| |
[Sep. 22nd, 2008|10:26 pm] |
I have been back from the ramshackle Rally for the best part of the week. Our car died before we got out of London and so we trained it to Dover, got the ferry to Calais and then begged people to take us the 1600 miles to Croatia. I got a lift with some young kids who were dressed as the Blues Brothers. They were lovely. We had a fridge on the back seat that was full of cheese, wine and beer, so it was a fairly relaxing journey. Saw a whole lot of Europe as we sped through France, Switzerland, Italy, Slovenia to Croatia. I ate some bulls testicals in Slovenia which were really nice. I had expected them to be kind of gristley, but they were very tender, and I can't wait to eat the bollocks of some other animal soon.
Back to the real world, I had a row with my MD today, and she stormed out, and shouted about how I 'couldn't work with these idiots anymore' and walked out the office 40 minutes early and came home......opps! |
|
|
| |
[Sep. 10th, 2008|11:50 pm] |
Remember how I told you how I am doing the Ramshackle Split Rally (www.ramshacklerally.com) to raise money for the Honeypot charity? Remember how it starts in Calais and we'll stop in Bern, Bormio, and Ljubljana, before reaching Croatian city of Split. The rally rules say we have to do this in a car that costs no more than £100 - we managed to get our Peugeot 106 free of charge on Freecycle? Remember all this? Well, guess what? The fucking car has an electronic fault and won't start.
I have thrown away all my control-freak behavior, and tomorrow I am getting the train/ferry to France and basically trying to blag a lift to Croatia. We think we have a lift from 2 Manchester lasses in a Merc, but we are not sure.
Here is a quick plug for sponsorship: www.justgiving.com/bookworms
(thanks to everyone who has already given so generously)
Wish me luck!
See you next Tuesday as they say. |
|
|
| |
[Aug. 31st, 2008|09:10 pm] |
Oh, what a lovely weekend I've had.
Friday night drinks and Thai with my Brother and his wife. I moaned for half the night, and then told them how great I am for the rest of the evening.
Saturday I pottered all morning. Practiced my hooping for a while. For the first time in ages I got on my bike and cycled around Hackney. Stopped in London Fields to watch a man who had a bike that sort of folded into a drum kit and he sat (topless...twit-ta-woo) playing a tune. Cycled down to Shoreditch and wandered around Spitlefields and up Brick Lane. I like to wander around Brick lane. My Grandfather lived at the top of Brick Lane, and I always remember visiting him in the early 80's, and taking the walk down the Lane. As a kid growing up in an all white area of Middle Essex, I found the Bangladeshi community around Brick Lane so exotic! The smells and the chatter were enticing and frightening. I wish I could go back to the early 80's and see it all again. I think that's why I loved Monica Ali's book Brick lane so much. I wasn't that impressed by the film version, but it was a nice reminder. It also reminds me of my favorite books A Kid for Two Farthings by Wolf Mankowitz (who went to the same school as my Dad). This reminds me I must have some of the illustrations from this book framed.....if I can ever find my copy.
After buying bought salt beef bagels, I cycled through the city and over London Bridge (always tres exciting!) and along the river to the South Bank. Stopped off in the NFT at their Mediatheque (I'm not been there before, It’s flipping great, completely free and rather comfy). I watched a TV play from the 1970s called Bermondsey. I liked the way they called it Brokeback Mountain in a southeast London Pub. Ultrabaz, if you've not seen and loved this I will eat my cap.
Wandered around the Southbank for a while, and then went to the National to see Her Naked Skin by Rebecca Lenkiewicz. The press has been going ga-ga because it is the first play ever by a woman writer to be seen on the National's biggest stage. Generally it ticked my boxes. It's a great play about the suffragettes and follows the unlikely lesbo relationship forged in Holloway Prison between working class Limehouse girl Eve, and Lady Celia Cain. Although the over complex stage set often reminded me of the dreadful Bad Girls the musical', the play is pretty amazing. Go and see it. Get £10 tickets and spoil yourself with an ice cream in the interval.
The cycle home was amazing; it took 25 minutes from Waterloo to the Crapton corner of Hackney that I live. At one point I had to shout 'out of my way' as a man in a Borat Thong Swimsuit drunkenly staggered across the road.
Today, my brother helped me to replace the radiator in the Peugeot 106 that I am driving to Croatia for charity in 11 days......fuckity fuck fuck! We did some swearing, and we banged rusty metal with hammers, and we got dirt under our fingernails, and now the sodding car won't start and we don't know why. Arse. |
|
|
| |
[Aug. 26th, 2008|10:38 pm] |
I have been suffering from a cold that I picked up in France. Boo. This meant that I had to miss Kay's Talent party.
This is especially annoying as I wanted to show off my new skill.
Here is me practicing.
See how impressed the cat is.
I probably shouldn't live alone as this is how I plan on spending every evening from now onwards....who needs friends when you have Elvis in your blood and a pair of snake-hips!? |
|
|
| |
[Aug. 21st, 2008|10:41 am] |
I'm going to France now, to stay in my friends HUGE house in the countryside.
Back on Sunday.
Hurrah! |
|
|
| who do, that voodoo, that you do so well? |
[Aug. 16th, 2008|04:18 pm] |
|
The flat next to mine has a high turnover of tenants. I think it is emergancy housing. They are often noisy and problematic. There were some lovely people who lived there until last week. Yesterday lots of 'Churchy' people keep knocking on the door asking 'Princess' to open the door. We listened through my letter box and heard them say that she had been in there for 3 days. Through the wall we could hear what sounded like Voodoo chants. It was all 'Ra-ra-ra-ra-Ka-Cha-Cha!!' You could hear weird clapping, and sometimes some bells (I'm imagining a shrunken head ion a stick with bells on). This went on for HOURS!!! At about Midnight the police arrived and they kicked down the door. We heard them say 'What have you done with all this jam?' Me and the Canadian were laughing like maniacs behind the safely of my front door, and we imagined that she had written naughty words in Jam on the walls. Eventually they got Princess out of her flat and they handcuffed and anklecuffed her. She was ranted and raving, and then she was singing 'Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus-sss-ssss-ssss-sss' making thesound of a snake. At some points she was grunting like a wild animal. Still safely behind the front door, we braved taking a peek through the letter box and Princess was a large African woman in full African Church-going-sunday-best-frilly-frock on. They eventually got her to go downstairs and the last we heard was the Policeman screaming 'Use your feet on the stairs Princess!'. Moving from the front doors to the front windows we saw her struggling with 5 policement as they eventually carted off in an ambulance. Today her front door is all padlocked, but there are traces of jam smeared on the inside glass panel. |
|
|
| |
[Aug. 14th, 2008|09:18 pm] |
Mr. Canada is back tomorrow. I'm delighted to have to get up at 5am to drive to the airport to collect him. My newly almost zen-like flat will soon be covered with 'would-be-skin-tight-on-a-12-year-old-let-alone-a-grown-man' T shirts, and I'll be forced to watch Corrination Street again. The fridge will be emptied of food in a matter of minutes. On the plus side, Flynn (the cat) will get a hell of a lot more attention than he is used to. Someone will be there to laugh along with me when I practice my limbo moves. I'll have someone to force into doing the robot dance most nights, and I get to sing in a baby voice (in a duet instead of a solo) every single evening for a while.
Tonight, I am enjoying the quiet / silence / stillness of the flat. I'm not going to have that for a while. |
|
|
| |
[Aug. 12th, 2008|10:57 pm] |
I hate Bromley. Or rather I hate working in Bromley. I resent its leafy suburban streets and it's large houses. Where is the litter? Where are the Brown people? The hour drive there and hours drive home zaps me of energy. Working in Bromley means that if I join my friends when they go drinking after work in Central London, I don't get there until they are all pissed and getting to that annoying stage. Today, however, something good happened in Bromley. I went into the (very good) shopping centre looking for a couple of table lamps for le salon. Anyway, turns out that Habitat is closing down in Bromley and so I got two new brushed steel lamps for.....£1.89 each!
R.E.S.U.L.T! |
|
|
| work space |
[Aug. 11th, 2008|10:02 pm] |
|
I've created a little workspace in my front room. I've had a desk and chair for a few weeks. Tonight I put up 3 shelves about the desk (much sweating and swearing) and filled them with all my work/favorite things. There are folders of kids books, and paperwork on the top shelf. Some vintage kids books and my laptops on the top of the middle shelf. On the bottom of the middle shelf is an Astro Boy toy. The bottom shelf is full of pot of pens and pencils, my Jacobs ladder, a corkscrew and some headphones. The desk is now clear, and I have put the blue cutting mat that Fylnn likes to sit on next to the keyboard. He is sat on it purring away. I think he likes it when I get organized and make a little place for him, so he can sit near me and enjoy a little stroke every now and again………….since typing that he has bitten me and ran off. Bastard cat. |
|
|
| |
[Aug. 10th, 2008|05:07 pm] |
|
I think I broke my little toe when I stumbled down the hallway last night and accidently kicked the wall. It has swollen and gone a nice purple colour. It's a shame really as my feet are my best asset! |
|
|
| Employed Vs Self-employed |
[Aug. 4th, 2008|10:40 pm] |
|
I was given a pay rise today. They offered me a 10% rise. Thats nice. Unfortunately it was vaguely on the condition that I do the job I have been doing freelance for the last 5 years on a permanent basis. Despite this rise and 28 days paid holidays a year, I would actually be out of pocket as I'd have to be taxed as source, and I'd pay at least 5 grand more a year. So in effect they have offered me a pay cut! They've given me until the end of the week to decide, but I have decided to decline. What are they going to do? Sack me? Oh wait, they can't because I have no contract! |
|
|
| Social highlight |
[Aug. 3rd, 2008|09:01 pm] |
|
I need to sort out my social life. While I have a great evening on Friday night, and saw many lovely friends, the rest of the weekend has been spent alone. This is fine, I am busy. I had some work to do, I bought some shelves and put them up. I cleaned out bags and bags of junk from the kitchen, I finally created a filing system for my expenses, and started preparing for my next tax return. I cooked an amazing seafood paella. I exercised in the most exciting way I can find.......hula hoop! I got an adult sized weighted one and it's brilliant! Anyway, I just realised that I have actually saved some ironing, because I want to do it while watching 'a WI lady's guide to brothels' on channel 4 at 10pm. This seems to be the highlight of my weekend. I need to get out more. |
|
|
| |
[Jul. 28th, 2008|09:57 pm] |
I organised a picnic for some people that I worked with years ago. They came from far and wide. I love them all a lot, I loved working with them back then, and so pleased that we are all still friends. They are mostly all married and there were loads of kids. I insisted that we go on the pedalos on the Serpentine. It was a splendid day, I was in Hyde park for 8 hours, and t was the most perfect picnic I have ever been on. Well done me!
I made a little film about it.
|
|
|
| 5 good Friday thing |
[Jul. 18th, 2008|09:33 pm] |
1 - I got up at 6am by mistake. Rather than go back to bed for an hour, I went to London fields Lido and had swam a kilometer by 7.20am. Exercise first thing in the morning is so exciting. I think I could get used to it. I'm going to try and go early morning swimming once a week.
2 - A man in the changing room was friendly to me. We only chatted briefly but I am generally so surprised when a stranger is nice to me that it has kept me happy all day (the fact that he was cute and I got to see him stripped to his underpants helped too).
3 - I took delivery of my lovely new computer today. It's a year old iMac that I had stuffed full of memory and loaded with software. It was a freaking bargain as the guy I bought it from is the guy we buy our machines from at the office. Having a Mac at home gives me much more opportunity to do freelance in the evenings and means that I am now compatible with the designer I work with. It also is much more attractive than my old laptop. I am now prepared to become a full time Mac snob.
4 - I went to Miso noodle bar for lunch and had Won Ton soup. A very strange thing happened. I took a big spoonful of the soup and somehow it came out of my nose. Only the designer I work with saw and he was kind and didn't make a fuss. How weird though! I told him it was a problem from years of cocaine addiction (I have had cocaine a handful of times really). Years ago this would have really embarrassed the arse off me, but today I just don't care! I'm going to make nasal pouring my party piece (Kay, still having the talent party??)
5 - Did I mention 'Skank'? She is the Jamaican woman that lives down the corridor from me. She lives with two men (who are drug dealers and truly dodgy). For some reason she likes me, and we often chat in the hallway. The two men ignore me. Because they ignore me I have spent the last three years saying 'Hello!', 'Hiya!', and 'Morning!' to them and they never even acknowledge me. Today they both went past me and vaguely smiled and they said 'Alight mate'. I see this as a victory of politeness over rudeness. Persistent good manners will always win. Hurrah! I wonder if skank told them that I was a nice boy or something....
Oh, I thought of another.....
6 - I am seeing my most lovely friend A tomorrow. She was an Art director I used to work with, and I simply adore her. |
|
|
| |
[Jul. 16th, 2008|12:34 am] |
I came home tonight at about midnight after a work related evening (and a bucket of white wine). On the stairwell in my building someone had kicked in a boxed-out section, which hides some hot water pipes. Being naturally nosey I looked down into the gap, and I saw a purse. I pulled it out and will take it to the police station tomorrow.
In it I found:
- the London transport photocard of the owner of the purse. A black woman in her 50's-60's
- a black and white pictire of a young black man, which looks like it was taken in the 1960's. Looks like a photo studio shot with a painted backdrop of St. Pauls.
- a scrap of paper with 'Stanley..' and then a tel number
- A computer for schools vouchure
- a page ripped from a dirary which say '16 ___ House, Camberwell SE5, off camberwell green'
- A lottery ticket from January
- an appointment card with 'Viteamin E eye cream' written on it.
- a scrap of paper with 'Dorothy 0208......)
- A reciept for crusty rolls (39p), salad triple (99p), whole chicken (£4), organic milk (50p)
- A reciept for crusty rolls (69p), Galic sausage (£1.09), Steak cut chips (75p), B/E beefburgers (£1.99)
- a phone number for Mary, written on the back of a prayer to St.Jude
- a scrap of paper saying 16 Shirley Road
- a scrap of paper with a phone number for clifford
- a demand to pay for a TV licence
- Another scrap of paper with Stanleys telephone number on
- a black and whitre photo of a black guy (maybe from the 50's) with the words 'Merlin' and an Essex address on the back.,
- a crap of paper with 'true love by C.D. Rarkis' written on it.
- a black and white photo from the 70's of a smart looking black woman
There was no money left in it. I hope that they didn't hurt her when they mugged her. The purse smells really strongly of west indian spices. I hope she's glad she got her photos and telephone numbers back. |
|
|
| |
[Jul. 7th, 2008|10:30 pm] |
|
Envy is an evil thing, and while consuming, I'm often consumed by it. I spent yesterday barefoot and bloated in the kitchen preparing for the week ahead. The soup (spinach and yoghurt - a Toby Ray concoction) was perfect, the beef was a wee bit over done, the salad was basil-less but lemony-delicious nonetheless. So, today at work I feasted, and then I feasted some more. After an elevenses’ of a peppered avocado salad, I went to the kitchen to heat up my soup. The kitchen at my office is a vile reminder of the bedsitland of yesteryear. It's next to 'poo' toilet, and at the end of 'skanky damp' corridor. The plaster peels off the wall in big chunks. I wrote the word 'dirty' in the grease on the wall 2 years ago and the word is still there. I poured my soup from my classic brushed steel flask and popped it into the huge beige 1980's microwave (that the MD found in a skip), and I idly waited the 4 minutes it takes to heat a bowl of soup in a vintage microwave. While waiting for the soup to heat, I checked out the familiar debris of the kitchen…the toolbox with a saw sticking out of it...the ironing board...the peadophiles 'dream dolly' locked in her plastic box... and then I saw it......a brushed steel flask....like mine....but a few inches longer, and with a couple more inches of girth. I flushed with jealousy. Who was making fun of me? Who would dare do such a thing! As my anger exploded, so did my soup, and I left the kitchen empty handed and vowing never to return. |
|
|
| haunted by the ghost |
[Jul. 3rd, 2008|11:11 pm] |
Today I have been hung-over to fuck. I have just surfed the net incessantly. Unfortunately, I found the profile of an ex on two separate websites (nothing sleazy...I still haven't any of my ex's on those sites, but it won't stop me trying).
I hate the fact that people don't just disappear when I stop seeing them.
I hate the possibility that the world doesn't resolve around me.
I hate the possibility the ravages of age MAY have been kinder to him than me. |
|
|
| |
[Jul. 1st, 2008|12:05 am] |
Tonight I went to the Barbican to see a documentary called A Complete History of My Sexual Failures . It's the story of filmmaker Chris Waitt's long list of disastrous relationships. He claims he's been dumped by every girl he's ever been out with, and the film is his way of finding out what’s wrong with him by interviewing these women.
For me the best thing about this film is that I disliked Chris Waitt. Lots of the reviews are calling him a slacker, but there is something so smug about him, it's like he is playing a character of a slacker (and perhaps he is). He has a messy flat that is, of course, in Shoreditch. His Macbook is covered in cute sticker, his mum comes round and finds mouldy croissants in his kitchen, and then points to the piss stains around the toilet. It’s all a bit *knowing*. Although he really is the kind of person I generally dislike, it doesn’t stop me laughing out loud as girlfriend after girlfriend refuse to be interviewed for the film. Some swear, some hang up, some take legal action. All seem to hate him (which is really funny).
Eventually we do meet some of his girlfriends, and they all seem like really nice normal women. They tell of how he was an idiot to date, and that he stood them up, and didn’t return their calls, or arrived 2 hours after they’d arranged to meet. Where the film fails for me is that is it's purpose is to work out what his problems are, but he hears the criticism over and over again, but the film doesn't really address anything. There is little comment on why he acted like an arsehole. We get no sense of regret, but instead the film takes a tangent and focuses on a sexual problem (admittedly in an amusing and honest way). He visits a doctor, sexual therapist and a dominatrix, and it’s all very funny. It’s not until we meet the girl that he lived with up until 3 years ago, that he actually starts to show some honest emotion, and we get a glimpse of what this film is truly about, and what his reasons for making the film are. It’s really quite touching.
In a way I was sad that the film ends on a positive note. It never really addresses his problems, it just kinda papers over them. It feels like we are taken on a journey but nothing is truely resolved. Perhaps this is OK. Perhaps in another few years there will be a funny follow up. Despite it's faults, A Complete History of My Sexual Failures, is really good fun. It's a laugh'n'cringe fest, and was certainly a funny way to spend 90 minutes of my life. Go see it. It has many laugh-out-loud moments, and you may not dislike him quite as much as much as I did. |
|
|
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
toby_ray's journal