So last Saturday GM &band has a gig in Shoreditch. I had an invite. “only if I’m on the guestlist,” I half joked. “Of course,” he said. I get there, there’s some sort of 30th birthday going on. Hmmm. Wrong bar. He told me the wrong pub. Prat. I get to the right pub. No guestlist. Prat. I’m on the brink of saying “fuck this I’m going home” when he turns up, makes me ay an entire five pounds to get and then fucks off again. Dick. A random boy at the bar buys me a drink. Hmm small consolation. The rest of the night is spent with GM’s ex Mental Michelle as I know noone else. The band go home without saying goodbye to me. The next day I get a text saying “come to Leicester for a party…” no thank you. You missed the boat.
So GM is written off the list. It’ all about Daniel-hopefully-not-a-spaniel now. No news on that front.
In a fit of a desperation about my fat thighs I join up to a 80s aerobics class. This is exactly like being the fat awkward one at ballet aged 6 all over again. Everyone else knows instinctively what to do. I’m permanently going the wrong way, can’t move legs and arms at the same time and I’m very aware I’m the only one who doesn’t own trainers or a tracksuit. I’m wearing leggings and an awful t-shirt. Hmmm.
Exercise, I have often said, is bad for your health. Proof comes the next day when I’m full of a very snotty and bloody annoying cold. That evening I go to see Friendly Fires with Pippa. We’re on the front row. I get through a million tissues. The band are okay. I’m uninspired. Hmmm must be the cold. I get home all I want is my bed, porridge and a hot water bottle. Instead I get a text out of the blue. Its Posh Josh! Ha! Oh!
PJ: hey, how it going? You up to much?? Xx
Me: well helloes I just got home from friendly fires gig. You? Hows things?
PJ: ah cool how was it? Im just on my way home from Lincoln, we thought it would be funny to take some Viagra in the van on our way home… wasn’t really that funny. Xx
Me: dear lord! You’ll all be bumming each other before you meet Milton Keynes!
PJ: Ha, it wasn’t proper stuff. Everyone just feels sick lol, always fun wasting money on fake Viagra
Me: ha ha! Well I’m whacked out on painkillers. Probably not as much fun. Hmmm. Enjoy your night.
PJ: ah the classic painkillers ey. You too give me a text if you get bored, I shall be up for some time… the joys of driving to stupid places. Xx
Me: I might be up for a while, I’m rocking the Hendrix. When’s the next London gig? I’m not entirely convinced you know who you’re texting x
PJ: lol of course I no… good time in Brixton :) um I’m not entirely sure tbh. Where bouts in London do you live? Xx
Me: Holloway in north London. It’s a fun place to be x
PJ: Is that near royal Holloway uni by any chance.. probs a stupid question. X
Me: yeah it is and the met uni is on m street why? Fishing for an invite?!
PJ: ah coz I’ve been up there a couple of times to see a mate at uni. I wasn’t fishing lol, are u handing me an invite then. X
Me: oh noes! I really wouldn’t know what to do with three boys on Viagra… really… I wouldn’t…
PJ: lol no its cool we’re on our way to mates house anyway. Lol whats your preference on the number of guys on fake Viagra then x
Me: Its all about quality not quantity x
PJ: is that one then. X
Me: I’m sure a lady never tells. Anyways I’m off to bed … I think I took too much aspirin :s night x
PJ: ok tell me one day. Night night xx
Sunday, 17 May 2009
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
'Bustin makes me feel good
Daniel rhymes with spaniel. I dearly wished it rhymed with something else. I have this theory about boys’ names. I believe their most defining characteristics rhyme with their names. Evidence from exes so far; Rob was a bit of knob (Robtheknob), Ross was a tosser (Ross=toss), Matt was definitely a twat, Andy was a paedophile – ok, I haven’t worked that one yet. Its not just my boyfriends who have rhyme-names. My raw friend’s current on-off is Nickthedick. And Pippa’s current new beau is Meke. So far he is a geek and not a freak. Lets hope that lasts.
Anyway, Daniel. He’s a supply teacher at one of the schools I work at. We’re only in at the same time one day a week so opportunities of flirting are slim. Opportunities of flirting in front of children are higher but oh gosh, I’m not that shameless. Not by half. I have been trying to invent reasons just to talk to him but I’ve not been doing so well.
Tuesday lunch time, I get a phone call from one of the senior members of staff. She has decided we’re not doing the sign-song the children have spent two weeks learning at tomorrow’s special opening as the children just aren’t good enough. Lets me just re-iterate this is a special needs school and these kids are never gonna do a High School Musical. Sitting in assembly and taking part is an achievement enough for them, and one which should be recognised. Following the phone call I drop everything at the school I’m actually at and run, literally run, to the other school to sort this mess out. I had to break up a fight amongst teenagers on the way there which left me with little time. I ran like the wind. Arrived all red faced and sweaty and probably dishevelled. I walk into the assembly just in the nick of time for one final rehearsal before tomorrow’s opening. Oh! There’s Daniel. I grin at him. He smiles back. He has actually noticed I exist. The whole of the school is sat in a big circle with a hole in the middle. I’m shoved into the hole and have to sign to everyone. We do the song several times, so I start at 12 o’clock and work my way round each time we do a verse. I get to Daniel. He’s sat with five children. I’m so obviously only signing to Daniel and singing with my cat screetch voice. He smiles at me, with what I take for genuine happiness. Later on, I wash my hands in the toilet. In the mirror I notice there is still salad in my teeth. All that time I thought he was smiling at me he was probably just laughing.
I spend my evening with Pippa in a Ghostbusters remake. I have my heart set on playing Janine, the squeaky voiced secretary. I have to audition for the post so give it my finest high pitched Noo York drone. I get the part, hurrah! Its gets to my scene… huh?! Someone else is on the stage in my role. She’s not even as good as me So much for Bustin makes me feel good. Bustin makes me feel a bit rejected.
Wednesday. It’s the day of the opening. We have a special celebrity guest coming to cut the proverbial ribbon – it’s a family friendly tv comedian. The comedian isn’t given a microphone. Noone can hear what he says. The children wouldn’t understand it anyway. They don’t understand why they’re out in the rain for an hour with all these strange people. The whole thing is a total farce. The police are here too. With horses. I take some of the bored children to stroke the horses and have a bit more fun.
At some point during the morning I’m standing next to Daniel when one of the managers is asking about training needs. Oh yes! I’m offering training in symbol communication. Why doesn’t Daniel come? “well, I’m only supply,” he starts. “not sure the school would pay for me.”
“But its free! It’s the course I run. You would have to do it with me though I’m afraid”
He smiles. I swoon, ever so slightly. I hope noone noticed.
“Zilpha is doing a session next Friday, why don’t you go?” says the manager
“Well, I am but if you’re not in I have time on any Wednesday afternoon. I’m very flexible. Whenever you like really” please, please make an individual appointment. I want you all to myself. Oh wait. Did I say that aloud? No. phew.
“Friday will be fine,” he says.
There is some happiness in my heart.
After lunch its time for the signed song. The other speech therapists are out on a training course. The literacy teacher is out on a course. All the proficient signers are out. Its just me and the useless managers to get this together. The rain is still splattering. The comedian has gone. Most of the parents have gone. The councillors have gone. A few laggers hang about. The head introduces the song. Badly, of course. I’m suddenly on centre stage. That wasn’t supposed to happen. The children were supposed to be at the centre of this. This is possibly the most humiliating five minutes of my life. Nothing has gone to plan and I end up signing in front of the whole school and guests. Noone joins in. Not one person. Not even Daniel.
I spend the rest of the afternoon hiding in my office trying to get some peace and quiet. Oh fuck. The tone deaf music teacher starts up next door. He not only has no ability to sing he doesn’t seem to be aware he can’t. *sigh* what do I have to look forward to this evening? Oh noes. Posh Josh’s band are playing in my neighbourhood. No thanks, boys. There’s only so much humiliation and pain I can take in one day.
Anyway, Daniel. He’s a supply teacher at one of the schools I work at. We’re only in at the same time one day a week so opportunities of flirting are slim. Opportunities of flirting in front of children are higher but oh gosh, I’m not that shameless. Not by half. I have been trying to invent reasons just to talk to him but I’ve not been doing so well.
Tuesday lunch time, I get a phone call from one of the senior members of staff. She has decided we’re not doing the sign-song the children have spent two weeks learning at tomorrow’s special opening as the children just aren’t good enough. Lets me just re-iterate this is a special needs school and these kids are never gonna do a High School Musical. Sitting in assembly and taking part is an achievement enough for them, and one which should be recognised. Following the phone call I drop everything at the school I’m actually at and run, literally run, to the other school to sort this mess out. I had to break up a fight amongst teenagers on the way there which left me with little time. I ran like the wind. Arrived all red faced and sweaty and probably dishevelled. I walk into the assembly just in the nick of time for one final rehearsal before tomorrow’s opening. Oh! There’s Daniel. I grin at him. He smiles back. He has actually noticed I exist. The whole of the school is sat in a big circle with a hole in the middle. I’m shoved into the hole and have to sign to everyone. We do the song several times, so I start at 12 o’clock and work my way round each time we do a verse. I get to Daniel. He’s sat with five children. I’m so obviously only signing to Daniel and singing with my cat screetch voice. He smiles at me, with what I take for genuine happiness. Later on, I wash my hands in the toilet. In the mirror I notice there is still salad in my teeth. All that time I thought he was smiling at me he was probably just laughing.
I spend my evening with Pippa in a Ghostbusters remake. I have my heart set on playing Janine, the squeaky voiced secretary. I have to audition for the post so give it my finest high pitched Noo York drone. I get the part, hurrah! Its gets to my scene… huh?! Someone else is on the stage in my role. She’s not even as good as me So much for Bustin makes me feel good. Bustin makes me feel a bit rejected.
Wednesday. It’s the day of the opening. We have a special celebrity guest coming to cut the proverbial ribbon – it’s a family friendly tv comedian. The comedian isn’t given a microphone. Noone can hear what he says. The children wouldn’t understand it anyway. They don’t understand why they’re out in the rain for an hour with all these strange people. The whole thing is a total farce. The police are here too. With horses. I take some of the bored children to stroke the horses and have a bit more fun.
At some point during the morning I’m standing next to Daniel when one of the managers is asking about training needs. Oh yes! I’m offering training in symbol communication. Why doesn’t Daniel come? “well, I’m only supply,” he starts. “not sure the school would pay for me.”
“But its free! It’s the course I run. You would have to do it with me though I’m afraid”
He smiles. I swoon, ever so slightly. I hope noone noticed.
“Zilpha is doing a session next Friday, why don’t you go?” says the manager
“Well, I am but if you’re not in I have time on any Wednesday afternoon. I’m very flexible. Whenever you like really” please, please make an individual appointment. I want you all to myself. Oh wait. Did I say that aloud? No. phew.
“Friday will be fine,” he says.
There is some happiness in my heart.
After lunch its time for the signed song. The other speech therapists are out on a training course. The literacy teacher is out on a course. All the proficient signers are out. Its just me and the useless managers to get this together. The rain is still splattering. The comedian has gone. Most of the parents have gone. The councillors have gone. A few laggers hang about. The head introduces the song. Badly, of course. I’m suddenly on centre stage. That wasn’t supposed to happen. The children were supposed to be at the centre of this. This is possibly the most humiliating five minutes of my life. Nothing has gone to plan and I end up signing in front of the whole school and guests. Noone joins in. Not one person. Not even Daniel.
I spend the rest of the afternoon hiding in my office trying to get some peace and quiet. Oh fuck. The tone deaf music teacher starts up next door. He not only has no ability to sing he doesn’t seem to be aware he can’t. *sigh* what do I have to look forward to this evening? Oh noes. Posh Josh’s band are playing in my neighbourhood. No thanks, boys. There’s only so much humiliation and pain I can take in one day.
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
A week in the City
You know those green tags you get to hold wads of paper together? Treasury tags? Yeah? I got one of them holding my trousers up. I sat down in front of a class of teenagers (we were trying to answer some why questions; why do people open the window? Why do people put ice in their drinks? Real toughies. Real toughies to this class anyway) and pop! went not the weasel but the button at the top of my brown cords. That’s what you get for buying clothes in Primark. And for another week of cider drinking and cake munching. Grrrrr. So start the day in humiliation, it can only get worse, right? Well actually it didn’t get too much worse. In fact, it got a lot better; I popped into John Lewis on the way home and bought a bag full of wool to knit a new jumper. When did I get so old?
This weekend was full of people making me feel old. First my friend turns 27 (still a year younger than me) and asks, “How’s your love life Zilpha?”
“Dead. I was seeing someone but now I’m not.”
“Was he much younger than you?”
“What? No! why?”
“Cos they usually are.” And then she reels off a list of losers, invariably younger. Hmph.
Well before I started feeling totally fat and decrepit Pippa and I fly to Glasgow. The bus to Stanstead takes longer than the flight. Its all so exciting! Well, not for Pippa. She was terrified. I couldn’t’ stop giggling. Not every helpful, but take offs are hilarious and way more fun than rollercoasters. We land and Glasgow is almost sunny. For saying I slept on the bus, the plane and the train I’m knackered. We make it as far as cocktails on Sauchiehall Street and totally miss Errors DJing. Nevermind, Saturday is what its all about: The Rakes are in town woohooo! We manage to squeeze in a museum, the School of Art, a fabric warehouse (yes, I’m a total geek), tea in the Mackintosh Tea Rooms a Chinese and an interview with our favourite skinny London art rockers. Sound checks are boring as hell aren’t they? We wait an hour “for the band to have showers” according to tour manager Ash Brown (his actual, real name) even though I rang Jamie and know he’s in the pub with Alan. Just as I think about having a little sleep on the skany sofa Lasse walks in. “I just need to have a shower,” he says. Yawn. Lasse and Chris entertain us in the dressing room with cups of tea and awkward silences waiting for the others to arrive. When they do it’s a whirlwind of “Morrissey came to see us last night!” and tales of drunken fist fights and flying pints of lager on the rest of the tour. “Zilpha, can you do me a favour?” asks Jamie, coyly.
“erm I suppose so. Only if its sexual”
“If I make a cup of tea can you give it to Ash?”
“ok then what?”
“no that’s the joke. Give him a tea and a biscuit and say ‘I know you like a brew at this time’”
The rest of them stifle guffaws. I strongly suspect the joke is on me but do it anyway. Ash accepts his tea and bourbon with grace. The rest of them roll around laughing. I have no idea what that was all about but they can come play practical jokes on me any time. I do like a bourbon (a bit too much judging by my current waistline).
The rest of the evening was spent in the company of two older locals who promised us a night of Galswegian binge drinking. Pippa is on a mission to find a deep fried mars bar. We fail with the urban legend but to get the Galswegians hammered and begging for the beds by 2am, not before we sample a local old man’s pub (Queen karaoke :s) and a soul night which was like gatecrashing someone else’s bad taste wedding.
Sunday, spent eating even more and hoping to feel better soon. The heel falls off my new Office shoes and I spend the rest of the time hobbling unevenly hoping noone notices. Glasgow for all my love has some amazing vegan cafes. Hmmmmmm cake.
I get home and the kitchen ceiling is still drip drip drip drip dripping through the light fixture. Hmmmm. Make a mental note to never turn the light on again.
Monday, Tuesday, same old same old. Wednesday the Rakes at Koko! Yeeha! I spend more of the day on the phone or email trying to get guestlist tickets than actually doing any work. (shhhh don’t tell my boss). But we were promised! Phew eventually they arrive. 5pm (in a vegan café stuffing my face with cake again) a text comes from Jamie, “sure you want the tickets? Cos my mates do too.” Oh noes! We got here first. We give it some welly on the front row. Someone has to keep the crowd going, right? On the way out the bouncer says, “you girls not going to the aftershow.” Aftershow? Oh well if you insist. Point us in the direction of the party! Yeah party! I get hammered (once again) with Jamie’s ex, while Pippa stays sober and serene. I feel like the awkward out of place one in a room full of beautiful people who instinctively know how to dance while I can only wonder what the hell I’m doing here. Suddenly its not so much fun.
On the way home I meet two new cats. Both black and white, one with a tail one without. We make friends. I sit on the pavement stroking them for about an hour. Dear lord. Work in the morning.
Thursday, to be honest, my head has felt better, I drag myself through my day. Oh for sleep. But no. Now its my turn to be horrified. I stupidly arranged a work night out on the London Eye. Sounds lovely, I’m shit scared of heights. I turn green everyone laughs and my head aches from the strain of not being sick. No sooner have we hit the ground than we’re off running to the next Rakes secret (not so secret party). Its ok, but why are the Rifles headlining? They remind me of Robtheknob (rtk). The bassist looks like Rossthetoss (r=t). This is no fun. Ex-boyfriend hell. Pippa ain’t loving it either. All a bit Kasabian. So we leave early. I am once again a bit drunk. How the hell did that happen? Drunk enough to get home and text rtk. He’s awfully friendly. As he is, until it involves actually turning up for something. Now I’m confused again. Do I still like him or not? Bollocks. I think I passed out.
Fridays don’t count. I’m mainly on time for work. Well ok, 20 minutes late. Again. The evening is spent baking and grateful to have a night in. Saturday is the day of the Posh vs Chav picnic. I am of course posh. Well, its hard to be a chav when you can’t eat fish fingers or sausage rolls or trifle. Hence the baking. I made delicious ginger cupcakes with lemony frosting. Hmmmm cake. Pack a bottle of apricot wine and off we go! Either chavs have been banished or everyone decided to side with Evelyn Waugh: this is like Brideshead Revisted with more Bakewell Tarts in cricketing whites (and that caused a fight). Stop off on the pub on the way home and funnily enough I’m a bit drunk again. I should go to a super trendy club with a super trendy friend but I just aint feeling super trendy. I’m feeling fat, gin soaked, grass stained and fugly. Its nice to have a cat on my knee and a chill out on a Saturday for a change. The cat goes out for the night and then it’s just me. 10pm. Probably a bit late to get changed and go anywhere now. A bit early for bed. When did I get so old?
This weekend was full of people making me feel old. First my friend turns 27 (still a year younger than me) and asks, “How’s your love life Zilpha?”
“Dead. I was seeing someone but now I’m not.”
“Was he much younger than you?”
“What? No! why?”
“Cos they usually are.” And then she reels off a list of losers, invariably younger. Hmph.
Well before I started feeling totally fat and decrepit Pippa and I fly to Glasgow. The bus to Stanstead takes longer than the flight. Its all so exciting! Well, not for Pippa. She was terrified. I couldn’t’ stop giggling. Not every helpful, but take offs are hilarious and way more fun than rollercoasters. We land and Glasgow is almost sunny. For saying I slept on the bus, the plane and the train I’m knackered. We make it as far as cocktails on Sauchiehall Street and totally miss Errors DJing. Nevermind, Saturday is what its all about: The Rakes are in town woohooo! We manage to squeeze in a museum, the School of Art, a fabric warehouse (yes, I’m a total geek), tea in the Mackintosh Tea Rooms a Chinese and an interview with our favourite skinny London art rockers. Sound checks are boring as hell aren’t they? We wait an hour “for the band to have showers” according to tour manager Ash Brown (his actual, real name) even though I rang Jamie and know he’s in the pub with Alan. Just as I think about having a little sleep on the skany sofa Lasse walks in. “I just need to have a shower,” he says. Yawn. Lasse and Chris entertain us in the dressing room with cups of tea and awkward silences waiting for the others to arrive. When they do it’s a whirlwind of “Morrissey came to see us last night!” and tales of drunken fist fights and flying pints of lager on the rest of the tour. “Zilpha, can you do me a favour?” asks Jamie, coyly.
“erm I suppose so. Only if its sexual”
“If I make a cup of tea can you give it to Ash?”
“ok then what?”
“no that’s the joke. Give him a tea and a biscuit and say ‘I know you like a brew at this time’”
The rest of them stifle guffaws. I strongly suspect the joke is on me but do it anyway. Ash accepts his tea and bourbon with grace. The rest of them roll around laughing. I have no idea what that was all about but they can come play practical jokes on me any time. I do like a bourbon (a bit too much judging by my current waistline).
The rest of the evening was spent in the company of two older locals who promised us a night of Galswegian binge drinking. Pippa is on a mission to find a deep fried mars bar. We fail with the urban legend but to get the Galswegians hammered and begging for the beds by 2am, not before we sample a local old man’s pub (Queen karaoke :s) and a soul night which was like gatecrashing someone else’s bad taste wedding.
Sunday, spent eating even more and hoping to feel better soon. The heel falls off my new Office shoes and I spend the rest of the time hobbling unevenly hoping noone notices. Glasgow for all my love has some amazing vegan cafes. Hmmmmmm cake.
I get home and the kitchen ceiling is still drip drip drip drip dripping through the light fixture. Hmmmm. Make a mental note to never turn the light on again.
Monday, Tuesday, same old same old. Wednesday the Rakes at Koko! Yeeha! I spend more of the day on the phone or email trying to get guestlist tickets than actually doing any work. (shhhh don’t tell my boss). But we were promised! Phew eventually they arrive. 5pm (in a vegan café stuffing my face with cake again) a text comes from Jamie, “sure you want the tickets? Cos my mates do too.” Oh noes! We got here first. We give it some welly on the front row. Someone has to keep the crowd going, right? On the way out the bouncer says, “you girls not going to the aftershow.” Aftershow? Oh well if you insist. Point us in the direction of the party! Yeah party! I get hammered (once again) with Jamie’s ex, while Pippa stays sober and serene. I feel like the awkward out of place one in a room full of beautiful people who instinctively know how to dance while I can only wonder what the hell I’m doing here. Suddenly its not so much fun.
On the way home I meet two new cats. Both black and white, one with a tail one without. We make friends. I sit on the pavement stroking them for about an hour. Dear lord. Work in the morning.
Thursday, to be honest, my head has felt better, I drag myself through my day. Oh for sleep. But no. Now its my turn to be horrified. I stupidly arranged a work night out on the London Eye. Sounds lovely, I’m shit scared of heights. I turn green everyone laughs and my head aches from the strain of not being sick. No sooner have we hit the ground than we’re off running to the next Rakes secret (not so secret party). Its ok, but why are the Rifles headlining? They remind me of Robtheknob (rtk). The bassist looks like Rossthetoss (r=t). This is no fun. Ex-boyfriend hell. Pippa ain’t loving it either. All a bit Kasabian. So we leave early. I am once again a bit drunk. How the hell did that happen? Drunk enough to get home and text rtk. He’s awfully friendly. As he is, until it involves actually turning up for something. Now I’m confused again. Do I still like him or not? Bollocks. I think I passed out.
Fridays don’t count. I’m mainly on time for work. Well ok, 20 minutes late. Again. The evening is spent baking and grateful to have a night in. Saturday is the day of the Posh vs Chav picnic. I am of course posh. Well, its hard to be a chav when you can’t eat fish fingers or sausage rolls or trifle. Hence the baking. I made delicious ginger cupcakes with lemony frosting. Hmmmm cake. Pack a bottle of apricot wine and off we go! Either chavs have been banished or everyone decided to side with Evelyn Waugh: this is like Brideshead Revisted with more Bakewell Tarts in cricketing whites (and that caused a fight). Stop off on the pub on the way home and funnily enough I’m a bit drunk again. I should go to a super trendy club with a super trendy friend but I just aint feeling super trendy. I’m feeling fat, gin soaked, grass stained and fugly. Its nice to have a cat on my knee and a chill out on a Saturday for a change. The cat goes out for the night and then it’s just me. 10pm. Probably a bit late to get changed and go anywhere now. A bit early for bed. When did I get so old?
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