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Swine! flu

Aswine-flu

So it turns out that 100,000 people think they have swine flu, according to new government figures – and after contracting a runny nose and sore throat, turns out I’m now one of them. But rather than take a trip to my local doctor’s surgery – a low-rise 70s building filled with all manner of lifeform, only some of them human – I thought I’d consult the new swine flu website that’s been set up recently.

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Going To The Zoo, Zoo, Zoo. How about you?

meerkat

If I had to list a top ten of days out, you can bet my arse and those of at least ten others that going to the zoo wouldn’t be at the top of my list. I see animals as mainly serving two purposes in life: food and for being dressed up in high heels for those comedy greetings cards. Shots of guinea pigs shot-putting always raise a smile too. But the thought of walking around gawping at animals, then gawping at more seems somewhat futile. Plus, I’m a big scaredy-cat, so if a rabbit so much as moves its paw in my direction, I might faint.
So when the love of my life told me that she wanted to go to the zoo for her birthday, I had to swallow my first reaction whole and attempt to look enthused. She didn’t buy it, but at least she knew I cared. And I agreed to go to the zoo – after all, this is her day and it’s my duty to accompany her.


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Close encounters of the famous kind

Moby & JLS: not destined to share a stage any time soon.
Moby & JLS: not destined to share a stage any time soon.

In my line of work I meet a lot of famous people: some blessed with tickly nearly-fame, others with sharp, pointy, face-splitting notoriety. Some who you’d walk past in the street without even noticing, some who you’d stop and think ‘now where do I know him from… was he the guy who pissed in Sharon’s salad? No, not him…’ In the last two days, for instance, I’ve stood next to the curly-haired one from JLS (wispy fame); spoken to the dark-haired half of Groove Armada (anonymous mega-fame) and sat in a plush hotel room in Marylebone with musical miserablist Moby (gargantuan fame). I know that Moby is certainly the most famous, because when I told my oldest sister she’d heard of him. She’d also just been introduced to the Black Eyed Peas that day by her students and thought their lyrics “interesting” and songs “catchy”. If I’d taken afternoon tea with will.i.am and Fergie, she’d have been majorly impressed, as opposed to the tiny yelp she allowed herself at the mention of every ad exec’s dream collaborator…


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Close encounters of the famous kind

Moby & JLS: not destined to share a stage any time soon.
Moby & JLS: not destined to share a stage any time soon.

In my line of work I meet a lot of famous people: some blessed with tickly nearly-fame, others with sharp, pointy, face-splitting notoriety. Some who you’d walk past in the street without even noticing, some who you’d stop and think ‘now where do I know him from… was he the guy who pissed in Sharon’s salad? No, not him…’ In the last two days, for instance, I’ve stood next to the curly-haired one from JLS (wispy fame); spoken to the dark-haired half of Groove Armada (anonymous mega-fame) and sat in a plush hotel room in Marylebone with musical miserablist Moby (gargantuan fame). I know that Moby is certainly the most famous, because when I told my oldest sister she’d heard of him. She’d also just been introduced to the Black Eyed Peas that day by her students and thought their lyrics “interesting” and songs “catchy”. If I’d taken afternoon tea with will.i.am and Fergie, she’d have been majorly impressed, as opposed to the tiny yelp she allowed herself at the mention of every ad exec’s dream collaborator…


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Festival Withdrawal

glastonbury

So in my dayjob as a music journalist, I’ve been writing miles of copy about festivals – seeing bands, drinking cider from paper cups, having your tent blown away in a huge gust of piss, that sort of thing. And then it suddenly occurred to me that I really should have remembered to blag/buy a ticket to at least one this year. Fail.
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Festival Withdrawal

glastonbury

So in my dayjob as a music journalist, I’ve been writing miles of copy about festivals – seeing bands, drinking cider from paper cups, having your tent blown away in a huge gust of piss, that sort of thing. And then it suddenly occurred to me that I really should have remembered to blag/buy a ticket to at least one this year. Fail.
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Me, me, me!

me!

Evening then. Welcome to my new website, resplendent in red and black like a freshly laundered hooker. Let me set the scene for you. I’m sitting in my lounge, Scrubs is on the telly, the clouds outside are apathetically grey and there’s a crow sitting on the fence that keeps tilting its head at me. When I say sitting on the fence, I literally mean that – it’s not an indecisive crow.
Anyhow, for my first post I’ve decided to complete a bunch of sentences for your amusement. Here goes…
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