Thursday, September 27, 2007

Incidental art

I meant to blog when I got back from Truck Fest but exhaustion, another gig and several other factors conspired against me. For once, the gig we went to last night was not one of my boyfriend's work related ones that I often end up at but rather one that I instigated and insisted on going to. It was Reykavik Nights, a bi-monthly Icelandic music night at the Luminaire. I went along primarily to check out Hafdis Huld, a singer-songwriter who was headlining. I wasn't really all that into the first two bands, the Motion Boys and another one whose name I've already forgotten. Shows how much I liked them, right?

Unfortunately, I didn't really get any good photos as there was a really really tall guy right at the front of the crowd, directly in front of me who kept leaning down to talk to his girlfriend and thereby blocked my view from every angle. Clearly, he chose to ignore the signs stencilled across the walls of the venue, like this one:

I love a good sign or scribbling in an unexpected place and the loos at the Luminaire are a veritable gold mine of interesting graffiti. The first time I went, I didn't take my bag so I couldn't take any photos but I went back later after a hefty dose of dutch courage, which believe me you need if you want to take photos in a public toilet and ignore the weird looks from other people.

Anyway, onto a couple of my favourites from the night. Unfortunately, some are a bit blurry as I was drunk and trying not to use flash in order to avoid any extra attention.

I love this one, it reminded me of Post Secret but obviously without the postcard element.

Those were all the ones I could take photos of in the safe confines of the cubicle. There were so many more that I noticed but couldn't take photos of for fear of being labelled a weirdo. I did, however, get plenty of photos at Truck - which I will post, along with anecdotes, next time.

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Friday, September 21, 2007

Snippets and Snapshots

Well, you didn't think I'd make four days in a row, did you? That's just a tad optimistic. On Wednesday, I finally remembered to charge my camera and put it in my bag, so I got a few photos at the Ashish show although most of them are blurred.

I love this photo though. The sound of thirty camera shutters going off as the model walks down the catwalk is incredible. You wouldn't think that you'd be able to hear it over the booming soundtrack but its just a very quiet sound that pervades over everything.

But fashion week's over and while I now regret not going to some of the parties but fuck it, there's always next year. You won't get any more posts from me for the next few days as I'm finally off to Truck Fest, which got delayed by a month owing to the floods in August. Whilst I go off and frolic in a field, please entertain yourselves with a photo of my two dachshunds dressed up in their winter walk sweaters for our drunken amusement last week*.

(*Please note, no dogs were harmed in the shooting of this photo)

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Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Doctor, Doctor, where for art thou, Doctor?

Wow, I've made it 3 days running. Impressive, no?

Earlier this evening, our builder (who I will call Bob) was walking home from a hard day's work at my house when a car pulled up slightly behind him and one of the occupants hopped out, grabbed his bag and simulatneously spraying him in the face with some sort of gas - possibly CS spray, Pepper spray or some form of diluted acid.

Thankfully Bob managed to close his eyes, stumble to the nearest house for a glass of water before making his way back to our house. I got back just after he had been bundled into the downstairs loo to throw more water onto his face, which was temporarily paralysed and a very angry, swollen red. My mother grabbed her keys, a cold, wet towel and bundled Bob to the car to drive to the nearest A&E.

Upon reaching our local hospital, they rushed to reception where they were greeted by a snotty receptionist who wanted them to fill out forms and look things up on the computer, taking useless information such as his phone number. Quite why she needed Bob's number in order to get him to a doctor is beyond me. In the meantime, two nurses hung out in the background chatting and laughing. My mother, infuriated by the goings-on, immediately took action.

"Would you be asking for his phone number if he had a knife sticking out of his chest?" she asked the receptionist glibly.

The receptionist, clearly missing the sarcasm in my mother's voice, simply replied "no".

"Well then, I suggest you go and get a doctor," she said calmly, "because I am a member of the media and I will not forget this treatment."

Much like muttering "lawyer" to NTL, "media" made the receptionist jump up like she'd been stung and run off to fetch someone. She didn't need to know that my mother's position in the media is not in the news or any form of journalism but rather, film making. It worked and Bob was immediately ushered through to the next hurdle.

A nurse came in to rinse his face and eyes in particular. Now, logic would dictate that a nurse would know how to do something so basic as rinse someone's eyes. Logic is clearly no longer a factor in the NHS as the nurse stated that she didn't know how to perform the procedure. Again, my mother had to inform her that rather than just stand there, perhaps she should go and fetch someone who knew how to.

Are we seeing a pattern here, ladies and gentlemen?

Another nurse was summoned, who duly rinse Bob's eyes, although somewhat stupidly did it with him leaning forward over a sink, rather than lying on his back to allow the liquids to drain away from the eyes.

At that point, they were told they would have to drive to an eye hospital in order to see a specialist and make sure that no permanent damage had been done to Bob's eyes. There, they were taken straight through with no fannying about asking about phone numbers and parents' names. It is now, six hours after the attack that we know the full extent of what could've happened to Bob otherwise. There were small flecks of the spray that landed on his hands and where they hit, he now has angry red burns.

I know this isn't my story but I felt compelled to tell it. Not only is it terrifying that something can happen like that in broad daylight but the incompetence of the first hospital is staggering. I will not name and shame it, although I really should. I had a nightmarish experience there as a child when I badly sprained my wrist and my entire arm swelled up like a balloon and I couldn't move my thumb. I spent eight hours sitting in A&E and was rescued from queue oblivion only by the fact that I was wearing my school uniform (my father and I had not anticipated it would take all day, I thought I would make it into school for mid morning). One of the nurses recognised my uniform as her daughter was in the year above me and very sweetly came over, asked me how long I'd been there and took me through straight away.

I really worry what the Government's closing of more A&E units will mean for the few that remain open in their already oversubscribed state. If my mother was not such a good liar, they would probably still be there now and Bob could've easily been permanently scarred or worse by some idiot thugs.

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Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Rawr. Boo. Hiss. (Tee hee)

Another work experience bailed on me today, which means that not only am I now doing the job of two people, I also can't really leave the cupboard unattended. Ergo, I can't go to shows unless they're on my lunch break or after work. I'm really annoyed as it means that the great glory that is fashion week is now cruelly dangled just out of my grasp. I can just about get the tips of my fingers on it, such as the show I went to after work but I can't grab it and savour it for all its worth.

In short, it blows.

But not everything in life blows. Surfing around on Youtube, I came across this little gem:

If that doesn't make you laugh (or even titter quietly to yourself- you have no soul.

Another random thing and then I'll be quiet and leave you good folks alone; why on earth, when I hit publish on this thing, does my status report come up in a mixture of German and English?


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Monday, September 17, 2007

Faaah-bulous, darling!

So, it's only Monday but already it's been a busy week. I rarely wake before 11am on weekends but this past weekend I made an exception and rolled out of bed at the butt crack of dawn on Saturday and Sunday for the wonder that is London Fashion Week. Twice a year, all of the hard slog and low pay are finally made up for when you get to go to shows. A lot of people complain when shows run late but I love the opportunity to scope out those around me and their tribes. A few of my favourites:

Peacocks - In every fashion crowd, there are always peacocks - those who preen, pout and generally look faaah-bulous in huge dark glasses in the front row. Often seen alternating between their Crackberry and crashing cheeks with other fabulous individuals.

East end club kids - excruciatingly skinny jeans, crazy trainers, big rude boy hat and cool indie band t-shirt. Shemagh scarf optional. Try to look nonchalant whilst wearing copious amounts of neon.

Japanese journos - a wonderful breed, no matter how peculiar the outfit, they look so cute you just want to put them in your pocket. One who I've seen at a couple of the shows I've been to particularly captures my interest with his leggings, shorts and jogging trainers combos.

I will write more later this week and I'll also start taking pictures. I've forgotten my camera for every show I've been to so far. However, right now, Fashion Week has left me pooped and hungry. For every stick-like model I see, I want to eat a cheese burger on their behalf.

Mmm, cheese burger...

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Friday, September 07, 2007

Soap addict

I know I blog rarely and when I do, I blog about Neighbours far too often to be healthy. As I say every time that I'm compelled to write about the show these days, I. Am. SO. Lost.

Since my last opportunity to watch, Sky's now out of jail (I still have no idea why she was there in the first place), some random new mysterious dude (complete with dark secret from his past, oooh!) has Stringray/Scott's donated heart and most weird of all, Foz from Hollyoaks (another one of my soap addiction shames) is now appearing as a builder called Adam.

I wish I had Sky+, I really do.

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