Well fancy seeing you here...

Hello and welcome to the rambling rollercoaster of useless ponderings, strung together in what the internet calls a "blog," and the voices call a waste of everyone elses time.

Please check your sanity at the door (along with your dignity, logic, principles, good taste and prejudices against daftness.)

"I am here to seduce you into a love of life; to help you to become a little more poetic; to help you die to the mundane and to the ordinary so that the extraordinary explodes in your life." -Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh

Friday, 6 March 2009

The Missing Link

Today, I was "tagged" in another of the inane Facebook notes that there seem to have been an ever-increasing influx of in recent months. I must admit to occasionally being part of this mindless chain of self-promotion in all its uselessness. I'm attention-seeking enough that whenever I think participation might lead to a handful of amusing answers, I grab my fluffiest knitwear and join the rest of the sheep in bleating my way through "19 of my favourite cornflake-related memories of Wolf from Gladiators."

This most recent quiz assigned numbers to random friends, and paired questions with the numbers. One of the questions assigned to number seven - which was allocated to me - was "If you gave #7 £100, what would they spend it on?" The answer given by my old schoolfriend? "Shoes. I bet she'd spend it on shoes." Now, the idea that I'd spend one-hundered-pounds on shoes when there is art to admire, and theatre to enjoy, and music to be seduced by, and cultures to explore is preposterously vain and shallow! ...It's also true, damn him. (And damn me for being such a vacuous bint.)

I retreated from Facebook after reading that, to watch a coupling of programs on BBC2 about Charles Darwin - if for no other reason than to remind myself that I am little more than a chimp in heels, who is fortunate to have evolved into a creature who can walk upright at all, let alone at a constant 5" incline.

You should know at this point, that I have just spent half an hour on Google trying to find a photo of a monkey in stilettos, and failed dismally. On a similarly anthropomorphic theme, the other thing I have never seen - as I found myself discussing in the far-too-wee-hours of one insomniac morning - is a tortoise in a christmas party hat! My family own a tortoise, but because she had hibernated through every christmas for the better part of a century, I have never had occasion to take a photograph of her in a tissue-paper crown. It's a shame, as she's the right shape for a christmas-cracker party hat to fit the curve of her shell as easily as it does the human head for which it was more likely marketed. I decided to make note of the idea so that I might wait until April when she awakes for the year, and be reminded to contrive a situation whereby I can snap such a picture. Due to an inexplicable lack of notepaper, the memo was scribed onto the side of a banana. (No, I don't know why I chose a banana as my second choice of writing medium, but I like to think that rather than being evidence of some form of mental illness, it is instead proof that Darwin had a bloody good point.)

BANANA


In other news this week, I attended a fabulous comedy night at The Fat Fox in Southsea, and finally saw Trevor Lock perform. Was a brilliant night; though due to my inability to be both impromptu and dazzling, the majority of the audience will forever refer to me as the prostitute in the front row, cementing the "gig-whore" status attributed to me by Ms McEvitt when I bought the tickets last month. If any of you are presented with opportunity to see Trevor live, then I urge you to do so while he is still performing in reasonably intimate venue's. It just won't be the same when he's playing the guildhall and I'm seated so far at the back and in the rafters that I might as well be peering through a skylight.

Disclaimer: Forthcoming gigs may or may not include common brunette hookers. More information available by placing a notice in the free-ads and waiting with a red carnation by your post office box on the first day of the full moon following your advertisment.