bored of excitement – the griefjunkie blog
Archive for December, 2008
Friday, December 19th, 2008
Ahoy there, casual lovers
I am over tired at the moment, and I know this because I happened upon the opening sequence of Bagpuss the other day and very nearly burst into tears. Bagpuss is a genuinely warm and lovely programme, although I was always a bit worried about the sepia photards of Emily that appear at the beginning, as she looked to my undeveloped mind like the ghost of a dead child. I also loved Pipkins, which featured a mental rabbit called Hartley the Hare, who looks like Basil Brush would do if he had been in the Happy Mondays. He was a wreck, and in a permanent state of decline but I loved him, like Emily loved Bagpuss. I once got very upset when I noticed that the Pipkins van had a dent in the rear door, having to be calmed down by my Auntie Beryl.
[You should do 'read more' now, and at the end I have put links to both Bagpuss and Hartley the Hare, largely for the benefit of foreign types who are unfamiliar with the English tradition of posh and/or gay children's television characters. I draw particular attention to the first link 0:58 - 1:47, in which Hartley claims to have 'beautiful ears', a 'glorious nose' and 'wildly exciting eyes'.]
Friday, December 5th, 2008
Ahoy there, casual lovers
When not at Camden, I can often be found drifting around NW1, NW5, N19, or E’s 1-9 like something out of a novel by Dickens, a painting by Lowry or advert by St Mungo’s Shelter for the London Homeless. Like any Englishman, I consider it my birthright to nip into various hostelries of my acquintance and have a swift half with the friends, associates, petty criminals, and general violence enthusiasts who comprise my social circle. I have no capacity for alcohol whatsoever, as previously discussed here on September 4th, which makes me all the more impressed with a simple drinking game common among ladies in London in the 1730s, which any ladies reading this in contemporary times might want to make a note of for the forthcoming Christmas season. The rules are like this: 1) Find two friends – this game is traditionally for three players. For authenticity, they should be called Molly or Meg or Eliza, have few teeth, raucous cackling laughs and probably work as competitively-priced prostitutes. 2) Drink gin. 3) Carry on drinking gin until two of you are dead. 4) The last lady alive is the winner. Say what you like, it knocks the shit of vodka shots, pretending to be happy, crying yourself to sleep, and being sick in your hair for a girls night out.
(You’d be better off clicking ‘read more’ at this point)