Archive for February, 2003

alone again or

Happy bleedin’ Valentine’s Day indeed. To mark the occasion, I’ve made a special card for single men who want to express their desire for that certain special lady. It’s unique amongst Valentine’s cards in not shirking from the absolute truth of these matters. Get posting.

all for charity

Martin Bulloch is the drummer from Scottish punksters Mogwai. Less well-known is the fact that Martin wears a pacemaker on his heart, a pacemaker that’s currently up for auction on eBay, with all the proceeds going to the British Heart Foundation. Thrown into the package are a bunch of band rarities as well, so there’s no excuse for not bidding. I just hope he’s washed it first. And that he’s remembered to have a new one fitted.

For the full story, check out the BHF’s website.

vent updated

ARGH so stupid. I hate this stupid relationship but I continue because of hta tfact tha tmy life will beruined if I break up with you…

Yes, I’ve updated Vent for the first time in ages, adding another twenty five or so entries. From now on I’ve decided to publish vents exactly as they’re posted, complete with bad spelling (there’s one lovely entry from someone who wants to take out a ‘retaining order’ an an ex-boyfriend) , terrible grammar and txt mssg speak. It’s a sad indictment of current educational standards, I tell you. Still, at least I’ve only got another 124 entries to read through…

toilet trouble

Two posts ago I set a challenge, and you responded with a delightful mix of hard fact and lunacy. Heartiest congratulations are therefore sweeping gleefully in the direction of David, who correctly surmised that I’d spent two delightful evenings in the company of Camper Van Beethoven and Arthur Lee and Love on London’s splendid South Bank, and to Wild, who described in great detail what would have been my best evening out ever, had it ever actually occured. It’s very much worth reading (eleven comments down).

And so, I’ve got to keep my part of the bargain, which is to relate the sordid tale of my most embarrassing moment ever. I really don’t know why I’m doing this.
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mission over

Ouch. If only they’d waited another twenty minutes before publishing. Or maybe been astute enough to remove the page afterwards. More great editorial here.

Update: they finally removed the offending article five days after the event. If you’re interested, I’ve hidden a copy here.

you are me

I’m very fond of the way my comments section often spirals off into areas that have little to do with the original post. Quite often I have absolutely no idea what’s going on, as the conversation takes off on all sorts of freakish tangents, and that’s fine too. Today, however, I want to try something different. The last two evenings I’ve been out and had an exceptionally good time, but I really can’t be bothered to write about it, and that’s where you come in. I want you to tell me what I did, where I went, what happened while I was there and what I thought of it all. If you want to do a little research you can probably figure out where I was by using the clues below, but if you haven’t got the time or the inclination, then why not just make something up? I’d like to see what you come up with. The person who comes up with the story closest to reality and the writer who invents the most fantastical tale will both win a prize. Or something. Most likely the latter.

Clue 1: She divines water by dancing a jig – for the boys of the Press she will wrestle a pig.

Clue 2: All the snot has caked against my pants.

Just leave your answer in the comments section. Thankyou.

Oh, and if I get a good response, I might reward you with the story of the most embarassing thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s a doozy.