Making a house a home

A house just sin’t a home until you’ve installed your Ken Dodd shrine in your engine room. Seriously. Some people think it’s the addition of an OWL in a BOX in the anti gravity chamber, but this is factually incorrect. Owl in box in gravity chamber=cosy, but not homely. When will you people learn?

This only strenghtens my belief than you should continue reading this blog for continued diktats about how to live your life. Right, I’m off, I need to clean the bog.

Love and light

Here it is! Pixies Gig Review and Crappy Movie!

 know, mes petits champignons, the wait has been agonising.  It’s only been finished today due to a gargantuan hangover, of biblical pestilence proportions. 

As some of you may know, my love of the band The Pixies, runs pretty deep, like the river of slime in Ghostbusters 2 (A classic), so I pursued my girlish dream by trekking up to Glasgow to see them. 

I boarded the Glasgow bound train at exotic Wigan where my excitement and anticipation built.  I listened to them on my i-pod pretty much all the way there.  I won’t bore you with the journey details, or how basic the Campanile hotel is for fricking 90 odd quid a night (it’s like an Ibis!) and fast forward to the show.

I was  staying opposite the SECC in Glasgow, but the walk there was an agony of ecstasy (yes really).  Round that way in Glasgow is pretty amazing.  It’s like a raw, brutal version of the Quayside in Newcastle.  It’s a stark, industrial scene punctuated with the beautiful Armadillo and ’squinty bridge’. A domineering black crane, a reminder of the shipping industry in Glasgow (if you’ve ever been to the shipyard of Govan, it’s quite spectacular).  But I didn’t care about this, other than it was on the way, so I don’t know why I’m telling you this.

On entering the SECC, I made a beeline to the tour merchandise.  I pretty much threw my money at a poor woman on the stall there

“Give me a t-shirt with  a monkey on it”

I demanded.  She complied, largely because I appeared mad. 

“Oh my god. BADGES. Give me those BADGES!!!”

Again, the scared stall assistant obeyed.  I admit, if she hadn’t, I would have laid waste to her.

So I had my badges and t-shirt and was beaming at everyone.  I noted that some people I was surprised that they were Pixies  fans.  They were pretty muscled beef cakes, in tight lycra and sportswear. I happened upon one woman who had the biggest blond hair and fake tits encased in nowt but a waistcoat that gave the most alarming cleavage.  This is a pixies fan?  Surely not? 

She wasn’t.  There was also a weight lifting, steroid shake-a-thon thang going on in another room in the SECC.

It was an amazing show, despite nearly losing my life by being on the periphery of the dangerous ‘mosh pit’.  I was forced to move to the back due to the level of moshing, and also the godawful smell of greasy hair been thrown too near my nose that it sent my olfactory receptors into ’spasm’.  The likes that I have not known until day 3 at the Wickerman festival (please people, take some baby wipes with you to festivals, and a squirt of ‘Batiste’ wouldn’t go amiss).  Given that I am only a tiny 5 foot 2 it was hard to see the show for my diminutive proportions, but I did ‘jump jump’( in the words of pretend Irishmen House of Pain) in order to capture a glimpse of my heroes.  Kim, Black Francis, My pal Joe and David did not disappoint.  The show took my breath away, and this was the first time I’d seen the pixies avec visuals.  They opened the show with the Dali film ‘un chien andalou’, naturally, as this was the Doolittle tour. The pixies were quite silent, much like last time I saw them, in terms of banter with the crowd.  Kim talked to us, but the others did not utter a word.  This made me wonder whether they weren’t enjoying it, if that makes sense? 

Above the stage where four great Ikea paper lanterns, that were connected and moved about.  I’m pretty sure that these were to symbolise the members of ‘take that’ after Robbie’Rude Box’ Williams  left, or maybe even to symbolise Jordan’s children.  I hope you can make them out on my terrible video.

Music wise, and atmosphere wise, it was just phenomenal.  The band started with B sides: Dance the  Mantaray, Wierd at My School, Bailey’s walk and Mantaray before starting the Dootlittle album in its entireity. The visuals were captivating. Using old movie clips, animated dot-matrix style hearts for ‘la la love you’ as well as goofy footage of band members that played behind each one of them during ‘here comes your man’ (if my recollection is correct) which I really liked and connected the band with the crowd.

A particular high point for me was ‘Hey’. I really love this song, it’s so beautiful.  Behind the band, the screen went black and big white lyrics flashed up, which  took my breath away, with the vocal solo, and the bass falling in. You can make this out on the video.

After the whole of Doolittle album had been played we had 3 encores!  The band played some more B sides such as Wave of Mutilation (UK Surf) and  Into the White before going on to play some of my favourite tracks from Surfer Rosa, such as Broken Face, Holiday Song, Nimrod’s Son and Vamos and of course, Where is my Mind? 

After the gig, everyone piled out and I hung around the stage, as I could see the crew throwing things into the audience.  It looked like coins, but I’m sure the crew wouldn’t do that, so I can only presume they were plectrums or something.  As I edged nearer, like a scavenger, the crew started handing out the set lists.  There was one left.  I thought I might have to murder someone.  Luckily, the other die hard fans were sweaty men, and the crew were sweaty men, and being the only thing vaguely resembling a woman, the gods smiled upon me and I got the last set list.  I was in pixie heaven. 

Here is my crap video of the gig.

http://static.photobucket.com/player.swf?file=http://vid843.photobucket.com/albums/zz351/worldofsheds/pixies2009glasgow.flv

The Wait is over! The Crap Pixies Movie is Here!

I know, mes petits champignons, the wait has been agonising.  It’s only been finished today due to a gargantuan hangover, of biblical pestilence proportions. 

As some of you may know, my love of the band The Pixies, runs pretty deep, like the river of slime in Ghostbusters 2 (A classic), so I pursued my girlish dream by trekking up to Glasgow to see them. 

I boarded the Glasgow bound train at exotic Wigan where my excitement and anticipation built.  I listened to them on my i-pod pretty much all the way there.  I won’t bore you with the journey details, or how basic the Campanile hotel is for fricking 90 odd quid a night (it’s like an Ibis!) and fast forward to the show.

I was  staying opposite the SECC in Glasgow, but the walk there was an agony of ecstasy (yes really).  Round that way in Glasgow is pretty amazing.  It’s like a raw, brutal version of the Quayside in Newcastle.  It’s a stark, industrial scene punctuated with the beautiful Armadillo and ‘squinty bridge’. A domineering black crane, a reminder of the shipping industry in Glasgow (if you’ve ever been to the shipyard of Govan, it’s quite spectacular).  But I didn’t care about this, other than it was on the way, so I don’t know why I’m telling you this.

On entering the SECC, I made a beeline to the tour merchandise.  I pretty much threw my money at a poor woman on the stall there

“Give me a t-shirt with  a monkey on it”

I demanded.  She complied, largely because I appeared mad. 

“Oh my god. BADGES. Give me those BADGES!!!”

Again, the scared stall assistant obeyed.  I admit, if she hadn’t, I would have laid waste to her.

So I had my badges and t-shirt and was beaming at everyone.  I noted that some people I was surprised that they were Pixies  fans.  They were pretty muscled beef cakes, in tight lycra and sportswear. I happened upon one woman who had the biggest blond hair and fake tits encased in nowt but a waistcoat that gave the most alarming cleavage.  This is a pixies fan?  Surely not? 

She wasn’t.  There was also a weight lifting, steroid shake-a-thon thang going on in another room in the SECC.

It was an amazing show, despite nearly losing my life by being on the periphery of the dangerous ‘mosh pit’.  I was forced to move to the back due to the level of moshing, and also the godawful smell of greasy hair been thrown too near my nose that it sent my olfactory receptors into ‘spasm’.  The likes that I have not known until day 3 at the Wickerman festival (please people, take some baby wipes with you to festivals, and a squirt of ‘Batiste’ wouldn’t go amiss).  Given that I am only a tiny 5 foot 2 it was hard to see the show for my diminutive proportions, but I did ‘jump jump'( in the words of pretend Irishmen House of Pain) in order to capture a glimpse of my heroes.  Kim, Black Francis, My pal Joe and David did not disappoint.  The show took my breath away, and this was the first time I’d seen the pixies avec visuals.  They opened the show with the Dali film ‘un chien andalou’, naturally, as this was the Doolittle tour. The pixies were quite silent, much like last time I saw them, in terms of banter with the crowd.  Kim talked to us, but the others did not utter a word.  This made me wonder whether they weren’t enjoying it, if that makes sense? 

Above the stage where four great Ikea paper lanterns, that were connected and moved about.  I’m pretty sure that these were to symbolise the members of ‘take that’ after Robbie’Rude Box’ Williams  left, or maybe even to symbolise Jordan’s children.  I hope you can make them out on my terrible video.

Music wise, and atmosphere wise, it was just phenomenal.  The band started with B sides: Dance the  Mantaray, Wierd at My School, Bailey’s walk and Mantaray before starting the Dootlittle album in its entireity. The visuals were captivating. Using old movie clips, animated dot-matrix style hearts for ‘la la love you’ as well as goofy footage of band members that played behind each one of them during ‘here comes your man’ (if my recollection is correct) which I really liked and connected the band with the crowd.

A particular high point for me was ‘Hey’. I really love this song, it’s so beautiful.  Behind the band, the screen went black and big white lyrics flashed up, which  took my breath away, with the vocal solo, and the bass falling in. You can make this out on the video.

After the whole of Doolittle album had been played we had 3 encores!  The band played some more B sides such as Wave of Mutilation (UK Surf) and  Into the White before going on to play some of my favourite tracks from Surfer Rosa, such as Broken Face, Holiday Song, Nimrod’s Son and Vamos and of course, Where is my Mind? 

After the gig, everyone piled out and I hung around the stage, as I could see the crew throwing things into the audience.  It looked like coins, but I’m sure the crew wouldn’t do that, so I can only presume they were plectrums or something.  As I edged nearer, like a scavenger, the crew started handing out the set lists.  There was one left.  I thought I might have to murder someone.  Luckily, the other die hard fans were sweaty men, and the crew were sweaty men, and being the only thing vaguely resembling a woman, the gods smiled upon me and I got the last set list.  I was in pixie heaven. 

Here is my crap video of the gig.

http://s843.photobucket.com/albums/zz351/worldofsheds/?action=view&current=pixies2009glasgow.flv

Hazard of Parsnips Chapter 5: Get it Here!

Chapter 5
 
You rogue,  Crapper.
 
I returned to my fair towne of Lassiters-Upon-Creek, after fruitfully persuing my Euro-dance career (successfully, I might add) to happen upon the vengeful and unwelcome knowledge that you have been admiring and love-making (it meant something different in olden times, you dirty knave!) to my betrothed woman-thang, lady World of Sheds.
 
O, unhappy knowledge, Crapper.  You should know that I have persued Lady Sheds for more than eight long years, trying to catch her eye.  Gazing ‘pon her flushed coutenance down the local park when she be delighting herself with a tea towel and some insette hairspray up her delicate, bulbous, vein ridden nose, walking into Dorothy of Perkins, where she holdeth a Saturday job, pretending to buy something for my mother, and following her to ye olde Superbowl and trying to brush up against her tracksuit enclad figure, in ye olde Energiser at ye Quasar.  A fine, fine figure, the envy of all from Ye Olde Roan in Aintree to the Saint of Helens.  Legend has it that gazing upon her disrobed figure is so beauteous, that it woud make a man drop his curry and chips. Yes.  Now, you wretch, you threaten to rob me of such pleasure!  To rob me of finding out whether the legends be true! This must stop. 
 
I had communication from ‘Lady’ (at least I thinketh she be a lady, she may be a knave, or an ox, I am unsure as to which) Sharon, who has a sickness of the mind.  A sickness so great, she beliveth herself to be ‘in love’ (I’m snorting that derisorily) with your worthless, scab encrusted self.  She writeth about you in a manner that would turn the hardiest of stomach and create a bilious state of affairs that only Gaviscon ultra coule abate.  She told me that whist I had been tying a neckerchief firmly around my manly neck, and emulating David Hasslehoff, you had been trying to entreat Lady Sheds by announcing ” J’ai un sac du confectionaire”.  Everyone knows how lady sheds cannot resist a shrimp of pink or a ‘jaw breaker’ or two.  You insufferable rogue.
 
There remains only one outcome to this current situation.  We must come to blows.  Not the kind of blows that you were hoping to receive from Lady sheds, no, hard blows.  Oh damn, that still doesn’t sound right.  I fear this epistle may end up a script for a ‘carry on’ film. I challenge you, sir, to fisticuffs at the Interchange of buses, in the town square.  My esteemed friend, Lord Edmonds will only be there only to hold my coat, I advise you sir, to come alone.  No more shall you push your confectionary sack into my lady’s hands. 
 
Later, knave.
 
 
Lord Stefan of Dennis
 
sac du confectionaire

Hazard of Parnsips, Chapter 4

https://worldofsheds.wordpress.com/2009/08/27/a-hazard-of-parsnips-chapter-3/

Now read the next thrilling installment, written by Sherby 57, HERE

http://sherby57.co.uk/2008/12/05/a-hazard-of-parsnips-chapters-3-4/

It’s all just too exciting!

Want to know more about HoP?  Read about it HERE

http://sherby57.co.uk/2008/10/08/a-hazard-of-parsnips-an-experiment/#comments

Dr. Angels’ singleton survival Guide

 want to hear you holla, hear you scream my name, as the Spice Girls once sang (sans Geri Halliwell), but aside from that some of you may be SINGLE.

Yes.  This means you never go on holiday and noone cares whether you get home alright or how drunk you get when you go out with your mates.  YES! It also means that sometimes you buy Jammie Dodgers just to see a friendly face (Thanks Jeff Green, always reference your stolen gags, gag fans).

Some of you may be perplexed by this state of affairs so it’s only right as my duty as internet philanthropist, I show you some of the advantages of being single.

Advantages

1.  No one leaves wet towels on your bed anymore

2.  It doesn’t matter that your bathroom door handle is broken.

3.  No one walks over your white rug anymore with their shoes on.

4.  No one tampers with your car stereo or touches the buttons just to annoy you.  This also applies to the passenger seat of your car. 

5.  You don’t have to stay up until 1am on a work night having an ‘discussion’ (argument) until you finally relent and agree with them because you have to be up in 6 hours. 

6.  If you get really drunk when you’re out with your mates, no one sulks the next day because you didn’t phone when you got in.  As this obviously means that they mean NOTHING to you and are INSIGNIFICANT and you were too busy having fun/getting off with someone/snorting coke off supermodel’s backs.

7.  There are no shoes in the hallway unless you put them there.

8.  Your garage no longer has loads of shit in it (but sadly, no one to mow the lawn anymore). 

9.  You automatically lose a stone in weight.

10.  You remember that you had ‘hobbies’ once upon a time. Hobbies are things that take up time that are pleasurable and make you feel good about self for those in relationships. 

11.  You are allowed to go to parties where there might be people you have hithertonow snogged/dated before.  You are also now allowed to speak to these people without fear.

12.  You don’t have to pretend it’s OK when somone messes up/breaks your stuff.  Unclench that fake gritted-teeth smile! 

13.  You don’t have to worry about the age-old ‘photograph dilemma’.  You look hot on a photo, they look like a serial killer.  You want to display said photo as, hey, you look great and that’s what matters, right?  They want photo to be burnt unceremoniously under cover of darkness.  This can also happen vice versa.  You go around to their gaff and discover a photo of yourself gurning like a loon while they look like bronzed god/goddess. 

14.  You don’t have to pretend you like White Musk from the Body Shop anymore, as you’ve been bought it by their mum four years in a row for Christmas.

15.  Fellas, you can get that tattoo you always wanted that your girlfriend scowled at when you mentioned.

16.  The ‘whose mates do we spend New Year with? ‘ dilemma is avoided, as you know, your mates are better. 

17.  Fellas, you avoid the ‘Poppodum Dilemma’ completely.  You can now get poppodums without fear of them being stolen when you go for a curry.  Your girlfriend will insist they are ‘fattening’, then proceed to eat all of yours while she waits for her main course. The Wench!

18.  Girls, you can wear your ‘fake tan’ pyjamas any night you like!  You can also store nail varnish and perfume in the fridge to optimum application benefits.

 

Hope that clears things up for you.  Until next time

Survive being Single: Angel Gold from Myspace

I want to hear you holla, hear you scream my name, as the Spice Girls once sang (sans Geri Halliwell), but aside from that some of you may be SINGLE.

Yes.  This means you never go on holiday and noone cares whether you get home alright or how drunk you get when you go out with your mates.  YES! It also means that sometimes you buy Jammie Dodgers just to see a friendly face (Thanks Jeff Green, always reference your stolen gags, gag fans).

Some of you may be perplexed by this state of affairs so it’s only right as my duty as internet philanthropist, I show you some of the advantages of being single.

Advantages

1.  No one leaves wet towels on your bed anymore

2.  It doesn’t matter that your bathroom door handle is broken.

3.  No one walks over your white rug anymore with their shoes on.

4.  No one tampers with your car stereo or touches the buttons just to annoy you.  This also applies to the passenger seat of your car. 

5.  You don’t have to stay up until 1am on a work night having an ‘discussion’ (argument) until you finally relent and agree with them because you have to be up in 6 hours. 

6.  If you get really drunk when you’re out with your mates, no one sulks the next day because you didn’t phone when you got in.  As this obviously means that they mean NOTHING to you and are INSIGNIFICANT and you were too busy having fun/getting off with someone/snorting coke off supermodel’s backs.

7.  There are no shoes in the hallway unless you put them there.

8.  Your garage no longer has loads of shit in it (but sadly, no one to mow the lawn anymore). 

9.  You automatically lose a stone in weight.

10.  You remember that you had ‘hobbies’ once upon a time. Hobbies are things that take up time that are pleasurable and make you feel good about self for those in relationships. 

11.  You are allowed to go to parties where there might be people you have hithertonow snogged/dated before.  You are also now allowed to speak to these people without fear.

12.  You don’t have to pretend it’s OK when somone messes up/breaks your stuff.   

13.  You don’t have to worry about the age-old ‘photograph dilemma’.  You look hot on a photo, they look like a serial killer.  You want to display said photo as, hey, you look great and that’s what matters, right?  They want photo to be burnt unceremoniously under cover of darkness.  This can also happen vice versa.  You go around to their gaff and discover a photo of yourself gurning like a loon while they look like bronzed god/goddess. 

14.  You don’t have to pretend you like White Musk from the Body Shop anymore, as you’ve been bought it by their mum four years in a row for Christmas.

15.  Fellas, you can get that tattoo you always wanted that your girlfriend scowled at when you mentioned.

16.  The ‘whose mates do we spend New Year with? ‘ dilemma is avoided, as you know, your mates are better. 

17.  Fellas, you avoid the ‘Poppodum Dilemma’ completely.  You can now get poppodums without fear of them being stolen when you go for a curry.  Your girlfriend will insist they are ‘fattening’, then proceed to eat all of yours while she waits for her main course. The Wench!

18.  Girls, you can wear your ‘fake tan’ pyjamas any night you like!  You can also store nail varnish and perfume in the fridge to optimum application benefits.

 

Hope that clears things up for you.  Until next time