Culture Vulture (of the radio kind)

So, last Thursday I spent the morning debating with my boyfriend about whether or not to go to Get Loaded, part of the weekend festival Metro Weekender on Clapham Common. We'd been the previous year and had a great time, so we thought we might go again but steeper ticket prices had meant that we were still unsure. I was listening to the radio and pondering on whether my overdraft would stretch far enough when the DJ announced that they had 2 VIP tickets for the Get Loaded day for that day's Culture Vulture prize. Feeling flippant, I filled in the form on their website and figured that would be the last of it until I paid the extortionately inflated ticket prices that evening on Ticketmaster. A few minutes later, my mobile rang with a strange number. Answering it, I was more than surprised to find myself speaking to the producer of the show. I was on the short list. I let myself get a bit excited but again figured that was that. Twenty minutes later my mobile rang and it was Lucio, the DJ from the show, telling me that I'd won. I must've sounded like an ungrateful bitch as I didn't scream the place down as people usually do when in truth I was just really, really shocked. Suffice to say (despite a mix up with our wristbands and drinks tokens), we had a wicked time. So now, I'll bore you with some photos:

I got some videos too, including The Automatic covering Gold Digger:


I've just realised that all of my video files are pretty huge and it would take an age to upload them all onto here so I'll post them once I've uploaded them onto good old youtube.

Anyhow, a good time was had by all and by the time I got round to doing my last voxpop of the day, I was well and truly gone. I sounded like a complete pillock when they played them back on the radio on Tuesday but I'll be honest, I'll sacrifice 30 seconds of dignity for free tickets next year quite happily.

A pain in the ass foot

I think it's fair to say that tonight has simply not been my evening. First, we got home from the supermarket, dragged the bags to the kitchen and I picked up one to place it on the counter. As I went from handles to contents a very heavy glass Kopparberg (peary nectar of the gods) dropped out, landed on my little toe and shattered into millions of tiny splinters. So, not only did it hurt like hell, I had a massive mess to clean up and soggy shoes.

Later, loading the dishwasher after dinner, I forgot that one of the heavy knives was already on the little shelfy thing on the glass level - can you see where I'm going with this? - and of course, I lifted up the shelf to put in a bowl and the knife tumbled out and landed staight across my other foot. Knowing how sharp the knife was and considering how much the blow had hurt, I wasn't entirely sure if I should expect bleeding. Thankfully, it appears it was the blunt side that landed on me and I can simply add a narrow line to my collection of bruises.

One more thing...

If you are a Londoner and have ever graced Camden on a busy weekend, please go sign this petition and save Stables Market. The Stables is a brilliant little mecca of crazy shops, stalls and people. I have many fond memories of pottering around there on Saturdays when I was in my teens and had blue hair, wearing baggy jeans and buying all manner of strange things.

I have an old black and white photo of the market taken when I was hanging off a walkway somewhere above it. I wanted to post it with this but I can't find it. When I do, I'll stick it up here.

What. The. Hell?

I know I say this every time I blog about iNeighbours but what the hell is going on?! Sky's in prison, Tom the Priest is back (and apparently, the head master) and Janae and Boyd have split. The latter I had heard snippets about but seriously, someone fill me in!

It's rare that I get to watch Neighbs as I affectionately call it but the plots move so fast these days that every time that I'm granted the privilege of watching - once every three months or s - I invariably find two or three new characters and strange new relationships between others. Suddently, Janae has suddenly taken up boxing and Ned is her coach, who also now works for Paul, beating up security guards.

*Throws hands up in the air*

I give up.

TV TV TV

Does anyone else watch Honey, we're killing the kids? Although the principles of the show are excellent, there are a few things about the show that niggle at me.

For a start, the silly 'new rule' names and frankly crap graphics. I know that the kids need to understand them but all of those blue and yellow smiley faces and allegedly catchy names piss me off with their almost condescending simplicity. Also, has anyone else noticed the clothes on the two different predictions?

On the unhealthy 40 year old future projection of the children, they are always adults in shell suits, with ugly gold jewellery and if male, with a crew cut. Future daughters will have a bad perm and even more Argos jewellery stretching out their earlobes whilst their fat stretches their aquamarine lycra t-shirt (under the shell suit jacket). In contrast, healthy future children always has swept across fringes and in their final version are invariably wearing a suit jacket. It's subliminal messages if ever I saw them. Business suit equal success, health, wealth and happiness whereas a shell suit is clearly council estate chic with a whiff of benefit fraud.

Ah, good old fashioned stereotyping.

Sunstroke induced mindcrap

I know that my visits back here are sporadic at best right now, recently I've been feeling very blah towards everything - I haven't really even taken any photos, which I usually do on a practically obsessive level. Today was the first day I took my camera out and actually used it, albeit for silly purposes. After what seemed like the week from hell at work, we were rewarded by a weekend of sun and what better way to spend it than lolling in the sun?

My friend Holly* has just got herself a new Schnauzer puppy called Alfie. He's nine weeks old and adorable. Today, we figured it would be fun to introduce Alfie to Bunny and Holly, my two dachshunds. (Yes, I know, Bunny is a ridiculous name for a male dog) Dog Holly was none to impressed by the new arrival and spent the day sitting in the doorframe and periodically barking her displeasure at Alfie as he romped around the garden and tried to engage Bunny - who's pushing thirteen - to play with him.



*You may remember Holly from the OzBlog, the piece of (mostly drunken) mastery from 2003 as we travelled the South Pacific with sometimes disasterous consequences.