Whatever happened to good ol' fashioned politeness? I may be many unpleasant things, but at least I was brought up with a measure of etiquette. I say please and thanks, hold doors for total strangers, and attempt to show consideration towards those around me. I don't broach awkward topics, mock them callously, or brusquely point out their ( Read more... )

Spent hours going through my mother's vintage wardrobe, tossing aside vertigo-inducing prints and ill-fitting trousers highly characteristic of the eighties. (She even had the big hair.) We also discovered her concealed liking for jumpsuits; she owns a particularly atrocious example (vertical stripes in primary colours, wouldn't be out of place in ( Read more... )

I touch down at 6.45 pm on Wednesday, December 17th. Hopefully.

Things I'm looking forward to:

• Eating everything in sight (within reason) and drinking bubble tea
  
• Walking around naked without shivering
  
• Generally wearing very little
  
• Holding carnival_esque's hand by the riverside and talking about love (it's a tradition)
  
• Bothering my cat
  
• Watching strippers in a ( Read more... )

So my friend (who'll remain anonymous) is middle-class. I use middle-class as a strict technicality; she doesn't sit around drinking imported tea and admiring Van Gogh replicas, or whatever it is bourgeois people generally do. She resides in a semi-detached house in a decent Singaporean neighbourhood, and her parents are professionals. I have never ( Read more... )

Just a thought. The main issue with paedophilia is the inability of a child to consent, because they're young and ignorant with, at best, a developing sexuality. Not to mention most of them can't fight you off, or call the police decisively ( Read more... )

My latest project: What We Have Known.

Spent Saturday night in the Hilton overlooking Quayside, to celebrate a year of being together. He gave me a hat, and a pair of silver earrings. There were milkwhite sheets, glass windows, and a bottle of brown ale. I took the first bath I'd had in ages. We also lounged around in robes watching blasphemous comedies and aspiring songbirds; drank ( Read more... )

My greatest ambition is not to write a book or become an eminent academic (although those will be nice in conjunction), but to compose an inane electroclash anthem that'll rock the charts for weeks. Ideally the chorus will be repetitive and priapic; the music video should either feature scantily-clad, oiled-up models, or irrelevant inanimate ( Read more... )

Nowadays I can't think about much except work and, by extension, how awful it is. Sad but true. I could elaborate on the exhausting misery and helplessness involved, but why bother?

I've submitted a brief review of Isobel Campbell's Amorino in hope of working for The Journal's music section, and I had more trouble writing it than expected. I could ( Read more... )

Somehow the wires got crossed
Communication's lost
Can't even get you on the telephone
Just got to shout about it
I'm losing you
I'm losing you

Well, here in the valley of indecision
I don't know what to do
I feel you slipping away
I feel you slipping away
I'm losing you
I'm losing you