I saw a sign today for a Topshop Hopping Spree.
I thought it sounded fun, but on closer inspection it seemed the S had rubbed off.

My favourite person in Brighton is the man who runs the West African food van. It's parked opposite the Ocean Rooms, and the man is a dude. He's 25, saving up to go to Cambridge uni. He sells delicious food and is always happy to tell you about the ingredients he uses, and give you free samples of everything. And he sells it dirt cheap, and will deliver it wherever you want. We got ours brought to us sitting in the sunshine in Preston Park once.
If you're ever in Brighton, search him out. He's a legend.

I had fun at a Heidi Heels gig at work - the customers were for the most part rude and pretentious, and I can't say I was very up for most of the music, but I have a new favourite song in 'Number One' by Mr Solo. He was fabulous, shiny bouncy pop songs packaged in Brian Slade's body and clothes.

The secret to good food is adding far more of everything than you'd think necessary. Especially black pepper. When I say good, I don't really mean good in a Michelin star, Cordon Bleu sense, more in a looks-ridiculous-but-is-really-fucking-tasty way.

Red Dwarf dvds are ludicrously expensive. £19.99? That's practically the budget of the entire first two series, what's going on?!

Someone lovely made me a mix cd of all my favourite songs at the moment. If you haven't heard them, you should look up RJD2's Ghostwriter; Bob Sinclair's Love Generation; Aphex's Girl Boy Song; Dayvan Cowboy by Boards of Canada; Roni Size and Reprazent, Dirty Beats; anything from Me and This Army but particularly Creep or Rapperfection; AM 180 by Grandaddy; We Share our Mother's Health by the Knife; I won't keep going because this list will get very long and it's already woefully inadequate.

If you were a band, or musician, who would you be? Not who you'd want to be, but just who a crappy magazine quiz would tell you you're most like (CosmoGirl - Which member of Busted are you!?!). It was one of those conversations that make no sense, but the answers we came up with make perfect sense if you know us and what I mean. Danny is Scott Walker, because he revels in his obscurity, shies from the limelight, he's a one-of-a-kind genius and a million and one other reasons. Jon would be TV on the Radio, as there's noone else quite like him, and he's that fucking effortlessly, indisputably, cool. And not in the over hyped, NME way, but in the simple, intrinsic way that anyone can recognise. And David Bowie loves him (or would, if he met him). Luke would be Bob Dylan, I'd elaborate but it's easier to just say that they have the same kind of soul. And that there are a million watered down copies, but he's the original, real deal. And apparently I'm Beck.

I wish I could afford to buy smoked salmon, as smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels with lettuce and black pepper and a drizzle of lemon juice (fuck the drizzle, remember my law of more-than-you-think-you-need) are the nicest things in the world.

I remember when I spent long enough on the internet to actually read everyone's journals and reply to comments, and I'm rubbish and don't do it any more. I would, but I'm just too busy doing things that do not involve computers. Maybe one day I'll get an office job and rinse their internet. I hate internet cafes.

In the kitchen we have two large plaster noses stuck to the walls.

That was unexpected - I didn't even realise my set had been sent in.

But thank you anyone who commented on it, I'll thank you personally once I get the time xx


I haven't been around much, I was homeless for a couple of weeks but we have an incredibly lovely house now and I'm having lots of fun in it...I feel very grown up. Sort of. Not really. ButI did call BT and get them to put in a phoneline and in a while the internet.

I've basically been spending my days dancing around my lovely house to some of the most fantastic music, drinking tea and eating bagels. And laughing, lots and lots of laughing.

I have a lot of things to say and a lot of things to share but right now it's beautiful and sunny and writing it all out seems pointless.

But I will say that my hair has dreaded itself and is now a giant fluffy spiky candyfloss mess, which pleases me greatly as I do love big hair. And that we win hands down on being the best sandwich makers ever. And I'm living with four of my all time favourite people which means I get to have a lot of fun. And I miss a lot of my friends from off here, especially the Brighton girls. And twatting yourself in the face with poi hurts, but the pain is considerably less than the embarrassment. And I still have yet to do a set that's anything like me, but hopefully one day I will.

I'm trying to pack all my worldly belongings into cardboard boxes. I didn't realise just how much STUFF I have. Where did it all come from? Why did I feel the need to keep it all? What possible use do I have for 73 odd socks? Why can I not bear to part with several hideous items of clothing that I have never worn? Exactly when will that unidentifiable pink thing come in handy? If I were to stash a dead body in the Big Yellow Storage Company, how long would it be til someone found it? In fact, forget dead bodies, could I live in there until I find somewhere new? I'm sure with the right combination of hot beverages, dirty beats and assorted blankets it could be rather homely.

On the subject of hot beverages, emptying my cupboards has revealed a slightly ridiculous addiction on my part. I've found Classic Blend Medium Roast, Italian Blend Rich Roast, and Kilimanjaro ground coffees (all fairtrade, I'll have you know). I've also found Chinese Ginseng coffee, Cadbury's Hot Chocolate and several sachets of Options and Highlights in various flavours (including, but not limited to, hazelnut, mint and caramel). Obviously we then get into tea, and your choice is between Twinings Every Day (it was on offer - watching Stephen Fry do those adverts kills me a little inside every time I see one. Why Stephen? Why?!), Lapsang Souchong, Jasmine, Green Tea, Green Tea with Mango, Chai teabags and Chai Latte and some loose PG tips that seem to have been hanging around for a while behind some tins of bamboo shoots (why I have tins of bamboo is a complete mystery. Stocking up in order to appease our future panda overlords). Also some unidentifiable sachets of assorted tea-type products in Chinese. I don't know what they are, but after trying one my conclusion is that at least one of them is possibly instant dish water, infused with the gentle hint of socks.

Everything is just so shiny.

My song of the summer is shaping up to be Love Generation - it's just so beautifully blissed out and sunny. A perfect soundtrack to long hot days spent drinking tea in the sun, lying in the grass in the park. Ordering West African food from a man in a van, and drinking pints as the sun goes down. Drawing faces on pebbles on the beach, laughing so much my sides ached and tears ran down my face. Tatty skirts, ragged leg warmers, messy hair and vaseline kisses. Sweating suncream, brown knees, freckles across noses, blisters from flip flops. Dirty feet.
I love this summer. I hope you're all having a good one too.

Edit - I forgot to mention that I managed to drop my phone into a pint at work. If I had your number, I don't any more. My number is the same though, so feel free to send me a text.

I wish my Bluetooth worked so that I could show you all the fun things I've been doing.
But as a recap in plain, simple words with no shiny colours -

Shit weeks, horrible landlord, evil council, bad housing office, no money, working non stop, very sad and stressed.

Go to make a cup of tea after a particularly nasty phone call from landlord demanding money so he can take it to Cyprus on his holiday this week.

Burst into tears, watch Countdown and Deal Or No Deal with a mug of tea, world rights itself.

Pick self up, go to job centre, go to housing offices, go to bank, pay landlord.

Decide once and for all to move out, taking lovely flatmates 1, 2 and 3 with me, and all get ready to move into lovely friend's beautiful house in a month or so. Bigger, cheaper, stained glass windows, wooden floorbaords and squashy sofas.

Discover Chai tea. Love at first taste. See favourite band twice, 65daysofstatic are the biggest and best band on the planet. Fall in love with my insanely dilated pupils, try to take photo, look like mad bag lady. Spend an entire week sleeping on the sofa covered in blankets and cushions with lovely flatmates 1 and 2. Have fun with fantastic friends. Remember how lovely the sunshine is. Get freckles across my face. Wander about in giant oversized hideous pyjama shorts which are incredibly wide but not very long. Discover new all time favourite album, though slightly dismayed that there seems to be no record of it anywhere in the world and the scrawl across the copy we have is apparently not what it's really called (General Electric - Kliquerty Clique? Does not exist.) Steal creepy silver mask and become covered in tiny drips of impossible-to-remove silver paint. Become a cat and spend all day sleeping and stretching and snuggling. Become friends with new cat and let him spend his time nestling into my hair. Play with gravel with my feet. Buy vegetables and let them rot. Wash my hair with coconut shampoo. Sit in the park with the daisies. Plan a pretty tattoo. Renew old friendships. Find lost Attack Of The 50 Foot Woman poster and Pearl Jam print. Remember how much I love Beck even if he is a scientologist. Refuse to remove oversized hoodie. Put up giant Land of the Dead poster purely to annoy anal housemate/landlord's son. Decide that I don't mind too much that in somehow losing a stone my boobs have vanished but the rest of me has stayed annoyingly the same. Fail to look after lip piercing properly. Toast bagels.

Feel happier than I have in years

The best thing about being unexpectedly out in the rain is that, once you're wet, you're wet, and you may as well enjoy it.


Edit - if there is anything that can reduce me to tears on a regular basis, it's Brighton and Hove City Council. And my landlord.

Edit again because I cannot be bothered with a whole new entry - I have a big lump sticking out of my back. It feels like a rib. Surely it can't be a rib?

We have a mushroom growing out of our bathroom floor.

Any thoughts on a name for the little guy?

Edit: Leola wins. It's quite obviously a Dave.