Categories
About Me

Emailing my mother

My mother sends me emails quite regularly. She clearly expects regular responses. I do my best to respond to the vast majority of her emails, pretty promptly.

And that’s okay, but the problem I have is one of content. Once I’ve answered any questions that she may have posed, I will start writing a little bit about what I’ve been doing lately. Which is generally a good thing, because it makes an email much more interesting to read.

But then I realise that one of the things that I’ve written could be misconstrued, as she does have very delicate feelings, and will take offence at the drop of a hat. So, to remove the risk of upsetting her, I will edit out the paragraph about the computer speakers that I’ve bought in the post-Christmas sales, because she may read it and think that I am implying that she failed as a mother by not buying me the computer speakers for Christmas.

And then I’ll edit out the paragraph about the nice Maglite torch that someone else bought for me for Christmas, as she may read it and think that I am implying that she has again failed me as a mother, for not buying me the torch herself.

And before you know it, I’ve edited my message down to the bare bones, facts and figures, no subjectivity, as if I were writing an email to a client at work. No risk. Because it wouldn’t be worth it.

Categories
Music

Burble

My power of speech has suffered greatly in the last two weeks. I wandered into Dixons and found a set of Harman Kardon Soundsticks II plugged into one of the demonstration computers. I switched them on and was instantly transported to heaven, that famous place which strips you of your ability to make interesting conversation. Here follows an actual, real, genuine hypothetical conversation:

“Hi, Pete. This is Abigail. She’s really fit and totally digs computer programmers who play the bass guitar.”

“Hi, Pete. I’m sooo hot for you.”

“Really? Have you ever heard of the Harman Kardon Soundsticks II? They sound absolutely awesome!”

“Uhm… I have to go. I think I left my cat under the microwave. I can hear him wailing now.”

“Well, shucks.”

Anyhow, I couldn’t buy them straight away, because it was only a few weeks to Christmas, and it’s just not worth the risk, as I have been expressing for some time that my existing computer speakers are old and muddy-sounding, and were basically the cheapest set of satellite speakers that I could get three years ago when I built my computer. It was possible that someone may take it upon themselves to get me a new set.

This year, I’ve been replacing bits of my computer, and have been moving from beige to black/silver. New keyboard and printer in summer. New tower case in autumn. Just the speakers and monitor to go.

When it turned out that I hadn’t been bought some new speakers for Christmas, I had a decision to make. Do I buy the fabulous sounding H/Ks, or do I get a nice pair of Logitechs that will match my black/silver colour scheme, cost half as much, but not sound quite as jaw-droppingly, pant-wettingly orgasmalicious? And LOUD.

Silly question. I think my neighbours may want to move out now.

*Originally posted here*

Categories
Photos

An apology

From all at Uborka Towers, we would like to apologise profusely, both to old friends and to new introducees, for our behaviour last night. Our conversational skills were wanting, and we are both very ashamed of ourselves. We’re sorry if we appeared to be rude or dismissive, but the truth is that due to a rather beverageful Friday night, the words were taking a long time to form themselves into sentences.

Said Dragon to me, “You’re more laconic than I thought you’d be.” I replied, “It’s actually just that I’m a bit poorly.” Laconic is a fabulous word.

So, to anyone who was there for their first mogbleet, and saw a guy stood by the bar *all night*, sipping from a glass of clear liquid (which could have been a gin and tonic, but was really just a lemonade), looking like he thought that he was too cool for this pub, and giving one-word answers when people tried to start up a conversation with him: that was me. I’m not normally like that.

And to anyone who was there, and knew me beforehand, and now thinks that I don’t like them anymore, then I want you to know that it’s not like that. You’re ace. You’re my friend.

I was just even more fragile than I was expecting.

Here’s the Uborka Christmas Tree 2004. It’s more tasteful than last year’s, but that’s because Karen constructed it, and I’ve always had a tendency towards shedloads of tinsel and jollity.

The Uborka Christmas Tree 2004

*Originally posted here*

Categories
Photos

Smog

The smog over London

Categories
Photos

St Paul’s Cathedral

St Pauls Cathedral

Categories
Food Photos

Banana

Banana

Categories
In The News Music

Quoth the enemy

In the latest NME, they have compiled a list of the top 50 coolest people. There seems to be pretty much no restriction on your profession or nationality, but certainly there are no faces in there that haven’t been shoved down our throats by the NME for the last year. No surprises there. We are in absolutely no doubt as to what opinions we should have. Good good.

I am a tad upset by the inclusion of Pete Doherty of Libertines fame as joint number one with Carl Barat, also of Libertines fame. I am sick to the back teeth of the Libertines. The music would be just about acceptable, but the fact that the NME quite clearly want to wriggle up their arses and hop about until they squirt is just plain dull. I take solace in the fact that they are just a passing fad, the One True Voice of “credible” rock.

Okay, no disrespect to the Libertines. Though I doubt that my vitriol will trouble them, they don’t deserve it. I manage to make it through most days without losing my head and throwing a little fit at some band or another, but goddamn it the NME made me do it. They just won’t. Shut. Up. Much like me.

Anyway, my point.

The NME say “Pete Doherty is here *despite* his drug addiction.” The emphasis has not been added by myself. Still, I sense that regardless of how heartfelt or sincere such a remark is, it’s going to have the same effect as the disclaimer on the KaZaA website that says “You may not use KaZaA to transfer copyrighted materials without the permission of the copyright holder.”

“Kids” will read this article. They will see that Pete Doherty, who has been mentioned in 52 issues of the NME in the last year, every single time with some reference to his crack habit in the article, is the coolest guy. The coolest guy in rock? The coolest guy in England? No. The coolest guy. No further qualification.

*Call me cynical…*

You’re cynical, Pete.

…but the only reason that the Libertines are so beloved by the NME is because of the tensions within the band that came about as a direct result of Pete Doherty’s chemical abuse. And that’s why they are the coolest guys. Crack habit leads to people falling out, leads to thrilling news stories, leads to recognition. After all, the NME couldn’t talk about them nonstop for the whole year and then not put them at the top of every poll, could they?

No. Because then they’d be seen as being fickle, having forgotten the Libertines already.

Well, to be honest, I can’t wait for January, when all of the end-of-year polls are out of the way, and the Libertines can discreetly fade from view. Because there has been too much glamorisation of drugs this year, accompanied by some 2pt Flyspeck saying “By the way, we don’t think drugs are cool, contrary to everything we’ve written above.”

*Originally posted here*

Categories
About Me

FEEA

I invented a new **system** for evaluating pastimes and distractions today, called FEEA (pronounced “fear”, but with a soul-piercing screech).

The letters stand for Fun, Edification, Ease and Availability. What you do is rate all the things that you could do out of five, tally the four scores up, and the winner is the one with the most points. Here’s what I found.

**Playing Computer Games**

Fun: 4
Edification: 2 (there’s always that feeling that you haven’t really achieved anything)
Ease: 5 (can be done whilst drunk, that’s how easy it is)
Availability: 4 (waiting for it to load)

TOTAL: 15 (a most respectable score)

**Making Music**

Fun: 2 (a temporary state of affairs, I’m sure)
Edification: 4
Ease: 2 (takes a lot of hard work and dedication)
Availability: 2 (bandmates won’t come out of London at the drop of a hat, you know)

TOTAL: 10 (shocking. Must do something about this)

**Going To The Gym**

Fun: 1 (I get bored of looking at the same sweaty people and the same white walls over and over again)
Edification: 5 (…but I do feel better about myself for it)
Ease: 2 (takes a lot of hard work and dedication)
Availability: 5 (it’s part of the routine. Availability is not a problem)

TOTAL: 13 (blame it on the edification score)

**Housework**

Fun: 2 (varies depending on the task)
Edification: 4
Ease: 5 (can be done whilst drunk, that’s how easy it is)
Availability: 5 (assuming you’re actually at home)

TOTAL: 16 (wow. I should do more housework)

**Blogging**

Fun: 3 (it would be 5, but I have ensured that the score takes into account “reading other peoples’ blogs”. I joke, of course)
Edification: 2 (it would be 5, but I have ensured that the score takes into account “reading other peoples’ blogs”. I joke, of course)
Ease: 4 (type nonsense. Not exactly rocket science)
Availability: 2 (not enough hours in the evening)

TOTAL: 11 (second to last place. Not going to do **that** again then)

So, with that, I hereby announce my resignation from blogging.

I joke, of course.

*Originally posted here*

Categories
Poetry

About a Kettle

I’ve seen a lot of toasters,
And sandwich makers too,
But I never could stop searching
For a kettle just like you.

I like your pouty spout,
And your elegant element.
I like your ample handle,
And your kooky plastic scent.

Please sit here on my worktop,
And boil water for my tea,
And tell me how you’ve always searched
For a blender just like me.

Categories
Poetry

The Angry Shoebox

There was an angry shoebox,
Who mumbled all day long.
He’d whine about the weather,
And ask where all the red telephone boxes had gone.

The shoebox, he joined UKIP
To get the phonebooths back,
And everyone accused him,
Of being a dumbass racist hack.

And they were right, I guess.

(note: all abbreviations mentioned in this poem are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to any abbreviation, living or dead, is purely coincidental)