Friday, April 27, 2007

From BBC News Online today...

Safety fears after Oxford St fire

"About 50 firefighters are tackling the blaze which started just before 1900 BST on Thursday above the New Look store, next door to Marks and Spencer.

About 150 firefighters fought to bring the blaze under control throughout the night and managed to stop it from spreading to other buildings. But there are now fears the damaged building is unsafe."



Well. That's synthetic fabrics for you.

Monday, April 23, 2007

Double take

I'm sorry, what?

Greggs?

Milla Jovovich?

Are we quite sure about the legitimacy of this news story?

Saturday, April 21, 2007

And while we're at it - how cool is the human body?

Answer: Very!

Thanks to James and the mighty Popjustice this is Feist with the poptastic video for one of their songs. Ahhh.

"Gran's results are back. 'Not human'."

Like most bloggers, I aspire to be some kind of writer or other. Tra-la-lah.

I have actual evidence of this thwarted daydream (thwarted entirely by my own laziness, I assure you). I took one of the local creative writing classes lastyear. It was extremely interesting! Having spent three years at University deconstructing the sweated and teared (and often torn) efforts of others*, slowly having the ability to just read a bloody book whittled out of me, it had been a long time since I actually considered the mechanics and methods behind writing a bit of fiction. Although the endless, self-appreciating white middle-class worthiness behind the whole endeavour creeps me out a bit.

The best bit about the class was the deaf and partially sighted octagenarian who intimidated the crap out of the rest of the class and the girl who only joined because the guitar class was full. Genius.

Anyway. I digress. The point being that inspiration comes at the most random times. Creativity is the love-child of crisis and pandemonium.

Family implosion? Have a triptych of novellas based on an amusing Chelsea family.
Health crisis? I'm just jotting down some casual haikus in the style of Walt Whitman.
Roof fallen in? Darling I can't talk I'm finishing this slim volume of goatskin bound verse.

Which of course would be lovely. But it's so unfair that the best ideas seem to come when there's bugger all time to do anything with them. Writing always looks so eaaaaasy. It's not. It's frickin hard work.

But all this is nonsense. As The Grauniad*** pointed out a few weeks ago, Ernest Hemingway had the right notion when he claimed his greastest story was made up of just six words: 'For sale: baby shoes, never worn.'

The Grauniad challenged a set of contemporary writers to use the same format. The results are really good.I think my favourite is from AS Byatt: 'They awaited sunrise. It never came.' Oooooo that's a bit good.

I think my flatmates has just coined a new word: fluckering.

Scribble on!



* I can't remember what programme it was, but there was a programme on telly years ago in which Imelda Staunton played an Oxbridge lecturer. I remember the snorted laugh my mother let rip when Imelda turned to her youthful group of students and intoned 'Right, you name it and I'll deconstruct it'.**
** It was Don't Leave Me This Way with the fabulous Janet McTeer. I heart IMDB.
*** I am quite literally not cool enough for Myspace. It shows.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Telegrams from the edge: one

+ + + STILL ALIVE BUT WORLD HAS GONE TO POT STOP + + + DEVELOPED FACEBOOK ADDICTION STOP + + + NEW MARK RONSON LP IS SOMETHING FABULOUS STOP + + + WEATHER FINE STOP + + + MOTHER SENDS LOVE STOP + + + I DON'T KNOW HOW TO STOP + + +

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Adventures in Gym Land Three: Boz gets wet.

I am sitting in my living room having returned from the gym. I had a swim today. It was nice. No I did not use inflatable arm bands. I am furnished with a membership card and everything now, although I still haven't signed any bits of paper to say if I suffer a heart attack or manage to mangle my hand in a rowing machine then it's all my fault because I'm a big silly and not in any way the fault of the lovely gym owners.

Placed on the table before me is a sheet of A4 paper that also came home with me from the gym. At the top of this piece of paper is the word 'timetable'. That is about the only word I understand.

Body pump clinic - a jolly session to help clear out the systrems of those who have overdosed on muscle building powders and potions.
Dynamic yoga - meditation and stretching exercises for the upwardly mobile.
Total body conditioning - Timotei for yas pubes.
Mega-Hula - one big hoop, spun by a group of thirty. Bit boring for those in the middle.
Body balance - Balance corpses on bits on a selection of gym equipment. The winner is the one whose cadaver wilts last.
Group cycling - pedalling round France with The Beatles.
The Rock Star Workout - tone and build muscle by bashing up some music equipment with an air guitar. Followed up by the Rock Star Diet (biting the heads off whippets).

You know, this gym thing is a whole new world...

More Cant on the tellybox please

If I didn't all spend so much time farting in the wind and being so post-post-ironic then this blog would have a voice and, oh, for it to be Brian Cant's.

His calming tone has just been voted the best voice on children's TV. Make that all TV! Brian and Floella are responsible for a considerable bit of my early childhood and frankly they don't get the cultural recognition they deserve.

I hope everyone is having a really nice long weekend.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

"I'm not Fergie-Ferg, I won't love you long time..."

...however I have just deconstructed the two foldy-uppy-outy-hangery clothes thingummys that have been in the kitchen for months, and discovered that the room is twice as big as I thought.

This matters because I spend a considerable amount of time dancing around it while cooking/washing up/undertaking kung fu laundry.

I pretend no one can see me through the window. Because then I would have been acting like a numpty for about a year. And that would make me a bit sad.

Don't ask about my London Bridge...

Sunday, April 01, 2007

Adventures in Gym Land Two: Boz does exist!

Well I have finally made it on to their shiny shiny database (thank you The God of All Finance). AND I went on a SUNDAY MORNING. Doesn't this earn me some kind of brownie point somewhere? No? You mean I don't automatically get more healthy because I went when I could have been lying in bed?? Oh, how unfair.

I still don't have a membership card yet though. I am collecting excuses:
"We'll do you one after your workout."
"Our system is down."
"We can do one next time you come."


On some deeply significant level, I am still being rejected by the gym.

I was terribly brave today though*. Not only did I do the usual running, rowing and ... what is that... skiing? Striding? The thing with the sticks and foot paddles. Makes you look like Kath from Kath and Kim. That thing. Anyway, I did that. But I also did some exercises on a Swiss ball (stop sniggering at the back). Oooooo. And I have blisters on my hands, so I must have been doing healthy things. Er...

Still far too intimidated by all the shiny staff with too much body muscle to use the free weights and complicated machinery though. I'll get there.

Am I obsessing about this too much?

RIGHT. It's far too nice a day to be sitting indoors. The world beckons. After I've done the washing up, obviously.


* By Brave, I mean Not Really Very Brave. I am 27, not 17. Alas.