Having casually assumed that I would be transmogrified into anti-matter this morning when the megaparticle nuclear velociraptor was switched on I’ve been letting things slide on the domestic front to a considerable degree for weeks. I haven’t blogged at all. There is something of Chernobyl about my sock drawer. So, waking up early this afternoon to the discovery I wasn’t in a black hole was consequently a bit depressing. All this washing I’ve got to catch up on.
And, as if by magic, by order of some cosmic act of buffoonery… no water in the pipes. Not in the kitchen, not in the lav, not the shower.
But there’s nothing to be done. The Council blamed Thames Water. Thames Water blamed the Council. Thames Water asked me to go out into the neighbourhood and canvass nearby buildings for analagous drought issues, because if I could find a neighbour in another building with no water they might accept that it’s their fault. I told them I can’t be seen in public without having had a shower. Deadlock. The Council are going to send someone out within four hours, by which time I might have turned into Pete Doherty.
Thank fuck for the lifeline that is the interweb, so that the world might continue to revolve around me, though my resurrection has had to be postponed as a ‘tomorrow problem’.
That was a nice message. I could reply to it right away. So, I’ll reply … mm … later. First, I’ll have a cup of tea and read that article that caught my eye on my RSS feed.
While I wait for the kettle to boil, perhaps I could put some washing in the machine. No, by the time I’ve sorted out my colours, the water won’t be BOILING hot anymore and I’ll have to boil it all over again. Forget that. I could … I need a pee, I’ll pee.
You may, if you’ve been rigorous in your consumption of online current affairs (i.e. following FaceFuck updates), already be aware - so apologies for repetition - that a pigeon shat on my head outside Starbucks on Friday 13th. Apparently, this was “lucky”.
The Dickie Beautique would like to thank Abi Sylvester at CraftyCrafty for bringing to our attention the weird and wonderful world of Christa Rowley’s Female Anatomy Cross Section Cross Stitch eggstravaganza on Crafster. We think this shit’s the tits.
Cyberworld does have a tendency to be a bit of a male-dominated maze so it was interesting to see, over on CraftyCrafty’s sister site, Dollymix, that Katie Lee has compiled a top ten of women’s sites on the web, which includes a couple of our favourites, The Lipster (a “pop culture broadsheet”) and Gawker’s women’s website, Jezebel.
We got so inspired we decided to launch forth and enter the labiarinth ourselves. On our quest we found what we believe to be the very best women’s website EVER….
As we poured ourselves into the thinning streets of a drizzly Vauxhall in the early hours of Sunday morning last, the sound of ‘Last Dance’ a damp echo in our ears, we took what’s technically known as ‘a moment’ and paused for thought. We’d been dancing to the tunes of the DJ’s DJ, Severino, in Horse Meat Disco’s Lovebox special at Area. It was time for the weekend to begin winding down - the first weekend in six decades, since long before the legalisation of homosexuality, that a certain queer old dame known as Tallulah could be said to be well and truly off the planet. Severino had just dedicated the last song of the last set of Saturday night to him. And a big bunch of queers threw a cheer.
