The terror, the terror.

Well, I'm nearing the end of To Kill a Mockingbird now. Only 40 pages to go - just who is Boo Radley? Ending a book elicits a strange feeling in me; I'm sad that it's near the end, but also mildy triumphant. Plus I only ever read thin books, so am enjoying the regularity with which I find myself finishing them.

However, at the moment, I'm quite scared. In fact, I'm a little terrified. I'm on an amazing run of 6 good books in a row. That's 6 new books I've finished and liked, and not one dud amongst them.

It all started this summer when I went to Portugal and read about 1000 pages over 5 days in the blissful sunshine on a sandy beach. (Ok so one of them was a Harry Potter...but it still counts).

I started by re-reading Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince (in preparation for the 7th book), then finishing off My So Called Life by Joanna Nadin. Then I read The Boy Who Loved Books by John Sutherland and came home. By then Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows had launched, so I read that. Then I picked up a book my friend had given me for my birthday - Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, a slender slip of a thing. Then I went to Paris and read Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell. I read the Parisian bits in Paris, and then moved to London and read the London bits. It's an excellent book, one of the best I've read. In a way it made me sad that Orwell eventually works his way out of poverty; you want him to remain in squalor so he can keep writing about it so insightfully.

And now I'm working my way through To Kill a Mockingbird after succumbing to the embarrassment that I seem to be the only person who hasn't read this book: 'you mean you never did it at school?' No, and I've never read any Jane Austen either.

But in saying that, it's very good, I love Scout, she's so funny.

But now I'm terrified my luck's about to end, and I'm gonna end up reading something that peters out like The Inheritance of Loss or Life and Times of Michael K, or god forbid The Turn of The Screw. God that was awful. I waited for something to happend until I was 20 pages from the end, then gave up.

I've been prying recommendations from everyone I meet, so any suggestions will be appreciated. I'm thinking of copping out and reading a Shakespeare play, at least I know that'll be a good read. Maybe Love's Labour's Lost. (I'll steer clear of Pericles; I've heard things). My flatmate suggested reading something trashy just to get it out of the way. My luck's about to run out sooner or later, but I don't wanna chicken out, so I'll think I'll risk it. I was thinking maybe Chinua Achebe's Thing's Fall Apart (good title). I was toying with the idea of buying one and getting one half price, perhaps Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie's Half of a Yellow Sun (nice cover) or The Kiterunner, or maybe Lord of the Flies. Three Men In A Boat by Jerome K Jerome also caught my eye the other day. The idea of a modern book sounds good (like Adichie or Hosseini), but I'm going for monumental 20th Century texts, stand alone titles that the author becomes known only for for examply The Catcher in the Rye, Mockingbird, Catch 22 etc. I quite like the idea of something dystopian as well, maybe 1984, or Brave New World. Orwell's served me well, so maybe Road To Wigan Peer might be next?

Fahrenheit 451 sits on my shelf staring at me; it's thin.

Stupid books, leave me alone.

Lucky day

I've been having an amazing stroke of luck over the last couple of days. Someone should rub me.

Yesterday I was at the pub and I went to pay for a pint of Young's Special for £2.50. I handed the barman £20, and he handed me back £27.50. This is the first time anything like this has happened to me, and I happily pocketed the £10 extra (including the free pint).

Then today I get a phonecall from Specsavers saying they've had to cancel my subscription to their contact lens by mail service because they no longer stock the ones I buy. So therefore I went into town today and picked up my next month's supply of lenses, and got a free contact lense check to boot. I've been meaning to cancel this anyway coz I'm moving into London, but it was great that this was all pre-empted.

Then I later found out that my friend Dan, who was in court today for a seatbelt violation, was found 'Not Guilty'. That was a pretty ace text to receive, which I got on the way to the Beer Festival at Earl's Court.

In the meantime of all this going on, I went for a fantastic fry-up at a place called The Breakfast Club with my friends Tom and Nicky. I then chilled in the park with Nicky, and then we made our way to Earl's Court for the beer fest. Then we headed back here, to go out with some of her mates. However, on the way, I received a text that Tony Wilson had died. This made me sad. He was only 57, and was responsible for making Manchester the home of dance music. I saw him in Turnmills a couple of years ago, and my mate chatted to him about Manchester United. He seemed like a nice
fellow.

Au revoir

Well I'm back from Paris now. It was nice, I managed to do all the things I haven't done before like go to the Catacombes and Pere Lachaise and up Notre Dame. It's all go from now on though, I've only got 4 days left of work to do till I finally move into my flat and change jobs!

Le football

Paul Robinson (the Spurs goalie) came into the shop today! He poked around for a bit, then went into Starbucks. All the footballers come in; this year we've had Dennis Bergkamp, some Watford ones, and of course David Beckham.

All this excitement has meant I shall be taking my 4th holiday this year - to Paris! I'm watching Amelie in preparation, and have bought Down and Out in Paris and London and Camus' The Outsider to read. I'm thinking of bringing Therese Racquin as backup just in case. The last time I went was in 2002 during the World Cup, so it'll be nice to revist some haunts along the Left Bank. I bought a chic travel bag from M&S for £40, but will be staying in hostels during the trip. I think I may even have spent more on my luggage than my accommodation by the end of my trip. Oh well, I've kept the receipt, so I'll just return it when I get back in it's 'unused and perfectly saleable condition' - et voila!

"So long farewell, auf weidersehen good-bye"

I was presented with a box of Thorntons for my birthday a month ago, and I've got down to the last pieces of chocolate. I'm left with choices between Lemon Parfait and Strawberry Velvet. Why can't Thorntons make one standard mixed tray, and then one tray underneath brimming with caramels?

...

I went out bowling last night in Bloombury for a dear friend's 24th birthday. It was wicked. We bowled, drank, ate (I had veggie sliders - teeny tiny burgers exactly like in Harold and Kumar get the Munchies), and then we did karaoke. To be honest I was slightly worried about the karaoke, having never really done it before, but I must say it's the way forward from now on.

I've been having an introspective week though, as I had to say goodbye to a couple of friends who are moving out of London. They're good friends, people who I felt close enough to go to the cinema with, go to the Globe with, eat with, perhaps not live with or go away with - but getting there. I've known them about 3 years, and they were friends of a friend who left London last year, so it was nice to be friends with them on my own terms, i.e. we have no connection to each other other than the fact that we all like each other's company. It's amazing when you realise this, that you can be friends with people through friends; it just slowly evolves without anyone noticing it. I always wonder whether there's a watershed moment in the development of a friendship, perhaps there is but you never notice it. I always thought it's when you first eat together with someone, coz you're never really as vulnerable as when you're eating.

Anyway we toasted to 'new beginnings', had a chinese, talked, then there were watery eyes. It was a 'see you soon', rather than a final goodbye, but I'm sure I'll see them again. I once said a heartfelt goodbye to a person who was leaving for Sydney 3 times before I finally saw her go, and that was because I kept bumping into her the next day. The last time we just said 's'laters' and left it at that.

Pizza GoGo

I went to my spinning class at the gym today. It was pretty good, raced around to the sounds of 1990s dance music. A woman in front and to the right of me kept turning round and glancing in my direction, which was a bit weird. She had long curly black hair, which flicked like a mane everytime she turned her head. It got me a bit paranoid after a while. She also had a sort of rash on her hands - but she was not unnattractive.

Then I went home and had a 15" pizza from Pizza Gogo for £6.95 with chips. I feel a bit sick now, and a little dizzy. I'm watching Davina McCall on School's Question Time, and it appears she's starting to talk sense, so I think it's time to go to bed.

Freedom

Alan Johnston was freed today. That's good news.

...

'Bryman' today asked me why he's never mentioned in my blog. It's funny when people (who never read my blog) complain that they're never mentioned. If I was harsh, I'd say it's because they never say anything that will stay with me. But that's not true of Bryman - he's the wisest 20 year old I know.

I think the real reason is because this blog is a small but important outlet for the mundaneity in my life. It contains nuggets of all the little things I subconsciously absorb throughout the week, and consciously think about later on in reflection. It's not the important stuff. The important stuff is the day to day stuff, e.g. moving out, changing jobs, (all stuff that I'm currently doing). But that never interests me, I suppose. It's also really hard to write about the real stuff in an interesting way.

[I'll try it now:

I'm moving out to go back to London, and changing jobs at the same time. Lot's of people are leaving work, including my partner in the Kids' Section (the other member of Team Kenicky). I went out for Moody's 25th (the day before mine), in Islington, went to Bar Rumba (had a great time), got the nightbus, was sick on myself, got off the nightbus which was blockaded at Wood Green because (according to the police) there's "a nutter running around with an axe. We've got him located in this cordened off section, but you'll have to walk around it". One birthday segued into another, and after a few cocktails, I ended up onstage with my shirt off with two of my mates. Then I flew to Portugal the next day. (All in all I had about 8 hours sleep in 48 hours). I laid in the sun and read about 1000 pages. I read John Sutherland's Boy Who Loved Books, the rest of My So-Called Life by Joanna Nadin, all of Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince, and a couple of articles in the London Review of Books.]


So, whenever me and Bryan talk about society or terrorism, therefore, it'll never go in the blog (but it might stay with me).

When we talk about vaginas on elbows, on the other hand, well that's another story.

Back from hols

Yes, back from Portugal now. It turned out a nice week in the end, about 28C the last couple of days. But me and my mum almost died when we tried to scramble over rocks to reach a beach and waves hit us, nearly onto said rocks.

We didn't die though.

Holiday again

Hey, I'm in Portugal, in a small town called Olhos D'Agua in the Algarve. It's lovely here, but I wish it was a tad hotter. It's about 22 C here, but I was at least expecting 28 or so. I think the blastingly hot British (Indian) Summers have got me a bit too used to the heat. More fire!

Nothing much to blog about, except that I'm very happy to hear Henry's off to Barca. Waaay!

It's my birthday!

Yay, it's my birthday today. I have been listening to REM and watching the Secrets of Packaging on National Geographic. Went out last night to Bar Rumba, and am going out a bit later for dinner and then drinks in London.

50 % of my life is

Sorted.

Yes, Masser

There was a huge racial furore in the Kid's section today. It all kicked off. Basically we have a Tintin Rocket Spinner which contains all these Tintin comics. However, there is on comic called Tintin in The Congo. And it's racist. Very racist. It's full of these colonial depictions of black people with thick lips and notty hair running around with no clothes on, and generally acting stupid and lazy. There is, though, a disclaimer on the back that states that the book is offensive, but that it puts into context the period in which Herge writes, one in which racist attiudes prevail.

Anyway this white man, who had a black wife and two mixed race children chanced upon the book and was not best pleased. He got very angry and upset, saying how this stuff shouldn't be in the Children's section. I got a bit embarrased and said how I have no control over what we stock, and would get the manager. I basically palmed him off to the manager, who had to listen to this very irate and upset customer, who was going to sue/write a letter to the store etc.

For the rest of the day, amongst the booksellers, a censorship debate ensued as to what we stock as a bookshop, and whether it was right to remove the comics (as we did to please the customer). I mean we stock other stuff that's likely to offend, such as porn, Mein Kampf, Little Britain, Asterix, and a book of (hillarious) Sick Jokes in the Humour section. The stuff we stock in no way reflects our opinions.

I think that it's good we stock the Tintin book because it shows that Tintin has a racist history, rather than one that is suppressed. For instance Disney, Tom and Jerry and Enid Blyton with her Noddy golliwogs all have a racist history which has been quietly erased. But I understand that the customer was upset that we stocked it in the Kid's section - perhaps he didn't want his child to come across it and be confused or upset.

I was a bit annoyed with myself that I couldn't explain this to the customer, and that he couldn't reason as to why we would stock such a book. It is important to show that something has a racist history. I, for one, never realised that Tintin was racist.

To remove the comics is perhaps a case of political correctness and censorship. They are in there to contextualise the period in which Tintin exists. They are not a reflection of current attitutes to race, but past racist ones.

It is hard to get this across to someone's who's a bit angry though.

Chop Chop

I think I was offended today. Here is what happened.

I was walking along the first floor towards the info point where Robbie, the music guy, was situated. I wanted to ask him something important. As I walked along I heard what I thought was someone clicking their fingers. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a balding man wearing a green t-shirt and khaki shorts looking in my direction. For a moment I paused, but then, thinking that no one clicks their fingers at other people in this day and age, carried on walking.

He then pulled up alongside me and said "so you're not going to help me then?"
"No, I'll help you," I said, (quite shocked actually).
"I'm looking for this author named Byron Katie".
After looking on the computer, I pointed him in the direction of Mind Body and Spirit, just back from where he came.
"Ok, I couldn't see her books there, but I'll try again".

He walked off.

I think the appropriate feeling for this situation was 'flabbergastment'.

In my mind between him asking for 'help' and me helping him I thought I might mention the clicking fingers business. I thought I might say something like "you weren't just clicking your fingers at me just then were you?" I think I didn't say it for a few reasons. One is 'routine': a lot of retail situations are routines that you go through again and again, which you get inured to. Being presented with a new situation like this was a slight shock to the system. I think I froze as well, a bit like when Meg Ryan's character in You've Got Mail can't say the exact things she wants to say to people when they piss her off because she's too timid.

What I wanted though, was to get this person away from me as quickly as possible. I thought I'd answer his query and get rid of him. The only concession I made to revenge, I suppose, was that there was only 1 book of the one he wanted in stock, and rather than lead him to the section and help him look for it (which is what we're supposed to do and I would have done), I just let him find it for himself.

He's probably still there now hunting around in the Occult section.

"If you prick us, do we not bleed"

Just saw Merchant of Venice today at the Globe and it was great. Well acted, and funny, and quite romantic in places. A couple of leads were taken ill so the understudies had to play them instead, and they had the scripts to refer to onstage.

I'd have to say the snogging was especially well done, as well as the cross-dressing, and parallels between the marriage bond and being in dept. Also the tensions between Catholicism and Judaism were also nicely done. I think you could see the play as a dialogue between Shylock's Old Testament way of looking at the world with Antonio's New Testament/New World thinking. I think the Shylock was a bit overracted though, perhaps slightly too Fagin-like, but I guess he is a stereotypical role. Incidently on the way to London Bridge we walked up Nancy's Steps (the ones she gets knifed on in Oliver Twist).

Someone had nicked the plaque though, so that was a bit bad.

A fork in the road

I'm at one of those crossroads. I'm thinking of tossing it all in the air and seeing how it lands. Here's my choice:

1) go and work in Islington, and live in London.

2) Stay here.

It's not an easy choice. I could go to Islington and do the job I'm currently doing, but I might actually end up with a boss I don't get on with and people I don't like. But I'd be back in London, which is the aim.

Or I could stay here, doing my new role for a few more months and see what happens. Maybe move back to London in September?

You never know what's down the line, and things always seem to turn on a sixpence.

What to do, what to do.

BBC Radio 3 Awards for World Music

I went to this concert at the Barbican yesterday, presented by the lovely Verity Sharp and Kwame Kwei Amah. I have to say the music was top notch, go see: http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio3/worldmusic/a4wm2007/index.shtml

Anyway we started with lunch at Tamarind.

a delightful red

potato cake thingies

tandoori paneer

dhal, morel mushrooms and snow peas, okra

in yoghurt (delicious), rice, potatoes.

rasberry sorbet

masala tea

the awards show

The System

Today I stuck it to 'The Man'.

I was in the petrol station buying lunch with the music guy, (let's call him Robbie), and proceeded to select an ice-cream from the Walls freezer. Now's about the right time to start having ice-cream for lunch. (This is a throwback from my uni days when two of my friends used to have a magnum double caramel for lunch almost every day).

Anyways, I wanted something creamy, perhaps minty, definitely chocolatey. And there it was...a mint 99 flake.

I took it to the pay desk.

The cashier (Sultana Begum) scanned my other items. These were two packs of chocolate caramel digestives (2 for £1.50). She scanned my other item - the ice-cream. Something was amiss. Up popped the price: £2.99. It had scanned as a "Lord of the Rings top trump" pack. This wouldn't do.

"How much is this?" said I, pointing to the 99.

"Oh sorry mister, I will make adjustment".

She tapped away at the screen, and I left after paying £2.49 in total. Robbie and I exited the petrol station, turning our mobile phones back on. I glanced down at my receipt and, low and behold:

I had paid 99p for my 99 Flake!

Bookshop Bloke = 1
"The Man" = 0

Murder Death Kill etc etc

Last night I saw Zodiac in the cinema. It was excellent. It's about 3 hours long, but directed by David Fincher and with a great ensemble cast starring all those good looking fellas (Jake Gyllenhaal, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Dermot Mulroney). Man, they are good looking. If I had to chose [to be] one, it'd be Dermot, but that's more down to Julia Roberts and My Best Friend's Wedding than anything else.

It's the best film I've seen this year (ahead of Amazing Grace and 300). But I do need to go and watch a few more films. After the film, I went home and immediately wikipediad the film and everything to do with the Zodiac killings. [Did you know that the lead detective in the case used to send fanmail to himself?]

Anyway I have just watched Hostel, so I have serial killers on the brain.
I might watch something a bit more sedate tomorrow - perhaps The Wicker Man.

...

P.S. Poor poor Cutty Sark :(

(I read this somewhere)

When i was a little girl some other girls in school told me that I was nothing. I ran home crying to my grandmother. My grandmother said, "You tell them to Fuck off!" Then think to yourself, "kiss my entire ass."

You spin me right round, baby right round.

I did the Spinner class at the gym today. For anyone not in the loop, it was the craze of two years ago, after celebrities like Cameron Diaz, Tara Reid and Jennifer Aniston all started doing it in the gym. It's basically a group cycling exercise, but it's quite fantasy based in that the intructor constructs a narrative in which you immerse yourself. You competitively cycle to thumpingly grandiose music, all the while the instructor 'encourages' you along.

Anyway, it was quite a good class, but he chose to narrate a 'Gladiator' fantasy, in which we imagined we were riding along with Russell Crowe and had to cross some bridges. We rode along with Maximus Decimus Meridius, dodging the Spartans (or whoever they were), and after a lungbusting ride made it across the bridge to safety, with a few casualities along the way.

Now, I'm not one to complain when it comes to fantasy roleplaying, however, this one wasn't exactly to my tastes.

When you're cycling along the Seven Hills of Rome, and the only thing you can see in front of you are the rotating buttocks of a Janet Street Porter lookalike, the last thing you want to visualise is Russell Crowe in a metallic thong.

Then it just gets confusing.

You want some, do ya?

I passed me theory test today, yay!

I got 34/35 in the theory part (I got an 'Attitude' question wrong), and 58 out of 75 in the Hazard Perception bit. [Thanks for the stuff you leant me Lou.]

On another note, a lot of nice people are moving on from the bookshop, and I'm angry coz it's making me a bit sad. I hate being angry-sad...it's worse than being sad-sad. The last time I was angry-sad was when I had my phone snatched as I lay on a bench chatting away in Fitzroy Square at dusk. I was having an important conversation, and reclining on a bench in one of the poshest squares in Nodnol, when all of a sudden it was wrenched from my hand and ear.

In the commotion, my glasses flew off, and I jumped off the bench. I saw two blurry cackling figures disappearing away in the distance and shouted 'Not my fucking glasses as well!!" (I thought I was perhaps a victim of the latest mugging phenomenon: 'speccy slapping'). I was furious and intensely scared, and it was a weird mix. I needed a brandy to calm my nerves.

Anyway, I'm currently very tired, coz my test was at 8:30am, and I was up til 2am working out stopping distances (of which I didn't get a question on).

So, I'm tired, angry and sad.

But I'm happy I passed my test, yay!

Unpleasantness

A worried looking man in an orange fleece came up to me at work today. Here's our following exchange:

"mumble mumble mumble.....there appears to be what can only be described as an 'accident' in the Gent's toilets."

"oh dear...I'll alert the manager".

I told the shop floor boss, who'd had certain reports about it, and told me he'd tell his boss to go take a look. Moments later, the boss boss paged me:

"so Bookshop Bloke, you know the quickest way to move up within the store..."

"I'm not cleaning the toilet."

"well, can you stand guard while I do, and make sure no one comes in?"

I stood around in front of the door, to make sure no one stumbled in. The boss, (a nice guy, laid back stoner type) had yet to emerge from the office.

Curiosity started to rear it's head. 'Don't look, there's no reason to look, why do you need to look, he'll just come in and clean it up' ran my thoughts.

Still no boss.

'Come on...where are you....?'.

So...

I peeped.


Yep, it was bad.

_________________

A few moments later, the hot blonde from the stationary stand ambles in my direction:

"Hey, how are you...why are you standing like that?"

"Oh no reason, no reason"

"It looks really odd, why you're standing there."

"Oh no reason.....how are you....I like your charm bracelet."

"Thanks. So why are you standing there?"

"Oh...there was like an 'accident' in the toilets, so I have to make sure no one goes in."

"Oh.

Is it bad?"

"Yeah...

it's bad."

______________________________

After he'd finished cleaning, the boss emerged and looked me in the eyes. We shared a glance. Mine was reassuring yet pitiful. His eyes turned downwards, ashamed.

"I feel all dirty and used."

"Just go home, go home."


All this got me thinking about cleaners. It's basically the worst job you can get in society, it pays the least, is disgusting and no one wants to do it. Of course, everyone know's it's essential, but it's never valued as much.

However, in store, whenever some kids pukes over the stairs, or does something else in the toilets, the people that clean up the mess are the managers. Our (bookseller's) opinons are that they don't pay us enough to clean it up, so why should we. If we got manager's salaries, we'd happily clean the stuff up. So the true value of a cleaner is £30K a year or so.

I suppose that's why plumbers cost so much.

Manchester

Had a lovely trip up the North on Friday to see some old friends. Had to work 8 days straight to get 2 days off, and looking forward to my big sleep tonight. Haven't had more than 6 hours a night for the last 11 days.

Am a bit shattered.


Friday, 11:35am: Virgin Pendolino from Euston.

A petit crossaint (from Paul's in Euston).

11:42am: First Class, with a large (free) G&T.

Brunch (free).

Goodbye to London with Pride (also free).

2:30pm: first Manchester pint.

The Shambles.

Old Wellington Inn.

5:10pm: Bombardier overlooking Manchester
Cathedral.

Sinclair's.

Urbis.

8pm: Kingfisher at Lal Qila on the Curry Mile.

Far, far too spicy.

9:30pm: swift half in a lovely pub on Oldham Street.

10pm: Smirnoff in a cool dive.

11:49pm: At Space.

At Subspace, listening to Northern Soul.

12:46am: unit 16.

Saturday, 11:30am: Fry up the next morning
(in Debenhams).

The tiny circus tavern.

Saturday 8:12pm: Heading southwards.

"Sorry for the delay, sir..."

Found it.

"Bear with me one sec, madam, I'll just check if it's out back..."

75% off Easter Eggs at Sainsbury's

All everyone seems to do is complain. So I won't.

Whoops.

Indies music

I really love doing the close at The Bookshop when Sparky (the supervisor who taught me about heroin) is doing it. The 'close' is working the late shift until 9pm, when we shut up the shop.

Normally at about 7pm, when the afternoon has made its way into the evening, he'll change the music from the official playlist to something eclectic. Before you know it, we subtly become an independant bookshop. Although him and the other music guys have very original tastes, they're open to suggestions. We've played stuff from Asha Bhosle to Bjork to The Simpsons Sing The Blues, and the customers invariably dig it.

Today we had Yann Tiersen on (the guy who did the Amelie soundtrack), and it went down well. A guy came up to the info desk and asked what the 'twinkly twinkly' music was. He liked it. No, he didn't want the album, he just wanted to know what it was. A discernable change occurs when non-playlist music comes on. Everything loosens up.

The other day, after we'd played Arcade Fire and The Fratellis to death, someone had had enough and stopped Chasing Cars midway through. For a few moments there was silence, until something good came on. I can't remember what it was, but it was nice.

Myplace or yours?

I have been going [insert social network here] nuts. For the last few hours I've been uploading photos, when I should be doing something far more constructive, like revise for my Theory Test.

I had a conversation with Drew (http://www.myspace.com/iloveyougoodbyemusic) the other day about them. We kind of ambled towards the conclusion that they enable you to construct and present the ideal personality of yourself to your friends. It's what you do - you find the absolute most best attractive pictures of yourself, and then you post these ones as well as others of you smashed and having a great time surrounded by people. This makes you cool.

If you were subversive (a good thing), you could post pictures of you being weird and lonely. This would, however, also make you cool as it would show you didn’t care about how you presented yourself. You see it’s a win win situation, (unlike the current situation Arsenal find themselves in). I suppose it’s all a bit circular really. I love how yours and other peoples’ interests change over time. So and so is no longer listening to Freddie Mercury. So and so has left the group “hummus is my life”. Drew said he’d create a page for himself, fill in all the required details, and then delete it. Wise man.

One problem with these social network jobbies is that they’re all essentially the same. Can you believe there’s no transgender category?! I can hear the collective gush of amazement...it’s incredible I know, especially in this day and age. Where’s my “winky” and “twinky” box? And what about political spectrums? Where’s my “left-leaning on personal liberty but right-leaning on private ownership” box? Hmm, it’s all a bit shifty if you ask me. And don’t get me started on ‘relationship status’. I’m sure people just cannot wait to tick that box that says ‘in a relationship’. If you were inclined, I mean really inclined, you could spend your time waiting, just waiting for people’s statuses to go from ‘in a relationship’ to ‘single’.


Of course, I don’t do that.

Bonkers bouncy

A customer asked me if we sell "spacehoppers" at work yesterday. I mean that's just crazy talk.

"mmm, you smell nice..."

Of the 5 things I had planned to do today, I managed to do 3 so am pleasantly surprised by my achievment. Today I have: got a new computer, booked a contact lens test and booked a driving lesson. I have failed to reply to an email, but I'll get on with doing that later.

Had a great time on Saturday night in a place called Inigo bar, which played Electro House (a movement for which I've been waiting a decade to finally arrive). Went out with the Seven Sisters girlies, all the way down in Sarf London. I miss them. They smell lovely. I too smell lovely, as a few people have commented on recently. While in Barca (or was it Amsterdam?...sometimes I don't know whether I'm coming or going) I bought some new aftershave at the Duty Free. I normally get a unisex one from Hermes (Eau d'Orange Verte), which I really really like (but it gives my mum a headache), but now I've moved on to their recent, more masculine one: Hermes Terre.

It's so hard to pick a perfume. Ideally you'd like to be presented with 15 glass vials, each with a different scent, and then pick the one that smells the best. But, of course, buying a perfume isn't just about what smells great. It's all about these extraneous things, such as the image of the fashion house, the shape of the bottle, the look of the advert for the thing, it's 'coolness'.

During my browsing experience, I immediately brushed past the YSLs, Ralph Laurens, and Versaces. I glanced at Armani. I wandered towards the Pradas, Burberrys and Chanels. Ooh, look there's Stella McCartney's. Oh, and don't you just adore Dior?

The very first aftershave I bought was Polo Sport by Ralph Lauren, I think I was about 16 at the time. It was all the rage, but looking back, it seems strange that everyone wore the same aftershave. This was especially true of deodorants; I remember the Lynx Africa fog in the changing rooms after rugby. But those post-pubescent years of underage drinking will always be recalled by that watery aroma of Polo Sport.

Between the ages of 18-21 I used to wear Issey Miyake, but so did everyone else. I remember being on a tube one time, and this woman lean over to her mate and say really loudly something along the lines of "Issey Miyake, someone's wearing Issey Miyake! Always Issey bleeding Miyake." I'm sure she wasn't referring to me...though I did use to douse myself in the stuff. Needless to say I dumped it shortly afterwards.

Which brings me on to Hermes Eau d'Orange Verte, my perfume of choice between the ages 22-24 (my golden age). I love this scent. It's vibrant, tangy, spicy, and comes in a lovely frosted green glass bottle. Plus it's Hermes, label of the famous scarf. Pronounced "ErrrMez". And it's unisex too, so you never quite know.

I think the time has come to put it to bed. Now I'm turning 25, I have to bring to an end my experimentations with my (perfume's) sexuality. Hermes Terre is now my scent. Sometimes you just move on. It'll be difficult I know, and they'll be some tough times ahead, but together...we can do it.

I'm not ditching the eyeliner though.

Violently happy

I haven't posted in a couple of days, as, even though a lot of things seemed to have happened in the past 10 days, I've not been able to construct a decent narrative or any good jokes neither.

I got really really happy today at work, from a period between 8:39-8:41pm. I have no easy explanation for this, but Dazzler cottoned on to me, after I did a little dance at him from the top of the stairs. I think it was probably just one of my trademark Cancerian mood swings, but something rapturous erupted over me, and I've sat here for a few moments trying to figure out what it was. This, I cannot.

I think I've been bitten by the travel bug (known as Aviator flu). I'm considering flying out to Amsterdam on Monday to go out for a night out, and returning Tuesday morning. I can't really justify the expense, but, working it through in my head, I could quite realistically do the journey in 2 1/2 hours, door to door. I think I also want to go to the O2 Wireless Festival in London this year. I think I just have this urge to consume consume consume, much like Falstaff, or that 8 year old boy in the news. Have you seen him on his tramopoline?

I just want it to be summer when it'll be hot, and I can sit in a pub garden, and do the crossword.

Oscar party for one

Ooh it's The Oscars! Penelope Cruth is wearing Versace and diamonds by Chopard. She's looking a bit orangery though. Rachel Vice has amazing lipstick, and is Vera Wanged out. She's very porcelin, reminding me of a beautiful vase. Cameron Diaz is boring in white, and again very orange. Djimon Honsu is wearing a nice jacket, double breasted (I think) with a burgundy lining thing. I hope Eva Green does something nice with her hair, and doesn't backcomb it like at the Baaaftas.

Here's who I think will win:

Best Actor: Forest Whitaker
Best Actress: Helen Mirren

Best Supporting Actor: Alan Arkin
Best Supporting Actress: Jennifer Hudson

Directing: The Departed
Best Picture: The Queen

Screenplay Adapted: Notes on a Scandal
Screenplay Original: Little Miss Sunshine

Animated Feature: Happy Feet
Art Direction: Pan's Labyrinth
Cinamatography: Children of Men

Costume Design: The Devil Wears Prada
Documentary Feature: An Inconvenient Truth

Film Editing: United 93
Foreign Language: Pan's Labyrinth
Makeup: Pan's Labyrinth

Original Score: The Good German
Original Song: "Love You I Do" - Dreamgirls
Visual Effects: Superman


And here's who I wanna win:

Best Actor: Forest Whitaker
Best Actress: Helen Mirren

Best Supporting Actor: Eddie Murphy or Alan Arkin
Best Supporting Actress: Abigail Breslin

Directing: United 93
Best Picture: Little Miss Sunshine

Screenplay Adapted: Borat
Screenplay Original: Little Miss Sunshine

I have a feeling in my waters that Peter O'Toole'll win and Little Miss Sunshine might win Best Picture, and some actings awards. Go Abi!

Also, I have two days off tomorrow. I haven't been on holiday in a whole day.

Hmm...Rio maybe?

Back home

Just back from Holland now, managed to make it in time for MOTD (Match of the Day), an added bonus.

Spent the day chilling out in Amsterdam smoking prostitutes and looking at joints. Or something like that.

I think I've walked about 30-40 miles in the last 10 days. Plus I've imbibed lots of things I'm not used to, such as European culture, the food, the drink. I miss garlic, ginger and chillis. And bananas.

Back to work tomorrow, the daily grind...drudgery...books.

Forgive me if I'm in a mood all day.

Holland

I'm in Holland.

Bit knackered after being awake for 24 hours yesterday. Went out and drank Groslch, ate pancakes and chips and mayonnaise. Had more pancakes today and a Chocomel mit Slagroom (Hot Chocolate with cream).

At the moment, I'm in the studio of my painter friend in North Holland, and gonna catch the train back to in Amsterdam later to sample more of it's delights.


Peace out.

"She's a Maneater, make you buy cars / make you cut cards..."

Just got back from the Nelly Furtado concert and am frantically packing for Amsterdam tomorrow (well not really coz I'm writing this blog). She's so cool, so great, so lovely. She did some good remixes of her old songs, and loads of stuff from the new album. Lots of toe tapping, knee slapping, hand waving and singing alongness. And she did Powerless (yay!). But she didn't do On The Radio (boo!). I suppose that's always the case, you kind of end up slightly dissapointed when they don't do the songs you really love. But she did give so much, so I'm happy.

...

Barcelona is so yesterday. Amsterdam is where it's at, darlings. (Ok, I'll stop all this 'ooh la-di-dah-ness' before it begins to grate).

Dazzler gave me some advice, as I popped into the bookshop earlier today to buy an Amsterdam guide.

"Remember, don't smoke too much."

"Right."

"And use protection"

"Er, ok."


Soft drugs, hookers and beer, I guess it is then. Looks like I can finally spend that tax refund after all.

Bye Bye Barca

Adios mes amigos.

Went to the Picasso museum in the Old Town and had a pleasant stroll looking at his developmental works. I think his best stuff´s in the Prado in Madrid or dotted around the world in other galleries, but it was nice to get an overview of his stuff.

I´m really really tired, all this walking is taking its toll. Time to go home methinks.

Tapasco sauce.

Spent the day shopping and saw a couple of lovely medieval churches, all around the Old Town/Barri Gotic area. Went into Zara and bought 3 jumpers, and then Footlocker for some polo shirts and H&M for another one. Popped into Sfera and El Cortes Ingles though couldn´t see anything nice, but all in all a good day spent. Am very very tired though, coz have done a lot of walking, eating and drinking, and no swimming, jogging or yogaing.

Went to a lovely tapas restaurant just now, so have finally eaten some Spanish food. To be honest, I´m slightly bored of Barca, and am more looking forward to Amsterdam. Did I forget to mention I´m off to Amsterdam on Thursday? Oh yes, a quick stopover in London on Wednesday to catch Nelly Furtado in Hammersmith, and then off to Holland on Thursday till Saturday. Chips and mayonnaise, pancakes, and Anne Frank`s House, here I come. Well, have to make the most of my 10 days holiday.

I´m a bit knackered though, so I don´t know how I´m gonna get through this big week of mine, especially with going back to work on Sunday and the Oscars Sunday night. I never miss the Oscars. I think it´ll be a foregone conclusion this year, with Helen Mirren and Forrest Whittaker winning, and probably Scorcese getting his (undeserved) Best Director gong for The Departed. I´m pretty sure Little Miss Sunshine will win Best Original Screenplay, so much so that I´ve laid a tenner on it with moody.

Going Picasso Museo tomorrow, and then back to Blighty I go.

Have you fed the fish?

I think the maids are messing with me. For a start they´ve been reading my Nuts. I came in the other day and found it deposited prominently on the table, away from it´s usual position secreted under a chair.

And today, when I got back to the room, they only left me with one towel. On holiday, I prefer at least 2 bath towels and a face towel, and maybe one for the bathroom floor. It ain´t a holiday without at least two daily showers with fresh towels after each wash. I love holiday showers. The jets are so strong, underneath them I feel my eyeballs being pushed closer inside my skull.

...

Went to the Sagrada Familia today, and on the Bus Turistic. Am getting a clearer idea of the city now. It´s so liveable: the metro´s brilliant and there´s good food and things to do. The Sagrada Familia was impressive, but I can see where a lot of people seem to have problems with Gaudi, and the whole ´moderniste´ thing. I for one prefer Roman/Gothic arches and straight lines, but Gaudi´s cool too. I´m getting used to the wavy curve.

The Sagrada is essentially a huge building site, his unfinished masterpiece that has already taken like a century to get this far. It´s funded by donations and from the entrance fees and should be finished in 30 years or so. Consequently the interior of the cathedral is full of cranes and building materials. My mum, after walking through it, promptly declared it a ´waste of money´. However, I made her apologise to a mini Gaudi stood beside a model of the Sagrada. ´Sorry Gaudi´she said.

Apparently he was killed by a tram in 1929. Poor bloke.

...

At a push I´d say I prefer Madrid to Barca because of the 24 hour city/laid back attitude thing, but I guess it would be nice to go to Barca in the summer. I´ll see how the shopping goes tomorrow. I want to buy a shirt from Zara that I can guarantee no one else has back home. No stripes, no black nor pink, and no slim fit. It´s getting increasingly rare to have an individual style nowadays, what with blokes all wearing the same shirts.

Just ate a pumpkin risotto but it was very salty. Risotto´s Spanish, right? Either way I´m going for a curry tomorrow.

Am a bit drnuk and full of Chinese food.

Yeah, so am at the gates of the Nou Camp like, and guess who comes along?


Only bleeding Ronaldhino and the rest of the Barca team.


One by one, Ronaldhino, Motta, Marquez, Giuly, Gudjohnsen, Van Bronhurst, Messi (!!), Oleguer and Rijkaard, all get on the Barca bus. No Eto'o though, apparently he´s been left out of the squad to face Valencia tomorrow.

Ronaldhino even gave me a thumbs up!

Yay!

Then pissed it down and we had to buy children´s sized Barca FC umbrollies. We still got wet.

Yay!

Barca Baby

Barcelona baby, waaaaaaaaay!


No bananas so far, but I ate a cornish style pasty which was great. I may post a photo of it some time. Barca´s pretty cool, very very liveable, it would be nice to spend a few months here chilling out and looking for bananas.

Going to check out the Sagrada Familia, and maybe the Nou Camp later on, after I´ve had a coffee and a croissant.

Em, remember remember remember to feed the fish.

Otherwise they might die :(

Living on the edge.

On my way to work once, I ate this intimidating banana:

What am I supposed to do with this?

Mind how you go

Getting there

All done.

Morality schmorality.

Given that Beckyboo and Ritchieroo are soon about to “do the right thing”, I’ve been thinking a lot about morality recently.

The other day we had an event instore with lots of kids making cardboard spiders. It was much fun, albeit tiring. Plus I got a chance to talk to small children and give them sweets without being arrested. As a stubbly Asian man aged between 20-35, any day that passes by without being arrested is, well, once less day without being arrested.

The little ‘uns are so adorable, if you talk to them in a reasonable manner they respond in kind. They are without prejudice….little containers of curiosity and wonder.

Later, a guy came in looking for the latest ‘arry Po'er book. I showed him the paperback on shelf (£8.99), but remembered we were selling the hardback for £2.99. Anyway I found myself wanting him to buy the paperback partly because a) I’m lazy, and b) I find myself moving on the slippery slope towards a ‘sales mentality’. I’m becoming jaded. However, I stopped myself for a moment, realised this, and gave him the cheaper one.

How do you stop yourself becoming morally jaded, and be more like the children? At some stage prejudice, intolerance, bigotry will find a way to piece their subtle minds.


Some difficulties occurred when construting the spiders. I naturally assume spiders are male, so I say “and, what would you like to call him?” during the crucial point of bestowing a name to spider.

“Rosin” comes the reply.
“Oh, ok” says I.

The next child comes along.
“So what would you like to call it?”, says I, bearing in mind the spider’s feelings.
“Her, what do you want to call her!” shrieks child.

I started to think about this for a bit. What is the generic gender of a cardboard spider? What would s/he prefer to be called. Doesn’t the spider have a choice in all this?

Hmm.
…

I saw United 93 the other day, found it very moving. However, one thing bugged me during it, and it was what nice glasses the head terrorist had. I really, really want those glasses. They were rimless, and kind of silvery. I mean it’s not the glasses’ fault they happened to be perched on the nose of a terrorist. I had this exchange with moody on tills:

“Mate, it’s a fucking shite film man, it’s invasive, fucking emotional terrorism.”
“- Yeah, it was terrorism.”


Stupid morality.

You have 17 missed calls from the above caller…..

Woke up on Thursday (snow day) to the following voicemail from moody:

“Dude wake the fuck up maaaaan, god its snowing and I need to do a photo and I’ve got a great idea its gotta to be in the day so wake up man, fuckin hell, laters”


Turns out he wanted me to pose naked in the snow, the darkness of my skin contrasting with the whiteness blah blah blah. Anyway, I declined, but was very much up for posing. I practiced my intense stare, and went off with him to find a field of snow. We found a mound nearby, clambered on it, and began to pose. Apparently I can stand still very well. I must put that as a skill on my CV. I think it’s a combination of many hours standing at the Globe, being on my feet all day at work, and my increasingly mystical yogic powers. Incidently my body did something incredible in yoga on Friday. I can’t really describe it exactly, but let’s just say I was pleasantly surprised. And no, it’s not what you think.

Inspired by moody and my experience in the snow, I decided to take some photos of my day snowed in, as seen below:

Grillup in the snow

Unfortunately after its exertions in the snow, my grillup required reheating. The compromises one makes in life.

It was pretty hard to keep my eyeballs open while posing, what with the ‘snow blindness’, but I think moody was pretty happy with the results. He can do unique things with a lens, and to discover more, I went out with him at night to scope out some locations. After driving around and taking some shots, we ended up in the McDonalds car park looking at puddles. It was dark and cold, but he managed to get a good shot by a large puddle. Some figures in a white van began to pull into the car park. Sensing danger, moody quickly gathered his things. “Are we splitting?” says I. “Yeah, let’s be off”. The strangers sped towards us, and after me being doused by the van driving over our puddle, we scattered off into the night.

Comment ca va?

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So...................say something,

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Personally speaking…

Had a day off today so spent it thinking. My moody friend wants to take a photo of me for a project and I have to write a paragraph to go beside it. The remit is ‘what inspires me’.

I drunkenly wrote this paragraph yesterday after getting in from a pub quiz [we (Bonnie and the Booksellers) came 2nd and won our stake back, woo!]. It went something along the lines of “I force myself to believe that beauty and aesthetics inspire me, but basically it’s my own selfish desire to stay alive”. Bit over dramatic, I know.

But thinking about it today, I realise that to an extent it’s true. I’d like to say that beauty, truth, soulfulness, music etc inspire me but to be honest, living is overcoming laziness.

Take for instance meeting people for the first time. I assume that all my experiences and personal history culminate in the personality I present to you. However, In order for someone to get to know me a bit deeper, I ought to fill them in on the stuff I’ve been through or my experiences… I suppose it’s about sharing these with someone else. But this is a very repetitive process, especially for someone as lazy as I. I suppose the reason you keep doing this is on the off chance someone surprises you and you get along with them. I'd rather listen to someone tell me about themselves though.

I suppose you could take pleasure in constructing a new personality every few years or so and see how far you could take it. Two people recently told me that they are completely different people to how they were 2 years ago. One has completely changed in terms of music they liked, clothes they wore and people they hung out with and the other didn't realise they were creative but once they did everything made sense and precipitated an awakening of sorts.

Anyway, I don’t think I came to any conclusion about all of this, but I basically thought that living requires you to do repetitive things. For instance meeting new people and having the same conversations again in the hope of making new friends. Or listening to songs, reading books, and watching films, in the hope of experiencing something great or learning something new. In some ways, this is a depressing thought, that you do these things in the ‘hope’ of gaining something worthwhile. I suppose you can always take pleasure in the ‘new’ – you have no choice but to.

I could go the reverse and decide what doesn’t inspire me. Well I can tell you straight away that it’s the useless England team and their inept manager.

I hope it snows loads tomorrow.

Superbowl Sunday

I couldn't think of anything of note to write today, so I thought I'd stick on my mate's poem:

my nightmares take me greatly, make
me shake and make me hate me,

despair has cake'd me, midnight jaded,

all my light has faded, all my life

unstable waded, into rotten water,

sunken to the deepest torture

http://moodyinc.deviantart.com/

I had this chip butty for dinner today:

poetry and chip butty

mmmmm.

"Use a spoon to scoop up the skunge..."

Nothing much happened today except my supervisor taught me how to shoot heroin.

Spurs lost.

But I did go to the gym and do 4 miles on the cross-country ski machine. In order to stave off boredom I brought my headphones along to listen to the radio. There's a varied selection, a couple of discussion channels, a pop channel, rocky one, and clubbing one. Naturally I pick the clubbing one. But so does everyone else it seems.

By about 15 minutes in, I turn to my right and notice that everyone's synchronized. Arms are thrusting, legs are pumping, sweat is dripping, all to the strains of Pump up the Jam by Technotronic.

Somehow, I feel hollow inside.

Cold noses and Sheryl Crowses.

It’s such a beautiful day today, have you looked outside?

I was woken far too early, however, by tweeting birds perched outside my window. I don’t mind as much, I mean, they’ve been here longer than me, but they should have had the foresight to let me sleep in at least past 9:30am. And it’s my day off. It’s getting really bright, and I have to use one of those sleeping blindfolds like what Carrie in Sex in the City used. The one drawback is that when I wake I momentarily think that I’ve been kidnapped.

I stumbled downstairs and proceeded to make my morning coffee, but annoyingly ruined it by letting it brew for only two minutes before I pressed the plunger on the French press. I poured in milk (whole), and a spoon of sugar (organic fairtrade golden granulated), took a sip, but it tasted weak. After I realised this, I tried to rectify it by pouring it back into the French press and letting it brew for a further couple of minutes. When I eventually made my mug, it was cold so I had to warm it in the microwave, further destroying any residue of taste left in the coffee. I could have started from scratch, but I’m far too lazy so just ended up drinking my disappointing coffee.

Anyway the reason why my coffee was ruined was because I was distracted by the Jeremy Kyle show. I turned on the telly and was confronted with the tagline “My ex was a prostitute…why should I believe her baby’s mine? DNA results.” One of the contestants was telling her partner about the daughter she had borne him. She pleaded with him, “she doesn’t even know who you are, she doesn’t call you dad, she calls you…Gareth.

I took another sip of coffee.

...

It’s the afternoon and all I’ve had is a banana. I always end up fasting on my days off. I can’t find the Jaffa Cakes, so may have to venture outside in the glorious sunshine. I’m trying to read Beloved by Toni Morrison, but I’m in one of those lazy bored moods. I did put on my U2 Elevation concert DVD, but couldn’t concentrate on Beloved, not with the Edge and his brilliant solos. Plus it takes something out of you each time you read that book. Maybe I’ll go for that walk.

Antony and Cleopatra at the Novello was very good last, but it was a bit cold in the theatre. My nose got cold. Plus I think I made my situation worse by having an ice cream during the interval, but don’t two ‘colds’ make a ‘hot’ or something? (My maths was never really any good.)

I didn’t think Harriet Walters was very sexy as Cleopatra. She was a bit meagre, not very meaty, (how I imagine Cleopatra to be). Plus she was visibly cold. She’d make a good Lady Macbeth though. She spoke with a strange accent, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I suspect too many glottal stops. Someone like Oprah Winfrey, with her soothing yet commanding voice, would make a good Cleopatra, but she doesn’t have the ‘beauty’ considered necessary for the role. Oprah only has inner beauty. Incidentally Sheryl Crow was on Oprah today talking about women in their 40s. She is so very good, Sheryl Crow. Oprah demanded that we too can become ‘energised’ like Sheryl after leaving Lance Armstrong. No one in the audience disagreed. You go girl!

It was strange to sit in the front row and have Captain Picard give you eye contact. I had to slouch in my seat because I was so close to the stage, so much so that after 3 hours, I lost all feeling in my legs. At one point he stared at me, and I hoped he would utter ‘Energise!’ and beam himself onto the Enterprise. I think he was disappointed with my posture, and my occasional yawning, but it wasn’t you Picard, I was just tired, plus I was distracted by the great legs of the person next to me. I need to do some yoga…maybe I’ll go tonight. Oh wait, it’s Spurs v Arsenal in the cup, dammit, I’ll have to stay in.

Wobbly babies

I saw 2 really cute things today.


I was taking some Roald Dahl books off the shelves to be returned to the publishers today and was crouched on the floor in front of the Fiction 8-12 bay. I had piled them up in a corner, making a nice little tower of Charlie and The Chocolate Factory and George's Marvellous Medicine.

[Incidently I once tried to make George's Marvellous Medicine. After reading it, I went straight downstairs and mixed some Head and Shoulders with Colgate toothpaste, and added some Listerine for taste, and downed a small cupful. I think I was 9 at the time. It wasn't very good. I didn't shrink and was very disappointed. I told my sister about this a few years later and she was also very disappointed].

So anyway the wobbliest baby approaches my small tower of books (taller than him) and flops onto them, toppling them down to the floor. All the while doing this, he fixes me with his babiest of baby stares. Did he have any concept of what he was doing? His mother appeared within moments, and of course apologised for what baby Leo had done, but luckily I covered for him and said it was my pile of mess.

I had a conversation about my voice today with a fellow employee (a listless wistful girl). Apparently it's warm and welcoming, friendly even. Later, someone else (who has a lovely voice) told me that I have one of those voices that you can listen to for a long time before it begins to grate. I must make use of this.

Anyway the second cute thing occured during my till hour. I think I had gone into a trance after standing rather erectly at the till for a while. A small girl appeared beneath me, along with her mother and presented me with a Doctor Who Top Trump book. As her mother babbled on about handing me her reciept for my 'records' (as I had previously performed an exhange for her), the girl proceeded to tell me about all the Doctor Who books she had. (All the while a queue began to form). I smiled, handed her her book and told her 'well now you've got this one', which seemed to make her day, and they departed.

The next customer, smiled at me and handed me some CDs (Radio 1's Live Lounge, Amy Winehouse and others). She told me 'well, I don't have all the Doctor Who books, but I've got these', and I said 'aah no, those are the things to be reading' and smiled back. The rest of our transaction continued in silence, but she smiled again as she left and stared in my eyes. I think at this point my blood pressure was so low that I was in urgent need of some Jaffa Cakes, so I remained in silence. Sometimes it's nice to be silent though.

I'm going to see Antony and Cleopatra with Captain Picard tomorrow. In my opinion it has Shakespeare's best writing, and is an excellent representaion of love. Waaaay better than that Romeo & Juliet with petulant Romeo, and jailbait Juliet. A&C is a proper love story, about passion and real desire, rather than the fumblings of an inexperienced couple. In a sense it's much like Pat and Frank's relationship in Eastenders, which is the greatest love story ever told, more so than Lancelot and Guinevere, or Tristan and Iseult. Plus Cleopatra is a sexy bitch. Apparently it's about 'melting'...melting states, melting minds, rivers melting, cheese. Well it's not just about cheese. I hope it doesn't rain tomorrow.

I got a tax refund the other day, so I'm fucking loaded. Wooo-hooo! I wanna blow it all on beer and hookers, but I know I'll only end up doing the decent thing and spend my hard earned cash on DVDs and shit CDs. I really wanna get the All Saints' one (Studio 1), but it completely bombed.

Here lies the conundrum. Is it worth spending your money on something you only marginally want, and would only buy because you had the extra cash? But that means I'm now doomed to buying shit CDs, because whenever I have extra cash, I'll only ever use it to buy something I only slightly want?

Besides if I really want it, I'll download it or copy it. A mate rang me yesterday to sell me a tie over the fone. It's a skinny tie, "really really skinny mate", he says, "and I can have it for a tenner". Of course I buy said tie without even seeing it. Why the fuck do this? I'll only wear it once.

Ooh, my first post. Well let's see, I can write anything I want now. Freedom. Ok, I work in a bookshop. I am a bloke. That's all your getting for the moment. Oh yes, and I move into the Kids' section tomorrow. Let's see how that goes.


(this is actually my second first post).