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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

What's the craic?

23 October 2007
On Sunday, we and half of London decided to go and see the new installation in the Tate Modern's Turbine Hall. I've loved the last three installations, especially just looking at (but not actually having a go on) the slides. So I had high hopes for this one. It's essentially a massive crack in the floor which runs the length of the hall. It represents the division in society that is caused by racism. Mmmm.

The first problem we encountered was the fact that, with half of London snaking around the hall and basically standing right on top of the crack, we couldn't actually see the crack. But when we got up close, oh look, there it is. A massive crack.

People were hunched around it, standing on it, staring at it, putting their feet in, putting their feet in, putting their children in - one person even put his head in, which amused me for a moment.

But essentially, I didn't like it. I can't tell you why. Some of the more pointless ones, the ones that don't purport to say anything, I really enjoyed. I think it's because the artist has forced us to see her meaning in it, rather than letting us make up our own useless minds. I'm interested in the mechanics of it all, how and FOR GOD'S SAKE WHY you put a massive crack in a polished concrete floor, but He Who Only... explained that within about five minutes, and so after 10 minutes of me trying to get some kind of impressive photo of the crack with my camera phone, we gave up and went for a wander round the shop instead. Which was much more fun.


21 October 2007
I saw this on my way home from the gym one evening a couple of weeks ago and was so grossed out by it that I immediately whipped out my phone and took a photo. For background: it was not a wet evening, there were no other snails at all around and my skin crawled for about an hour afterwards. Ick. Enjoy.

Some more things that I like that you don't have

20 October 2007
This morning, when I woke up all cozy and warm and comfy and feeling all loved up and smug and I rolled over to say good morning to He Who Only... so that we could both celebrate the lovely smugness that comes only from the realisation that (a) it's the weekend; (b) there are no exams to be taken; and (c) the neighbours upstairs for once aren't playing some horrific bass-heavy music which enters your subconscious about 5 minutes before you wake up and leave you feeling tense and angry all day. As I turned around to say good morning, and start the day by sticking my fingers in his ear (this is one of about 40 things I do on a daily basis that I know annoy him that endlessly entertain me - others include screaming right in his ear, and threatening to pull out his chest hair in individual strands), I noticed that there was an ant. On my pillow. Right by my head. An ant. Christ.

It's October, and we still have those irritating little sugar ants which the end of the world cannot get rid of. I don't usually care about that them much - we've invested heavily in tupperware and are quite good at cleaning surfaces and NEVER EVER EVER leave anything sweet out unattended, but they still get around. On my pillow. Ick.

That said, I still love this flat. The road noise, the load neighbours upstairs, the child next door with the asthma that we can hear coughing in its sleep, none of these things are enough to put me off. I mean, it's the place I have this:

This is just one of many bunches of photos I have plastered around the flat. I love displaying my photos this way. It's all rough and ready and unorganised and unfussy and that's why I love it. It, like Little Sister Louise's poster from yesterday, started as necessity, since we can't put nails in the wall, and so I can't get (any more) hooks (when we first moved in, I didn't realise the plaster was so pathetic, and so there are some framed pictures and posters around, but I don't dare put any more up, in case the whole building collapses). But now, I really like it. Big bunches of memories.

I got this tremendous painting in Berlin. We stumbled across the gallery a couple of days beforehand, and I loved all of these little evil looking cartoons, doing a variety of quite sad and pathetic posters. I don't know why I didn't immediately buy the whole collection - something to do with not having enough money, probably, which is the reason I also don't own every Rocket Dog shoe ever designed - but a couple of days later we were wandering around a market when we came across a stall run by the artist with tons more cartoon men than we had seen before. This one was the only character with wings, and I LOVE anything with wings. That looks evil and wrong. So I had to have him.

We did give him a name, but I can't remember what it is now.

The other thing I love very much about where I live is this:

Him and his endless, unwavering patience.

This is where I live, I think it's very nice...

19 October 2007
Now, all you mother lovers out there. This is the start of the new phase of this blog, in which I actually post some stuff about things and that, and there isn't about a year-long pause in between posts because I no longer have exams to worry about, and the evenings are drawing in, and I've got a little bit more time on my hands, and I can't think of anything better to do right now. And making wild promises that there is no way I can possibly even begin to keep makes me laugh to myself, and when I'm laughing to myself, I'm not buying comic books graphic novels on the internet with money that's supposed to be used to pay the rent. And those days? Those are the good days.

The heading for this post comes from a song sung by Bosco (and you have NO IDEA how pleased I am that he has a Wiki entry. I've just spent the last 10 minutes telling He Who Only... about Bosco. He looked confused). I don't remember the rest of the song, although I seem to think that the line following the above one is "This is where I eat potatoes, beans and rice", which may or may not be the actual next line.

This is what it's like to be in my head, ladies and gents.

Anyway. Today and tomorrow, and possibly the day after, I'm going to be showing you things that I like in my flat. This is a follow up to a post that I put up a couple of months ago, and Little Sister Louise rightly and immediately pointed out something that was missing, so that will be the first thing featured today:

This is a picture of my dog Bobby and Little Sister Edel's dog Kesh running on the beach. This picture was taken by Little Sister Louise and I had it blown up poster sized because it's the best picture that was ever taken (besides some of the ones I've taken. Some of them are pretty great). It's not in a frame only because we're not allowed to put nails or picture hooks in the walls of our Nest'O'Love - the plaster is too delicate and just crumbles away. But the moment I live somewhere where I'm allowed to bang holes wherever I like, this poster is getting the frame it deserves.

This is the newest piece of Prole Art that I have installed in the flat - it's the Gilbert and George piece given away to all Guardian readers pretentious enough to want to find a colour printer to print it off from, and then blue tack the nine different pieces of it together. I love it. I think it's really great, and I think it looks tremendous where it is. I'm not convinced He Who Only... likes it at all, even though he says he does, but he's one of those boys that has taken the decision never to have an opinion on any interior decoration, in case in the future he's forced to take an active interest in Ikea purchases.

Finally, 10,000 geek points to anyone who recognised this poster immediately as coming from Series One of Simon Pegg vehicle Spaced. That's right, I've got one of only six posters printed for the episode which featured zombies and the art show with David Walliams. I am best than all of you. Look at me there, using my camera phone like it's a real camera, and wearing my Bell X1 t-shirt. Look at me. You wish Simon Pegg had signed the back of the poster and given it to you, don't you? You really do wish that. But yah boo sucks to you all, that's my poster, and not yours. Ha.

Excuses, excuses

14 October 2007
Yes, I know it's been ages. Blah blah, work pressure, la la la exams looming, excuses could rain down thick and fast on yo' collective asses, but I really can't be bothered. You people are not the boss of me. My final Open University exam is the boss of me, and that boss has forced me to sit in my bedroom on my own for three of today's lovely Sunday hours studying Long Term Memory and Problem Solving, of all things, instead of traipsing about the marshes or rewarding myself with a mid-afternoon pint, or going shopping, or tidying up, or redecorating some corner of the flat, or descaling the kettle, or peeling all of the skin off my own face, all of which I would have preferred doing rather than being trapped in a hell of my own making, having to sit with endless different pieces of paper trying to understand Jacoby's process-dissociation framework (which I still don't quite understand, and at this stage I don't think I ever will). I've got an exam on Thursday. It is, like every exam everyone has ever taken, the most important exam I'll ever sit, and at the same time the least likely to have any kind of long lasting effect on my memory. I have wasted every lunch hour at work for the last two weeks, sacrificing to them to the god of revision and staring at walls, and every train journey I've taken has been spent staring at notes and taking in exactly no information at all. I hate learning. I'm not good at learning. Learning is my enemy. I can't wait until the day I never have to learn again (that will be the day He Who Only... will finally get rich).

In the meantime, people, I'll be studying. From next Friday, when the exam is behind me and I start studying for the inevitable re-sit, I will have something else to blame my lack of blogging on. In the meantime, you'll have just have to put with the fact that I'm trying to better myself and just deal with finding something else on the internet that is almost as interesting as listening to the finer details of my very boring life. I would suggest http://www.peelingtheskinoffmyownface.co.uk/ as a starting point.