and do not understand code...yep, that's more likely...

Lordy.

So, the date – how was it? Oh, you know, fine, we had drinks at Bar Soho (we had to sit outside since, being Friday evening, and him wanting to meet me at the ridiculously early time of 7.15, all of Soho was rammed, which would have been ok except for the ‘decorative’ palm trees they have by the doors (why?), the fronds of which kept attacking me every time I leaned forward in my chair), then we went to have dinner at a little Turkish restaurant, which he waxed lyrical about – the food was fine, but the restaurant staff seemed to be trying their level best to win ‘the surliest waiters in all of London’ award. Don’t get me wrong, there’s some pretty stiff competition for that award, but these guys were serious contenders. However, all that was fine, and conversation was flowing fairly well, so we decided to go for drinks after the restaurant….

So, we’re chatting, and covering all manner of topics, as you do, and then he casually throws into the conversation that he was gay for ten years, but ‘thinks’ he is straight now. In case anyone missed that, it was TEN YEARS. 10 years. T-e-n y-e-a-r-s. So that’s that.

Oh, don’t tell me, I know what you’re thinking: I’m so picky, right? Sheesh.

Happy Friday!

Morning campers! It’s Friday – feel the joy. As previously reported, I am moving (another reason for joy, joy, joy), and will soon be free from the evil clutches of my evil housemates, Tall One and Short One. So, all week, I’ve been showing prospective tenants round my room and lying through my teeth about what a lovely, relaxed household it is….The flat itself is actually really nice – very spacious and has a little garden out the back (gardens being like gold dust in London), and it is very close to the tube, but none of that can make up for the fact that Tall One and Short One are in fact, clinically insane and make sane people’s lives a misery as a matter of course.

I have to find a tenant for my room before I can move out, so I’ve been in a frenzy of cleaning, and, using the knowledge I have gleaned from all those annoying yet addictive property shows, have been ‘dressing’ the flat when people come to view it: fresh flowers in the living room, scented candles, no clutter – I’ve even gone as far as to have a fresh pot of coffee on the go, but I draw the line at baking bread. There’s been a fair bit of interest, which is very comforting, and I am beginning to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

So to tonight, and the date. Yes, the very posh guy I met in Gerry’s called last night and offered me three options for the location of tonight’s date. I chose door number 2, which is near where I work. I didn’t really think it through though. This meant I had to get my date outfit together this morning and bring it in a carrier bag. Which made me at least 30 mins late for work, and caused a bit of a wardrobe meltdown. Why are all my good clothes in the wash? Why do I have tons of clothes that don’t seem to suit me? (And why am I only realising this now?) How come I didn’t get my favourite heels fixed 2 weeks ago, when they actually broke? And so on. So, I’ve brought along a black top, a green top, a pair of silver heels and my advanced make up bag (as opposed to my regular make-up bag). However, I’m still planning to nip to the shops at lunchtime ‘just in case’ I spot the outfit… But as all women know, the actual chances of finding an outfit at short notice on Oxford St during your lunch hour are slim to none. I'm going to try anyway - wish me luck.

Do the Hustle!

Last weekend, saw possibly one of the best films I have ever seen. I would say it is definitely going into my all time top 10. The film was the mighty Kung Fu Hustle, directed by the even mightier Stephen Chow (who also directed Shaolin Soccer). I love Kung Fu movies anyway, but this one is something special, and everyone should go see it. It was produced in Hong Kong, so it isn’t some awful ‘hollywoodised’ version. It is set in 1940, in a small town in China. Two local criminals try to pass themselves off as members of the notorious ‘Axe Gang’ (a gang who kill people with…axes), to extort money from the locals. The locals fight back, and then the real Axe gang turns up and all hell breaks loose. It is a total thrill-ride of a movie with amazing fight sequences, looney tunes style humour and action, and a really cool story. The film also pokes gentle fun at American kung fu movies, and also has references to The Shining, and also makes fun of the Matrix. I was more than impressed and am urging everyone to see it. You won’t be disappointed.

On the other side of the scale, and as part of the whole public service posting with regard to films, DO NOT go to see RED EYE. My sincerest apologies to you if this warning comes to late. It is possibly one of the worst films I have ever seen. It was just so silly! The storyline was utterly preposterous for a start, and although it started ok, it rapidly disintegrated. The serious ‘action sequences’ were so badly directed they were unintentionally hilarious, with ‘Thunderbirds’ style sets, and very shoddy explosions. All the main actors were laughable, and on reflection, the actors playing the air-hostesses, only in the film for maybe 5 minutes between them, were the best and most convincing thing in it. Absolutely dreadful.

Bloke joke (or Why women are better).

Big Dipper has a 'blonde' joke on his blog today, so I thought I should even things up with a joke at the expense of men...

Here goes:

Adam and Eve are in the garden of Eden with God. God is handing out favours to them but can't decide who should have what, so he tells them he will say the favour and whoever shouts the loudest gets the favour. God clears his throat and says the first favour,
'To be able to pee standing up'. Adam jumps up and down shouting 'Me! Me!' and is granted the favour. He then does a little victory dance.
'Damn,' says Eve, 'that would have been really useful.'
'I'm sorry Eve,' says God, 'but all I have left is the multiple orgasm.'

Boom-boom!

Troubling oversight

It has been brought to my attention, that in my account of last weekend’s activities, I failed to mention the minor yet crucial role played by my Bro. I met him for coffee with Nev on Saturday afternoon. He brought this oversight to my attention.

Back in the game

It’s all good today – we won the Ashes for a start. I’ve no idea how, since the scoring of cricket will forever be a mystery to me, but I do know that the delicious Freddie Flintoff had a lot to do with it, as did the rest of the team, including Kevin Pieterson, but they’re just not as pretty. So – hurrah to us! We are so kicking Australia’s arse at the moment, and that’s no bad thing as far as I’m concerned.

Quite apart from the excitement over the cricket, I had quite the action-packed weekend. Went out on Friday with Nev after work – we were supposed to be ‘just having a couple’…but you know how that goes. Kicked it all off with some cocktails in mybar – we were celebrating the start of the weekend. We then decided to be sensible and go get something to eat, which we did, and then sense went out the window as we decided to round off the evening with another ‘couple’ of drinks at Gerry’s in Soho. Nev is a member, (I’m just the hanger-on) but we still got harassed by the door staff, who were muttering darkly about non-payment of member subs. We sidestepped them and Nev just blagged us in, though she admitted to me once we were safely over the threshold that she had only ever paid a one-off fee, years ago. I asked her to keep her voice down.

It was dead at first, but then filled up all of a sudden with lots of rather eccentric types. In particular, there was a scarf-wearing, Byron-quoting Keith Richards wannabe who claimed to be a cartoonist by trade, and referred to Nev and I as ‘creatures’, but then bought us drinks, so we tolerated him. Until, that is, that he told us quite earnestly that he only really likes to sleep with seventeen-year-old girls, because they are less ‘complicated’. He was forty. I said I thought that was a shame and quite sad, and so ended the complimentary drinks section of the evening. But by that time there were lots of new people to talk to, including Cary, a man with such a bad stammer that talking to him was exhausting, not least because when you had deciphered what exactly he was trying to say, you realised it was not worth the effort. There was also much to look at, including a woman of, shall we say, advanced years, wearing a sequinned pink and silver catsuit, giving an impromptu T’ai Chi demonstration. Or at least I think it was T’ai Chi. Then we met a very interesting man, who impressed Nev and I by singing not only ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’ by Britney Spears…in Yiddish, but also Jumpin’ Jack Flash by the Rolling Stones…in Greek. That’s entertainment, alright. I was very much taken with him, so we talked and drank some more, and I was having such a good time that I didn’t notice how much time had passed. It was time to go, and yes, yes, he did ask for my number, and because he was ever so charming, I gave it to him. Back in the game.

Soon as Nev and I stepped outside, the heavens opened, and we took an executive decision to run to Balans and eat breakfast (well, what else do you call a meal that you eat at 4.30am?), which worked as a very good hangover preventative measure. Saturday was spent in various stages of recovery, mainly watching the Home and Away omnibus on Channel 5 – if you haven’t watched it for a while, I wholeheartedly recommend it – it’s got everything, romance, murders, high-school angst, adultery and dressmaking. Give it a go.

Sunday was a big day, because I went to meet Red to view her new flat, with a view to taking the spare room. Freedom is in sight! The room is great, I’m taking it, and I am so relieved. Finally, I can leave the cramp twins. I told them I was leaving last night. I kept a straight face, played up how much money I would save by moving, rather than the real reason, which is how much sanity I will be saving. So, now all I have to do is organise the move. Yay! May have to buy a new pair of shoes to celebrate. Wait, I already did that.

Oz-ter-ALIEN

It’s all off with Oz. His list of misdemeanours begins with him getting very drunk and ‘overly amorous’ shall we say, on the second date, and suggesting he stayed the night with me – despite the fact that my arm was still in a sling at this point. At the time, I let it go, because I figured, he was drunk, and even with my arm in plaster, I’m still pretty irresistible. But really, it should have set some of those tiny little alarm bells ringing. They started ringing proper when he called to cancel our third date at very short notice because he was, and I quote ‘too hungover’ to see me. How lame is that? Which was followed by him calling me sporadically, never on the day he said he would, and the gist of these calls was generally Oz talking about himself and about how much alcohol he had consumed that particular day. So, eventually I surmised that he had an ego the size of Australia, and that I would never come between him and his beer. I know beer is important to men, but really, I’m looking for someone who feels up to making a bit more of an effort. It all makes me feel a bit weary – are all the good ones really taken already? Right, deep breath, back into the dating game, back to square one, next contestant please!

Katrina Appeal

Donate to the Red Cross here:

http://www.redcross.org.uk/standard.asp?id=49121

We all should, because, you know, Bush doesn't seem too bothered...and he's the president. Could do better, Mr. Bush.