In order to mark the fact that I’ve been doing this damn blurnal thing for five years almost exactly and STILL have nothing concrete to show for it (Well, I did print it all out a couple of years ago. At that point it weighed 17kg, destroyed one square acre of Brazilian rainforest and is currently sitting in two box files under the bookshelf. I’m SO proud), I am going to do a page called ‘BUNCH OF FIVES!!!’

‘BUNCH OF FIVES!!!’ will just be a collection of ‘five’ things, but I would like, if possible, for the ‘things’ to be suggested by you (hello!).

So if you could put suggestions below in the comment box, like, oh god, I don’t know, my sister who thought of the idea in the first place suggested ‘Five words that I overuse’ or ‘Five sites I visit daily’. I would suggest ‘Five foods that make me want to actually vomit’ or ‘Five things I want to do before I’m thirty’, or something.

Anyway. If they’re things that can be answered quite briefly, all the better. And I will cry ‘STOP, for the LOVE of GOD, STOP!’ at some point, if I sense my fingers might do the fally off thing if you carry on. Just warning you.

So. Your assistance required, please:

Suggestions for bunches of ‘five things’ for my ‘BUNCH OF FIVES!!!’ page please thank you

Go.

1) I was going to put a quiz up here today. Well not ‘I was going to’, but more of a ‘it was a thought I had on the train which I now suspect will never get anywhere because it seems a bit self-indulgent/self-obsessed, but then can you GET more More self obsessed than having a blog for five years? Oh hell maybe I should do it anyway. Like a treasure hunt with archives. That sounds like a lot of work. Am I still in single quotes? Shit, I am’ type thing.

2) It’s sometimes hard to remember that this blog was started by a single, bouncy, ourdoorsish, smoking, candle-making craft-worker with a passion for celidh dancing and helping teach people to sing who went to church (enforced by contract) 10 times a week without strictly believing in God and who lived in the inner hebrides and talked about sheep a lot, and never wore shoes or bought new clothes, and when she visited the mainland every six months or so, was terrified of supermarkets. Because frankly five years doesn’t seem quite long enough for who I was then to have turned into who I am now. And I also got an MPhil somewhere in the middle there. Fuck knows how THAT happened.

3) The other thing I was going to do, apart from the archive treasure hunt quiz thing that I may or may not do was to publish a little ‘I feel boaty’ button here so that people could delve into the archives. Well, the button’s there, but it doesn’t work. It just brings you back to the top post. And while this particular post is a little cracker, clearly, it’s not quite a classic, and kind of loses the appeal after about the 14th read.

4) There is no fact four. You think that’s unfair? Alright. I didn’t sleep well, I’m sick of working all weekend and it’s raining. Three-for-one fact four.

5) I’ve been writing this site for Five. Motherfucking. Years.
Look!
Look at all those lovely archives down the side! Or a list of good posts here that don’t even scratch the motherfucking SURFACE!

When I started, at the encouragement of my lovely seeester, I didn’t know what a blog was, or what one was supposed to do with it.

I have never quite learnt what a blog is, or what one is supposed to do with it, but I like having one, I like writing, and I like comments, and nice links, and I like you, so thank you. Really.
Thank you to everyone who reads these ever-flowing streams of wee, to everyone who leaves comments, to everyone who doesn’t, to people that have emailed me, and to people that I’ve met through this, and to anyone who’s ever had a charitable thought toward me, or even not.
You are all going to heaven, and also have nice hair. Thank you.

Bleurgh. Saying nice things is for wimps.

Apologies.
Ah! My lovely sister has just sugegsted something I can do. Hang on. Will be back with another post in a tick.
Anyone that wants to say ‘happy blurnalversary’ can do so below, if they so desire, though.
You dear bunch of geeks.

In the middle of the town, I was standing in line for the cash machine.

It was a beautifully sunny day, and people were strolling around, happily. In the street in front of four bars, people sat and talked, and laughed.

By the bank, he stood. In his beatific beard, he stood there. Beatific beard and solemn stary eyes, with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, he stood, and waited, managing to look both smug and grumpy simultaneously.

This was the worst soapbox preaching technique I think I’ve ever seen. The silent evangelist.

He’d brought his own easel, of course (of course!). And on it was written the words:

“HEAVEN or HELL - WHICH WILL YOU BE GOING TO? ASK ME.”

And strangely, no one did. Not one person. I was standing there for a good ten minutes, and in that time, weirdly, not one person walked up to the silent man and

I was tempted, of course.
I was tempted to ask; I was curious as to his technique.
Did he just look you up and down and say ‘Oh hell, definitely”?
Or did he ask you a few questions first?
Or was his trick just to say ‘hell’ to everyone until someone punched him, at which point he could say ‘You SEE?!’ and feel smug and go home.
Or, as I suspect, was he planning just to say to everyone ‘Hell, all of you, all of you happy people, unlike me, I’m going to heaven, so there’. And then someone would probably punch him.

I’m thinking of getting my own sign, and going out on the streets, see if I can’t fare any better. Probably not heaven or hell though. No, I want to be more actively useful to people.

“Have you got good hair? Or BAD hair? ASK ME!”

I will be known as the silent hairvangelist. The silent hairvangelist with the two black eyes, probably.

It is the weekend.

It is the weekend, and I am writing this in my house which, yes, Jinks be praised, has internet. Real internet. MY internet. I mean, I’ve only lived here two months, so, you know, whatever. So happy. So internetted.

And what do I choose to do with it?

Well, i know I would have been watching it anyway, but I always surprise myself by doing (and enjoying, although my fingers hurt) things like this. For anyone who goes and glances and finds it too long to bother reading (and it is Really Fucking Long) I will explain: It is a scene-by-scene live-blogging of the last two ever episodes of the West Wing.

I’ve always loved Television Without Pity, and while I may never get to play with the big boys, I can dream, can’t I?…

Damnit, I’m knackered but my mind is still going at 400,000mph. Stuff to do, things to finish, much to faff with but in the meantime, hello weekend. Hello seaside.

Hello internet. I missed you.

Yes, I know that forty thousand hundred people have already done this meme. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t, right? And I’ve seen it on too many blogs to remember, and now I don’t want to link back to *some* of the places I’ve seen it on, because I would forget people and everyone would get cross. So I tell you what. If you have a guess, and you have already done this thing, can you add the words “I’ve done this!” and link back to it in your comment? And then we can get ourselves straight.

Ok. So I did the thing. I put my iPod thing on shuffle - it did happen to be on a playlist, but only so I didn’t have to transcribe any of my beloved’s BOYROCK!(tm), because it would hurt my delicate ears. Or transcribe the first line of any interviews either of us had done, because that would be stupid (who is going to guess: “So, tell me a little bit about what you do here?”?). Or podcasts. Same same.

Anyway. I put my iPod thing on shuffle and wrote down the first lines of the first 25 songs. I think it’s 25, anyway, I can’t see right now, it’s all in code. But it’s some number around or above 25. But I wrote down the first lines, ignoring the ones that were instrumentals or not in English or which contained the title of the song. So excluding all those - which I think is rather unfair, by the way, I wrote down the first lines of lots of songs.

What you do!

And now you can guess these, I think. I have tried to help by putting shouted things *before* lyrics, or spoken quotes in mixes in quotation marks.

But you can only have one guess each (One guess. ONE! ONE GUESS!). Although you can guess artist and songname if you like on the same song, even though those are strictly two things.

And you can’t use Google, or any other search engine, because that would mean you were cheating like a big cheating cheater.

I’m sorry if my taste in music isn’t very good.

LIST A!
(Unguessed ones in bold)

1) See I reckon you’re about an eight or a nine, maybe even nine and a half in four beers time.
FIT BUT YOU KNOW IT - The Streets.
Guessed by The (lovely) Girl. And first, too.
I’ll add the other answers and guessees tomorrow.

2) (oh) When I sing this song y’all, I’m singin it for my baby. She’s the only one to bring me joy…

3) “This is the breakfast club!”
Yes, alright, Katy, you can have another one. And yes, this is ‘Man Clapper’ by tha Gorillaz. Or rather, Ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya Ya Ya (yeah Yeah!) this is tha Gorillaz. Did you google, poppet? Because it took me four listens to actually work out that was what he said - leaving me unsurprised that no one guessed it till now.

4) When the train rolls by, I’m gonna be ready this time…
Ready to Run - Dixie Chicks.
Guessed by Nancy.

5) Falling through the floor with the friend I had before: grabbing at straws so the holes don’t slow me down
She’s The One - The Beta Band.
Guessed magnificently by David. Seriously. I was so sure no one would get that.

6) Learn to love me, assemble the ways, now, today, tomorrow and always.
The Smiths - Shoplifters Doo Be Doo
Guessed by Annie who also knows lots of others, but refrained from saying them because of the RULES. Although no one’s guessed them yet, Annie…

7) I never thought that love would ever smile on me, but now I see all the while Lady Luck was saving her brightest smile just for me.
Mr Angry hilariously, guessed the happiest, least grumpy song on the list. My Love Is Your Love (Forever) has been done by Stevie Wonder, as he suggested, but on this occasion it was performed by The Isley Brothers.

8) Who made up all the rules? We follow them like fools. Believe them to be true, don’t care to think them through…
Them by Jem (which rhymes).
Guessed by Rachie. Who was VERY excited about it. This is a fantastic power-walking song. And contains a sample from one of my favourite Jazz groups. Hm. Maybe I should write a ‘why’ post to all these songs. No, fuck it. That would be Very dull.

9) Freezin, rests his head on a pillow made of concrete.
The fabulous Katy Newton correctly guessed this to be Even Flow by The Pearl Jam. Isn’t it fabulous how you can make yourself sound automatically completely out of touch by adding ‘The’ to band names. Comedy tip no.1. You can have that one for free.

10) When I was young, younger than before; I never saw the truth hanging from the door
Place To Be by my darling, dalirng Nick Drake. Correctly guessed by Jen.

11) Something is wrong cos my mind is fading, and everywhere I look there’s a dead-end waiting.
minifig correctly guessed that this is Beck and his 1994 hit Devil’s Haircut. I don’t know if it was 1994. I just wanted to say something different.

12) Shiny shiny, shiny boots of leather.
EVERYONE got this one, but mainly Mike (who did this meme last week. Nick also got it, but he Broke The Rules and named lots of song he knew. Although well done for knowing lots of songs, Nick. Gordon also got it, but by this point I wasn’t talking to him.

13) Anthony walked to his death because he thought he’d never feel this way again
Dury who, interestingly, went to school with my beloved, in Suffolk, correctly identified this as If You’re Feeling Sinister by Belle and Sebastian which was amazing, because, though I love them, I never would have guessed this Ever.

14) Some people like a motor bike, some say ‘A tram for me!’
Two people got this! Both Eloise and Nick. They both said it was A Transport Of Delight by Flanders and Swann. Hold very tight please! Ding DING!

15) On our way, so it seems, blooming flowers waltz before me
Yay! This was guessed, finally, by Crisiswhatcrisis, well dine you, dearie. Seriously. I forgot who it was myself as soon as I typed it and just couldn’t bring it back.

16) Mary Anne and Wanda were the best of friends, all through their high school days;
“Both active in the 4H club, both active in the FFA.” Whatever the hell THOSE things are. This was correctly guessed to be Earl Had To Die or Goodbye Earl! or whatever it’s called (The Dixie Chicks), by Jessica. Although Nancy would have got it too if she wasn’t so lovely about Not Breaking Rules.

17) I woke up today with a feeling that better things are coming my way. And if the sunshine has a meaning…
I honestly didn’t think that anyone would guess this; in fact, it’s probably fair to say that I kind of hoped they wouldn’t. But Hazy did, and now I don’t feel so ashamed. I am not alone. You are here with me. Oh jesus, I’m singing Michael Jackson. Which is debatably even more embarrassing than the fact that this is Keep On Movin’ by Five. Sorry, 5ive. I blame you, Ali Dixon.

18) Superlove is something that they say is very rare.
Kate guessed this. Macy Gray: Sex-O-Matic Venus Freak. Rah.

19) Hey, little girl, brush your hair, fix your make up, soon he will open the door.
Everyone’s favourite piece of anti-feminist propaganda, Wives And Lovers, guessed by featherboa. I can’t remember who sings the version on my iPod, can’t find it now. But don’t think it was Andy Williams.

20) Did you see the stylish kids in the riot, we were shovelled up like muck…
Ash spotted this was The Libertines with their song Time For Crackheads.

21) Born with the moon in Cancer, choose her a name she will answer to…
Joni Mitchell, and Little Green from Blue, which I can listen to over and over and over again. Mm, Joni. My beloved calls her ‘That Shrieking Woman’, but then goes and listens to Jeff Buckley, a bigger shrieking woman than whom I can’t think of.
Anyway. It was Joni. >Lux got it.

22) Hangin’ around the downtown by myself and I had so much time to sit and think about myself, and then there she was…
Both Fran and Emma M guessed this was Sex and Candy by Marcy Playground, one I considered so hard I was going to include the next line ‘like double cherry pie, yeah there she was; like disco superfly‘ thinking that would help. No need, clearly, my clever bunnies. No need.

23)Time on your side that will never end, the most beautiful thing you can ever spend, but you work in a shirt with your name tag on it…
Nick got this one, as well. He may not be good at Reading The Rules - but he is still ‘up wid de kids’, apparently.

24) “Maureen’s got five sisters. They’ve all got ass.”
Ali - with her hilarious false email adress of feckyouall@googlemail.com, guessed this right. I don’t know whether the false email address was to mask ‘genius’ or ‘big cheating cheater’, but she got it right all the same, so I am in awe of her. She got that it was DJ Shadow (from Endtroducing…, an album I’ve been listening to a lot recently), but unfortunately it wasn’t the track name she said. It was ‘untitled‘ on my iPod. So well done. Serious. Even if you do hate us all and are a scary troll or something, well done.
For everyone else, not that you care, you should go and listen to it. Not that track, it’s 18 seconds long. But the album. The complete quote is “Maureen’s got five sisters. They’ve all got ass. One of them got eyes big as Jolly Ranchers. Beautiful girl. Beautiful girl.”

25) Hope everything is all right, hope everything is all right… What’s that floating in the water?
Yes, rb, this is Mr Grieves by the Pixes.

26) Now the end is in sight, I’m just tired. Lying awake at night, so wired. And Fired. Up…
Will said that this is Bittersweet Bundle of Misery by Graham Coxon. And he’s right. Well, he would be. He met him once, don’t you know…

27) If you want it (Oo-ee-ooh) you can have it (Oo-ee-ooh) - But you’ve got to learn to reach out there and grab it.
Photograph by Weezer. Spotted by fellow Brightonite-blogger, Lauren, because she has it on her ‘Songs about Photographs‘ playlist. No, I’ve no idea. No really, not a clue. Don’t ask me, ask her. Also spotted by Karen, mere seconds after.

28) Using the Guardian as a shield to cover my thighs against the rain, I do not mind about my hair.
Yes, Urban Chick, it IS the lovely Kings of Convenience, the track is a remix of Failure, from the lovely Versus album, which is pretty much my morning staple at the moment. Yes, I know you didn’t ask for that information.

29) (Nanananana-oh! Nananamana oh! Nananamana oh!) Oh! Trying to let it go. Trying to keep my eyes closed…
Is the first line of 1 thing by Amerie. Guessed correctly by my ex-boyfriend’s little sister, a.k.a Ali*D.

30) On a rooftop in Brooklyn at one in the morning, watching the lights flash in Manhattan.
You Said Something by PJ Harvey, guessed by Sarah, among others.

31) Until Sally I was never happy. I needed so much more - Rain clouds oh they used to chase me, down they would pour
Stroppycow guess this correctly: Sally Cinnamon by the Stone Roses

32) This is a public warning, be careful when you’re out: we’re having freaky weather.
Semantic genius PB Curtis named this Top Man by possibly my favourite band of all time, Blur. He didn’t say they were my favourite band of all time, mind. That would have been freaky. I said it.

33) (Give it to me baby) Ah-ha! Ah-ha! (Give it to me baby) Ah-ha! Ah-ha!…
Ash spotted this. It’s The Offspring and their comedy hit Pretty Fly (For A White Guy). Let’s never mention this again. Actually, no, David Berger, if you’re out there, for some reason I still have this CD I borrowed for the Village Hall disco, do you want it back? (See what I did there?)

34) My baby don’t care for shows. My baby don’t care for clothes.
Another one that Everybody in the Whole Wide World got. And Hennie.

35) “Is Dexter ill? Is Dexter ill? Is Dexter ill today?” “Mr Kirk, Dexter’s in school!” “I’m afraid he’s not…”
It’s The Avalanches, and Frontier Psychiatrist, which is a fucking cracking song, from a cracking album. And you should watch the video, too. Almost forgot. It was guessed by Celeste, Clare’s boyfriend and James Bluecat.

And these are ones that I wasn’t allowed because they contained the title of the song, or were not in English, or because they were notin English AND contained the title of the song. Or because they were instrumentals. These are, in fact, a very small representation of instrumentals, songs not-in-English and songs with titles in lyrics. In fact, those seem to make up rather a lot of my collection. Still. Whatever. You can guess them if you like. Some of them are a bit obvious. Some of them, less so.

LIST B!
Discussion point: Does List B count as an actual list, or was it a list-in-cheek list, knowing that anything with a title is rarther easy to guess and you’re possibly never going to spot that 3 is The Modern Jazz Quartet? Having said that, do I update it with guesses anyway, seeing as I’m really fucking busy this week, and need to be active here but am thoroughly bored of the formatting? Hum. It is a Quandary.

1)Hey! Mr Tambourine man, play a song for me!
JonnyB, king of comedy, guessed this. The boy’s a fricking genius.

2) William and Davy were born in one hall, they grew side by side as they grew strong and tall
3) Doooooo -deedeedeedee - doooooooowawawawawawawa - weeweewee
4) Como e bella ce la luna brille e strette, Strette como e tutta bella a passeggiare
5) Jik Shik! Bad-um-ba-ba-bad-dum-dum! ‘Jik Chik!’ Bad-um baaaa! (repeat)… Leka Ham Diwana Dil
6) And the glory the glory of the lord, the glory of the lord, the glory of the lord, shall be re-hee-hee-vee etc.
7) Dundun dun duh dandandudullur. Dundun dun duh dandandudullur. La, la la, la la LA la lala….
8) He’s a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land

9) He needs me. He doesn’t know it, but he needs me.
It’s He Needs Me you say, Hennie?! Why yes it is! And yes it (this version anyway) IS by Nina Simone.

10) Dah - dahdahdah doodoodoodoo.

11) It’s not easy, being green.
D’s saying this is Kermit the Frog singing It’s Not Easy Being Green. I say it’s a long shot, but the boy might just have it.

12) La-la la lala lalala laaaa, la-lalala.
13) These flowers are coming up wild.
14) Long legs don’t give me no head rush in the morning.
15) Pling pling, pling pling. Diddly doo, diddly doo diddly doo! Pling pling, pling pling. Diddlydoo diddly doo!

Hm. Maybe I should have written down what those were. Oh whatever.

There are still some to guess! YAY!
Blimey, I think this may well be the world’s ugliest post.

“He was always such a quiet man. Sometimes you’d be sitting in the office with him all day and still wonder whether he’s taken the day off or not. We never would have imagined that one day he’d do something as hideous as this. It makes me vomit, really it does.”

… Is something that will one day be said about the Mr Public-muesli-man, the man who haunts my fevered bad dreams, the man who may well appear in the top ten of the Top Ten Commuter’s Most Annoying list, the man that gets on the early-morning train out of Brighton and sometimes, damn his eyes, the man who sits next to me.

He is of indistinct age, indistinct though determinedly Aryan origin, he has hair formally parted and strictly slapped to the top of his head, shiny and stiff with gel, or sputum, or wax, or refrigerated, terrified, sperm of a brutally murdered person. Possibly. He wears glasses, thick lensed, thick framed. He climbs on the the last carriage at the second stop on the line, and performs the same well-trodden ritual, every day.

I am increasingly convinced that he has already killed an unspecified number of people. And may go on to kill more. Of course, this is mainly based on the fact that he’s incredibly annoying - which in itself isn’t a jailable offence, although murdering people might be. So if the two WERE related, that would be great: It would rid the streets of Sussex of one more crazed murderer, and also mean that I would be a lot calmer when I arrived at work.

I have nothing against ritual, of course, it would be the height of hypocrisy for me to be dismissive of borderline-OCD rituals, believe me, and will happily tell you my daily soup-ritual in the comments if you don’t. I don’t have many of these things, but when I do, I really, really do. But at least mine are private, and a fuck sight less annoying.

I don’t know what his private rituals are like, but if this public one is anything to go by, they’re absolutely cracking. Crackers. Cracking. Whatever.

I don’t always catch the early morning train: I work shifts, and the official arse-shift is the one that means I, non-morning me, must be on the train at a time I personally consider impolite. We get on this train, the wretched commuters and shuffle into our second beds, and promptly attempt to sleep with each other while maintaining as little physical contact as possible.

Six minutes later, he gets on the train. Always, he ends up sitting near me. Occasionally opposite. And the other day, next to.

He places his bag by his side, and removes from it a rectangular tupperware dish, and a metal spoon. Then a black sony walkman, and its headphones.

He peels the lid off the rectangular tupperware dish, and begins to eat his muesli. He eats slowly, and methodically, with due care and attention paid to each spoonful. He swallows each spoonful before he dips the spoon down for another. I don’t know what kind of muesli it is, because I can’t look, because it makes me nauseous. I think I caught a whiff of cranberry once, but after that I stopped breathing through my nose during the ritual, so I couldn’t tell you for sure.

I’m perfectly aware at this point that I’m possibly not any less odd than him, in your eyes. Still, I am. Honestly. I am a *little* obsessive, sometimes, but no more so than most people. And a whole lot bloody less so than Mr Muesli. Fucking muesli, indeed.

And in the time it has taken me to explain that to you, it has taken our man 13 minutes to finish his muesli. He is now scraping and banging his spoon against the plastic tub to attempt to scrape every last drop of milk from it. He will do this for approximately a minute and a half. By the end of this I will want to hit him over the head with something heavy, like a vase, or a lamp. Or a wooden stool. Or a pan.

Then he puts the lid back on the tupperware, tucks it and the spoon in his briefcase. He carefully unwraps the earphone lead from the Sony Walkman, and places them over his head. He presses play, listens intently for five minutes, then presses the stop button. He winds the earphone lead around the Sony Walkman, and places it in his bag.

Bare minutes after the muesli has been finished, the hacking begins. His throat is flaring up, filling up with phlegm, feeling tickly and irritated. So he makes a rasping hacking noise approximately every 40 seconds from three minutes after his breakfast until he packs up his briefcase and marches up the ramp and into Croydon. I just want to lean over and ask him if he’s ever considered he might be lactose intolerant. But I don’t. So he sits, and smoothes his already perfectly smooth hair, and hacks, and stares straight ahead of him.

Then he takes out a book.

The other day, it was a hefty hardback tome, called ‘ON KILLING‘.

I think it was a manual.

[With apologies to anyone with eyes for my inability to write poetry]

*aHEM*

I like the summer thing a lot
I even like the ‘very hot’
that summer brings,
and feel no need to whine

no need at all, except for maybe just a bit
about the temperature, to whit
it wouldn’t be entirely shit
if maybe it was just a lit
tle cooler. You know, in the night.

And, maybe in the sun (outside).
And possibly at work, inside
And in the train,
the gym’s insane
ly hot: does drain
and now I think of it, again,
cool in the office would be nice
and, at risk of mentioning this twice
I think that aircon, while a sin
is quite acceptable within
a modern office.
And possibly
in
my
trousers.

Still. Summer. It’s v.good.
I mention solely lest you should
consider constructive advice I offer
‘kin to whinging - ungrateful for a
bout of sunny lovely weather.
Which I’m not. It’s great. I’m happy.

Couldn’t like it more. Unless
some charitable soul put out
these burning, boiling, firey trousers
that trouble me still, even yet
as I write this - yin-yang upset
by ovened organs, likely threat
of complete meltdown.
Apart from that it’s great.

Though dear GOD let
us not speak, let
us vigorously forget
on pain of get
ting thrill-of-hometime wet
the serious threat
the odds-on bet
the filthy expectation met
of a train full of people that really smell.

Of sweat.

Still. Summer. It’s a lovely thing
a glorious thing
exalted spring
has fucking nothing on this season
this is just ace, and for some reason
even though we’re sitting here
all whinging, whining, sweating we’re
neglecting to remember
that in darkness of november we’ll look back upon these days
and pine for them, all grump and skittish.

Because that’s just what we DO (we’re British).

So. Summer. Like it. Enjoy days
of sweaty knickers, muggy haze
of pollution. Your sunburnt arms
are testament to something rare.
Though Britain has its list of charms
the weather is not counted there.

Enjoy it while you can,
Ye Britons standing pale and wan
before the torrent of sunshine
confused, not knowing what to do:
although it’s scary, and it’s new;
it isn’t nasty, or malign,

give in.

(And if someone could invent
that trousair-con I would present
with some great prize the genius concerned.)
(Scissors don’t count).

First-time visitors to Brighton - and, as a matter of fact, those who might have moved there on a whim - can often be confused and upset by the sight of large winged dogs swooping at them out of the sky.

The seagull, theoretically a member of the ‘bird’ family, is likely to unsettle the hardiest traveller and resident alike. However, armed with the proper information and tools to deal with the problem, there is no reason why man and enormous angry beast-bird-that-shits-like-a-bad’un should not peacefully coexist.

Apart from the fact that the seagulls don’t seem to feel like it.

History

It is thought that the original prehistoric settlement of Brighton was made by a happy, if simple, pierced people with a diet entirely composed of blended fruit and yoghurt and a primitive layered form of food group layering known as the ‘nachomountin’, who both worshipped and feared the direct pterodactyl descendents with whom they shared their land. Um, air. You know, ’space’.

The people settled in the Land of the Yellow-Beaked Pterodactyl hoping that the mighty beast would in time come to love and protect them, and they, in turn, could come to know their ways, and perhaps sometimes cook and eat them, although in an entirely loving and respectful way.

Unfortunately, this didn’t happen. The Yellow-beaked pterodactyl very quickly learned the ways of the simple tribe, conspiring to keep them awake to make them weak, pooing on all they loved best, and stealing from their precious nachomountins when they weren’t looking. The soft, huddled, disco-loving masses were genuinely, and understandably, afeared of their giant, angry, winged neighbours.

In fact, the name ‘Brighton’ is thought to be a corruption of the word ‘Frighton’. According to the Magna Carta, ‘Frightoned’ was the sign the newly-literate and scared-shitless tribe put at the edge of their encampment to try and attract help from the outside world. Sadly, the Yellow-beaked pterodactyls shat on the sign, rendering it ‘Frighton’. Curious, neighbouring tribes wandered in in packs, and discovering the Frightoneans frightoned no one, they ate from their nachomountin, weed on their promenade and left, satisfied. The Frightoneans grew bored of this, and in time adjusted the sign again, becoming ‘Brighton’. A name they believed would attract a better class of visitor. Sadly, this turned out not to be the case.

Meanwhile, while the Yellow-beaked pterodactyls soon learned to live off the Brightoneans, the Brightoneans, unfortunately, never learned to live off the “seagull” - as it became known (a corruption of ‘Beagle’, the family it was presumed to belong to for a while during the enlightenment) - and have been mainly vegetarian ever since.

Anatomy

The seagull can be anywhere between one metre and nine metres tall, and has a corresponding wingspan of between 9 and 47 metres. Up close, they can be discovered to be as large as 79m big.

While not strictly accurate, this does, at least, represent the essence of the beast, which is, simply, ‘Essence du Fucking Large (Pour Hommeseagull et Femmeseagull)’ TIt should be noted that there is, incidentally, no discernable difference whatsoever between Les Hommeseagulll et les Femmeseagull except that one is more likely to peck you to death if you approach a nest during chicking season, and the other is more likely to peck you to death for absolutely no reason whatsoever. By the time you have discovered the gender of the psychopath, then, it is usually too late. It is useless anyway. What are you going to do, ask them out for drinks-and-perhaps-a-little-dancing-let’s-see-what-happens?

Almost all of their gargantuan height, width and girth is constructed of solid reinforced steel, with a thin covering of white, grey and black fur over the top and the business end of and ice-pick stuck to the front, painted yellow and known as the ‘beak’.

Baby seagulls are easily identified by their adorable fluffiness. They are brown-grey, and thought to be very soft, though no hard evidence exists to confirm this, as anyone who ever got close enough to find out was immediately pecked to death. While exceptionally cute from a distance, a close encounter with an infant seagull is like watching the old lady in the park call forlornly for her darling dog ‘Flupster’, and joining in to help, before turning around and realising you have summoned satan, and have him - in Flupster the Giant Slavering Rottweiler form - running toward you full pelt. And with his mouth open. And that mean nasty look in his eye.

Diet

Big seafood fans, it was once widely touted that seagulls spend much of their leisure time following trailers, in the knowledge that sardines will be thrown into the sea. Unfortunately, while this poetic behaviour may continue in the more wistful areas of international coastline, where EU fishery laws stretch to whimsy, in Brighton the trawler/sardine theory has long since collapsed under the weight of the more practical time- and energy-saving ‘Oh screw it why don’t we just rip open rubbish bags’ seagull conjecture.

By start of the business day, the centre of town may have been buffed into loveliness by crack street-cleaning squads, but little hours earlier I pick my way through piles of eggshells or crusted milk cartons and yesterday’s tampons, feeling like the pale orphan in a Victorian novel and hoping against hope that I don’t die of cholera anytime soon. If I do die of cholera, you will think of Little Anna fondly from time to time, won’t you, kind sir? Box of matches for your trouble? Only a ha’penny? *Cough*.

They also eat battered things. And chips. And candyfloss, and donuts, and lollypops and ice cream and anything else they can garner from dive-bombing raids on small seafront children.

Like the evil nemisissies in superhero comics, the seagulls are given special powers by eating toxic and tapas waste - powers that they refuse to use for good.

Language

The main language of the seagull is a hooligan cry of ‘RWAAAAAAAK!‘ This is not to be confused with the hooligan cry of mid-eighties big-hair metal bands(’RAAAWK!‘), although it can sound quite similar. Other common noises include ‘Booiiiii, Boooiiiii, Boooiii’ and ‘NakNakNakNakNAk‘

‘RWAAAAAAK‘ is translatable into english, although is too coarse for this family publication.
‘Boooiiii, Boooiii, Boooiiii’ is a warning cry to anyone who might be thinking of fucking with one seagull’s right to ravish rubbish repositories in the privacy of his own main road, while
‘NakNakNakNakNak‘ is thought to simply mean ‘WhatEver’, in a very dismissive tone indeed.

Toilet habits

The area covered by the arial release of liquidised-bin-matter from 200ft in the air is a remarkable thing to behold. Bearing in mind that the expellation is from the pressure cabin of a 79-foot-big bird, it is incredible that the area covered is usually only one square half-kilometre. But that’s about the size it is. And fall it does like rain, but stickier, and more stainy.

Habitat

The Brighton branch of Habitat did for a while produce a range of designer nest-furniture, thinking that there was a huge market waiting to take off, but there were several things they neglected to take into consideration. Like high-volume-pooing window shoppers. And the fact that seagulls don’t have any money. Unfortunately, the Habitat Gull-range folded within… oh! Oh do you mean where do they live?

Oh I don’t know. Roofs. Cliffs. Oh, NakNakNakNakNak.

Positive gull points

A strong protective family instinct is surely something to be commended in anyone or anything, even if it does lead to excessive detrimental physical injury to others. As a wise Brightonean once said to me: “Walk close to the wall in chicking season” this is true. One never knows when you might get accused of looking at someone’s nest funny.

It is rumoured they might keep the local mouse-population very low indeed. I say rumoured. I mean ‘one part of my phobic-neurotic brain made up and whispered to the slightly more neurotic-phobic part that…’

Also, it is often said that the sight of the gulls circling over the sea at sunset is a beautiful sight. This is true for two reasons.
1) Swirly things are nice
2) It means they are reassuringly far away. Look! They’re all the way over THERE! Oh, Thank Jings for that.

How to recognise a seagull: A five point guide

1) Is it big?
2) Is it terrifying?
3) Is it attacking you?
4) Is it speaking in a garbled, unintelligable tongue?
3) Is it hacking at your rubbish bags?

If yes to all five, it is probably a seagull.
Or a monster.
Or an angry tramp.

Or a pig/pittbull-cross.

Or perhaps your ex-girlfriend. I don’t know.

Naknaknaknaknak.

Methods of survival, avoidance, and protection: what you as one human being can do in the face of a seagull onslaught

Nothing. There is nothing you can do.
Sorry.

Alright, yes, yes, I’ll post something proper in a minute when I have enough internet to post (please let’s not talk about the FIVE WEEKS NOW I’ve been incommuninterneticado, it HURTS).

But listen. I only have enough stolen internet to read comments and (not often enough) reply to them. EXCEPT I have suddenly hit a technical gremlin, full on. I need help.

My comments, since I moved to wordpress, have been emailed to my gmail account as they were posted - this is how I know what people are saying and manage to reply to them. I don’t want people to be shouting into a void, and I don’t want to be sitting and refreshing my homepage 50,000 times a day like I did in the old days. I like the email alert things! But They’ve Stopped! WHY?

I haven’t changed anything, done anything, moved anything. Why would this happen? Why would the comment-emaily-thing suddenly disappear? WHY?!

I know there are nice geeks out there, please help me. I am stumped, my beloved is stumped, I need my comment alerts back, please help. Please. What the fuck have I DONE?! WHY? WHY doesn’t it WORK? Why does it HATE me? Why do these things ALWAYS happen when I’m PMTing? WHY? What the FUCK?! BASTARD stupid comment alert bollocks! BOLLOCKS!

[Apologies if I take a while getting back to your comment, my cunting email-alert thing is broken. Oh, did I mention that?]

UPDATE! It is fixed! Chris is a God! And the rest of you are alright as well.

If someone was looking into buying PC laptop, would anyone have any recommendations.

Two criteria:

1) Must not cost 1 billion pounds (remember, it could be hypothetically this, two weeks in a luxury hotel or dental work)

and yes, stupid I know, but humour me

2) MUST have a screen (and thus overall) size of about 12″. Nothing over 13″. Nothing. Serious.

Upadate:
Sorry, I probably should have explained a little more:

The only reason I say PC is that, for work, it’s useful if my beloved can do cross-system and cross-browser testing things (which it sounds like the new macbooks could help with), and for me, I just can’t stand using iPhoto anymore. At the moment we have a PC desktop and a 12″ Mac Powerbook at home, and share them both, and while I do all blogging and stuff from the powerbook because it’s so nice and neat (love the size. unfortunately ALL the new oneas are over 12″, booooooo), I have to run up and down to the PC to use Picassa as my photo management system, which doesn’t have a downloadable version for mac yet.

But hm. I should find out if picassa can be used on the intel macbooks. Because would *so* rather have a mac.

Even though they make your groin hot. But that’s nice in winter, no?

The use of txt spk in business/professional emails.

Do u find it 2 b:

a) xep2bl?

b) n-xep2bl?

Important Thursday questions continue below. Please answer those too. If you have, you know, an opinion or something. I mean. No pressure.

One of my best friends has this appallingly disconcerting habit of telling people he loves them. I mean, it’s nice, but, well, you know… Odd.

I get very odd, when my friends say they love me. And don’t know what to say. It’s just not part of my background, not the way things are done, in my mind.

So when my friends say they love me, I always have this jolt, and put on an imaginary twin set and pearls, clatter my imaginary china cup back onto my imaginary china saucer and think “Good Garden Seats, that’s slightly over-the top, isn’t it? I think we’re all just a little over-excited. Perhaps another cup of tea would help‘ - and scurry away to my imaginary kitchen, wondering what the women of my imaginary WI would say.

Which is stupid. I DO love my friends. I just cannot get over the high wooden slatted fence of my stiff upper lipped English upbringing enough to say so. Or when they say so. Even in a jokey way. And if I try, I sound really weird and forced and silly. I can’t say “I love you” to a freind.

So

a) Do you tell your friends you love them. Just like that? Not a drunken “Ah fuckin LUFFOO, mate”, but a simple; “I love you, insert-name-here“, or such?

And

b) Does it make a difference if it’s a platonic friend of the sex that you are usually attracted to (opposite/same/indeterminate etc)?

Important Thursday questions continue below. Please answer those too. Or not. But just in case you have, you know, an opinion or something.

Hypothetically:

The non-urgent but necessary completion of dental work you need doing happens to cost almost Exactly the same as a two week winter holiday in a hotel in an exotic location.

You can (kind of) afford ONE right now, but not both.

So.

a) Dental work?
or
b) Holiday?

And one more little Important Thursday Questions below… Just in case you have, you know, an opinion or something.

I am full of questions today.

So.

1)

a) Going barefoot in the office - Acceptable or not acceptable?

b) If “acceptable”: If someone barefoot wandering around the office suddenly develops a need to go to the toilet, and the toilet is nearer than the desk where their shoes are then - barefoot in the office toilet: Acceptable or not acceptable?