Rubber Rollercoaster

Greatness All Around

2007-04-23T20:59:00.000Z

Living in Dagenham probably doesn't give me much reason to frequently start sentences with "Well of course Dagenham has......" although in recent weeks I have been able to complete that sentence with both "a football league team for next season" and "a really good and easy to use recyling policy".

However how about this for a corker "Well of course Dagenham has one of only 4 Great Trees of London in east london (and I know that I'm actually in Essex - let me save that rant for another day).

Don't believe me? Well The Valence Park Holm Oak is an official Great Tree of London . It has a plaque and everything (photo to follow if I can stalk my way around the Valence Moat Anglers). I quite like the idea that not only do I live near a Moat but there is a Great Tree as well. I wonder how many people who trudge through Valence Park actually notice the rather dark and somewhat massive tree in the corner by the old house and near the duck pond. Admittedly it is usually guarded by some evil Muscovy Duck so perhaps less people get to know that way-hay they are walking by A Great Tree.

It would be a good idea if the council also mentioned it somewhere on their website.....mmm, there's an idea.

Regular Maintenance

2007-04-16T21:40:00.000Z

Well, I thought I better give this a dust off seeing as it is, oh flaming pigs, nearly a year since I last wrote anything. Bugger.

So West Ham didn't win the FA Cup last year - but the final was great. This year the success belongs to Dagenham & Redbridge who got promotion to the league. Hurrah for them - I have a feeling that they won't be suffering the same plumenting of form as the Hammers. Neither will they be signing up dodgy Argentinians.....

Hey ho blog resurrected will keep it regular from now on.

Unexpected Pleasures

2006-04-24T20:16:00.000Z

As if the excitement that was a place in the FA Cup Semi Finals wasn't enough - there was more to the visit to Villa Park than just thinking that I'd have to be declared insane before trying the dogburgers on offer from the standard footie-identikit vendors scattered around.

Being a travelling footie fan meant that due to the absence of any Travel Jonahs on the way up to Villa, this happy hammer had around 4 hours to kill before turnstyles opened and the "greatest cup competition in the world" waddled into life - ahem, that flaming great that our match was on naffing Sky and not the beeb... So with the twin missions of finding something to do for a few hours and the growing need for a pee, the serendipitious find that is Aston Hall was truly welcome.

This is a free, let me repeat free, local stately home occupied by the Holte family (Holte End linkage) and also by James Watt Jnr, son of the engineer. The current Villa Ground is part of the fishponds and cesspools area from the great house and is worth a visit in it's own right. And not just because I needed a "comfort break" - although the guide had clocked that the average woman clad in team scarf and a sightly manic look in her eyes might welcome the update on facilities.

It's fantastic! Any fans wanting to kill time pre match v Villa, head up the Trinity Road and just for once, emphasise with life in a different era. The house is one of the Community Funded museums of Birmingham and is less nobby then the National Trust properties I've visited, with the trustees actually enthusiastic about what they are showing you and happy to point out small details. OK, it's not everyone's cup of tea (did I mention that coffee is 90p a cup and served in a proper mug) but for an unexpected find on a potentially grim afternoon, it's brill. Go see it, hunt out the remanents of the giant turtle, see if you can identify the bed ark and restain your companion from pinging an anicent fishbowl marked "Do Not Touch"

If you are into Jacobean architecture and lifestyle, this is a real find - and if you aren't, then the guides are used to fans wandering in with a rather fixed look in their eyes after a long coach journey.

And the football? We won. Cardiff here we come, recommendations for cultural gems welcomed.

Tree Hugging

2006-04-08T20:06:00.000Z

My brother's birthday - always a dilemma. The dilemma being that as I have very little to do with him, it's really hard to buy him anything. I had shied away from the classic fall back for blokes of socks on two grounds; it was too much of a cop out and also, well I don't know what size feet he's got. This decision was a baaad one as upon discussions with the Oracle, footcoverings had been a required article. Bugger.

The perfect gift presented itself to me in the form of a twisted willow tree. I'd be leaping around like a frog in a sock if I was given one. Who wouldn't be thrilled to the gills with a twisty tree heralding in spring? I think I found the answer to that.

Still, there are a lot of advantages to buying a tree (well grafted sapling to be precise).

You don't have to wrap it - well I guess a half hearted attempt could have been made to put a bow on it.

It's really hard to not use it - afterall all you have to do is plant it and it's not like you can just wheel out on high days and holidays in the unlikely event of a visit by the giver (in my case it would probably have turned to fossil fuel before I was likely to be dropping in)

It's a constant reminder of the kind person who gave it to you......

It can't be passed on to someone else as a cheapskate way of funding another present

There is endless fun involved in getting into a car as twisty it may be, flexible and foldable it isn't. Much hilarity can be sourced from watching someone wrestle with Nature's Gift in an attempt to get into a car that has been boxed in all sides. Although there is a slight trade off here in that much fun can be sourced by walking blithely around with said article not realising just how close you are getting to "treeing" someone.

And of the course the best bit is when someone opens the door and you can thrust a tree at them and say "it's a tree, for a present" and beam like a very contented gloworm.

Happy Birthday!

Not Everything Is Black & White

2006-03-05T19:44:00.000Z

Whether it is the advent of Spring (you know, that bit of the year that has brilliant sunshine, azure skies, vibrant bulbs and oh yes, freezing temperatures and excessive ice on the car windscreen) or something more personal, I've been seeing colour everywhere.

My mind at the best of times (and currently this isn't a best of times) tends to ramble off in it's own world, occasionally remember to return to sender but not usually before some blinding insight of a surreal nature has been uttered at a totally inappropriate time. But one thing that I ususally could count on was that it would see things mainly in grey with a flash of sepia shoudl I be feeling cheerful but never vibrant colours. Therefore I feel as though I am starring in a particularly arty film where the colours have deeper meaning and are therefore important and worthy of being noticed. I am now drawn to colours like some moth to a lava-lamp. Recently focussing in on a trio of Renault yellow articles whilst just glancing out of a window was a good example, the yellow of a car (renault), a motorbike and a jogger seizing my attention as though the key to curing the common cold could be gleaned from them if I just looked hard enough.

I'm finding it all fascinating and am convinced that I may have started to finally nail depression that has greyed out my life for years. My favourties on flickr were a bit of a clue but it's only when I saw them all together the colour swatches flew before me. For once, rose-tinted specs are a good thing.

Colour - it's great.

It's The Little Things

2006-02-17T11:03:00.000Z

It actually doesn't take much to make me laugh since I have the ability to find some small bizarre thing funny most days - it goes along with the ability to walk into large objects, trip over my own feet and generally be a bit of a loop on reality.

Yesterday's highlight was courtesy of the Central Line Train Driver - he obviously decided that corporate speak and annoucements wasn't for him and as we lurched up to Bank and awaited the standard "Mind The Gap" annoucement, things changed. "Please be aware of the space between the platform and the train - it's wide in places" Good for you mate. But it got better with the addition of "well, that's what you get if you tunnel behind the vaults of the Bank of England" Those of us not wearing earphones or engaged in banal and inane (oh and loud) conversations about the merits of boots, exchanged a brief smirk of enjoyment before disappearing beneath papers like commuting hermit crabs. Thank you Non-Conformist Train Driver - you made my Wednesday.

Today's frivolity has come in the form of work. Whilst writing down short codes for files, I had the bizarre experience of receiving a Yoda-like message based on the abbreviations I was working with. Now I know the secret of life, it's thus:

NOR NAG NOT

Insightfulness from work - whatever next.

Remembering to be Happy

2006-02-07T22:54:00.000Z

Now that the gloom appears to have drifted off, I now have that clarity that I always forget will follow a period of glumps.
I have as much or little control over my own life as a I need and although changes may be uncomfortable (a bit breaking in a new pair of boots), I'm actually finding out new things about myself as a result of having to face up to the maxim of "do what you always do, get what you always get".

I've learnt, well learning, how to have appropriate panicks/reactions to things as opposed to the "one-size fits all" type reaction I usually wheel out - which can vary from "the world is ending" to "oh well hey ho" with there not being much inbetween. I feel like I have the emotional range of a sugar thermometer - it's either nothing interesting happening or else it's a reaction worthy of "stand clear to prevent scalding" I'll be the first to admit that I do get concerned at the intensity/apathy conundrum and occasionally wish that I could just get a little bit pissed off or a little bit unconcerned as opposed to lurching between extremes. I'd also quite like to know which reaction it's going to be - I sometimes do get a bit fed up of my body springing surprises on me.

I have a real struggle with self-worth, any slight dent to my confidence (bad day at work, taking forever to park, being too timid to move out into another lane when driving and then getting stuck behind some slow, wide, swervey vehicle) and it doesn't take much for me to start the uselessness rosary. Ie that because I'm me, I'm useless. It took a mental kick to make me realise that short of causing a 20 mile tailback by refusing to overtake a Smart Care I'm actually not important enough in the grand scheme of things to matter greatly so therefore if I fail to attach a file in an email, leave the wrong date on a header or even totally forget to do a report or take 3 mins rather than 30 seconds to pass a slow-beast IT DOESN'T MATTER TO ANYONE. And I need to get over it.

See, post slump clarity - it's more mind boggling than being a sad-sack.

Just Reflecting on It All

2006-02-05T13:18:00.000Z

Sometimes all the things that I work hard on ignoring force themselves to the front of my mind and demand attention like a deranged fledging in the nest. Weird thoughts open their poisonous throats and spew forth some sort of nonsense that then lodges in my brain.

My niece's new baby for example. Thrilled that she's had it, somewhat guilty as I initially felt that she would be making a mistake having a baby at 19 and then hearing the trauma she went through in delivery (blood transfusions, plummenting blood pressure, emergency action to save her life, a chance the baby would also die) and I can't help thinking I came close to losing someone I love. My sister admits she thought she was going to see her daughter die in front of her - how the hell can that feel? Admittedly my niece is fine as is her son and hopefully they should be going home soon and will be able to settle down to life as a new family but my sister is still in shock about how close she came to losing her own child. All of this doesn't make me want to be a parent - I'll continue to fulfill the selfish career woman fantasy for people.

And then there's the parents. I've spending more time with my parents recently (thanks to prolonged dental work, who says that there isn't a silver lining to everything, shame it was the glint of a filling in this case) and each time I'm back at home, I feel more and more close to them, but this is underpinned with a horrible feeling that I'm going to lose them soon, just when I'm getting back in touch with them.

The mere act of being told to have a lie down on a bed for an hour because I felt weary from the week was immensely powerful. I don't often have the chance to feel totally relaxed, safe and unstressed at the moment so knowing that Mum & Dad were downstairs and wouldn't let me nod off for too long (or in otherwords oversleep and be late for football) was so reassuring. It's a long time since I let anyone have the opportunity to "take care of me" and it's a weird feeling as I would usually have felt out of control, weak and useless with someone else looking after me but I didn't. I just felt loved.

Fairly soon I'm going to really need their support and the manic fledging in my brain is cheeping that they won't give it, that I'm going to hurt them by what's going to happen and worse of all, that they will think badly of me. Can I request an emotional cuckoo to kick these monsters out of my mind.

Homelife is of course at the root of all of this. Due to how things have got at home, I'm in effect living downstairs, with my clothes in boxes, sleeping on a futon and being careful not to be in the same room as the other one if at all possible. The times when we are in each others space are painful to put up with and I can't stand knowing that I haven't got my freedom by the mere fact that I know someone is upstairs.

Communication is limited to usually asking about who wants the internet cable (we may have separately irons & ironing boards now but there is still only my broadband to share) and we are now at the very grown up stage of just about managing to share washing powder but nothing else. All those things that were awkward culinary differences between us (skimmed milk v full fat, own label v premium brand anything, white bread v granary etc) now are no longer problems seeing as we do our own shopping and if there is no milk for tea then it's tough. No sharing, no borrowing, no contact.

The freezer is sad study in different outlooks. There are mysterious frozen tupperware boxes of homemade veggie somethings in one shelf and then there are the "sad bastard meals-for-one" lower down. Liver and Bacon for One, Chicken & Chips, Ready Made Gravy cubes (!!!), Mini Roasts etc. I didn't realise that viewing a stash of ready meals would actually upset me but it does. What have I done to this person's life - and what am I going to continue to do. It doesn't make me feel good on one level knowing that I'm about to kick another level of support away but then that degree of support should never have been needed and had a cost to me. But the mad fledging pecks away at the strong side of me, determined to unearth the pathetic bit of me that used to be all anyone could see.

All this just swirls around my head, diluting the good things that also happened: My niece is well(ish) and has a stable relationship into which her baby is born and her mum absolutely loves her and is close to her. When I was helping Dad email me the photos of the baby to me, I showed him the photos on Flickr which he loved, even summonsing Mum to view the other bits and pieces (this is an honour indeed). Home - it will have an end, and that is in my control, this is just part of the process that I'm having to go through due to being a coward for so long. And there are a myriad of other good things that I can't even start to write about.

Bad things, Good things - it's all things.

Relative Relations

2006-02-05T12:01:00.000Z

Yippo - my great nephew has arrived. 8lbs, same length as his mum when she was born (apparently) and nameless.

The newly crowned Grandmother (ha - how old does that make my sister sound) candidly described the birth as "a cross between that scene from Alien and a Holby City Special". I'm taking it that means copious amounts of blood, drama and near-death. This was all later confirmed as correct.

The joy of the camera phone meant that I got a snap of the boglin yesterday afternoon and he looks, well, he looks pretty unwrinkled and therefore human. Result!

Welcome to the world boglin - we'll look out for you.

Special Delivery

2006-02-01T23:43:00.000Z

Greatness is about to be thrust upon me.

Unfortunately it is not the case that I'm being recognised for the sterling work I do in baleing out an under resourced job by stupidly, sorry selflessly, working unpaid OT and not taking leave but rather due to the fact that even as I type, I could be in the throes of becoming a Great Aunt.....

....at the age of 35!

My niece is merrily spawning meaning that the next generation is establishing itself. My sister is only marginally freaked out about becoming a gran - "it can learn to call me by my proper name" was her contribution to the great "grannie, gran, grana or nana" conversation. I only stopped baying like a hyena once it dawned on me that I was likely to end up as "gak" (great aunty kathy) hmmmm.

So fingers and everything else crossed, although maybe not if you're in labour - this time tomorrow I'll have another reason to feel contented by the fact that other people are admirably doing their bit for the population crisis so I don't have to.

Innocent Fun

2006-01-21T22:10:00.000Z

Pricey they may be, but I am slowly falling in love with Innocent smoothies & thickies - although I'm not exactly enthralled with the one with beetroot in it, that one is more akin to snogging some ancient mid-life crisis angst ridden sales rep because you feel sorry for him - the rest however I could cheerfully sup up.

But it's not just the taste, no the love affair with Innocent goes beyond pure refreshment - it's done to the fact that the labels make me laugh. Go on, browse at one the next time you are out and see whether you can find the mystery ingredient, like a rubber duck or uplifting message. I was almost on the point of lauching into a photo frenzy in the supermarket to flickrise the label series (this still may happen) when it occurred to me to check the website first. Oh mash me a banana and Jack Daniels smoothie this instant - they have a label museum, Happy? I'm close to tears of exaltation here.

Personal favourites: "Thou Shalt Not", "Dial 9", "Crafty Nap" and of course "free radicals".

And Innocent will lend you books as well.......Do you think that a Valentine's Smoochie Smoothie is on the cards.

Parental Responsibility

2006-01-14T19:38:00.000Z

Chronic pain had driven me back to the dentist after a spell that is well let's just say beyond the recommended interval for check ups and because I still go to the dental practice that I went to when I was a child (although the actual dentist has changed of course, the original one probably giving the pearly gates a nice scale and polish right now), this meant I had the opportunity to visit my parents.

I get on fine with my parents, I just rarely see them despite them living relatively nearby and it never seems to be the case that I'm "just popping by" and end up usually talking to them when I actually need a favour doing. And this feels wrong. Very wrong.

It was a serious time trip going back home to chat to Dad & Mum on my own on a Saturday morning, I haven't done it for yonks and it was like the years fell away and I was back to being 16 again with Dad rattling on with some highly convoluted annecdote that I'd then get replayed via my Mum half an hour later. Merrily scattering their newspaper over the table and resting my coffee mug on the property section, safe in the knowledge it wouldn't be opened, whilst scanning through the quick crossword was as relaxing now as it had been when this was part of my routine as a teenager.

For a small time on that Saturday morning, everything was all right again and I was secure in the knowledge despite all the things I'm worried about, that they'd look after me. The emotional grazed knee that others had tenderly sponged down was now well and truly bandaged up.

Whether it was that sort of dawning realisation you get with the approach of parental birthdays - Dad is 73 in a few weeks, Mum turns 70 later in the year - in that they aren't going to be around for all of my life, whereas of course they have been there for all of my life and did, I believe, have a purpose for being that existed before I did or whether it was more a reflection on the cyclone of changes that are occuring in my own life meaning that I'm questioning more and more things that I always believed to be unassailable truths about myself, well I'm not sure.

It was just an ordinary morning, no special events happening but for once I wasn't irritated by the complexity of being offered a drink:

"tea or coffee lovey"
[I hate tea, I've never drunk it at home and only tolerated it out of politeness elsewhere]

"Sugar and milk in your coffee?"
[Not had sugar in coffee regulary since I was about ten and never have milk at home]

"or would you like juice"
[Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh]

or even the Spanish Inquisition about the wellbeing of the animals:

"how's the dog - is his allergy cleared up"
"what about the birds, did they like the millett"
"have you still got the yellow catfish"

and they wonder why I don't have children.

but all this just added to the feeling of belonging, these were my somewhat odd parents, with the same idiosyncracies they've always had and they were just looking after me. God knows I've needed that over the years. I don't want to be wishing I felt it was ok to spend time with them, I want to spend time with them. Blimey, I might even hug them the next time I see them.

I think I'm being possessed by the spirit of a normal person.

*oh and the dentist? One tooth to come out and a couple of fillings. And I want to get a copy of my mouth x-ray - it is brilliant!

Back to The Floor

2005-12-25T20:46:00.000Z

Christmas is bad enough. Bad backs are bad enough. The combination of both is enough to tip me hurtling towards the edge. Luckily I don't have a stack of pressies to move around, nor am I expecting any heavyweight gifts to be bestowed upon me at Christmas Mk2, otherwise known as Boxing Day with My Parents and therefore I may well be able to festively hobble around wincing appealingly every five minutes at the pain. It still won't be enough of an acceptable excuse not to go over.

OK, it's not that bad but I have been a devotee of the hot water bottle/heat pads/deep heat all day and it is lucky that there isn't any entertaining or requirement to actually be sociable since the combination of stench of liniments and the general grumpiness caused by the embargo on no sudden movements (or actually, any movement) means that the only people likely to visit me would have been The Samaritans. I am pathetic with pain and pretty intolerant of being relatively immobile.

Lucky for me that that most of Christmas Day has been spent sat bolt upright at the pc idly browsing the web for excitement, sending emails to people I only email at Christmas and listening to the entire Festive Top 50 in one sitting (no pun intended). I even managed to photo a present and sling it on flickr - since the present is on the wall by my pc desk and the camera is within arms reach, this was less of an achievement than it sounds.

I never actually remember putting "Sciatica" on my Christmas wish-list and for those about to suggest that lying on a board would be a good idea, don't bother. The sheer slow-motion nature of the effort to took to get up from the futon this morning is enough to convince me that I should perhaps consider sleeping hanging upside down like a bat.

And the cause of this trauma - leaping around like an acid-enhanced kangaroo at the Misty's Gig up at Jug of Ale on Friday night probably had something to do with it. But all things considered, I'd have settled for a severely displaced disc if it meant having enjoyed myself as much as I did - apologies to anyone who's foot I landed on whilst bouncing around. They, and the supporting acts with a particular nod to Dog Food, were awesome and who needs mobility on Christmas Day anyway.

Pass the Ralgex please.....

Christmas is Cancelled....

2005-12-18T18:19:00.000Z

and other brilliant alt-festive tunes kindly made avaiable for free via Thee Sheffield Phonographic Corporation Christmas Download Extravaganza.............

Seeing as "Stop the Cavalary" is universally slated as a dire Christmas dirge (although happens to be my favourite!), the cover available by Ormondroyd is a good update and doesn't sound naff at all and isn't kazoo-like bouncy.

And of course Long Blondes "Christmas is Cancelled" is just the kiss-off track you want handy at this time of year when it is meant to be goodwill to all men...best line is:

"No Mum, don't worry about me, I'll just have fish & chips for tea, watch the queen and go to sleep" Brilliant.

Pete Green and "Everything's Dead Pretty When It Snows" is for all those of us who have the short straw of working when everyone else buggered off and wonder why the casual question of "so, when do you knock off then" starts a fit of twitching. If you work in insurance - this is your Christmas song. It does have bells though.

Velodrome 2000 "Christmas Sucks" this is for you jingle-bell fiends and a bit of thrash-santa chucked in. It's all about what you don't want to hear about and possibly covers every single "name an item associated with Christmas" entry you could think about.

Gyppos "Merry Christmas" is my favourite - gloomy, maudlin and depressing and sounds like a song from an updated version of Oliver Twist meets A Christmas Carol - yay have this one on and the reindeer will be presenting themselves at the slice 'n' dice venison shop. "The reaper is knocking at the front door" is a nice twist from Santa down the chimney - excellent!

They are all tuneful enough that they should be on mainplay - but I'm glad they're not - I'll be compiling my own Christmas playlist any day now to counteract Frosty the Fucking Snowman (although I'm sure that version is out there.....)

Thanks to HeyChuck for this.

Mission Completed

2005-12-11T20:48:00.000Z

Yee-bloody-hay, Christmas purchasing is almost complete bar the requirement to buy *something* for a ten & half year old that will either a) actually be appreciated or b) doesn't take loads of wrapping/thought/dosh in the event that a) isn't achieved.

I adopted the two day approach, on the assumption that I would be likely to be reduced to a sobbing heap if I had to get all this completed in one day in the local shopping pit - plus there is only so much Christmas musak I can take although I also had a strategy for that - which came slightly unstuck....

Note to readers Do Not be listening to Diggnation podcast featuring the article about the octopus and the shark (the winner wasn't the usual suspect) whilst meandering through Red Herring in Debenhams if you are prone to muttering things such as "yah go Octopus" and grinning like a nutter - not if you want serving this side of the dawning of the next millennium.

With playlist locked on to "anything not christmassy but loud" variety, I was able to ignore the "Last Christmas", "Walking in a Winter Wonderland" "Santa Baby" et al and felt suitably chilled. Chilled enough to get the ideal book for my brother "Aimed at pedants to know-it-alls, as well as those simply wishing to 'get it right', this book will appeal to the modern passion for factual accuracy" ie ideal in the sense that it made me laugh at him whilst choosing it.

Then onwards to blitz part of the list designated as "easy" ie for the ladies in my life. Lucky there is a Lush - shame I didn't realise that one of the items in a pack is "Two-Timing Tart", not sure who I can give that to without causing uproar.....it is bringing back memories of the "novelty" pasta shapes that I didn't realise were included in a mixed variety pack I bought back from Italy last year and gave to my Mum, oh god the horror of having to confess a) what "they" were and b) that I hadn't recognised them.....

That left Sunday's more daring trip to Town, combining it with a meet up with a friend, meaning that serious shopping would have to be fitted around serious binting and possibly serious coffee consumption. Tough call.

David & Goliath at Covent Garden - you are my saviours! Working on the principle that if I like stuff naturally everyone else will (flawed logic my speciality) I was blissfully completing the rest of the list and regretting that there wasn't any male relatives for whom I could get something trendy for - I have male relatives, they just don't have the perequisite sense of humour. I even managed to blag a free badge (wow a whole Â£1 worth of badge!!) by asking politely if I could have one (on account of buying loads of stuff) - so I am officially "Princess of Darkness".

Stanfords the map gods completed the rest of the list, again there are presents that are going to have to be wrested away from me with a crowbar to end up with the recipients.

Find of the day however wasn't a present for the awkwardest person in the world but rather the discovery that the cafe in Foyles is a real tranquil bolthole. It's right in the middle of the Ray's Jazz and has vegan specialities and vegan cakes as standard. Well worth knowing and I look forward to a visit in the near future as the idea of eating real food, surrounded by books and listening to jazz, well that would be a present you couldn't wrap!

and speaking of wrapping, I can't wrap stuff so it looks neat, or even completely covered. I am reknowned for use of masking type, superglue, gluegun, gaffer tape and most recently electrical tape as the adhesive medium of choice. I think it's something to do with not being able to draw - I also can't cut straight, tear straight, fold straight or even estimate the correct amount of paper needed to complete the task.

Shopping sorted meant that coffee, binting on, alcohol and catching up could all be leisurely completed and I emerged stress free and cheerful. Maybe I have stumbled upon the ultimate Christmas shopping strategy:

Listen to a weird fish-killer podcast and mutter - gives you loads of space in shops
Buy what you like for everyone else - safe in the knowledge that you can have it if they don't like it.
Ensure you buy only from shops you like - therefore you don't mind spending hours looking at um err well things you want really
Discover somewhere neat to come back to - if it includes music and food fantastic
Ensure you buy yourself something - or better still, get given it for free!
Drink

Now, what can I get that 10 year old....

Why Can't They Play This In Woolies..

2005-12-09T21:35:00.000Z

I realise that by blogging this I am truly confirming my status as festive nay-sayer but with the exception of "Stop The Calvary" I'm not that thrilled with Christmas music and it truly is the time of pity for those poor till-slaves who are forced to listen to hours of the damned stuff AND be nice to the great unwashed. Blimey, I hope you get the prozac you've been wishing for from Santa.

But there is hope - in the shape of Cherryade Records who have their very own Christmas cd available with tracks including "Have Yourself a Psychedelic Christmas" from the awesomeness that is Misty's and my personal favourite "So this is what dying is like (Christmas in Swansea) by Steveless & Syd Howells - favourite for a weird name that is. Steveless' "Seasonal Schizophrenia" could be a Mark E Smith tribute in sound and lyrics. Very warming.

The album is getting a fair bit of coverage (well the odd track played) via Sixmusic and xfm and there is some very stuff on it. In fact it will be ripped under "Shopping Playlist" on gadget as some sort of antidote to Wizzard, Slade and Cliff Richard for when I'm forced to venture away from the nice safe and sanitised world that exists via my pc and into the vile, warped and dangerous world of well, the real world. Send out back-up shoud I not return.

So altogether then "Alice The Christmas Pie....."

And just to show that I'm not a saddo who thinks that Christmas tends to bring out the worst in the credit card companies, two excellent links to bring ironic and sardonic cheer to you. First up, a cartoon advent calendar courtesy of Dave Walker , one of Jonny B's cohorts and then something that made me screech like an owl on acid is the 'tis The Season blog (also recommended by Jonny B) and if someone had taped the conversations I'd had over the years re a) Secret Santa, b) bloody naff relatives presents and c) Designated Christmas Cards - to the dog and the pups type of thing or as it's put on the site "For a fabulous aunt and her on-again off-again pity fuck" then this would be the result. 21 December 2004 is a fine vintage article.

Thank you people with a sense of humour for keeping me away from the cooking sherry!

Gig Etiquette & Spots Before My Eyes

2005-12-03T23:41:00.000Z

This could probably be an addendum to my "Gig Heaven" post but I think it is deserving of a standalone vent.

I went along to the Stylish Riots gig at The Scala, Kings Cross - primarily to see Misty's Big Adventure (of course) but was also quite interested in The Pipettes seeing as they'd got a fair bit of coverage in music blog world recently and a bit of retro 50s is fine in my book.

Firstly a minor grip - bloody hell I didn't realise that when I traded in the Football Jonah card I'd be dealt out the Travel Jonah one in return. What is it with the Circle Line - does it hate gigs, does it resent all those thousands of ipods that are aimlessly churning out mindless pop in its intestines each hour and it gets its own back with delays?

Moving into the tranquil zone that is the Scala - for those aren't familiar with it, it's a converted cinema and is an independent venue and is very art deco with some fantastic tile work, there are even the remnants of the cinema aisle seats downstairs - it is a very impressive venue and very atmospheric - but cold, damn being so organised as thinking that checking jackets would be a good thing.

First up was Absent Kid - didn't really pay an exceptional amount of notice to them as I was enjoying the beer,but they had a good light show, good contrast on vocals and enthusiasm. Now I know they are an Essex band I'll pay more attention to them next time. The audience wasn't that much fussed by them - I wonder if they go back to their mums and say "yeah, you should have seen the crowd, they were heaving, jammed in". Next up was Misty's. Yay, much jigging around was anticipated.

No signature tune performed which was odd but then the standards were run out and there were some others besides the regulars who were bopping away. But not the three "we're here for the Pipettes" polka dotted & striped clad biffas who were right in front of me, right at the front to the band and were standing there like bloody Easter Island Statues. How off putting that must be to the band, particularly one that draws on emotion like a musical vampire such as Misty's. The Biffas remained stock still and I wished I had been sufficiently bevved up just to have barged them out the way. You don't just stand there if you are at the front, for god sakes you are meant to be having fun you morons.

But all was well, EroticVolvo did his stuff, the set was accomplished but there was a bit of a weird atmosphere from the crowd, although there was the usual warming to the band that always happens.

Interestingly this feeling was picked up on the forum for the Pipettes - where Misty's were being discussed in more depth than the Pipettes. It was appropriate summed up as "less riotous, more stylish" Maybe The Wising Up Song hit home a bit too hard.

The Pipettes deserve all the plaudits they get, they are fun, talented, skinny (grrr) and have an excellent rapport with the audience, hitting it off with both the lads and the ladies. Slick lyrics and performance with a rancid underbelly to the songs that initially seem saccharine. One Night Stand in particular stood out and the current single Dirty Mind was executed perfectly. I believe the Biffas may have cracked a smile during the set. And yes, polka dots can look good on people. One of the singers was a spit for my niece in terms of gestures (eye rolling, pouting and raised eyebrows) which was a tadge disconcerting. Good performance, look forward to seeing them again if possible.

Next up was Twisted Charm, who are very much in the Sex Pistols/Buzzcocks mould but were still excellent. London Scene was excellent, another good bit of contemporary songwriting that provides a point of reference and Phoney People deserves to be a corporate anthem. It's also worth checking the video for London Scene via the website - it's very clever. They got the biggest crowd and were also doing a further set upstairs - but this being a "school night" I didn't take advantage of this. This was the first example of "thrash sax" I've experienced and as Drowned In Sound sum it up "they have a saxophonist and they're still not shit!". Indeed, Mr Georgiou, the aforementioned sax player is excellent and must have the lungs of an elephant to cope with the demands.

Afterall anyone who includes Blue Jam as part of their key influences has got to be all right.

So yet again for less than a £10, I had a fantastic gig experience and am even more empassioned about live music than before. Stick the big gigs - at this rate, my solo Depeche Mode ticket for next year will be winging it's way to ebay in favour of being about to spend the night in the Slaughtered Lamb for Acoustic Open Mic Night.

And remember the rules - if you are at the front - move around!

I Am The Passenger

2005-11-25T10:18:00.000Z

Passenger. That's a word that's rarely uttered by the cattle-crushing-carriers that currently hold the mantle of national rail companies; no, to them we are "customers" and therefore are treated as such ie given poor service and offered a token refund when something goes wrong(should the stringent criteria for reclaiming the paltry payment actually be met beyond all reasonable doubt) whereas what actually matters is getting to where you are meant to going; ie your intended passage.

So step forward and take a bow GNER. I'm not saying they run the most timely service (they don't - read on), or that they have the most reliable trains (yet more hollow laughter is starting to bubble up here) but what they do have is their corporate heads screwed on the right way since they refer to us humble travellers as passengers - and what's more when things went "slightly" tits up on my recent epic travel from London to Whitby, they knew what was important which was getting four passengers to their "final" destination. Even if not by actual train-type thing.

Late running at Northallerton meant that the connection from London to Darlington - Middlesbrough-Whitby failed at the "arrive Darlington in time to get Middlesbrough to Whitby train" - now in my experience of rail delays, the standard response is a neo-Gallic shrug and the guidance to "wait for the next". Not so GNER - annoucement on the train that passengers for intending to go to Whitby should make themselves known to station staff at Darlington. I'm sure that this wasn't just so you could be assessed for Gothness - rather more that it was to inform the huddle of would-be Whitby Wanders that usually GNER would have got us a cab to catch the train at Middlesbrough but today was rather more special. Yes, your prize is a cab from Middlesbrough to Whitby. Methinks that they have had to use this ploy a few times in the past (hence comment about not being the most timely) but seeing as I've never even had a mumbled apology from other operators when minor delays have buggered up an onward journey, I was suitable impressed. I would continue to be a passenger but in a cab.

As the cab isn't a train it has the flexibility of being able to drop people directly home - and therefore I got a free tour of the Dales as well as being taken around some of the steepest, sheep raddled tracks I've been down for a while. Ever in fact. The one business traveller in the cab was getting slightly twitchy at the added detours but even he was momentarily gobsmacked when the late sun sunk to the line of the heathers/bracken/plant like red stuff in the horizon and light my world up in a blaze of orange. My camera was in the boot.

I was rather sorry to leave the chatty cabbie - and yes, I took up his recommendations of just where to drink in Whitby - it was again energising to be in the company of someone who was clearly passionate about his local surroundings and was as good an ambassador for tourism as you'd fine - but this was no "have a nice day" glibness, this was genuine "I am proud to show you my world" enthusiasm.

In fact the whole weekend was great - even if there were delays coming back - but no need for a cab this time, just the opportunity to smoke more CICS on a platform at York - stress, what stress

So although my journey took longer, it was more enjoyable than a three change strategy and the fact that was no stressing on the part of the train company dithering about what they are meant to do helped. GNER - thank you for remembering that passengers are more important than customers when it comes to getting where you need to go - afterall, if we were true customers, we'd have a choice.

Gig Heaven

2005-11-23T19:46:00.000Z

Although I'm not doing the gigs in any magnitude compared to some I could think of (not so much Going Deaf for a Fortnight more Tinitus for Two or Three Days) I'm fast drawing up a wish list of things I'd rather not experience at gigs should the gods of gigging be smiling benevolently down on me.

Stupid People Blowing Bubbles into my (overpriced) Beer

Two very stupid (and short) girlies decided that what the crowd at the Kaiser Chiefs gig in Brixton really wanted was to have a stream of soapy bubbles blown around to create atmosphere during the change over between sets with the consequence that soapy bubbles were pinging against beer glasses. This is not a nursery, this is not an outdoor wide open space - this is the Brixton Academy and you soppy twats are blowing soap bombs right at me & my beer. A few grumbled "for fucks sake" and an exaggerated fending off of bubbles got the point across. The cheeky mares then decided that they'd try the "oooh I'm a short girlie, could you just let me squeeze through in front of you" to a couple of gullible looking blokes. It almost worked, Bloke One was all for it, but Bloke Two (shorter...) was having none of it and a distinct "fuck off and get here earlier next time" was uttered.

which leads to.....

Overpriced Beer

£3.15 for a can of warm Guinnesss poured badly into a warm plastic beaker doesn't represent value for money or even a remotely enjoyable experience. This was the offering recent at Carling Academy Islington for The Fall and only warm, flat Carling could have actually been worse. I know there is a mark-up needed but £3.15! For a can - taking the piss rather than getting so methinks. If someone jolts your arm, that's a good 50p a slop which neatly leads me to.....

Gig-Going Injuries

I smirked at the advice issued prior to V2005 re the dangers of going to gigs, or as the Daily Mail would probably have put it "Music: It Could Seriously Damage Your Health" which was along the lines of be aware that lots of drinking, hot sun and standing in one position for 8 hours may be a tadge edgy or that you may wish to consider doing a warm up prior to frotting about like a looney. Surely the biggest risk at a gig would be the risk of slightly bruised tootsies....Let me enlightened you and introduce the concept of "Gig Goers Groin".

The 20 minutes of bliss that was Misty's as part of the In The City Evening was almost spoilt when amidst a bit of aimless jigging around, I manage to slide in a slop of spilt beer (some buggers lost a £1 worth if the same price tariff was in place as for The Fall) and narrowly avoided doing the half splits - my apologies to the woman whose arm I grabbed to prevent myself executing a move I last managed at school gymnastics when I was 9. The burning agony was only partly abated by the fact that the set wasn't finished or else I'd have collapsed in a heap but the horrors of Gig Goers Groin needs exposure. Or maybe not.

Inaccurate Gig timings provided by Venues

If you are the host of a gig then bloody well know a) who is playing and b) what time they bloody well are due on when someone rings your information line. I went to see the truly excellent Mountain Goats at Bush Hall (fantastic venue - naff organisation skills) and had rung to check line up and rough on-stage times "well, there's someone on at 8 - but I don't know who it is, then 9 there is a girl and then the MGs are on at 10pm". Fantastic - beer time aplently. Wrong - they were due on at 9.30, I turned up just before 10 and luckily they had just gone on but I was consigned to the back of the room - but as the gig was so good it almost didn't matter - but it would have been good to get there a bit before the band. Information is meant to be helpful, not aspirational.

But at least the music has been good and I'm not really auditioning for a role in the new season of Grumpy Old Woman.

Well FCUKed

2005-11-13T13:11:00.000Z

The psuedo irony of the French Connection FCUK branding gets right on my tits (well not literally as I don't own any of their t-shirts but you get the drift) and I find it somewhat distasteful to see young kids with the branding on - afterall if they'd shouted out "fuck it" to their parents they'd have been lamped, but hohoho it's fine for wear a t-shirt that portrays the same sentiment.

I can actually remember when French Connection was held up as a sophisticated label, reknowned for sleek styling etc and not as some sort of "I Read the Sun" identity tag for those lacking the ackers for fake Burberry.

So it was great whoops of delight that a link was found between a band I'm quite getting to like, IST, and slating FCUK. The link being that one of the lines from a song is "Your Boyfriend is a Cnut" and the rather enterprising KingCnut clothing line kindly did a t-shirt for them to commemorate the lyrics. Well cool.

But this isn't the end of the link, KingCnut have have a long running and vitriolic clash with those Fcukers at French Connection who were claiming that he'd stolen the idea for Cnut & Wnaker brandings from them - funny I thought that your average dyslexic would have been able to come up with a similar idea for free - and of course Cnut is now the "correct" spelling for the old King Canute from old, my the teaching profession must have welcomed that decision....

It's a fascinating story since it also highlights the number of brands that FCUK have had to pull when they were threaten with legal action - particularly like the Goodyear one. As KingCnut puts it, companies that are that possessive over trademarks (and nothing wrong in that) should apply the same criteria to their competitors marks. I was particulary impressed by the fact that KingC had taken it upon himself to contact the companies whose marks were being infringed as a "public spirited act" Standing up to bullies by getting a bigger bully involved is a sound strategy. Go Dave.

And if you go to the site - hunt out the anti-FCUK poem by Claire Whitefield - it says it all. An extract to give you a flavour of the sentiment:

"So may be once it was daring
To have badly spelt swearing
Emblazoned across your chest
But lads, looking like a sex pest
Is far from the best way
To communicate with a potential date
So when you start to flirt in a t-shirt
That says Am I your fantasy FCUK?
you'll understand why the smart women just look at you and turn away
.Because what good is an illiterate suitor
Who can't spell fuck, never mind Kama Sutra

So to King Cnut, IST and the rest - don't let the fcukers get you down!

Underneath the Arches

2005-11-07T22:03:00.000Z

Sunday evenings usually have the stiffling claustrophobia of a tedious family Christmas - nothing to do, the thought of the daily grind kicking in for Monday morning and the usual drudgery which has stayed with me since I was a kid, to whit "getting my bag ready for Monday" - although nowdays I rarely have problems finding my hockey pads and history homework.

But not this Sunday, oh no because despite it being yucky weather and decidly hibernating weather at that, I decided to haul carcass to the Red Gate Gallery Camberwell to see a line up including Jason Anderson, Tiger Saw and yay Kimya Dawson (a twice-featured artist on SrokaSounds).

Just a quick divert on to the traffic front - I can highly recommend the Liverpool Street + No.35 bus combination as the ideal way to get to Red Gate Gallery since the advertised Thameslink service stops mid afternoon. Train & bus combo fantastic.

The venue is a converted railway arch workshop, with a bar area and installation space for exhibitions - be warned it is tucked right away but look for the iron-wroughters sign and the er um red gate and you'll find it. It's a great venue and I reckon there was about 100ish people there in total and it was just right. The staff were fantastic, very polite and ready to chat on and, unlike the bigger rip-off venues I've attended recently (Carling Academy), there was well chilled cans of Stella @ Â£2, spirits and mixers and even mulled wine and ported-brandy if you wanted it.

Oh, and no tall bastards standing in the way.

A scattering of deck chairs was the seating or there was the floor. No stage as such, merely a clearing, which meant that the performers trolled around with the rest of us and chilled. The night was in aid of studentsinmind and was an undaunting sort of thing to do on your own.

Emmy the Great was a surprise guest to kick off with and I'm still grinning at the line about "having a typhoon in my aorta" and it's always great to hear accompaniment by the xylophone - she's appearing at Islington Academy on Thursday so maybe I'll be grinning even more by Friday.

Next was Doubtful Guest from Bath - and it was at this point the sound went slightly loopy meaning that they sounded ringers for Murder by Death (which is good) but possibly not the desired effect. When they were sounding like them, they were pretty cool in a folk-jazz-rock (sure there is a proper word for it) type of way and I'll be looking out for the promised further London gigs as they were seriously fun and enjoyed playing to the crowd. Truly ace. The sound man was starting to look a bit more relaxed....

...which was a mistake. The exceptionally musically moody Duke Garwood was next and to be frank, the vocal sound was crocked - guitar fantastic, vocals a bit like a hamster with a kazoo. He manfully completed his set and the sound guy was trying to blend into the wall at this point. It didn't help that some arseholes in the crowd was bordering on heckling because of it. Haven't they heard of being polite? Would like to have heard the set but the guitar was good enough for me.

And then a man with presence came on. Tiger Saw, in the solo form of Dylan Metrano, was pure delight. He had worked out that the sound was a bit fragile so used the inner power of a good voice instead. He talked to the crowd, got them involved and executed a perfect set. "The Tiger & Tailor", "Postcards & Letters" and "For Molly" all were pretty slick and was enough to make me surrender the potential late night snack money for a contribution towards a cd of the entire Tiger Saw band (as there are usually more than just him). A cheer to you sir.

Jason Anderson is just the person you'd want anywhere. From ensuring the crowd were "close" to him, to a bit of bouncing around sing-along and some good old ballads with a modern twist - it was all there. oh and plus energy. The man oozes energy and fun and he was right, tonight there was no "us and them, just us and the music". Energy levels raised, humour high and lots of happy people meant a successful set. It was like having your own personal upper in the form of bloke with guitar and grin. Fantastic - it was even enough to make me shrug of the nagging thought that public transport finishes earlier on a Sunday.....

And then Kimya Dawson finished drawing up the personal t-shirts (damn, more money would have been good) and took to the stage amidst sheer adoration from the crowd. She went through a chronologically written set, included both tracks I'd used for podcasts (Viva la persistence and The Beer) and was thoroughly entertaining - even getting a fit of the giggles mid song. No lip synching here then. She is an excellent songwriter, fantastic performer and someone with a very distinct voice. And above all passion. Just what a Sunday night should be like.

Fearing the hell that would be night-bus rather than turning into a pumpkin, I was able to peg it back to Liverpool Street in time to get one of the last trains and so not have to shell out a fortune on a cab. So in all for the price of a travel card and £7 quid (plus beer money of course) I had a great time.

Big gigs - you can stick 'em. Give me a railway arch and a bunch of people who care about what they are doing and I'm blissfully happy.

Fluid Structure

2005-11-05T12:35:00.000Z

I'm beginning to get the creep of disorder raising it's scaly head. I lurch from being hyper organised and rigidly structured in every aspect of my life to some sort of chaos magnet with every increasing circles of disorder creeping in.

Examples are, and I'm aware that when I describe the "ordered me" that I'm describing characteristics that are text book "stay away from this control freak" type behaviours and would have me running a mile if I noticed them in others, tins in the food cupboard being stored alphabetically (and yes, I can hear the "hohoho how do you catalogue alphabetti spaghetti" from here), clothes being hung up in colour sequence from dark to light- less of a challenge when 75% of my clothes are black, cds filed in alphabetical order & sub divided by genre - after I've done the "mine & yours" segmentation of course, I'm not into ordering other people's lives and all book marks on the computer lumped into six or seven categories and regularly reviewed and plates, mugs etc put away in their correct place.

If you ever watch "Sleeping with the Enemy" you'll know why I'm not entirely comfortable with this side of my nature.

Contrast with the happy-slacker side of my nature that is currently prevalent (and is taking over) and I doubt that many people would recognise the organised me under it all. Clothes are now happily jumbled up with the heavy black shirts getting cosy with the bright pink jumper, the black combats establishing nodding acquaintance with the odd frilly skirt and wodge of black ankle length skirts having the time of their lives by being next to the hibernating summer wear. My wardrobe is a happy place. No more segregation of the brights and dims, it's all shoved in anyhow. Bugger ironing anything.

And the food store, well I'm taking it as a success that frozen stuff gets put in the freezer and as for plates etc, you can take pot luck as to whether there is a knife in the knife drawer since I tend just to throw all the cutlery in en masse. Let there be sporks! The presence of an empty beer bottle and two mismatching coffee mugs on the shelf is reassuring.

CDs are now in a listening stack, if you are lucky the content of the case will the be same as the title but I'd not pin my pension on it for all cases. By a process of neglect, I've identified those cds that are likely to become charity shop casualties pretty soon. Maybe neglect is the best way to be organised?

The one thing that I have to reclaim is getting my playlists, bookmarks and pc filing back in order - however much of a uncontrol freak I'm turning into, for the things that really matter (like my music and browsing time) they've got to be structured so I'm intending to spend some serious time housekeeping the virtual home - ie my pc. I've already enjoyed rereading the "Cooking for Engineers" website that I'd bookmarked - just now need to find a place to file it.

Maybe it's a sign that at long last, I'm starting to transform into a less uptight, frantic person - blimey that's going to take some getting used to.

I Wanna Be A Hippie

2005-11-02T22:56:00.000Z

I've been searching for a download of Technohead's "I Wanna Be A Hippie (and I wanna get stoned" for ages and am still unfulfilled on this - however a piece of animation to rival the JCB song is available from those fab people at Brainwashed and if pogoing sheep are your bag - then whip over there and view it. It's made my day!

The reason I want the song - it reminds me of a mad aerobics teacher I used to have (in those days when bouncing around was the preferred activity of choice before drinking & smoking) and the vindicative cow played the real fast mix to which we had to do grapevine stepping and star jumps. Bloody hell you'd need to be high to do that - in fact I'd need to be seriously blotted to even contemplate it now.

All together now "I wanna be a hippie and I wanna get stoned on mara-marijuna"

Day Tripper

2005-11-02T20:15:00.000Z

The subject of holidays came up over a goodbye lunch with a colleague - he'd recently come back from Lisbon and was rapidly turning me shades of green with describing how stunning it all was. Musuems, stunning architecture, cheap alcohol, friendly people, did I mention cheap wine. And then there was the inevitable "so are you having a holiday this year".

Mindful that it is now November and I'm not exactly built for wintersports (I'm short and have bad balance) - it isn't exactly likely. Although I am going to Whitby in a few weeks for a murder event but now that the days are drawing in, the prospect (of whitby) of cold, rain, darkness and a bloody lengthy train journey is appealing less and less.

I think I'm suffering holiday envy, first the Lisbon guy, then my friend currently living it up in Las Vegas, I'm surrounded by people and their holidays. The idea of a week off doing nothing much tends to freak me out slightly and as much as I love my own company, I think that I could even bore myself by day 3. And then there's the horror of coming back to either a mountain of work or the "guess what - I'm your new line manager" scenario - although currently at work if you are too long in the lav you run the same risk - meaning that any chilling out achieved by not being at work lasts approximately 1 minute after you hit the email and in my case, usually a day before that.

Logical conclusion to draw therefore is that taking holidays is a baaad thing. I end up feeling somewhat inadequate that I can't seem to get my life together enough to actually want to pack up my bags, head to the travel agents and demand to be put on the first plane out of here - even more irritating is the knowledge that I've got a stack of leave gathering virtual dust - pretty soon I'll have a compost of leave. What is point of being rich in leave but poor in time.

So why do I feel that the one thing I really want is to be anywhere but where I am right now?

How Not To Be Dead

2005-10-29T10:47:00.000Z

In a random browsing session trying to increase the morbidity stakes, I stumbled across the fantastic site that is Deathslang.

The whole euphemism thing is a major flame thing for me, wrapping up an unpalatable subject in sugar coating doesn't make it any more acceptable. There may be a degree of quaintness about referring to a pregnant woman as "being in a delicate condition" or "being in the family way" but it is the greeting-card sentiment that accompanies descriptions of death and dying that tend to make me flip.

If you want to see what I mean, meander over to the Carlton Cards website and see if you can easily find a bereavement card. Oh, no you need to access the "occasions" section - since when has dying been an occasion. The same is true in the shops, although you won't even find a "bereavement" section, it's "With Sympathy" - just as businessspeak is all wank with the deliberate use of obtuse phrases designed to ensure that the actual meaning of the phrase can mean whatever it is you want it to as opposed to having a definitive meaning; the card industry language is designed to ensure that whatever you do, you don't actually say anything in plainspeak. Sending a "With Sympathy" card is actually saying "Sorry He's Dead" - why apologise, you've not personally killed someone?

So this is the reason that deathslang is so cool - as the phrases used are actually worse than saying "x has died" or else they are bitingly witty and are the antidote to the standard euphemistic comfort zone.

Personal favourties are the internet-inspired terms for death:

"Transferred to WWW.HasBecome.Com/post"

"Clicked the bucket"
""

Although a few cooking related ones are neat:

"Cooking for the Kennedy's"
"Donating the Liver Pate"

I'd like to see Clinton's stock these......