Butterflies are flying round a big, echoey, fluttery expanse of bubbling excitement.
Quite nervous today as well as being mega-excited.
It's my 28th birthday. This day everyone must unsurely recount what has gone before? Chart the incline away from youth...
(It must be said before you continue reading that this post is of a vastly personal nature and you will not know WTF I'm talking about unless you know me. If you don't then I rejoice, for someone who does not know me has had the immense good fortune to stumble across my blog. If you do, then lucky you, you've been chosen as one of the few who I let in to the secrets of Foxy Loxy.)
Onwards with the quest to remember....Last year, The Boy and The Cubs cooked me dinner. Then I had a big dinner party with some of my favourite friends.
The year before it was a beach party in that weird bar on Boscombe front followed by an after-party in a big, empty house. Before that, there was a BIG ol' beach party followed by mini-golf.
Previous to that, a garden party at the beautiful Chine, a Summer Ball, followed by a beach party and sunny sex in an ants nest on the edge of a cliff. No jokes.
The year before that was The Bays in Consortium I think....hundreds of frisbies on the beach, Hawaiian blues from King Bong. Uh-oh.
Before that I've lost count. Can't think of any besides a garden party BBQ in Wales, and before that (my 17th) a drunken, 2 day free party near Shrewsbury with Brendan by my side.
For the record, I realise that all of them have been completely and utterly debauched. That, as I've come to say far too regularly, is evidently how I roll...
Maybe this year will be the last year of lashing myself quite so heavily. Who knows? Something in me is vaguely twitching for change, or at least a cleaner way of life. But the excitable techno-loving dancefloor part - which will always be alive and kicking it somewhere - keeps me wanting more and more.
As I approach 30 I'm getting more jittery. Less stable? There is nothing calm about the life I lead. And there is certainly a craving going on deep down to retreat to the country, to a house with a big garden and ivy on the walls and wild roses and maybe a baby or two....
Live in the now has always been my motto - so why can't I take my own advice?
Tomorrow Maybe, Today IS.
Friday 29 May 2009
Friday 22 May 2009
Muscles
Talk of body builders drinking their own cum – a free dose of protein – is what happened after I was woken at 6am by a tall man who really wanted us to get in a car bound for a psy trance party on Brighton beach. Arriving from a 12 hour, Valium fuelled sleep, it felt possible, but unwise. Arose to find the tail end of another party in our kitchen, and then the stragglers from the first party – the one which swirled from Friday to late Saturday night – a wonderful and inspiring time which glows and gives me a warm tummy when remembered, came knocking at our door. All very well in this time of no time lines; no routines, dancing in the dawn, dosing in the afternoon, leaving my worries piled up on the doorstep to be considered on Monday morning.
Two hours of hospitality is what I extended my guests before kindly but firmly kicking them out. My day has nicely begun with welcome contrasts; me on the right side of sleep for once, while the aliens from last night wish they were where I was.
Two hours of hospitality is what I extended my guests before kindly but firmly kicking them out. My day has nicely begun with welcome contrasts; me on the right side of sleep for once, while the aliens from last night wish they were where I was.
Thursday 21 May 2009
The Record
It's May 2009. A few days from my twenty-eight birthday. As of today, right now, I have been in London for 1 year and 7 months. I've been meaning to document this strange and terrifying move but have only just begun to publicly record. If you're reading, I'm glad.
New friends are piling, one on top of the other, haphazardly into my life. Rugby tackling me as I wander, mouth agape, through my days. Brilliant people, who variously illuminate passions I have and expose new parts of me – things they see which I don't.
Peeling off layers of my sanity, I wantonly strip my brain naked, become insane, shrugging off the shackles of expectation and responsibility I feel insanely free to say and do whatever will make me laugh. A mental striptease.
Wanted all over London for cutting lights and drinking on the tube, this time, in Bow, is, we are all realising more and more, The Time. The Sugar House has been given to us for a reason, and is our hub, the control room, the HQ. In view of the Colosseum that is the Olympic Stadium which can be seen from our roof and impresses all the new friends who troop periodically into our home, offering insights, distractions and laughter, and enriching this nebulous and organic development of people, and ideas.
One by one they become ensnared in the web, become tangled in the sticky fabric of our lives; a clashing blend of colours, textures, synthetic and natural, indigenous and foreign; mongrels in it for the crack with open minds and the good fortune to have found each other.
New friends are piling, one on top of the other, haphazardly into my life. Rugby tackling me as I wander, mouth agape, through my days. Brilliant people, who variously illuminate passions I have and expose new parts of me – things they see which I don't.
Peeling off layers of my sanity, I wantonly strip my brain naked, become insane, shrugging off the shackles of expectation and responsibility I feel insanely free to say and do whatever will make me laugh. A mental striptease.
Wanted all over London for cutting lights and drinking on the tube, this time, in Bow, is, we are all realising more and more, The Time. The Sugar House has been given to us for a reason, and is our hub, the control room, the HQ. In view of the Colosseum that is the Olympic Stadium which can be seen from our roof and impresses all the new friends who troop periodically into our home, offering insights, distractions and laughter, and enriching this nebulous and organic development of people, and ideas.
One by one they become ensnared in the web, become tangled in the sticky fabric of our lives; a clashing blend of colours, textures, synthetic and natural, indigenous and foreign; mongrels in it for the crack with open minds and the good fortune to have found each other.
Monday 18 May 2009
Blue Monday
'And I was feeding on the need for you to know me, devastated at the rate you fell below me.'
In times of hardship, I turn to Fiona Apple, to Donna Tartt, Gwendoline Burns, to the strongly artistic, creative women I admire. Women who explore and express their own hardships in their art.
Reading back, it's always on a MONDAY that I quote songlines which grate my emotions raw, wring them out, stretch them over my body, wear them as clothes, my beating heart transparent beneath.
It's always on a Monday that I make my plans to run away, Pack my knapsack, knot a red spotted handkerchief and sling it glibly over my shoulder, meeting the eye of no one as i slink off to a new life where no one knows me and responsibility is something you can shrug off like an itchy old jumper. Discard for the dogs to chew and scrap over. I want no part of it.
By Tuesday I'm reconciled to staying where I am, picking up the pieces, re-assembling, feeding on the great and the good. Wednesday improves with age, Thursday is positively industrious, Friday and the glow stretches from here to there, from me to you. A lifetime of temporary relief?
In times of hardship, I turn to Fiona Apple, to Donna Tartt, Gwendoline Burns, to the strongly artistic, creative women I admire. Women who explore and express their own hardships in their art.
Reading back, it's always on a MONDAY that I quote songlines which grate my emotions raw, wring them out, stretch them over my body, wear them as clothes, my beating heart transparent beneath.
It's always on a Monday that I make my plans to run away, Pack my knapsack, knot a red spotted handkerchief and sling it glibly over my shoulder, meeting the eye of no one as i slink off to a new life where no one knows me and responsibility is something you can shrug off like an itchy old jumper. Discard for the dogs to chew and scrap over. I want no part of it.
By Tuesday I'm reconciled to staying where I am, picking up the pieces, re-assembling, feeding on the great and the good. Wednesday improves with age, Thursday is positively industrious, Friday and the glow stretches from here to there, from me to you. A lifetime of temporary relief?
Wednesday 13 May 2009
Buzz
Today the vibrator arrived at Spoonfed HQ – my place of work. An anonymous package that was delivered straight to my desk with a hand-written note: ‘Because everyone knows you love a massive cock’. All of my girlfriends laughed and then asked who it was from. My male friends laughed and said they wish they’d thought of it. My boyfriend is ‘worried’. I’m amused, perplexed, secretly flattered and now slightly worried also.
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