Life Is Like A Song

Dazed by the bomb blast, ears ringing, head a shuffled deck of snapshots atop a suddenly 30 year old body. Oh my aching bones.

Desperate to be involved but shut out of proceedings by the very fact of it being my birthday, I listen for snippets. My own excitement has been mounting month by month until it's all I can think about. I glimpse updates over hunched shoulders. I cock my ear for spilled surprises. But really I know nothing. The sheer scale of it is all a complete shock.

And as I touch down on the Welsh hill which is a good 10 degrees colder than London, (sorry - I forgot about this) I see the site. Oh the dance tent, the Low-Lav, the tippee, the frame over the trampoline. Freak on a leash. I twinkle around the site, unsure of where to put myself. Talking too fast, running to show people round, to repeat the tour, to make the endless, rolling introductions.

A superfast summation from where I was standing:

Silver body paint, spandex, smiles till we ache, a scrum of people round my family table tucking into my dads pasta sauce, selected party heads coming to see my mum in the kitchen for tea and sympathy at various points throughout the weekend ('the things I know...'), the Low-Lav, the dancefloor knows no rest, a certain person leaning into the heart with a fork, digging for gold, the trampoline, the frame, the fat-suits, the headbuts, the unwise lack of sleep on Friday, a lowdown dirty lack of shame on Saturday, a Bloody-Mary Sunday, pass the parcel, the Madonna power-up, the punch, the campsite, the quad, the lamb stuffed with chickens, my mum and dad having it to Your Niece, hay-bales on fire, the many toasts, the biggest, shiniest, heaviest birthday card in the world (***HICKS***), the party reigniting for a 25 minute electro smash at 23:35 on Sunday, the endless tippee session, the daisy-chained block rockers, the U-turns, the purple book, the elation....

Guys I didn't know what to say when I was handed a BIKE. Words failed me. I'm sure it was obvious. THANK YOU SO MUCH. I was overwhelmed. And then, seeing that I was lost for words, I was surrounded by my favourite people, utterly crammed against the people I love most, all touching each other and consequently touching me as we slow danced to my favourite song in the world and sang at the tops of our voices while a I sobbed like a babe.

At Last. My love has come along. My lonely days are over. And life is like a song.

Yes it fucking is.

Thanks to all the people who came all the way to Wales.

Thanks to the Low-Fest Crew. You're the best in the west.

Thanks to all the DJs who rocked it.

Thanks for the bike. (The very bike I have been salivating over all year.)

Thanks for all the amazing presents.

Thanks Rina and Tim for being the best.

Thanks Rhys and Siw for being the best.

Thanks Carmen for making me the very best outfit.

Thanks to you all for making it the best birthday ever.

Andy Ellis. You rule.

So. Very. Lucky.

2009

Has been the 'best year of my life'.

It has brought me many new friends, many inspirational, wonderful friends who are now as close to me as family. We have rough-hewed a London family from those who wondered into the fold with a familiar glint in their eye, added them to our collection of gypsies and ragamuffins, and now the love keeps us all warm.

We began the year dressed as chavs in a warehouse in Bow. We see it out in a similar vein. 2009 has brought us all closer the Bow residents, in a way that only living so intimately can. Having an urban community has been wonderful - a luxury. Being able to 'call on' your friends who live only metres away is a rarity. And now the news has come that we may be out. If this is the case, then so be it. It's been the best year of my life.

Thanks to you all for making it so.

Asbos

Fuck fuck ouch.

Spent Sunday blissfully ignoring the looming Monday rolling in the grass dressed as a leopard at a party in the grounds of a mansion in Dorset.

Unfortunately our driver only stopped drinking at about 3pm. Every time we questioned him about his sobriety he said: 'Right, I won't drink anything from now on'.

We sent him to get his head down for 2 hours and when the time came to find him his car was mysteriously empty.

He'd crawled into someone else's empty tent to lie there, not sleeping.

Made a slight mishap by offering a guy I met on the 'floor a lift back to London. When it came to the crunch there was no room and we had to drop him at a train station. Poor guy. Lesson learned about allowing my twisted sensibilities to rule and offering things I can't deliver.

One Armed Bandit

Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da life goes on...

Apparently, I will have two arms back this time next week.

This means I'll be able to do chin ups. And use the shift button more easily. It also means I'll be added to the cleaning rota both at home and at work, instantly rendering a formerly empty 2 hours of my week replete with soap suds and wrinkles.