Thursday, August 28, 2008

Identity Crisis

How do we define ourselves? We could be in a certain state of mind that generates how we see our situation at that particular point. For example, which of the following is true?
  • Well employed with a skilled job that gives me the freedom and flexibility to be who I wish to be or a trapped, bored corporate whore?
  • Outgoing, friendly and helpful to those who approach, or hiding a ‘Burn Everything’ mentality?
  • Lucky to live in a land of plenty where I am rich enough to live comfortably, or a fat, grossly self-indulgent bucket of lard?
  • Highly educated and seeking further enlightenment through study, or hiding from responsibility behind academia?
  • The proud owner of a lovely seaside house that keeps me warm and nurtures me, or trapped into a cycle of mortgage repayments and negative equity?
  • Tinged with a first world country healthy glow and the benefits of the National Health Service, or a neurotic, self deluded harpy…

You see where I’m going with this? Incidentally the answer is yes to everything.

GD is: at work; perspiring; extremely anti-social; wondering what to do now this stage of my formal education has ended; suffering from a week without television; watching too many DVD box sets (Dexter, Heros 1 &2, Six Feet Under, which I’m loving) and having a Tarantino Fest

Sunday, August 17, 2008


This is a peculiar phase in my life. Certain places, times and people are coming full circle in my life to a natural close. Some of it is desperately sad. Most of it doesn’t even affect me directly. The effect it has on my psyche is an entirely different matter.

Throughout our lives we build unconscious bonds with places that come to hold great significance at key parts of our lives. One such place is my friend Tish’s childhood home. It still is her home in many ways, despite her having not resided there for any significant period of time for the past eighteen years.

Tish in TX Maxx. Yes, the bright orange PVC was only being modelled for fun....shame you can't see the gigantic crotch hole that made it even more special...

It’s a nondescript 1960’s semi detached house on a pleasant, family orientated estate. It’s right next to our old infant / junior school, with the swathes of grass and gorse bushes that marked our childhood boundaries now replaced by ten foot metal prison fences and uniformly flat lawn. My old classroom has been demolished: Tish’s bedroom overlooks where it used to stand.

At this house I first got drunk and paraded about in silver tights, I first wielded a whip (don’t ask…!), I watched Tish high karate kick her bedroom wall when her heated rollers wouldn’t work, and in this room we would always return following a hectic night out rock clubbing, to fall into camp beds her dad had set up for us, complete with hot water bottles to keep us warm. I would change here from the parentally approved demure long skirts into far smaller creations, whilst I constructed elaboratly linked drinking straws to allow us to drink from the same two litre bottle of cider on the back of the bus to town. And one memorable night my dear friends managed to turn my face green and I learned all about crabs (the sexual disease kind)…

Tish’s dad is very frail and the house has to go. We stayed there again recently, just the two of us, drinking wine, eating chocolate and discussing the incontinence of age. Looking at pictures of us twenty years ago (my god I had bad hair: on one photo I look like Princess Anne) was a sharp reminder of how far we’ve come. We listened to Nightowls, a regional radio programme that was the required listening when we were kids, if only to see which of our friends was ringing up to confess to an illicit crush or illegitimate baby.

So I say goodbye to something that has been a vast reference point in my life. Farewell to old memories. I need to move on. Stop drifting.


GD: listening to the Bunnymen live on; finishing my university portfolio two weeks ahead of schedule (no, I can't believe it either - there's just the final edit and presentation to complete). Contemplating the pleasures of my new bathroom which is currently being installed (thank the lady gods I have two toilets as the bathroom's been out of bounds for four days). Being nibbled by a very bored and farting dog.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Ineffectual Flailing

Will someone please give me a solid kick up the arse and tell me to stop time wasting?


GD is: Procrastinating, expanding, eating waaaaaaaaaay to much sugar, not wanting to get off her ass and go to work / complete her dissertation / be productive and smiley. Listening to Kate Bush. Watching way to many Olympic fringe events. Since when did I like synchronised diving and clay pigeon shooting so much?

Thursday, August 07, 2008

Night Before The Morning After

That's a completely stupid post title. It has no relevance. The whole point, it was a line in a song that just played in the background as I was sat here in a crippling ennui of writers' block. Seems to have achieved it's objective, at least I'm typing now, even if my head is just going about in concentric rings. Fact is, it's been so long since the last night before the morning after I have no idea what it's like anymore to experience that fizzy sensation of starting a night all dolled up with many places to go and many pigs to snog.

It was supposed to happen last week. Was supposed to be the Mayfair Rock night reunion (yes, yes, reunions are sad and pathetic. But this one would have been special. Mr Claypole. Mr Rock. Pigs of the Mayfair. Torpedo Tits and Tiara (who had wheels. I really wanted to see if she still had wheels)). Should have known it wouldn't happen. Truth be told, I'm not quite sure why we didn't go. Think it goes back to the aforementioned ennui.

So no dolling up, no red lipstick and false nails revisited, just a sofa retreat with a Heroes box set (yes, I am the only person on the planet who hasn't watched the entire first series of Heroes, though I'm up to number 17 now, so will soon be a normal, functional member of the human race again). Gin and Tonic. A few desultory texts amongst friends also supposed to be Mayfair Revisited who'd also hidden in the sanctuary of their sofas. We did raise a glass to the Queen Mother (Chin! Chin! God rest her soul!). But it doesn't really make up for missing a hard night boogying on down to Nirvana, NIN, GnR, Irom Maiden and the obligatory Sabbath (usually Paranoid. Never changed).

So life is sucky right now. Work is stressful (but I wouldn't be anywhere else for all the Russian rubles in the world). I have absolutely no clue what to do with the parent who appears to be developing dementia and is a real physical danger to himself and others on the roads in his shiny new, hire purchase bought 4x4 (what were the garage thinking, giving a 71 year old man of no income credit?!). He's also a hysterical, often nasty man prone to shouting abuse at people in the street (that's not the onset of dementia, it's the product of a grossly inflated ego. He's always had that!). He's also entertaining, occasionally funny, scared and lonely, despite my occasional thoughts that revolve around removing his head and boiling it.

P's mum has recovered to a certain extent, but there are a myriad of problems still to be dealt with. He's doing amazingly well, given how much strain he's under.

So, fellow bloggers, I need to party. Need to paint myself white and black and purple (giant bruise - yay!). Want to wear fishnets and inappropriately large boots, preferably with pointy toes. Want to wear purple victoriana dresses and decolletage (sassy not slutty). Want to sip long G&Ts with ice and slice, and feel alive again. Feel young again. Feel worthy again.

Instead I sit and adjust my finances for the credit crunch. I charge my retro ladden ipod. I bite my nails and scrape my hair back after removing the grey I found lurking within. I buy industrial strength bosom scaffolding to cope with gravity. I wait for the boy to get back from the hospital, tired and sad, when we'll both put on a smile and make like it's all OK.

GD is: thinking about shoes, college deadlines (thinking, not acting...), visiting the town of her name tomorrow and very foolishly listening to Disintegration by the Cure which is currently on Pictures of You and doing nothing for her humour at all...