Friday, 31 December 2010

On a Bandwagon Made for Two...

So, it's New Years Eve and in millions of bedrooms across the world a multitude of hands are busily tapping away at keyboards in a desperate attempt to make sense of what has been a rather perturbing year.

Unfortunately, ever one to latch parasitically onto a fad, that's exactly what this blog will be concerned with alongside a few small exclamations of annoyance regarding 'end of year procedure'.

Let me begin with a note on my often ally (yet occasional foe) food, more precisely the manner in which we are encouraged to engage with it at this pivotal time of the month:

It has been but five days since the diligent advertising campaigns of British television and radio came to fruition and we all gorged ourselves upon whatever organic, locally sourced, holier-than-thou pish they encouraged us to this time - yet, like all great institutions, they've spun on a ha'penny and we're already being told off for being so foolish.

"Horrid little gluttons" cry the emaciated Go-Go dancers from our screens, "eating yourself into a stupor, we wished you only to observe our delicious turkey (hand reared by Lithuanian orphans, fed on gold dust and creme caramel) - now atone for your sins, drop and give me twenty pelvic thrusts clad in a lycra one-piece so you can observe the manner in which that [perfectly natural] excess weight of yours jiggles in the spotlight!"

Have they not noticed; it's still winter? In all tiers of the animal kingdom, preserving that padding is paramount to survival.

I, for one, shall be telling said exercise and diet fascists to go fuck themselves with their own, disgustingly visible shoulder blade...most likely with a mouth full of leftover mince pie.

I suggest anybody with half a brain do the same.

Moving swiftly on.

It is a necessary evil that one must have something to do on New Years Eve and there is, amongst my friends, a certain degree of youthful one-upmanship as to what this engagement should be.

By proxy (and the weight of Scottish tradition) one must also have somebody of significance to undertake this venture with.

With the majority of my boys out and about in city centres, tearing it up at house parties with their girlfriends or getting mashed out of their otherwise sturdy minds in a field in Derbyshire - my choice to go to The Bakers Vaults with my Mother seems rather frumpy and has earned me a great deal of mockery.

[Gentlemen, it is not that I hadn't been given offers that would far outshine yours; from guestlists and free drinks at Edinburgh's best 60's night to a DJ slot at a two house rave in Wales but I would quite like to start my coming year as I mean it to progress...memorably.]

Which brings me to a final point, having looked back at my previous entries it struck me that a great deal of them revolve around the calamitous upshot of my predisposition for drinking far too much.

Never having been one, particularly, to make New Year's resolutions - I have decided to try a reform my 'Withnail & I' ways by giving up (or at least significantly cutting down on) the booze as of tomorrow.

The smoking, however, will remain - much to the chagrin of my family.

I wish everybody a lovely evening, wherever/with whomever that may be, and a Happy New Year.



Thursday, 30 December 2010

2 Month Long 'Lady Troubles'...?

If we're being pedantic it's actually been a little under two months since my last post and some of you may have noticed I was quite literally entirely 'absent' during that time, having shut down all affiliations with the online world, and not just merely 'neglectful'.

But where have I been and what in god's name could I have been up to that warranted this much time away from the emotional sustenance that is the Internet?

Readers, I was off doing absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

You see, I woke up shortly after my self-righteously charged blog of November 3rd and realised I couldn't remember a time when I didn't devote 60% or so of my day to wondering if somebody, somewhere were talking about me.

In essence I fell prey to my own objections to social networking as a whole.

When one begins to worry how many people have viewed that status update on your particularly delicious sandwich it's time to stand up and admit: "My name is Annie Phetamine and I have a hypocrisy problem".

So I logged off.

[The first few weeks are the worst but it's something I would endorse to all of you.]

I sat my exams, finished all those essays (postponed in favour of seeing how many times I could click 'Refresh' and have bugger all happen), didn't get that hedgehog, hosted two house parties, attended the odd exhibition, made brief trips down to London, entirely re-did my wardrobe, doffed piercings, dark hair and my eyebrows, gained a new group of friends, went back to Manchester, declined to meet my old classmates, survived Christmas and engaged in one ill fated 'Brief Encounter'-esque love affair with a musician.

In short, I reclaimed my life...silently.

Yet, like all truly fatal addictions, I've crawled back into the public sphere before the turning of the year and reclaimed my place as that well loved local blog whore; loitering upon your virtual doorstep, asking for sympathy and spare change.

But, all moral high-ground may not be lost.

I will most ardently NOT be returning to Facebook, Twitter or any of those other exploitative dens of vice that (during my time in rehab) have updated themselves beyond my comprehension.

In compromise, this solitary outpost only shall remain to allow me to vent creative spleen and avoid becoming a doddering recluse.

There are many stories to tell, rants to be had and personalities to be slandered yet.