Posts tagged writing
“ What’s the worst thing about Shipwrecked? Is it that it pollutes the purest, most tranquil patches of paradise with a toxic spillage of the very worst people in the world? The sort of people who say “amazing” too much? The sort of people who wear knitted hats to the beach?”
“ Build a sleazy love fort out of cushions, jump up and down on loads of bananas, blandly pick your spots while naming different types of fabric softener at each other, actually be Jedward…it’s great.”
“ Borough Market isn’t a real market. It’s a bellend magnet. It’s a writhing mass of black-rimmed spectacles and polonecks and deliberately shit haircuts and people called Jeremy cooing and nodding at pieces of chard.”
Recently on LUV&HAT:
“ If your Nan wees herself you might not admonish her, but you’re not going to crouch down, clap your hands and go “OODUN A WEEWEE? OODUN A WEEWEE?? BOOPY BOOPY BOO BOO??”
This week on LUV&HAT:
Someone once told me
LOOKAMEE looking like a normal! Today I am the smiling face of Someone Once Told Me, the project where you’re photographed with something someone once told you (DO YOU SEE HOW IT WORKS?).
When Mario Cacciottolo first asked me to pose for him I went into paroxyms of panic, because
- I’m not one for pithy life-affirming adages.
- I know a lot of people. They talk a lot. And I barely listen.
- I could only think of entirely inappropriate examples, like when the Chinese lady behind the counter asked me if I wanted “sorefinger” on my chips, or the worrying number of times I’ve been mistaken for a prostitute.
But then I remembered that I’m a beige. A multi-ethnic, polycontinental beige. People always ask where I’m from and the answer always involves some sort of graph.
But that all changed when I met Andy, a down-to-Earth Australian girl I work with who, when I took a deep breath and started listing countries, just waved her hand and said, “Ahh, you’re a BITSA.”
“BITSA?” I asked, as though I were a secondary character whose only lines were to prompt exposition.
“BITSA,” Andy replied. “Bitsa everything.”
Et voila. Pithy life-affirming adage and a solution to having to carry a fucking globe around everywhere I go.
Thank you Andy, and thank you Mario for the photo, the lovely afternoon and the free latte.
“ When I left the house this morning I was half expecting to skid about on a thin layer of fox jizz like a baby deer on a frozen lake.”
This week on LUV&HAT:
“ Womens. What do they think? Why do they do? Where do they think, and do? These are just three of the questions Loose Women answers every single day. Is it on every day?”
This week on LUV&HAT:
“ Hey, have you ever had sex sooo casually that, at the precise moment of climax, you yawned, looked at your watch and started mentally preparing your dinner?”
This week on LUV&HAT:
“ And then we’ll fill the gap between every single paragraph with a seizure-inducing banner ad for erectile dysfunction treatment or mail-order brides. And then we’ll tone our content down to a beige homogeneous mush in case swearwords upset the advertisers, but we won’t care because we’ll be rich. And then we’ll get a fucking book deal or something.”
“ You’ll see hundreds of couples there, trudging along - some hollow-eyed and beaten, others juddering with barely-contained rage - pushing trolleys that don’t work up and down satirically huge corridors full of identical cardboard boxes in a hopeless search for one specific code.”
This caused some controversy. Or it might just have been this collage what I made of my perfect, IKEA-facilitated future:
“ There’s no hook, no rhythm; they just meander along, parping trumpetly while people holding spears stand around, hooting.”
“ You’re suddenly bludgeoned by a bassline which feels like a Terminator is doing a long, venomous, much-needed guff directly onto your eardrum.”
“ After he kills someone, he has to go and cry in the shower with all his clothes still on, the girly old bellend. Instead of shagging women, he lets them stroke his face and monologue about how he’ll always be trapped inside the prison of his own mind, the effete tit. Sometimes he even wears cardigans.”
