Joy of joys. Just been sent the video for No Regrets and now have the biggest smile on my face. Not just because the Kirkby Girl and her beautiful daughter feature in the video...and the lovely Brian King (RIP, Brenda) ...but because how could you not love this band? Or Margi for that matter. Directed by Jamie Reid, shot by the Lovely Boyfriend and also starring Plinky Plonky the famous Liverpool tramp (let's not get PC here) this day stands out as one in my history that was just a great laugh.
Mel, you're in for a treat. See you Friday.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Mental Notes Get Lost...make a mental note of that
I was wondering round the shops yesterday...actually that's not true. I went to two shops and had an argument in one, embarrassing my teenage son no end. The rest of the time we argued about my argument and somewhere in the middle of this I'm sure there was a great idea for a post here. Can I remember it? Can I buffalo?
I carry a Moleskin notebook. Unlike most other writers I even carry a pen or two. That'll teach me not to write things down. In my head it was a great idea. Really funny. Really entertaining. Are you feeling deprived? Don't be. A friend of mine once woke up in the middle of the night, scribbled down his brilliant plot for a film and awoke the next morning to find he'd written something about a banana. Like anyone who has ever lost any work...it's never as good as you think it is.
The argument if anyone is interested was fuelled by my frustration at the appalling service in this city. Yes, it's the same all over but I mostly eat and shop in Liverpool. And having just returned from America, and while I wouldn't want to be told to have a nice day every five minutes, the difference is highlighted dramatically. I went home and made a complaint to Head Office and, it gets worse...then wrote a letter to a well known celebrity hairdresser (or at least his PO Box) about dodgy shampoo bottles.
I am officially a twat. I don't deserve to have my mental notes back. Please do not return to sender if you find them
I carry a Moleskin notebook. Unlike most other writers I even carry a pen or two. That'll teach me not to write things down. In my head it was a great idea. Really funny. Really entertaining. Are you feeling deprived? Don't be. A friend of mine once woke up in the middle of the night, scribbled down his brilliant plot for a film and awoke the next morning to find he'd written something about a banana. Like anyone who has ever lost any work...it's never as good as you think it is.
The argument if anyone is interested was fuelled by my frustration at the appalling service in this city. Yes, it's the same all over but I mostly eat and shop in Liverpool. And having just returned from America, and while I wouldn't want to be told to have a nice day every five minutes, the difference is highlighted dramatically. I went home and made a complaint to Head Office and, it gets worse...then wrote a letter to a well known celebrity hairdresser (or at least his PO Box) about dodgy shampoo bottles.
I am officially a twat. I don't deserve to have my mental notes back. Please do not return to sender if you find them
Monday, June 2, 2008
I'd rather be...sunning myself in Majorca than watching Sir Paul
I'm sorry. But it's true. Aside from the fact I never had or wanted tickets, a weekend in Port de Soller was booked in long ago. And no amount of hype was going to get me to change my mind. God, the thought didn't even cross my mind. Hello...listening to Sir Paul and whatever special guests or staying in a fancy hotel for the 40th birthday of the campest women I know (besides myself and the Animal Disco, of course)? No contest. And you should see her husband. He's even camper than she is. What's not to like?
Upon my return I find rave reviews that bang on about Sir Paul opening with Hippy Hippy Shake, followed by...you know, I can't remember. I'd lost interest by then. What's the bet that throughout the week my mates who did go try and convince me it was stunning, magical, best thing they've see so far during 2008 blah, blah, boring blah. Nope. Not convinced. Rather stick needles in my eyes.
But fear not those of you lacking in a bit of Capital Culturelness...I will go to the Klimt exhibition and you can bet your last pound I'll be down to those new shops very very soon.
All together...1, 2, 3...For Goodness sake...get a grip.
Upon my return I find rave reviews that bang on about Sir Paul opening with Hippy Hippy Shake, followed by...you know, I can't remember. I'd lost interest by then. What's the bet that throughout the week my mates who did go try and convince me it was stunning, magical, best thing they've see so far during 2008 blah, blah, boring blah. Nope. Not convinced. Rather stick needles in my eyes.
But fear not those of you lacking in a bit of Capital Culturelness...I will go to the Klimt exhibition and you can bet your last pound I'll be down to those new shops very very soon.
All together...1, 2, 3...For Goodness sake...get a grip.
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