Sex, Lies and Audio Tape

GRIM GRAF

Thu, 09 Jul 2009 09:54:12 GMT

I have a new favourite piece of graffiti.

God bless you Bolton.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN.

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 22:15:18 GMT

Hello readers. If you're thinking that it's a little quiet around here, then I apologise. For what it's worth, I am insanely busy at the moment, a situation which is not being helped by the fact that for the next few weeks I am effectively on tour. So, if you need to find me, I'm either going to be in Manchester, Liverpool or London. Which is going to make finding someone to take over my attic in Chorlton a right barrel of laughs, I can tell you.

Anyway, in lieu of a proper entry (which I assure you, will be on its way soon), here are some handy reference points hidden amidst blatant attempts to big up my work:

Where was I when I found out that Michael Jackson had died? Well readers, I was on Twitter wearing nothing but my pants. Sexy, huh? It's a fantastic little vignette to tell the Grandchildren I undoubtedly will never have. Oh, and then I stayed up until 1am having an argument with mcgazz over whether MJ's youngest child was called "Blanket" or "Bucket".

Something which I wrote ALL BY MYSELF is on the Guardian Music blog today! I sm-to put it mildly-very happy about this, particularly as I've been having a fair few doubts over the past few weeks about my ability to write serious pieces of music journalism rather than just throwaway pieces of fluff. As it goes, despite it being quite short, I think it's one of the best things I've ever written-and no, I'm not just saying it because it appears to be generating a fair bit of debate. (Although naturally, that's quite nice as well).

It's the Domestic Sluttery shopping evening tomorrow night! You're all coming, right? Of course you are. How could you even contemplate missing the sight of me in a black cocktail dress dripping in cheap Primark-bought cocktail jewellery? Being a true Domestic goddess, I am training for tomorrow night as I type. Well, if by "training" you mean "sitting around with stubbly legs drinking beer and listening to Kraftwerk" of course.

SWELLS HAS LEFT THE BUILDING

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 08:29:52 GMT

In a "things you don't really expect to hear" shocker, I've just heard the very sad news that legendary music journalist Steven Wells died on Tuesday.

Swells was one of those journalists who divided people. Either you fully appreciated and liked his raw black sense of humour, and his love of ripping the piss out of anyone who openly wore their hearts and flowers on their sleeve, or you loathed him and everything he stood for. Me? Well, I was always in the former camp. But then again, I always have been a misanthropic curmudgeon. He was one of those writers who I looked up to, and indeed made me want to get into music journalism so I too could get good money for ramming my opinions on the music I loved down people's throats.

It's sad. Somehow I don't think we're ever going to see his like again. At least not in my lifetime. R.I.P Steven Wells. I sincerely hope that they play Daphne and Celeste at your funeral.

WHAT'S ON THE END OF THE STICK, VIC?

Thu, 11 Jun 2009 11:18:28 GMT

Yes, Yes Yes. I know what you're thinking. WOMAN! WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING POSTING A TERRIFYING GIF OF ALASTAIR DARLING AND GORDON BROWN DOING THE REEVES AND MORTIMER SHOOTING STARS SKANK! Well, it's all a cunning ploy to attract your attention, see, as I have a vitally important announcement to make.

Some of you might know that I write about baking and cooking and various other fripperies for a Home and Lifestyle blog called Domestic Sluttery. (As an aside, if you haven't read it yet, I really do recommend that you do as it does have some absolutely gorgeous stuff on there that I would quite willingly spend all of my money on given half the chance).

Anyway, we're going to be hosting our very own shopping event on the 2nd July at Something which is situated at 58 Lambs Conduit Street in Bloomsbury, LONDON. This is exciting for a whole number of reasons:

I get to dress up as a proper 1950s pin-up girl with a lovely vintage hairdo and a nice floral patterned frock which (hopefully) doesn't make me look like an overstuffed sofa.

We'll be giving away free cupcakes, cocktails and goodie bags.

We'll be holding a raffle for one lovely lucky person to win a £100 voucher for Something.

I'LL BE IN LONDON, BABY! I've been dying to come down and visit people recently, and this provides me with a perfect excuse! It also means I might get to see the Orthodox Jewish ice cream van which James tells me has been driving around Stamford Hill recently.

Anyway. If you'd like to find out a bit more info about this rather spiffing event, then you can do so here. We've also got a Facebook page for the event which can be found here.

So yes. Do come. It would be lovely to see you all, and hey-who can resist free cake?

THERE'S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING

Tue, 09 Jun 2009 11:47:15 GMT

This weekend involved a lot of firsts. Luckily for me, they were relatively good firsts, and (in what is a rare feat for me), I managed to go out and get utterly shitfaced without falling asleep in a toilet or losing any of my possessions. I really hope this isn't a one off.

ON FRIDAY NIGHT, DESPITE THE EVENING STARTING OFF LIKE THE PLOT OF A CARRY ON FILM (in which our narrator got caught in a storm, her shirt went see-through and she overheard two students on a bus shouting at each other to STOP BEING A RACIST YOU SPAZZ!) I HAD AN ABSOLUTE CRACKER OF A NIGHT OUT:

Mainly because I met up with the internetz infamous annakey triplescience mintlaugh and ninjacodemonkey for some serious fun timez. It was a brilliant night out, and great to put some faces to names. I somehow managed to end the evening in ROCKWORLD (another first for me-somehow I managed to go 26-and-a-half years of my life without ever darkening its doors, but somehow, on Friday night, the allure of bouncing around to prog was too strong), dancing to Hocus Pocus by Focus. I also ate a McDonald's because it seemed like a good idea at the time-a decision I came to seriously regret on the train to Liverpool the following morning. On the plus side, I was given a lift back to my parent's house by a very nice nightbus driver, who managed to park his 42 outside their house. What a dude!

I THEN HAD TO NAVIGATE LIVERPOOL WITH POSSIBLY THE WORST HANGOVER I'VE HAD SINCE THE LAST TIME I WAS REALLY-REALLY HUNGOVER:

This wasn't the easiest of feats for a number of reasons. Namely because it was pissing it down with rain, I was ill, my new shoes were rubbing my feet something rotten, and the Lord Mayor had conveniently decided to hold a parade right in the center of town, the inconsiderate bastard. I had to walk around the town centre in a blind daze attempting to find the right bus to Bootle, and could nearly have kissed it when it eventually arrived.

BUT! I DID GET TO WATCH DIE HARD FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER:

How on earth did I manage to go for so long without seeing it? Ok, so its plot is flimsy at best, and most of the film does just comprise of Bruce Willis (WITH HAIR!) running around barefoot in a dirty vest whilst blowing things up and talking to a man with a minor Twinkie obsession, but somehow it still manages to be bloody brilliant. It might even whisper it! be as good (if not better) than Con Air! (Although Con Air does have less people associated with Harry-fucking-Potter in it, which is a GOOD THING).

OH YES, AND IN LESS ACTION-MOVIE-RELATED-BUT-SLIGHTLY-MORE-LIFE-CHANGING-NEWS:

I'm moving to Liverpool! To live with mcgazz! A real life boy who is in no way related to me, and which I have consensual relations with! Goodness me, this is a first. Yes, I'm going to be packing up my life in various cardboard boxes, waving goodbye to my attic and to Chorlton, and am moving in with my fella. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't very excited about this. I'm also slightly nervous, but that's another matter altogether. We're being very grown up about it, and are picking out desks and chairs and towels and rice cookers together. I'm still planning to flit to Manchester every so often, and it's not like I'm never going to be around, but at the same time, the thought of starting a new chapter in my life with someone so bloody brilliant makes me want to dance around the nearest large space I have to hand.

So yes. Scouseland here I come. Crikey, that's something I never thought I'd hear myself saying. Another first, eh?

FOOD GLUE

Mon, 08 Jun 2009 20:55:32 GMT

Food Party Episode 2 from Thu Tran on Vimeo.

When I'm Home Alone, I tend to get up to a lot of things I wouldn't do otherwise. I walk around in my pants, drink juice out of the carton, leave the washing up for DAYS on end and have been known to eat Toast in bed amongst other things.

I also end up watching crazy-ass-videos on Youtube like Food Party which make me go all weak at the knees and consider calling up Jodie Mental and The General to tell them to FIND ME A VENUE FORTHWITH! so I can think about reviving Club Mental-aka that club that nearly bankrupted me and hardly anyone ever went to. Not that I'm bitter about that or anything.

Sigh. I think I need to stop reminiscing about the past, and concentrate more on the fact that compared to last night where I was talking ten to the dozen about the state of the British political landscape, the role of the Left and the issues I have with the Women's Movement, I am spending my Monday night watching a small Vietnamese woman talk to a Giant Egg. Sometimes you couldn't make my life up.

THE NORTH WILL RISE AGAIN

Mon, 08 Jun 2009 11:16:58 GMT

As a rule, I tend not to write about politics here. This isn't to say I'm ambivalent towards the machinations of government, but I've always felt that when I write about politics I sound like a naive idiot bumbling around for the right words to say in order to get her point across. And this is before we get to the plain and simple fact that I date a man who is much more erudite when it comes to these kinds of matters then I could ever hope to be.

I love the North of England. I love its culture, its landscape, its music, its people. Last night, as I sat on the sofa here in Liverpool drinking my builder's tea, eating Toffeepops, and feeling physically sick at the thought that Nick Griffin (aka Fat Hitler) was going to representing the North West in the European parliament, I did feel incredibly sad and depressed that people here felt that voting for the BNP was the only way that they could issue a protest vote against mainstream political parties.

Are the people of the North of England all a bunch of racists? No. But, a lot of them do feel disenfranchised and apathetic at the political system which claims to represent their interests. The key thing to remember here is that the BNP's percentage of the vote in the North of England actually went down. People aren't being seduced by the BNP's propaganda, it just means the parties activists were able to better mobilise their vote. When you tally that up with the fact that Labour's share of the vote collapsed and went to other parties, the BNP were always going to do better under a proportional system.

It's all too easy to sit around behind your computer, wringing your hands and sighing at the state the country has fallen into. And its much easier to argue with faceless commentators on the internet about the meanings of words than getting off your arse and trying to engage the people who really CAN make a difference when it comes to these things. Politicians need to regain the public's trust-not an easy (or quick) thing to do when you take into consideration the loss of face that many politicians have had over the expenses row. The Labour movement (and the Left) need to get back to their working class origins. The Left needs to stop fighting with itself over things such as Europe. If the Socialist Labour Party and No2EU had put their backing behind the Green party during this election, they maybe we wouldn't have seen two Far Right MEPs being elected. (But perhaps I'm just being hopelessly naive? Who knows).

Education is also key here. Children should be taught the importance of using their vote effectively, take lessons in the importance of the political system, develop an understanding of how these things work in order to help effect real change. The media should start taking the BNP seriously-stop referring to them as just a bunch of crackpot nutters, and really put their activities under the spotlight-particularly as the party now has the "legitimacy" it's so desperately craved for so long.

Commentators also need to stop referring to BNP voters as "idiotic scum" and ask them seriously why they chose to vote for them instead of a party such as UKIP. I'm not saying UKIP are the good guys here, because they certainly are not. But this needs to be discussed and understood, instead of these voices being dismissed outright because they're saying something which others might not like to hear.

Does this all make sense? I hope so. I still have faith in politics, the Left and the people of the North. In the interim, you can sign Searchlight's petition telling people that the BNP don't represent your voice. Let's get involved and help to really make a difference.

BAND ON DE WINDW WHN U CUM RAAAAAA

Mon, 01 Jun 2009 13:54:58 GMT

My parents, and more importantly, my younger sister are all flying out to the East Coast of the USA this afternoon. They're going to spend a few days with my Grandpa in Boston, before catching a train to New York at the weekend. For me, this means a few things:

1) I become immensely jealous as I am forced to remain in Britain looking after the family home and the family business.

2) I decide to show my family just how much I love them by drinking every type of tea my parents have in their "special tea" cupboard (It was mostly stockpiles of Yorkshire Tea last time I checked, but I'm sure there's some Lapsang Souchong and Earl Grey lurking around there somewhere), eating all of their Orange Juice ice lollies, drinking their Gin and utilising their wireless connection AND their massive back garden to its fullest potential.

3) I get to look after two absolutely adorable black-and-white cats (such as the one pictured above, who is currently in the process of attempting to invite all of her neighbourhood friends back to her house for some feline-Beastie-Boys types schenanigans) and realise that I really really really want a kitteh to call my own.

4) I receive a wide variety of text messages which are all in some kind of gibberish which makes sense to no other human being on earth, bar my Father. I love my Dad to death, but-bless him-he is not really very good with modern technology. Particularly when it comes to mobile phones.
He got a Blackberry last year so he could get all of his emails whilst he was out and about, doing whatever it is that a print mogul does. However, being ~~blind~~ not great with small, fiddly keypads, it meant that a lot of emails and texts he was sending out made absolutely no sense. None at all. Think I'm joking? The title of this post is one of them. Go on, you try and figure out what the man is attempting to say there, because when I first received it, I was jiggered if I knew. And that's before we get to the message he sent my poor brother saying that he was "ohn tp a Volcaniiiiiiii. Mi verrrrr hoaaattt."
Alas, my father has now gotten rid of his Blackberry (I think he threw it in the bin) and replaced it with something far more sensible. However, he has taken my mother's mobile with him to the great beyond which is significantly fiddlier than the average phone (I should know, I own the same model). God only knows what he's going to come out with next, but if he's stuck in anything or is getting deported from anywhere, I'll be on call.

5) If anyone attempts to break in, or the window cleaner comes round unexpectedly, I will probably scream blue murder in a Macauley Culkin esque manner because I think they're going to try to break in to rape me/murder me/both. On the upside, it does mean I can walk around my childhood home butt naked for the first time since I was about 10.

However, if there's one thing guaranteed to make me bite my nails and fret like a bad'un, it's having loved ones fly out on a day where a a plane goes missing in mid flight in some kind of weird-Lost-esque type manner. Jesus fate. You pick your bloody moments, don't you?

IT'S ALL FUN AND GAMES UNTIL SOMEONE LOSES AN EYE

Sun, 31 May 2009 19:03:37 GMT

Hello readers. Are you having a good weekend? I know I am, despite nearly bursting numerous blood vessels in my eyes this morning whilst attempting to book a hotel (and managing to put a block on my Switch card in the process-clever Miss Cay!) and failing in a well guided attempt to watch Die Hard earlier this afternoon.

But the sun is shining outside, I have a nice cup of Earl Grey beside me, I ate my first Cornetto of 2009 this afternoon, mcgazz is snoozing gently on the sofa beside me, and I've got Stuart Maconie's Freak Zone on the stereo. So I'm a happy girl.

It's kind of strange I haven't written anything here for a week. I feel as though I've been neglecting Livejournal somehow. And it's not like I don't have anything to write about at the moment-ideas keep swirling around my head about misconceptions, music, new adventures, the idiocy of internet arguments with faceless commentators, recipes, Manchester vs. Liverpool, thoughts about what constitutes home, Popism, how to make an excellent Macaroni Cheese, you know. The usual things which tend to swirl around a girl's head whilst she's off making other plans.

But, for the moment, greater discussion of these things is going to have to wait. And, in the interim, I'm going to give you a quick insight into what it's like to do my job.

Firstly, despite what you may think, I don't spend all of my time sitting around at a laptop in a Angela-Lansbury-Murder-She-Wrote fashion necking wine and writing witty and insightful vignettes about the world around me. Instead, I spend an awful lot of time chasing people up for money. This is not a nice job. It tends to involve a lot of crying, shouting, screaming, nasty letters and legal threats. And that's only when I deal with my bank. Anyway. Someone lovely diverted my attention to this Youtube video the other day, and it was like holding a mirror up to my life. Especially the can you work for free? part.

Secondly, I was doing some rooting around on the internet last night, and discovered this video of the BBC One O'Clock news from 1986 which includes the talkback track from the gallery. If you ever thought that being a news presenter just involved sitting on a desk reading papers, reading from an autocue and giggling inanely, then think again. Much as I hate to admit it, I have been one of the people sat in the gallery screaming swearwords down a presenter's earpiece. But then again, I've also been one of the people sat in the gallery being sworn at BY a presenter for fucking up their autocue. Take my word for it, news anchors can be right bastards when they want to be.

And, finally, a piece of aural loveliness for y'all. I was introduced to the wonderful sounds of remix scoundrel du jour Paul White by the absolutely brilliant Fact magazine (who are worth a peruse for the quality of their mixes alone). His new album, The Strange Dreams of Paul White hasn't left my speakers for days. It's the practically perfect soundtrack for hot steamy days, where you're sat around the house in your pants wondering where the next iced drink is coming from.

So, that's all from this disjointed (and quite frankly) bizarre update for now. If this post had a theme to it, then I hope someone else can let me know what it is, because I'm jiggered if I know. And as for the above photograph of Ronnie Corbett in a bin? Well, why not?

HOW MANY LICKS DOES IT TAKE TO GET TO THE TOOTSIE ROLL CENTRE OF A TOOTSIE POP?

Thu, 21 May 2009 13:23:00 GMT

GOOD:

:: In less than *checks watch* three whole hours, I will be on a train heading to Liverpool where myself and mcgazz will be enjoying all of the multifarious delights that Liverpool Sound City has to offer. Despite the fact that I'm only really covering it for the Manchester Evening News because I'm going to be in Liverpool anyway I'm still rather excited about it all. Mainly because we're going to see BIG JOHNNY FOXX tonight. He might only be doing a DJ set but this might be the closest I ever get to actually seeing him perform so naturally, I'm rather excited about it. Plus, you know, I'm getting paid actual-real-life-money to go and see bands at the end of the day, which I'm always rather loath to complain about.

:: Talking of being paid money to do things I love, I WAS COMMISSIONED BY THE GUARDIAN TODAY! WOO! They want me to do a feature where I cook something I've seen being made on a Youtube video. I'm planning on whipping up one of the Japanese culinary masterpieces from bizarre-yet-wonderful Cooking with Dog, a cookery channel which is hosted by (you guessed it) a dog. Namely a poodle named Francis. Animal lovers will be pleased to hear that at no point is he cooked in a big pot with some noodles.

:: I made a Chocolate Baked Alaska for Domestic Sluttery yesterday and at no point did I blow anything up! This is a very pleasing turn of events, particularly as I was expecting any dish involving baking ice cream + my spacker hands to equal total and utter bloody chaos. It did start melting as soon as I took it out of the oven though, which made taking photographs of the thing very difficult indeed, but I can confirm that it was bloody delicious, even if it manage to send me into some weird kind of sugar coma.

:: I had to interview my Dad about our crazy family history yesterday for a feature I'm writing for the Big Issue. Christ on a bicycle, my paternal line is MENTAL. Particularly my Great Grandmother who went by the names Ada, Lillian and Elsie. She changed her name for each marriage (and each child who was born out of wedlock it appears). She married my Great Grandad for his money and sold all of his possessions when he was on his deathbed so she could go out drinking and courting young gentlemen. Actually, it appears that all of my father's line had a knack of changing their names to avoid trouble and allegations of bigamy. Which explains a lot come to think of it.

:: I've been craving Tootsie Rolls (which for all you non-Americans is a fudgy-chocolate-candy which comes in delicious squidgey little rolls, and as a child, was my own personal version of crack) for weeks now, and have been despairing that I'm unable to get the bloody things in this country. Thank God then my wonderful boyfriend who has-somehow-managed to get me a bag of the things! Hoorah! My weird Yankee cravings are satiated for another day! (Well until I start craving Kool-Aid-then I know I'm in a bad way).

BAD:

:: I've talked a fair bit here about how I was supposed to be writing my very own blog for the Manchester Evening News. Well, because Guardian Media Group appear to be determined to systematically dissemble anything and everything which gives the Mancunian local press any semblence of creativity and imagination, it looks as though I'm not going to be doing that any more.
Needless to say, I'm absolutely gutted. A part of me feels like crying to tell the truth, because I was so looking forward to writing so many things encouraging Mancunians to really think about their city in a new way. Whilst I know I can still do the blog on a different format, it just seems like such a shame that I can't do it in conjunction with CityLife which could have provided me with a totally different readership then just my friends and family. Oh well. Onwards and Upwards I suppose.

:: I went out to buy binbags before (ROCK AND ROLL!) and ended up missing a call from a private number on my mobile, who didn't leave a voicemail message. I hate it when I do that, because it means I could have missed out on work, or fun, or all sorts of things. WAS IT YOU? Wanna give me some work?

BLACK AND GOLD

Mon, 18 May 2009 12:27:05 GMT

I'm in a very odd mood today-a strange combination of fed up (because the weekend's over, and I'm back in Manchester, and it feels as though I am never going to stop owning people money) with a side order of annoyance (because none of the editors I've pitched to recently are responding to any of my emails).

Why am I like this? God knows. I had an amazing weekend, and I've just had a lovely walk in which I was very grown up and bought myself a FLASK so I have a perpetual supply of hot water which I can make beverages with throughout the course of my working day. I never thought that the day would come where I would get excited about owning my very hot beverage dispenser *wipes away a tear*. I wonder if this is a sign of maturity, or just of the onset of old age?

Anyway. My weekend. I always find it rather amusing writing about my weekend on Livejournal. It reminds me of Monday mornings in primary school where everyone would stand up at the front of class and tell everyone tall tales of what they'd been up to, because they didn't want to admit that all they'd done was go to Tesco's with their Mum and Dad and watch re-runs of The A-Team. As for me? Well, I ate lots of Chinese Food, drank lots of Red Booze, listened to the Adam & Joe show on Saturday morning, and then took my bird on a date to go and see STAR TREK.

Cynically, (and perhaps unfairly), I wasn't expecting all that much from Star Trek. Both my Dad and my Brother are MASSIVE Trekkies (they've been to conventions and everything. New readers, please don't judge me harshly because of the messed up obsessions of my ancestral line), and so when I was growing up I was objected to every single series of that sodding show; including really boring episodes of Deep Space Nine which just looked like an intergalactic version of BBC Parliament. I was very impressed with it though. It was funny! It involved BROMANCE!, there were MASSIVE EXPLOSIONS! Kirk got off with some green bird! Simon Pegg was actually GOOD! Hooray! I even remembered who Captain Pike was, and that he ended his days only being able to communicate through a flashing LED which I think I managed to secretly impress mcgazz with. Don't get me started on that whole Leonard-Nimoy-Spock-Other-Actor-Spock Grandfather Paradox thing though. You wouldn't believe how long it took me to understand that they weren't going to be caught up in some never ending time loop, presenting yet more proof to the world that physics is not my strong point.

After all of that, myself and mcgazz bumped into his friend Jenny and her fella, with the four of us deciding that the only right and proper course of action after watching a ridiculous action film would be to go to the pub and get totally shitfaced. Which we did with aplomb. So much so in fact that I found myself sobering up during Eurovision which was a strange experience. I'm mildly gutted that the German entry didn't win, with their bizarre bright orange version of Sam Sparro at the helm, but at the same time I'm also quite glad the UK didn't win either, if only because our entry just appeared to involve a woman screaming for five minutes. I was however amused to see in yesterday's News of the World that she had managed to restore the nation's pride by coming FIFTH. Hoorah for low expectations!

As for this week, well, I have work to do. Work which involves me having to make a Chocolate Baked Alaska, drink lots of free cider, watch The Damned and John Foxx live, and-rather bizarrely-interview my own father. Fun Bloody Times.

WELL, AT LEAST I WON'T STARVE

Wed, 13 May 2009 14:44:57 GMT

Much as I may moan, bitch and complain about my profession, there are times when simple things remind me that actually, being a Journalist is a really fucking cool job.

What's brought on this sudden reappraisal of my career on such a cold, grey windy day? Well, it's probably got something do with the fact that I've just returned home to Miss Cay Towers to discover that some nice PR person has sent me my own bodyweight in ice cream.

What's that turn of phrase the young people use nowadays? Oh yes. OM NOM NOM.

I STARTED SOMETHING I COULDN'T FINISH

Tue, 12 May 2009 14:11:17 GMT

When I made the decision to pack in my job and go freelance back in February, I knew that it wouldn't always be easy. That there would be times where I lay awake at night fretting about bills, money (or, indeed the lack of it), late payments, small claims court judgements and wondering where the next pay cheque would be coming from. I knew then that what would keep me going would be the kindness of others-namely my parents and my boyfriend, so I could remain fed, watered and (relatively) ignorant of the wolves baying at my door.

Alas, I appear to well and truly bloody mired in one of those situations at the moment. I'm owed rather a lot of money (well £2k to be exact. Please don't mug me if you see me in the street) from one of my clients which was supposed to be paid to me last Thursday. Thursday rolls around...and there's no cheque. "Oh well," says I. "They probably sent it out via second class delivery. I'm sure I'll see it by Friday...Monday at the very latest!" Christ. Sometimes I shock myself with my blind naivety.

Anyway, you can guess what happened. There are currently moths fluttering around my bank balance and I am reduced to living with my parents until my cashflow issues reconcile themselves this Friday. How do I know it's this Friday? Because I threatened to do a sit in at the offices of my creditors if they didn't fucking cough-up ASAP. Because Lord knows that sometimes there is nothing more terrifying in life than an angry skint bellowing Northern woman.

Being reduced to living at my family home is a bit of an eye opener. Whilst my beloved childhood domicile contains Lion Bar ice creams, a high speed broadband connection and an entire cupboard packed out with various different types of tea (including my personal favourite, Yorkshire Tea), I keep forgetting the various quirks my parents have. Like my Dad's love of making up songs about news items on North West Tonight. Or the truly bizarre way in which my mother's mind works (I asked her help before on a pitch I was working on about famous musical couples, and the first thing she said was SPANDAU BALLET! It appears that in her head, they're all some kind of incredibly camp Village People-esque Gay Commune). Or indeed, the fact that my sister still thinks I go to work in an office, so when she saw me sat in a dressing gown eating a bacon sandwich at 8am, she took it upon herself to sneer at me Don't you HAVE a Job to go to?. This, readers, coming from a 21 year old woman who still lives at home, gets all of her food bought for her, and whose parents tidy her room on a daily basis (although I think this might be down to nosiness rather than OCD).

Oh well. I shouldn't complain really. At least I have work coming in, and besides, being so skint I am actually unable to afford to leave the house means I can spend more time pitching lovely editors for work, transcribing interviews, writing features and Yugoslavian Peach Cookie recipes and, most importantly of all, updating my Livejournal which I'm sure you're all grateful for you lucky lucky people. After all, this blog is bloody famous now after it gained a mention in an interview I did for Journalism.co.uk Spot the blatant plug there. Which probably means I should put more in here than just continually moaning about my fiscal difficulties.

As an aside, christ I really do hope I get paid on Friday. It's Eurovision this Saturday and I'm not sure I can watch it sober. And besides. If I get drunk, I will be slurring too much to sing along (badly) to my favourite songs, something which I am sure mcgazz will be very grateful for...

SHITS AND GIGGLES

Thu, 07 May 2009 14:30:41 GMT

A FEW THINGS:

I was expecting a cheque for a LOT of money to arrive in the post today. It didn't come. Hence why I am still sat in my pants at *checks watch* 3.09pm after having a bit of a cry. I also have very wet hair and am wearing sexy sexy pyjamas. It appears as though freelancer life is making me lose both my sense of style as well as my dignity.

I did, however, bake a really nice loaf of bread this morning in an attempt to tame my frazzled nerves. I also wrote that recipe. I like the fact that by writing for a domestic, crafty blog, I can pretend I actually have some knowledge of the dark arts which are traditionally practised by women. Don't ask me to do your ironing though. There be dragons.

Oh well. I have at least managed to get some work today. And those lovely people at the Manchester Evening News have asked me to interview Anastasia tomorrow for MONEY. I haven't got a fucking clue what to ask her, although my friend Alex suggested "Have you ever soiled yourself live on stage? Ricky Martin said you did, and far be it from anyone to call him a liar."

My bedroom-SLASH-office is a fucking tip. Does anyone want to come round and tidy it up for me? I could make a collage out of all the crisp packets and breadcrumbs I keep finding in my bed. This is a JOKE by the way. I do have some standards. Sort of.

MANCHESTER PEOPLE! Does anyone want to come and see FIGHTSTAR with me tonight? It will cost you nowt bar a pint and perhaps your dignity. Also, I can't actually guarantee that you'll get to stroke Charlie-from-Busted's eyebrows or anything like that either, but it's worth a shot if you feel like it. However, if you get busted and thrown out by security, I don't know you, right?

THE GENERATION GAME

Sun, 12 Apr 2009 10:00:36 GMT

HAPPY ZOMBIE JESUS DAY READERS! Because I am a good daughter (and also because I am a painting and decorating widow this weekend), I decided to spend this Easter with the Family McDermott. It's a pretty good deal all things considered. I whip up a few delicious cakes for them (for example, yesterday I made a Cinnamon Bun Loaf and a Chocolate Babka), and in return, I get to sit around eating, drinking and watching Season 1 of The Wire (I'm on Episode 5 and have managed to develop the biggest goddamn crush on McNulty. Sorry The Boyfriend.)

Because these movable-feasts are often see as the perfect opportunity for a bit of family bonding, I have also spoken to my three surviving grandparents. I have a sneaking suspicion that they may have been passing each other notes on the sly, because the tone of their conversation appeared to have one, very specific set theme.

GRANDAD MCDERMOTT: "So our Chris....when you thinking of settling down and getting married?"
ME: "I'm not getting married Grandad McDermott. My career comes first!"

GRANDPA EARL: "So my little Jenny." Editors note: My middle name is Jennifer and my Grandpa Earl always calls me "his little Jenny." "When is that Scotsman of yours going to make an honest woman out of you?"
ME: "I'm not getting married Grandpa Earl. My career comes first!"

BUBBIE: "So Grandaughter. When are you going to get married to that Catholic, settle down and start making some nice Jewish babies?"
ME: "I'm telling you what I told the other two. I'm NOT getting married, and I'm NOT going to start making babies. MY CAREER COMES FIRST.

THE PARENTS OVER BREAKFAST THIS MORNING: "So Christina. When...."
ME: "ASK ME ANYTHING ABOUT MARRIAGE OR BABIES AND I'M GOING HOME."

THIS is why I never spend Easter with my family.

MISS CAY'S BJ MADNESS

Sun, 29 Mar 2009 17:31:59 GMT

If you ever want to see someone forcibly emit the contents of a cup of tea across a living room, tell them you're off to be a BJ for the next month. I did this to mcgazz when I walked through the front door of our Bootle pied á terre on Friday night and the look on his face was priceless.

"I thought you were a Journalist, not a bloody porn star!" he spluttered. "Why yes dear, I am." I responded. "BJ stands for BROADCAST JOURNALIST. What on earth did you think it meant?

But yes. Crude and unfunny joke over and done with, I'm off to work as a television type person at premier Mancunian television station Channel M for the next four weeks. I'm currently watching the news bulletin at the moment doing a bit of preliminary research, and it looks like I'm going to covering such hot breaking stories as a goose which is currently flapping about with an arrow stuck in its side, and yet more Google Streetview-type madness. (Interesting fact-if you look at my old house on Streetview, you can clearly see some of my dresses hanging in the window. How cool is that?)

I'm mildly excited, and mildly absolutely bricking it. Having never done TV journalism before, I'm terrified I'm going to mess up and/or look like some large lump of flesh with a lisp spouting absolute bollocks. Anyway, in an obviously ill-advised plug, if you don't already watch Channel M, and fancy giving me a bit of moral support, you can tune in at Sky Channel 203 or via www.channelm.co.uk. Oh Go on. Please. 1980s Children's Television personality Andy Crane is our news anchor (although alas, he is now sans Ed the Duck), and you might even see Frank Sidebottom and everything.

SATURDAY NIGHT'S ALRIGHT FOR FIGHTING

Sat, 14 Feb 2009 16:15:58 GMT

As a rule, I don't really do Valentines Day for a whole host of reasons. Mainly because I was single for three years, so I can remember all too well just how horrible this day can be. I've also been dumped on Valentines Day, been violently ill on Valentines Day, and had to put up with a whole host of mardy boyfriends in my time who have used February 14th as a great excuse to have a right cob on.

However, if this isn't the best Valentines Day present in the world then I don't know what is.

I do hope mcgazz didn't just get me this because I told him in no uncertain terms that if he bought me flowers, I'd feed them to his next door neighbour's dog.

LEND ME SUGAR, I AM YOUR NEIGHBOUR

Thu, 12 Feb 2009 16:35:54 GMT

Get your own valentinr

Just because I have a boyfriend now who actually pays attention to me doesn't mean that I'm not still an attention seeking little scamp.

In other news, I'm off to see Simon Reynolds give a talk on Post Punk this evening. One of his fellow speakers is Una Baines. As in original-member-of-The-Fall-who-was-Mark-E-Smith's-first-girlfriend-Una Baines. Blimey. Do you think if I ask her nicely, she'll give me the knitting pattern for one of the tanktops Mr. Smith was so fond of wearing back in 1976?

OM NOM NOM

Thu, 05 Feb 2009 18:36:27 GMT

Hello chaps. I'm just popping my head over the parapet to say that I'm going to be Liveblogging Masterchef tonight over at Dollymix. You should join me!

In case you're wondering what I'm having for my dinner, tonight I will be serving up ~~Baby Panda eyelids marinated in the tears of a four year old child~~, Lamb Burgers on Olive Ciabatta rolls with roasted mediterranean vegetables and homemade chips. And wine. Lots of it considering that today I:

:: Managed to give an entire department of my company a nervous breakdown (a woman started crying when she heard my voice. This is never good).
:: Have hot candle wax dripped on a part of my flesh where hot candle wax should never really go.
:: Nearly got killed by a renegade bus driver deciding to try that whole "momentum" thing he learned in GCSE Physics whilst I was attempting to get down the stairs.

Oh. And by the way. Despite being absolutely sodding freezing, Manchester hasn't been snowed in once. RAISE YOUR GAME WEATHER.

I'LL SLEEP WHEN I'M DEAD

Mon, 02 Feb 2009 19:56:11 GMT

HELLO READERS! How the bloody hell are you? Are you managing to persevere through the Nuclear Winter that Britain currrently appears to be in the grip of? I'm sure you'll all be thrilled to hear that I am doing rather well thank you very much. I owe this state of being all to the joys of Morrison's Apple Crumble (with a rather obscene amount of custard), beef stew with mashed potatoes, and a fantastically comfortable duvet which almost makes up for the fact that my boiler is being (to use the Northern parlance) a little bit fucking mardy. None of these things make up for the fact that this morning I almost slam dunked my arse onto some ice due to poor grippage on my cowboy boots. Only the arm of mcgazz saved me-hooray for conveniently located boyfriends!

Anyway, much as I would love to stick around and compare snow anecdotes, and the best way to build a "Protect and Survive" esque shelter out of a few pillows and five pairs of high heels, alas, my time here is going to be brief-well, for the next fortnight at least. The lovely people at Shiny Media have asked me to be the guest editor of Dollymix for the next two weeks, which means I get to babble on about my love of Masterchef, Darts and inappropriate Bristolian accents on the new series of Skins (which mcgazz made me watch this weekend, and which is worth a whole entry on its own quite frankly) at a whole new audience of willing subjects.

Anyway, please please please please PLEASE read it, if only because every little piece of work I get takes me one step closer to my ultimate goal of becoming a full-time-freelance-Journalist type lady by the beginning of 2010. I pretty much have a Blue Peter esque chart on my wall charting my progress towards this ambition I'm that serious. Oh, and if you wish to leave rather lovely comments stating Ooooh, that Miss Cay is a literary genius! I certainly would like to read more of her ouevre on this rather fine website! then that would be rather spiffing as well. x

P.S-In case you're wondering, the Bingo Card has been nicked off the rather spiffing offensive_mango.

PRETTY MUCH EVERYWHERE, IT'S GONNA BE HOT

Mon, 26 Jan 2009 13:29:03 GMT

:: On Saturday night I took my bird on a date to see Grace Jones. We saw her (fantastically fine) arse (no 60 year old woman should have an arse like that-I swear she must have sold something to the devil in order to remain so well preserved), and I am now coveting various pieces of her exotic headgear-in particular the glittery hazard lights. Unsurprisingly, she was absolutely amazing, and I ended the night dancing in a shower of ticker tape, laughing at strange Swedish girls on the 192 home, marvelling at the lack of clothing Mancunian girls go out wearing nowadays, and staying up until 3am giggling and eating chips. If I were to drop dead on the spot right now, I would die a happy woman.

:: One of my American (Floridian to be more precise) cousins befriended me on Facebook last night. In his interests section, he lists Chilling with my heterosexual life partners Mike and Brian. Rednecks there.

BOW WOW WOW

Thu, 22 Jan 2009 13:31:26 GMT

Sigh. I do wish people would stop talking to me about work affairs during my lunch hour. People, people, PEOPLE! This is ME TIME! Indeed, this is the only time I get during the working day to officially check my emails, read the Guardian, check my blogs and just generally piss about on t'internet. Don't take that away from me!

My parents are off to Miami tomorrow to visit my Grandmother (I've told my mother to delete my Bubbie's new Facebook profile by any means necessary). To say I am seething with jealousy over this development would be an understatement, but I am taking heart in the fact that whilst they'll be sunning themselves, I (might) be seeing Grace Jones on Saturday night. Boo-ya! My Dad called me up last night to have a quick gloat whilst reminding me to keep tabs on McDermott Jr and nag her to feed the cats, and the conversation came round to Obama's inaugration. Unfortunately, I missed his speech because I was in the Gym at the time being slowly tortured to death by my new personal trainer (she's very nice, but I'm convinced she's trying to kill me through an intricate method comprising mainly of squats and large weights), and by the time I got back to Chorlton, all Sky News and BBC News 24 were showing were the Obama's walking. FOR THREE SODDING HOURS. Fucking hell, was this an inaugration or a relay race? I kept expecting to see George Bush come running up to Obama with a baton of some sorts. My Dad appeared to be infatuated with Aretha Franklin's hat, which he described as being adorned with a giant arrow which made her look like a giant road sign.

Honestly? I don't think it's all that bad. Indeed, there's a part of me which wants to go out and get one myself, although the weight of the thing does look as though it might crush my puny neck right down in my chest cavity. Lo and behold, I came to work this morning to find a press release in my inbox informing me that such a mighty piece of apparel can be purchased from here.

I get paid on Wednesday. Please, can someone with more sense than me remind me that spunking my monthly salary on a hat is a damn stupid idea? Do you think I could possibly make one out of some cunningly altered cardboard boxes and leftover Fuzzy Felt?

1992 WAS A HELL OF A YEAR.

Tue, 20 Jan 2009 13:37:56 GMT

Ahh Facebook. Just when I was growing to like you, you go and throw a curveball of such epic proportions in my path that I seriously start considering surgically removing you from my life altogether. I got an email on Sunday to inform me that my GRANDMOTHER is on Facebook. Yes, you heard that right, my GRANDMOTHER. I only have one surviving Grandmother, and she is big, Jewish, way too nosy for her own good, and isn't too keen on the idea of me currently dating a Catholic (so much so, that the last time I spoke to her, I had to pass the phone to my mother before she started relating ways and means of circumcising mcgazz in his sleep). The thought of her poking around my profile strikes a chill deep in the pit of my heart. I don't know what the required etiquette is for refusing to befriend your Grandmother on a popular social networking site, but I do know that the next time I meet my son-of-a-bitch of an Uncle, he will have a lot of explaining to do.

If this wasn't enough, some lovely chap put up a picture of me in primary school circa 1992. My professional-grown-up-darling-of-the-media image has now been SMASHED by the fact that you can now see what I looked like back in the days when I wore cheap polyester, had bucked teeth and bushy hair (insert Not much has changed there then, eh Miss Cay? quips here). Arguably this is no worse than the myriad pictures of me in existence on the internet where I am so pissed my eyes are pointing in different directions, but I can't say I'm too keen on my old primary school classmates all now asking to be my "friend." It sounds mean, but bloody hell, I have absolutely nothing to say to these people, particularly as I've not spoken to many of them since 1994, and back then I was remorselessly bullied because my parents bought my trainers from Woolworths and I still had the remnants of an American accent (an affectation which was knocked out of me in secondary school to the point where I became the uncouth Mancunian everyone knows and loves).

Oh well. Perhaps I shouldn't be too horrified by my childhood self being emblazoned across the internetz. Particularly as I watched Wall-E last night and sniffled my way through a fair bit of the proceedings. I am 26 years old and not on my period. Obviously, I really need to start growing some (metaphorical) balls.

REASONS TO BE CHEERFUL, 1-2-3.

Tue, 13 Jan 2009 13:40:26 GMT

For reasons best known to the whirling cogs and levers of my psyche, I have been gripped by a sense of dread since waking up this morning. Unfortunately, I woke up an hour before my alarm went off this morning, so I spent the first part of my day bathing my bedsheets in a cold sweat about everything and nothing. I've spent this morning bemoaning the slow passage of time in my office, and trying to punch my fears down with the iron fist of good music and numerous cups of tea, but for some reason nothing is shifting it. It's awful. I feel as though I spend an awful lot of my time at the moment fretting and panicking about the maybe's of life and the dark shadows lurking around the corners. Add this to the usual round of January blues and missing people who inconviniently live on the other side of the River Mersey, and it's a surprise I don't fall apart in self-pitying ribbons every time I walk out of my front door. Anxiety readers, it's a bitch and then you die.

I'm trying to alleviate all of this but focusing on the good things in life. I had a wonderful weekend with mcgazz involving pubs, persian food, Malteasers for breakfast, exotic teas, being introduced to Terrahawks (the 1980s was an interesting decade, wasn't it?), and managing to write my first proper feature of 2009 which-if I do say so myself-is pretty damn good, even by my high standards. I'm off to see Animal Collective tomorrow night, the prospect of which is making me so excited I could almost pop from imminent freak-folk viewing excitement, I watched Little Miss Sunshine last night which was rather sweet in that blackly comic way American indie films excel at, I have (just) enough money to see me through the month, I have housemates who I drink cups of tea with and who make me laugh so hard that last night I fell off the sofa, I've discovered that the Rubber Duckie in the upstairs bathroom doubles up as a shower radio (which led to me having a bit of a skank to Lee "Scratch" Perry whilst exfoliating last night). If I can just fight back the fear, life's not so bad really. It would just be nice to know I'm not on my own sometimes.

THE END (REDUX)

Tue, 06 Jan 2009 13:46:32 GMT

Oh dear, Bye Bye Livejournal. Oh well, it was only a matter of time I suppose. I for one have had a good old time riding the arse out of this thing for the past *checks dates* five-and-a-bit (Fucking HELL) years anyway. To tell you the truth, it doesn't come as all that much of a shock. Hell, even I'm surprised that a social network which mainly consists of internet drama and really quite disturbing Harry Potter based erotica has lasted for this long. Tonight it looks as though I shall be undergoing the long and laborious process of backing up both of my Livejournals (Who can forget the fabulously emo stylings of my younger self at 666inmyheart?) before the Russians pull the plug on us lot faster than they can take gas away from the Ukranians. Well, at least my work rate will go up anyway. And I may finally get to leave my desk at lunchtimes. However, if myself and mcgazz ever split up I'm a bit fucked in terms of booty seeing as the thing I've been most successful at extracting from Livejournal during my duration on here is sex.

So far 2009 isn't progressing too badly. Last night I felt a bit sad and lonely on my return home, so I changed my bedsheets, popped my fairylights on, drank a few cups of tea from my favourite Ramones mug, listened to Miles Davis playing So What whilst staring out at the frozen Mancunian night, and (most importantly) watched Masterchef. Oh yes, it's that time of year again, the time of year where I revel in watching two overweight men with bizarre accents shout at each other whilst depositing unholy amounts of food into their gaping maws. I really wish I knew why I was so addicted to crappy televisual food programmes. Then again, I suppose it passes the time, something which, if Livejournal does disappear, I will have a lot more of.

Also WRESTLING PEOPLE OF LIVEJOURNAL! I've been offered an interview with "Kurt Angle" for the M.E.N. Is this good? Should I say Yes? What kind of questions do you ask wrestlers short of "Please please please can I hit you with this chair to see what happens?"