I Spent The Whole Weekend Waiting For Someone To Rhyme 'Latitude' With 'Attitude'.
(Thank you, Mister Lead Singer of Franz Ferdinand, you were the only one cheeseball enough to do it.)
Latitude festival (near Southwold! Near the coast! Promises of wind and salt!) was like a week ago, but seeing as I haven't blogged for ages, let's talk about it. Nothing's happened since then 'cept a daily grind of going to the library, hanging out semiclothed and cider drinking.
Number One: Kate says I punched a kiddy while I was dancing[1], down front and centre, when The Kabeedies were playing. What a slander on my person. She says she seen it with her own two eyes, but I think I'd remember, I'd only had two ciders, so I call BS. Whatev.
2. So The Kabeedies, their incontinent lead singer being pretty much the whole reason we were all there, they played, and other people who played and also deserve their names whispered into your shell-like ears are:
Emmy The Great. A curious thing. She was meant to play on the Saturday at NPUC, around this time last year. It was what I think was the first real hot day that summer. It must've been, actually, because I recall hacking off the bottoms of my jeans that morning, which is something I've not resorted to yet this year. YEAH.
So I read on some website or other that she only started writing songs and playing like a year ago, which means J.B., the guy who ran NPUC, has The Shining with her, because she had hardly started to play when he booked her.
Anyway she cancelled that time. And then I saw them play at Latitude, and it was everything I hoped, and more, and she's like amazingly cute.
The Breeders. Yes, Kim Deal! Yes, Kim Deal 2! Yes, no-one else I recognise in the band anymore, and yes, beach-ball!
Sebastien Tellier: the Gallic Jarvis Cocker? What a mental bastard. I loved it.
Sigur Ros; I felt like I was in a fucking Orange mobile phone advert all the time they were playing.
The Mars Volta were just as good as I expected them to be. I still want Bixler. If not Bixler, then I will accept the Bixler lookalike who Morgan has been stalking[2] around Norwich art school.
I felt queasy while The Black Lips played and had to lie down in a corner of the tent, but it was very relaxing somehow. Then I found a plastic cup and was like, two quid! Back of the net!
Third Thing: what is the fucking point of Foals?
Thing The Fourth: I missed a stupid amount of things. Why wasn't I at Guilty Pleasures? Or the Swap-A-Rama? Or Teen Angst, or The Virgins, or Ross Noble, or any comedy in fact? Why was I not front and centre to attack Iain Banks with bottles of my cloudy festival urine. I DON'T KNOW. I don't know where I was at all those times. Answers on a postcard please.
Thing The Fifth:
Richard Ayoade was there. All kinds of sexy.
. . . summer is here and my best thing is going to the pub. I never get to do it in Bristol, there aren't any nice beer gardens in the centre, but here pubs with greenery are so plentiful and varied I could cry.
[1] by 'dancing' I mean 'shoving and elbowing people', obvs.
[2] M. is closing in on Bizarro-Bixler. When he's in the net, then photographic evidence will be provided.
Monday Morning, Years Later
Saturday, Ages Later
If my life was a film and I went to see it, I'd give it like a two out of five. The cinematography looks good but the director doesn't know what she's doing and, to add to the clumsy dialogue, there is NO character development.
Since I last wrote in this blog:
1. I lost my job. I still don't know how/why/what's next. Steps are being taken, letters have been sent. Ex-colleagues have quit, have been almost forced to quit.
2. I am in dire financial straits. I have learnt to love the taste of rice with tobasco sauce mixed into it, of salad cream sandwiches. I crave water straight from the tap. I eat when I'm hungry now, instead of when Kate tells me I must eat.
3. I have applied for about five hundred jobs . . . and heard back from none of them (yet).
4. I HATE Sainsbury's online application form thing. Kate talked me through thirty multiple-choice questions, at half pas eleven at night, only for the whole thing to go tits-up.
5. Speaking of Kate, she's applying to become a copper. Watch this space.
6. I have moved house! We have a new place to mess up! Belgrave Road . . . in Bristol . . . an upper-floor flat, with three levels for our bedrooms. Paying out the nose for the location. Surrounded on all sides by rahs and middle-to-upper-class families. The artist types and students we've left behind, they're all in Montpelier or on Stokes Croft. I feel like a cheat.
. . .
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao - Junot Diaz
Like Life - Lorrie Moore
Everything Is Illuminated - Jonathan Safran Foer
I've slowed down on reading. I need to pick it back up. I need to pick myself up and dust myself off, but it's hard, I can't even be bothered to get out of bed until the evening most days.
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