Short working weeks are the best working weeks...

Fuck. The long weekend FLEW by. But it was a good one.

Spent Saturday and Sunday in London where I spent an inordinately long time in Selfridges. Selfridges is like, the BEST shop in the WORLD. If you have the money. Which I don't. I did purchase:

1 bottle of scent
1 pair of jeans
1 shirt
1 newspaper

I am now even MORE fragrant than I usually am. Rejoice good people, rejoice.

Anyway, met up with Em in London on Saturday (but not Ed. Woof). Ed is a dog, silly. It was HOT.

We ate, we drank, we made merry. But not in a DIRTY way.


Okay, so... I ate a load of pickled beetroot yesterday and then urinated BUT I DIDN'T flush! My housemate screamed when she went to the loo after me. She's a medical student. You'd think the stupid bint would have known better. She was all concerned and asked if she should call an ambulance. The larks and highjinks didn't end there though. I accidentally locked her out of the house. She was in the garden but I didn't know. I wandered into the kitchen to make a nice cup of lapsang suchong (which tastes like piss, I don't know why I drink it) and saw that the door was unlocked. 'Stupid bitch' I muttered. My housemates are always leaving the door unlocked. I wouldn't mind so much if thieves and rapists were attractive, but sadly, they never are. Anyway, I locked the door and went out for a few hours.

She wasn't impressed when I came back to find her banging on the window. Oops.

Today, I had a lovely lunch at Brasenose. Brasenose Hall has a carving of a unicorn with a huge boner. It was magical. Lunch was very pleasant. Quorn is one of my favourite things in the world. That alone, is enough to keep me in this country. Unless WASHINGTON DC has Quorn. That would be too HOT to even contemplate. I'm getting excited. VERY excited.

I'd be grateful if people who've had colonic irrigation would share their experiences with me. It would be the best thing ever. Well, second only to Quorn.
I saw a documentary on television a while ago about this http://www.guardian.co.uk/weekend/story/0,3605,663391,00.html

The clinic is in Thailand but I obviously wouldn't go there. I mean, why would I, when Harley Street is a mere train journey away? The Hale Clinic will stick a tube up the shitter for a mere £60. Priness Diana used to go to the Hale Clinic. That's hot.

Currently listening to: Common People by Pulp.

Currently appear: 'well turned out' according to Bescher. Bescher's HOT.

Currently wearing: flip-flops at work. Oooohhh...controversial.

Got drunk on port last night. Not nice.

Now listening to: The Tide Is High by Blondie.


People who need people are really fucking annoying.

Words of wisdom...

I'm sure SOME people benefit from 'the glass is half full' type of sentiment, but I don't. I find such phrases meaningless and trite. Have a look at the Globe and Mail article below (please can someone tell me how I link things without having to cut and paste URLs in the body of my musings?).

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/ArticleNews/TPStory/LAC/20050521/NOTICED21/TPEntertainment/Style

Little bits of advice and words of 'wisdom' are everywhere. You can't leave the house without some well-meaning advertising moron/guru/Oprah wannabe telling me to smile at someone today or exhorting me to take the time to smell the flowers.

I'm not cynical, I just don't want to be told to be nice to people or to take time out for myself. I KNOW about those things. I DO those things. Urging me to do them, cheapens them.

Currently listening to: Disgraceful by Dubstar (what happened to them, by the way?).

Currently contemplating: a haircut.

Currently wearing: blue Cons. I keep buying Cons in the hope that the NEXT pair will be comfortable but they never are. I know they should be but they aren't.

Now listening to: Sir Duke by Stevie Wonder (he's blind, you know?).

I'm feeling fruity...

So far today, I've eaten:

2 bananas
2 apples
1 pear
1 bunch of grapes
3 satsumas
4 dates

I will have the most amazing dump tomorrow. Maybe even tonight.

Got my appraisal notes today. They are very good. I am very good. Apparently. How to translate that into a pay raise? Any ideas?

It was raining earlier in Oxford but it's now sunny and warmish. I had a meeting with vaguely important people from outside my office so I've put on a shirt, tie and jacket. This, once again, prompted comments like 'my, don't you look smart today' and 'if I was 20 years younger, I'd fancy you'. I was frightened. Apparently, my usual office wardrobe of jeans/cords and a t-shirt or hoodie doesn't make me look good. Well, I think I look pretty damn acceptable when I'm dressed like me. Actually.

Okra is not a pleasant vegetable. It is too slimey.

Currently listening to: Stand by REM. I knew Michael Stipe was a gayer before he did...

I'd be interested in knowing who reads this. I'm assuming people do read it. You read it, right? Right?

The Queen is in Canada at the mo. I like the Queen and I'm rather fond of Canada (having grown up there) but not fond enough to move back. The Queen goes about her business without getting into too much trouble. Charles is okay too. And Camilla has a sexy voice. I like deep, husky voices on women. The Queen, sadly, does not have a deep husky voice. She has quite a girly, high-pitched voice. But she looks hot in a tiara.
Canada loves all things English. And why wouldn't they? Tea, scones, Mini Coopers...what's not to love?

Wimbledon is almost upon us. One of my housemates will be playing (not centre court though) but still, it's an opportunity to gorge myself on strawberries and cream, no? Maybe even champagne. That's hot.

Em.

Max is also coming up to Oxford on Saturday but he's not told me. I only found out by reading his blog (which isn't nearly as good as mine). What can this mean?

Does anyone know of a recipe for violet martinis? Raoul's in Oxford does quite good ones (not as good as 1 Aldwych, though) but they are really expensive and I'm sure could be improved upon.

I think I might try speeddating. Maybe the pink variety.

I was telling a mate who is going to NYC about a place called Big Cup. I'd heard a lot about it so I went when I was in NYC last month. It wasn't too heinous but would have been better if the staff and clientelle were different. And a lick of paint wouldn't have gone amiss either.

Currently listening to: Yes Sir, I can Boogie by Baccara. One hit wonderdom at its best.

Currently watching: the clock...

Lets talk about me...

Two of my colleagues are leaving next week. This is horrific. One, I'm not bothered about as she's socially inept. And plays badminton. I mean...what is that?!

The other one, I am bothered about as she's a good laugh and is good at her job.

Still...whatever.

It rained all weekend in Oxford. My ass got wet while cycling. That is not good. It's uncomfortable having to walk around with a wet ass. It's not that I object to my ass being wet, I merely object to the method of wetness.

Dinner-off: So, we had our dinner-off on Friday. It went quite well, I think. The food was delicious, the booze was plentiful and we all got up and danced to the sounds of the 80s like the bitches we are. It rocked.

The academic year has gone by incredibly quickly. It's 5th week already. Only 3 more weeks before the undergrads go down for the summer and the city is invaded by tourists and coachloads of language students. Oh, if only all tourists were like the Japanese- polite, well groomed, non-shouting, non-spitting, non-littering, they would set an excellent example for the fucking chavs who are born and bred in Oxford.

Currently listening to: Down by Suede (one of the best bands of all time).

Currently eating: Multigrain Ryvita (looks like dried shit but tastes pretty good).

Currently regretting: not bringing an umbrella with me to work.

Currently missing: the mental stimulus of being a student. I want to be in a library. Give me a library or give me death.

Currently re-reading: essays I wrote as an undergrad. Fuck me, I used to be able to write critically, structure arguments logically, argue points of view I didn't agree with etc...I miss that.

Watching this week: Star Wars II (not sure what it's called though) before I see the new one. Also not sure what it's called.
-Desperate Housewives. Absolutely brilliant.
-The first League of Gentleman episode ever. It came free with the Sunday Times.

Purchased over the weekend: the most rank sandwich I've had in a long time. It was more bread than filling and the bread was dry. DRY. I not only paid an extortionate sum for it but I queued for what seemed like hours too. Anyways, I purchased the misleadingly named 'sandwich' and proceeded to walk to Magdalen thinking I would take advantage of the brief dry spell and enjoy my 'sandwich' whilst watching the deer. No such fucking luck. I got to the bench and unwrapped my 'sandwich' in anticipation. My mouth was watering at this point. Just as well, as I needed as much saliva as possible to actually swallow the first bite. I thought, rather charitably, that the 'sandwich'-maker had just neglected to ensure even filling distribution of said 'sandwich' and that subsequent bites would result in orgasmic epiphany. But no. Bite number 2 was no better. I almost wept.
Anyway, I went back to the 'sandwich' shop with my 'sandwich' and said politely' excuse me, but this 'sandwich' is more bread than filling. Please may I have a bit more filling (avocado, spinach and sun-dried tomato)?

'You buy another sandwich' said the man, not at all politely.

I was flabbergasted.

I protested. I tried to reason with him. I pleaded. But to no avail.

Fucking bastard.

By that time, it was too late to enjoy my sandwich anyway so I just left. Hanging my head (not so much out of sorrow but because I didn't have the strenght to lift it).

Next time, I'll be giving M & S my custom. At least the spotty youths there are polite.

Now listening to: Catch The Wind by Donovan.

Does anyone want to give me a LOT of money for nothing? I hope so...

This is the end of the week as we know it...

Hur-fucking-rah!

I actually like my job and my colleagues aren't too odious but you can't beat the Friday feeling. Oh no...

Spent almost an hour chatting to Em on Wednesday. That's hot.

There is a press preview of selected scenes from the play on Sunday. I'm fucked. 6 hours of rehearsals tomorrow mean I spend less time in bed, no time at the gym, and no Saturday morning television. Stoopid fucking play.

This whole business of the play has made me rethink my list of things I want to do. What if they all turn out to be catastrophic disasters? What then? I'm sure they won't though, as most of them are long term things which I'll do by myself rather than be at the mercy of deadlines.

I was thinking about NYC this morning whilst I was attending to my toilet. I had quite a heated discussion yesterday at dinner about the merits of NYC. I said it doesn't have any compared to London. The argument stemmed from my assertion that whilst London creates, NYC merely recycles.

Thoughts?

Regrets...I've had a few...

My biggest regret at the mo, is having auditioned for this fucking play.
I wanted a SMALL part but now have an ENORMOUS part with hundreds of lines to learn.

I'm not very often wrong but...

-The play isn't at all amusing and it's supposed to be a comedy.

-The rest of the cast are nice people but incredibly dull and gauche.

-The director has completely lost the plot. The play is 3 (three?!) fucking hours long and doesn't start until 9:15. It's lit mostly by candlelight when it gets dark. Each act takes place in a different part of the garden and the audience moves en masse to each location. Now, in principal, this sounds good, but the gardens at Magdalen are huge. HUGE. People will not only be exhausted by the end (if they stay that long), they will be cold and bored...much like I am during rehearsals.

This evening, I'm having dinner with the male members of the cast. This ensures that we 'feed our sensation memories during rehearsals'. What the fuck?!

I must swear less. Yes or no? Thoughts, please...

Anyway, this whole acting lark was meant to be fun but instead it has become a chore. A CHORE.


Other things:

Tomorrow is the 3rd and final dinner-off. For those of you who don't know what this is: 6 friends and I decided to have a friendly culinary competition. There is an independent judge and 3 teams of 2. Each team has a vegetarian. Points out of 10 are awarded for food, presentation and atmosphere. The marks, with comments justifying the score, go to the independent judge who adds them up and announces the winning team a week after the final dinner.
The first dinner had a Shakespearan theme, being held on 23 April (Shakespeare's birthday) and the 2nd dinner had a Spanish peasants' revolt theme (for no obvious reason). Both were excellent. It's my turn to dazzle the guests tomorrow...and dazzled they wil be.

Have a look at http://www.defunker.com/ and buy a t-shirt. The site is easy to use and the t-shirts are clever. I just hope they aren't GAP/obese American sized. Even 'small' clothes at GAP are tent-like.

Currently listening to: What Gives With You by Abraham.

Currently needing: more sleep.

Currently hating: everything theatrical.

Currently contemplating: using jury duty as an excuse to get out of said play. You can't argue with the judicial process, can you? Huh?

Currently feeling: suicidal. Not really.

Currently listening to: Goddess on a Highway by Mercury Rev.


Fare thee well, dear readers.

A gaggle of gays at Shakespearean plays...

Not really.

Not a gaggle at all. But a FEW.

Last weekend was rather theatrical. I saw a play, auditioned for a play and was offered a part in a play.

The play I SAW was The Tempest. There were buckets of water being thrown around, lurid jumpsuits and a drooling Christian.

The play I auditioned for is The Rover by Aphra Behn. I didn't think I'd get the part as I thought the audition was CATASTROPHIC. But, on Sunday...

I got a call from the director saying he'd like to offer me the part. I was quite pleased until I saw a copy of the whole play. It's really fucking long. I have loads of lines to learn. Shit. This wouldn't be a problem, ordinarily, but the play is in 6th week (two weeks from now, for those of you not familiar with Oxford terms). I'm in several kinds of shit...

Still, the director is pleasant and seems to know his stuff and the rest of the cast aren't too, too shy-making.

EVERYONE should read Vile Bodies by Evelyn Waugh. Actually.

I've had 3 hours of rehearsals today. It's not good.

Last night, I cooked dinner for some friends to celebrate Bescher's birthday. The menu consisted of:

Pear, Stilton and celery soup.
Pasta Sardegna
crusty bread
Cosmopolitan salad (blame Delia...I don't come up with the names)
Chocolate-orange cake with Cointreau cream icing.

We then went to Heaven in London. Which was SWEATY.

Hopefully going to Prague in June for a long weekend.

Currently listening to: 2 Wicky by Hoover. This song is pure sex.

Currently wearing: grass-stained jeans as the rehearsal for The Rover was outdoors.

Currently sporting: several mosquito bites. Fuckers.

Currently coveting: lip salve.

Currently drinking: not enough.

That's hot.

HOT.

Now listening to: Don't Look Back Into The Sun by The Libertines.

Religion

I don't have a problem with God. I have a problem with his fanclub.

Lunch

Just back from lunch. Had a LOVELY warm goat's (goats'?) cheese salad at The Rose Cafe. I'm not a huge fan of the place. The staff are surly, the service inefficient, the pepper mills don't function, the tables are too close together, the portions too small for the price and the coffee tepid. Otherwise, it's wonderful. The location is perfect and the big windows allow perving at people walking by. I only went because a mate was paying and he's good company so I put up with the crap.

I'm too good.

There's no one fanciable in my office.

Currently listening to You Don't Care About Us by Placebo.

How do you spell 'R E L I E F'?

I spell it 'W E E K E N D'.

Yay! It's almost that time of week again. I have BIG plans; do you have big plans?

My plans aren't really that big.

Is this blog frivolous? People have said it's frivolous. Lots of people use their blogs to say intelligent things about stuff but I have nothing intelligent to say. Really I don't.

Some things I'd like to do ...

-learn Italian (very SENSUAL).
-learn German (very GUTTURAL and EFFICIENT).
-learn to paint/draw/sculpt WELL.
-learn to drive in the UK (my Canadian license counts for NOTHING here, apparently).
-take singing lessons (I have the voice of an ANGEL. It just needs some direction).
-get back into acting/writing (and recapture the heady days of FOOTLIGHTS in Cambridge).
-travel across the US (in a CHARABANC).
-travel across Canada (in a charabanc, but maybe not the SAME one).
-own a house (that I've bought by MYSELF).
-go to Japan (the Japanese are just so NICE).
-grow an inch in height (6' is good but 6'1" is BETTER).
-make Tom Sharpe compulsory reading for everyone (fucking HILARIOUS).
-learn poker/or similar (HOURS of fun when HOURS of fun need to be had)
-pay back my student loans (ALL £42,000, but not have to sell my house, when I get one, to do it)

That's all for now, I think.

Currently listening to Can't Stand Me Now by The Libertines.

Currently wearing: clothes that made my colleagues comment on how 'smart' I look today. Evidentally, I look like shit the rest of the time...fuckers.

Now listening to Rhymes Of An Hour by Mazzy Star.

Currently coveting: a Mini Mac. Just because.

New business cards arrived. Disaster. My name was spelt incorrectly. You just can't get the staff. Morons.


Happy Friday.

some people have said I don't post often enough...

to them, I say 'fuck you'.

Since I last posted...

There's been a long weekend which was utter bliss (booze and sun), my review at work was very positive (fools) and my office has moved building.

The first May bank holiday was sublime. For those of you not in Oxford, May Day (May 1) is like, a HUGE fucking deal. People stay up all night partying and then head to Magdalen College to hear the choir sing madrigals and hymns from the tower. They've been doing this for 450 years. It's good fun. The road outside is FULL of people (6000 this year) which is a mega number considering how small Oxford is. Those of us in the know (and with connections) watch the spectacle from the Cloister in Magdalen, sipping champagne (which I don't like at the best of times, let alone at 6am feeling hungover and knackered). Anyway, every year a few people jump off the bridge into the Cherwell. The papers report that this tradition dates back hundreds of years but it actually only dates back 12 years. So, morons jump into the river which at the point under the bridge is 18", yes, INCHES deep and end up breaking ankles, legs, arms and in one case neck. This year 40 people were taken to hospital with various injuries. Now, I ask you...if you were standing on a bridge and some random person was standing, STANDING in knee-high water, urging you to jump, would you? I mean, would you? And if you would, then why? The river is fucking filthy and if you don't break a limb, you'll get Weil's disease. Yum.

Morons.

Some friends from my Cambridge days came around to supper on Saturday evening. It was a LAFF. I am amazing in the kitchen. Almost as amazing as I am in the bedroom. Not really!
And so, we ate lots, drank lots and made merry. We managed to squeeze in one hour of sleep before heading to Magdalen.

Sunday was spent in bed until noon then cocktails.

Monday: Max FINALLY came to Oxford with his MAN. He's Italian. Or so he says. Yet he failed every Italian-ness test I set for him. His parents don't have a holiday home in Sardinia (where all the Italians go on holiday), he doesn't drink Chianti the whole time and his mother doesn't do his laundry. Italian? I think not. Still, he was very pleasant and Max was GLOWING. Although that might be down to his recent visit to a German spa where he let it all hang out.

My review at work: Apparently, my work is excellent and evil Bosslady wants me to take on more responsibility. Now, I like responsibility as much as the next person, don't get me wrong, but I do NOT want any more. I want more money. That's it. I couldn't believe it. I think I'll test the limits some more and see just how much I can get away with...

Office move: My section moved out of our old building into a swish new one. Well, not really swish and not really new, but definitely better than the old one. The only problem now is that I no longer have my own office. It's all open-plan which will make net-surfing a bit more difficult. Also, I won't get to hear the gossip that was rife in our old building. We have the whole floor to ourselves here. In the old place, there were lots of freakish people. I'll also miss the cubicle masturbator who used to go to the loo at 11am on the dot everyday, remove his shoes and jerk off, bash the bishop, pull one off etc...then calmly return to his desk without a care in the world. One of my colleagues thought it would be amusing to put an 'out of order' sign on the cubicle door just to see his reaction. We stood by the sink pretending to wash our hands when he entered. He merely went into the cubicle, shut the door and proceeded to jerk off.
The situation was desperate. We decided that next time, one of us would occupy the cubicle and the other would wait outside watching wankerman. Anyway, my mate drew the short straw and dutifully locked himself in the cubicle. I positioned myself by the sink once more and proceeded to wash my hands. Wankerman came in, made his way to the cubicle and waited. And waited. And waited. I was washing my hands raw whilst my colleague had a mock dump. Wankerman merely stood there watching me. 'There is a loo upstairs' I said helpfully, but he said he wanted THAT one and pointed dementedly to the cubicle door.
FINALLY, we heard the flush and stood looking hopefully at the cubicle door. Nothing. We waited. And waited. Nothing.

That's 34 minutes of my life I'm not getting back...

The roofers are replacing the roof of the house. The scaffolders were mildly attractive in a chav kind of way but the roofers are repellent. Would it be wrong to sack them and hope the next lot are better?

Currently listening to: For What It's Worth by Sergio Mendes. Old but good.

Currently wearing: non-smelly sweater.

Now listening to: Soothe by the Smashing Pumpkins.

Oh to be in love. When's it going to happen?

Still want to move to Washington DC. Someone give me a well-paid, interesting, non-worthy job there, please.