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Saturday, 27 February 2010

Another Level..

Decided to knit again, without Eileen, the out come was tragic.
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So I went out to buy some new needles but Atlantis don't sell them.

I found this though; http://www.channel4.com/programmes/mums-gone-gay/4od#2933358

Television drama at its best.. if you ever find out your mother has 'gone gay' in the future, you and your brother will rip up her clothes with knives, your dad will whack his head against the car horn, and you'll call her a slag.
Obviously you'll find out because a lady leaves her a dirty voicemail, right?
RIGHT.

Friday, 26 February 2010

Sunday, 21 February 2010

Gold zone

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I took this in summer 2007, of one of my best friends/little brother.
Probably the best summer ever.
Really reminds me of home, Preston train stations 'Gold Zone.'

moments

My favorite type of love is the type
which only lasts a very short
amount of time
thats it
a glance
come
gone.

Wednesday, 17 February 2010

Make us a brew?

If you’re looking for a real greasy spoon though, this isn’t the place. On Greek Street, in London’s gay capital Soho lies probably one of the nicest day and early hangouts I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
If you just peeped at the outside, you’d defiantly wonder if you’d stepped out of W1 and into Paris. With all the Gingham tea cloths and lovely single flowers on the table, you are sure to be contented. The pots of tea are huge and the cakes, which are slightly pricy but covered in summer fruits, or chocolate, what ever you go for.
If it couldn’t get any better, when I wondered upstairs I stumbled on an exhibition by Sigur Ros’ lead singer Jónsi Birgisson and his partner Alex Somers' named ‘Riceboy Sleeps.’ The upstairs was covered in their art and had a lovely soundtrack blasting out of a tinny old radio.
Defiantly worth a visit.
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Saturday, 6 February 2010

Trellick Tower's been calling, I know she'll leave me in the morning.

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'Women raped in elevators, children attacked by heroin addicts in the basement, and homeless squatters setting fire to flats were among the more lurid. So bad was the Tower's reputation that one urban myth told how the architect, wracked with guilt at creating this monstrosity, threw himself from the roof.'

With that lovely description, me and my flatmate thought it would be a brilliant idea to chuck ourselves in at the deep end and head out there. Walking through the lovely Maida Vale, past the British Broadcasting Centre's studios and many a house you'd be more than happy living in for the rest of your life, we were wondering if we were in the right place.
After finding the canal, it was in our vision. Huge and monstrous with its arm, the TV mast flying high above the 30Th floor we knew it was the one we'd read about. In the courtyard to get round into the building we found shit and socks, and all we could smell was piss. So we snuck in through the entrance, with the first thing to come to vision being a man, who can only be described as the modern spit of Happy Monday's Bez almost barging into us, with the backing track of the receptionists Reggae music.
The rubbish shoots were all blocked and the noise of the lift sounded like a cross between the stings in an orchestral soundtrack and what i would put my finger on as the noise a spaceship would make. The corridors had been painted bright yellow, to cheer up the place?
Despite all this, the building is grade two listed, as it was designed in the Brutalist style by architect Ernő Goldfinger (whom was also the architect of the Barbican.) Love it or hate it that is the question? After returning home and seeing the refurbs of the top floors, I'm still not sure if I could be swayed to desire to live there or not.

Wednesday, 3 February 2010

If I want to have tomato sauce on my ham butties I will.

I'm a little peeved today.
I don't think I'm really that good at this 'real life' thing I've been doing since I moved out, I have recently gone over stropy, developed a sly soft spot for cheesy 90's tunes and Elton John, I almost put tomato sauce on everything I can (I'll never give this up) and I have even invested in potato waffles and fish fingers instead of the real things I usually buy.
Why? I don't know. I've decided I don't really like the 'school playground' and I want to play catch on my own?
Maybe the lack of inspiration I've been giving myself has made me revert back to the brain I had during early years, I don't know.

On another note;
Romance is Boring. It really is. My indecisivness has lead me to repel the opposite sex through not brushing my hair or wearing makeup.

Due to the distractions of last week, I completely forgot about Los Campesinos at Rough Trade east, GUTTED. However I made my self a bit jollier by buying their new album, I love it.