Lemon Flat Pie

After my first ever taste of lemon meringue pie at Christmas time, made by shadowdraic's Mother, I was completely hooked. However, being hooked upon a substance, in many cases, does not mean that one can make it as I'm sure many will agree. The pastry bit went rather well: I bought it at Tesco. It seemed a bit shallow, (the depth of the pie case, not the act of buying it at Tesco) but all the lemon bit (which came out perfect) fitted into it.

Now we come to the meringue. I have been able to eat eggs for 3 years now. I am very good at fried eggs, and I can make scrambled eggs, and lovely fluffy omelettes. BUT. I have never made meringue before, and this is the bit where I wished a) that I had asked a trusty Delia book about it, b) that I had checked the use-by date on the eggs prior to beginning, and c) that I had an electric whisk. Seperating the eggs went well, considering. I swear there was no yolk in the white. The whites and sugar were beaten and beaten with a fork but to no avail. The whitish, sugary egg-soup which resulted was poured, hopelessly, onto the perfect lemon filling and baked. See pictures. Next time..... I'm asking my Mum to make the meringue!

Fresh eggs, electric whisk, digital weighing machine, baking beans, parchment, and a proper pie tin are all on the shopping list marked "urgent".

Here is the recipe, in case anyone is brave enough to have a go:

100g shortcrust pastry, baked blind for 12 minutes in a pie tin. Or just buy one.

For the filling:
50g cornflour
225g Castor sugar
half a pint of water
the rind and juice of 2 lemons
2 egg yolks.

For the meringue:
2 egg whites
100g castor sugar.

Measure the sugar for the filling and the cornflour into a saucepan. Crush all lumps out of the cornflour. Gradually stir in the water. Add the lemon rind and bring to the boil, stirring all the time until thickened and translucent. In other words, there will be particularly bizarre and sudden change in texture, and it should then look like lemon curd. Cook for 1 minute. Take off the heat, and stir in first the strained lemon juice then the 2 egg yolks and mix well. Pour into the pastry case.

To make the meringue:
The recipe says to whisk the egg whites until thick and fluffy and then fold in half the sugar, whisk again, and fold in the rest of the suger. All I can say is: do not do whatever I did. The eggs must be extremely fresh, I now think, and the kitchen utensils grease free. Even a little smudge of grease will ruin it, I've heard. Search me if thats true or not. Follow Delia's instructions, or something. Make it fluffy, and make it light, ok? Spread it over the top of the pie.

For fluffy sticky meringue, bake in a ferocious oven for ten minutes until browned all over.
For crispy dry meringue, bake in a slow oven for 30 minutes or until crispy.

Let me know how it goes.

Tagged! its a meme!

I've been tagged to write "5 things that you didn't know about me" (by badger that)!!!! Its a LOT harder than it looks. And, reading through, it seems to be some sort of modern confessional. Bizarre.

1. I used to be an operator for a "text date" service which would send smutty texts to men for £1.50 a time. I sat at a computer entering whatever came into my head. Every 10 seconds a different "profile" would appear and a conversation, similar in style to msn. I would read the profile bar and pretend to be "Tracey" or whoever, send a text, to "Derek" or whoever, then onto the next one. Its amazing what people will pay for. Theres a lot of lonely people out there.

2. At a festival a few years ago (ahem) I found my ex fiancees tent and took out all the pegs and hid them beneath some poor innocent's car. I'm not proud. But it felt good!

3. As an April Fools joke I once persuaded the form teacher at school to anounce that there was going to be an audition for Dr Who in one of the classrooms at lunchtime. About 4 people turned up. I was called mean. Probably, I was.

4. At College, I embarrassed myself on Induction Day by standing up in front of the class and presenting my personal project (it was an Art College). My project in part, was all about the different colours that numbers have, and their personalities. I asked the students what colour Wednesday was, and was greeted by a stony silence. I was 19. It was only after a sympathetic student approached me with a video of Horizon's "Orange Sherbet Kisses" that I found out I was Synaesthetic. I had thought that everyone saw the world in the same colours that I do. They don't.

5. When I was young I always wanted to be a princess with long blonde hair that trailed on the ground when I walked and a pointy silver hat.

To party or not to party?

I've discovered that I'm not sure if I prefer babysitting to partying. Both involve equal amounts of laughter, fun and tears and both leave me exhausted. I missed Mikey's (far left, above) party on St Patricks Day to babysit, and will soon be doing some babysitting for Paul and Charlotte (above) whose first offspring Mina first saw the world on March 12th. Ahhhh.

Surfing all things purple and socky and I have found a page that is a liiittle tiny tad over obsessed with socks. But, down to the important things. Normal Marmite or Guinness Marmite? Is there, actually, a difference? WIth my untrained taste buds, I can't tell. Slightly less strong perhaps. I love it though. You can't get it in Ireland, I've heard. Some people care enough to chat about it on the marmite forum. Some are selling it on ebay. An internet forum about a yeast based salty spread? What's next, a London Pride themed Marmite for St George's day? Ah.....thought not.

Flapjacks II. The Great Baked Ones

Call me boring but I love to cook flapjacks. I struggle for the perfect, easy to remember recipe, yielding chewy in the centre, not too sweet, not too dry flapjacks, that crumble in your mouth not in your hand (TM). The microwave flapjacks in previous posts have been ultra-yummy. What does one do, however, when faced with a kitchen devoid of a box that goes Bing? Take half a block of hard margarine, 5 tablespoons of sugar, 2 of golden syrup, and a pint of rolled oats. Melt, mix, pour into greased tin. Bake, (180 C oven 20 min) eat. It's that simple. And I LOVE it!! The last picture is the correct amount of flapjack to be left over after about 10 minutes.......!

Pips

The ultimate in over-hopeful exercises..... I have stabbed an avocado pip with corn on the cob holders to suspend it in water and grow an avocado plant. The plant, even in 5 years, will apparently never yield any avocados, but they do make glossy-leaved house plants. And, I can say that I grew it myself. Mango tree next.... tomorrow, the world!!!

Here's how to grow an avocado

http://www.avocado.org/about/growing_avocado.php

And a pineapple

http://www.rickswoodshopcreations.com/Pineapple/pineapple.htm

And a mango tree

http://www.gardeningtipsnideas.com/2006/12/growing_a_mango_tree.html

Jones: The Best Cat in the World

Surely only Jones could be caught winking at me. The only cat that would cuddle and nuzzle me (and sneeze on me) without stalking off (too often). A cat that put up with being carried around by me, regally, as if to say; "I am the most perfect cat Ever, obviously I use Humans as my sedan-chair from time to time. At my convenience, of course". When I called upset, my best friend Fee used to put him on the phone to purr to me, and the world seemed less harsh in an instant. He was a big fluffy tart of a cat, beautiful in a soft lazy way. Jones will be sorely missed.

No pictures of snow/14 places to lay my hat and still no home

I've fallen out of the habit of using my camera. On the way to work this week, if I had the camera in my hand, I would have taken pictures of snow covered mattresses and discarded red plastic fencing, and the road-edges of snow turned black by London.
I'm really looking forward to settling in to the New Place. It will be the fourteenth place I've been in, fifteen if you count the flat that Mum and Dad lived in before buying the current family home.

1. Mum and Dad's for 19 years, went to school, grew up slightly, but not a lot.

2. Renting with Michael in Boston Manor for 1 year. Found out how to shop and also how to rid a flat of fleas in the carpet, and how to escape the Landlords bailiffs and that when in court, always take legal advice first.

3. With Michaels parents in 5 storey mansion in Ealing for 6 months. I once set off the alarm by accident the police were called and before I could even get dressed and I was locked in the house behind huge black iron gates talking to the police in only my dressing gown. Found out that even professors have to have heart-lung transplants.

4. Saxon Drive with beige carpets with Michael, who was just like the guy from "Sleeping with the Enemy" for 10 months. Found out that love doesn't mean forever, and oranges are not the only fruit.

5. Highfield Road 3 roads away from Saxon Drive in my first shared house, with vegan computer geek Lee and surveyor Nick and a florist whose name I've forgotten, for a year. Used to be able to get in with a credit card if I'd forgotten my keys. Found out that it is possible to be in love with several people at the same time, but not to correctly fill in my tax return on my own.

6. On my own in Alperton for 3 years, in a conversion flat above a couple who used to beat their 4 year old kid and social services would never come, when they went, then above an alcoholic dustman and a beachball shaped lady called Donna. He used to drive the dustcart pissed. But they were very nice to me. Found out that one should never ever have a house warming party and invite more than one person one fancies.

7. With bony nutritionist called Audrey who boiled split peas at 7am and only ate raw vegetables in Perivale for a year. Found out that meat is not murder.

8. In Stratford: back at college in the box room (£30 a week; bargain? hmmm) in a tumbledown house with Jon, Dee and Ben, a cellarful of cheap red wine and a generation of mice for 2 years. Found out that I can kill small furry cute animals.

9.Living rent free briefly with friend J Lord in his shrine to American entertainment, in Langley for 8 months. Found out that there is more to life than computer games consoles, but not for many.

10. In West Acton in lilac room in a flat with tiny ginger girl with heaps of severe food and skin problems and her boyfriend Darko who was a drug dealer who used to use the phone in the same way that Dom Joly does, for 4-5 months. Found out that all the dietary help in the world cannot cure severe eczema in those affected.

11. In enormous hessian carpeted room in Stoke Newington with live-in lesbian landlady for almost 3 years. Found out that fetish clubs are not an ideal place to meet trustworthy people, but pubs in Stoke Newington are.

12. Back to parents to recover from severe debt and depression (Thanks Mum and Dad, I'd be in the gutter if it wasn't for you, well, still in the gutter) Found out that its possible to not have a job and to be ill for a very long time, and that its not just me that it affects either.

13. With Drak in North Acton above crazy letter-writing-banging-on-ceiling neighbours for 8 weeks, found out that one should not run to the police in the rain... and NOW

14. Greenford. The last one for now, the last one until the next time, it's for a year, I don't know what the neighbours are like, theres a balcony (is that bad?) and a garden (mowing the grass? how do you do that?) and I'll have my own titchy room to make stuff in, etc

15. I have no idea whats next and I suppose I never will have any idea.

Great Chieftain of the Puddn' Race

Work drinks Friday and then missed a dance but met randomly with knots of friends normally only seen at Festivals. Odd to see them in the dark of London. It was the type of evening that finishes at The Dublin Castle. We finished at The Dublin Castle. I walked over hill and under dell and got home at 5am. I think it's what one calls a bender!

Burn's night party yesterday. Haggis, whisky, and far from maddening neighbours in London. A chocolate fountain featured heavily, and I know you won't believe this; but melted chocolate goes really well on raw broccoli. It's called Chocky-Brocky. The Awful Poo Lady wouldn't agree!

I'm reading Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman, and today on Storypeople I saw this. I've been reflective during my two 3 hour journeys to and from the coast for haggis. I have had time to stop and stare. I even took some pictures of what I was staring at. I miss my own computer. It's fast and its big and it's black and it's mine. I miss being able to come in and relax. But I've been missing that for a long long time. I miss having a place to be, a place to hide, a place to stay, a place to just.... be myself. A door to shut. I miss my old flat in Alperton. I was alone there, with the odd maroon bathroom suite that showed the tiniest splash, and the "Terrific Turquoise"(tm) kitchen. But I wasn't happy then either. I'm happier now than I was then, less confused, more analytical, more...Grown Up.

I wonder if I'll ever settle, or always be like Holden Caulfield, forever clutching at straws in low life bars with velvet joke seating, or wandering through the sewer like Richard-Richard-Mayhew-Dick from Neverwhere. In and out of jobs, easily bored, easily hated, easily drunk and easily fooled. I wonder who am I? Do I have a spark of intelligence, or is it just idiocy to big myself up, am I flattering myself, in, what is after all, a web log here on the net for everyone to read. Nobodies reading about nobodies. Sure, I can read and write, but I've hardly made a super success of my life. Do I stand out from the crowd because I'm different or because I'm a fool?

The search for the perfect lip balm

I thought today I'd blog about some minutiae I've been obsessing about. Really, really little things that irritate me. Like, having dry lips. I find petroleum products and cheap lip balms don't work on me. I also can't bear that freezing stinging sensation of menthol and peppermint in lip balm. EVERY lip balm I have tried seems to have some type of mint oil in it. It feels like I've put my lips in a freezer !! Plus, I hate sticking my fingers in the stuff. I don't want it on my fingers. I want it on my lips.

Here's a list of some the lip balm attempts I've had lately. Just in case theres anything about lip balm you'd always wanted to know but been afraid to ask. Unlikely, yes, but I have to write this down somewhere.... because next winter when the Lip Balm Fairy (like the odd sock fairy, but greasier) has stolen every single lip balm in the house and I'm haplessly searching the shops for another, I'll know which one to get. There's even a lip balm addicts forum and general rant-a-thon here.

1. Vaseline in a little tin. £1. Makes fingers greasy. Not emollient enough for me.

2. Urban Decay "Lube in a Tube; Miami (pink)". £5 ebay.Great name, pretty colour, moisturising and glam at the same time. Shame it's mostly petrolatum with eight tablespoons of freeze-o-lip peppermint. Ow. Will give it away to a Young Person.

3. Burt's Bees Lip Tint (Rhubarb) £4 ebay. Great colour, all natural, very emollient, stays on for ages. Shame about the peppermint oil. If I wanted to stick my lips in liquid nitrogen, I would have done it by now. Interesting rosemary leaf aftertaste. Gave it to a friend who is veggie.

4. Clinique "impossibly glossy" lip colour. £11. Salesman told me it was moisturising. It is, and it's a beautiful colour, the "french peppermint" in the ingredients list doesn't sting or freeze, but alas, my hair sticks to it. Not attractive. Still, its a good piece of makeup if my hair's up... but to be honest my lips remain flaky if I use it on it's own. Face it, it's makeup.

5. "Lip Rescue" tea tree. £2.50. Yuk, yuk, yuk. Whatever posessed me to buy the Tea Tree one? Have you ever tasted Tea Tree oil? No? It has a medicinal taste reminiscent of TCP. AND it has peppermint oil in it, but not as deep freeze as the others. Very long lasting emollient though. Impressive. But tastes YUK.

6. FLP Aloe Vera lip balm. gift. The one I used almost all of and then lost last year. Excellent and lasts all day. Doesn't taste of anything imparticular. Just found it, with free delivery, here.

7. Clinique Glosswear for lips. £10. The only cosmetic stuff for lips I've ever come across that actually moisturises. Amazing, long lasting but a little sticky, and quite glittery, which is not ideal for everyone.

8. Collection 2000 Plastique lip gloss. £2.39. Yes, yes, I know, its a "gloss". But it was cheap. And it has no peppermint and it moisturises and it tastes of cherries. But my hair sticks to it. And it needs re-applying every half hour. Nice colours, though.

9. Nivea "Velvet Rose"£2.30ish. Nice colour, bizarre dry feel and fake rose taste. Weird. Not moisturising enough for me.

10. TEN???!!! I can't believe I've tried more than ten lip balms in my life. It's only grease for lips. What is so complicated???

10. Neutrogena lip balm £3. Excellent but I became allergic to it on the second stick. What a shame its perfumed.

11. "Unpetroleum" lip balm, jojoba, £3 from Fresh n Wild only, it would seem. Excellent. long lasting and flavourless, very moisturising. Used a whole one, have been unable to find another one though. Have scoured the web. Still can't find. ARG!

12. Superdrug gloss n care (or some similar name) £1.29. Funny little tube of greasy gloop that is quite good but tastes of vaseline. Icky.

13. Nivea Lip Care Repair. £2.75ish. Fabulous, but again, having gone through 2 sticks, I'm now allergic. Its must be the SPF stuff I think.

And finally!!! The ones I'm about to try, having scoured the net for the ingredients in advance, to check that 1. they have no petrolatum, 2. they have no "parfum" 3. they have no peppermint or menthol or tea tree yukkiness 4. They come in a stick, not a tin 5. They are less than £5 each THEY ARE:
Burt's bees honey lip balm. Beeswax base, honey flavour.
Badger lip balm stick. Beeswax base, unscented.
Vegan Lip Balm. Hemp based (of course, what else?)
Alba Botanica Lip Balm. Coconut based. Could be good. Who knows?
Lip Smackers. Still trying to find out the ingredients. From America. They even do Dr.Pepper flavour!

Right that's the end. I'm off to have my lips.... surgically replaced or something.

Angel or Devil?

oooooooooo. mmmmmmmmmm. smmmmmmmmeeee.
I just bought a new perfume in the sales. Its snuggly-vanilla-dusty-sexy in a kind of Francine-from-"Strangers in Paradise" baby powder scented way. It's called Ange ou Demon, by Givenchy, (I'm SUCH a consumer!!) and the advertising describes it thus;
"The top notes are fresh with essence of white thyme, mandarin orange from Calabria and essence of saffron. The middle note mixes maxillaria orchid, lily and ylang ylang, while the base note is made of tonka bean, vanilla, rosewood and oak wood absolute"
Which is a dead posh way of saying; it smells gorgeous!!!
I've been searching for something to replace my old tarty red "Hypnotic Poison" as my Expensive Once a Year perfume of choice... something thats guaranteed to please me at birthdays, always easy to find etc, you know the thing. Hypnotic reminds me of bad old times and i'm hoping to find new Good Times with this one. I hope the price of the thing comes down soon though!! Its more expensive than printer ink.

Project Pashmina

Here is Drak's bath turtle regarding a sofa-full of pashminas with iron-on diamante on them. I made them for the girls at Ells and Farrier for being so brilliant. One for each, in their favourite colours. Ells and Farrier being a shop where I used to work, about a year ago. Since I left, the girls have given out my business cards for me like they're going out of fashion, and secured me most of my income. Thing is, the Pashminas are Christmas presents. Thing is, I just finished them today!!!!

I thought "Yeah, this'll be cool, handmade pressies, grab 11 viscose pashminas from Berwick St, I'll just whip them out of their packets and iron the matching diamante onto the edges. Except, coming from the wholesalers, once out of wrappings, they stank. Of Old Warehouse and stale smoke, Old Incense and Old... well, Old Spice I expect!!! Literally. I washed them and hung them up and patiently dried them and folded them, then realised that pashmina shawls are about 2 metres wide.... no way could I afford that much diamante. Then I ran out of time.

Xmas suddenly happened, was over before I could say "diamante", then I realised, round at Drak's place, no iron...... and no ironing board. Feeling that perhaps that Project Pashmina had got a little out of hand, I bought the nescessary equipment, (thankyou Argos for a £4 iron!!!) sprinkled diamante into the corners of each (looks lovely) and now, finally, after a completely unexpected day off, they are Finished!! nearly 24 square metres of fabric in all, 11 scarves, and each with a sparkly glittery corner. Aw. Almost makes Christmas worth it.

new year, new, er, blog

Onwards and upwards. Two steps forward, one step back. One key frame at a time (Thanks Stray for that analogy; genius) Having my cake, eating it, and having another one in the oven just in time. Wearing smart clothes and feeling good about it. Choosing grey and liking it. The big C-word; Change.

Seeing as 19th November was my last post and since then I've had 3 jobs, lost one, done more days on Portobello Market than I thought I was up to, made the worlds supply of dangly sparkly earrings, gained friends, lost friends, had massive arguments, temporarily moved out, temporarily moved in, been tormented by the boyfriends neighbours, wished everyone Happy New Year and Happy Christmas by text message but not in that order, failed to give out most of my carefully wrapped presents and now I'm about to temporarily move again......

I thought I'd better update.

This year I'll be making more jewellery just for me and just because it's nice. It will feature in a new page on my website, and lots of the old pages will bite the dust.

This year I will say "no" more often. No to small jobs that take whole days to organise pay for and collect and profit me £5. No to going out on a weeknight. No to "special favours" that profit me nothing, not even money, but only eat time in the way that only "special favours" eat time.

This year I will find a lovely shared house or flat with a clean kitchen somewhere North-ish Finsbury Park kind of area, and stay there at least three years.

This year I will have a brilliant job in which I hope to learn a lot at the same time as helping people a lot because apart from choosing the right bead and the right colours and the right outfit, ultimately that's what I'm good at.

Circumstances permitting, I might have pink hair again. But it seems... expensive and unlikely to forward my career unless my career really does turn out to be Portobello market-based!!

I'll have to wait and see.

Housing? Here? with MY reputation?

This is Burford Wharf. Dark tower of doom? Centre of SimCity Goth Extension pack? No. Its "affordable" part-buy live/work housing for those self employed on a low income in Stratford, E15, London. Have a guess what you have to earn per year to fulfil the criteria for "low income". Go on, guess. When retail bookshop staff are on £14,000 a year. When police start on £18,000, administrators on £15,000 and nurses on £17,000. (I earn about £10,500 a year with a mixture of pathetic part time crap jobs and making jewellery for my Mum's friends, incidentally. And no, I'm not eligible for benefits)
It's £25,000.
Thats the MINIMUM you have to be earning to QUALIFY to pay £900+ per month (which would be roughly half your wages) for a tiny flat in a high rise block in the centre of gun-toting gangland east-end Olympic-venue Stratford. And this is supposedly the government's grand plan for replacing council housing? Council housing for who? Oh yeah, council housing for all those poor, healthy, full-time employed underpriveleged yuppies desperate to live in over priced high-rise in unfashionable run down areas. Hmmmm. I think NOT.

Beads

If there's one thing I just cannot resist it's buying beads. Big, small, fat, thin, cheap, expensive, sparkly, matt, subtle, garish, any type of bead. And here's the results of manic endless bead shopping waiting to be made into profit via being made into jewellery. What a task. Piles and piles of them. Each pile on an A4 piece of paper representing the collections I'm doing. from simple to ornate to surf-y to 1950's pearls, 1980's plastic, and 2000's lariats, it's all there. Shells and sparkles and wire and pins and findings and glue and a big pile of WORK! eeeek. Shows coming up are here.

Things I'm good at; who am I?

What job does the person below have? (this is not a trick question)(unfortunately)

Things I'm good at
Sleeping
Comforting people
Staying calm in a crisis
Making Flapjack
Selling luxury goods
Threading beads
Listening
Thinking up entrepreneurial schemes
Smiling in the face of disaster
Creating something from nothing
Looking better than I feel
Sitting with silence
Matching up colours
Shopping for the exact right thing
Personal shopping
Trend spotting
Bargain hunting
Doing make-up
Reading ingredients of everything
Making up new buzz words
Posing for photographs
Appearing glamorous
Appearing efficient
Smelling nice
Cleaning the kitchen
Showing enthusiasm
Articulation
Attention to minute physical detail
Remembering great detail
Looking youthful
Telling the truth

Things I'm not good at
Looking conservative
Paperwork
Filling in forms
Saving money
Sticking with relationships
Resisting another beer
Deadlines
Stress
Boring jobs
Getting up very early
Resisting a bargain
Taking my vitamins every day
Resisting another kiss
Lying

Stuff I still do (obviously)

Tuesday 17th october. The photo shoot was excellent fun. It reminded me why I ever did it in the first place. Its not for the photo but for the experience of standing there in some bizarre pose while Chris clicks away through the Comedy Lens. We all arrived and drank beers. Chris posed the shot. Then we sneaked off to Hackney Town Hall to shoot it. A little draggly line of bizarre outfits and babies moving through the back streets of London, giggling.

And there were;

Diesel, (huge biker with huge shiny bike; in biker gear and helmet)
and there was
Karen, (Chris's orange haired muse in waif dress and black stetson)
Katie (cute actress) in slip and huge fluffy pink fairy wings,
me (depressed jeweller) in black trousers platforms and obscenely pink fluffy coat and ridiculous shades,
Alan (re-enactor) in steely blue helmet, armoured gloves codpiece and tail,
Birgit (cheery jeweller) in blue velvet, heels and head jewellery,
Zak (journo and Mum) in multi coloured fleece patchwork jumpsuit and akubra hat,
Gemma (Mum) in tracksuit and shades, and
Becca (tiny baby) in baby clothes with a big lipstick-kiss planted on one cheek.

They were all in the photo; but with us, to hold things, and point, and distract potential security guards were Drak (new troubledad?) Zoe (with Katie) and Sophie (doing digital shots of The SharkShoot Process) and of course Chris without whom none of this would ever be possible.

We all re-posed manically fast round the bike on the steps of the town hall amid puzzled glances and after a very short time indeed 15 shots were done. Then Jackie (glamourous blonde rock chick) arrived too late to be in the shot and we all oohhed and aahhed and went to the pub. Just like old times. Almost.

Was too tired to blog yesterday! This post will eventually have a picture with it. Watch this space, it'll be wicked.

I've put this post in with the others at National History Day :)

Stuff I used to do

A really really long time ago when my hair was short and pink I used to hang out in fetish clubs and drink with photographers, madams, punks, goths, ex-victims of this that and the other, all half starved, perma-drunk and miserable. I'm not that person anymore. No-one tells me what to do or wear or that everything I say do and create is somehow pathetic. Or that my class is anything whatsoever to do with how I treat people. EVER AGAIN. Tomorrow I'm having my photo, as part of the alternative-shark-family taken by Chris again. Frankly, I'm bricking it. I'm fatter and a whole lot more angry than I was. I have nothing in common with these people anymore other than my arms legs and head. And my tattoos. And my clothes. And my drinking habit. And my unemploy-a-bility. Oh OK THEN maybe I have. Will it show in one of Chris's photos? You bet it will. He photographs people's feelings with scary insight. In a couple of days, I might be looking at the worst photograph of me yet. Thank god it's a group shot.

Ebay; Magnetic Streaking Hook

Yea, it's here. You never thought you'd need one, but here it is. For those Naked Moments. Aw.

Filth cake and ambition.

Tonight I saw a band called Monotaxi. I specially liked their glittery aqua blue guitar. I spent today wandering away from home and away from, well, everything, trying hard to come to terms with the word "comfortable". Am I comfortable where I live? With who I am, and with what my ambitions are, and with how many of them are being realised? Perhaps, like my bulging wardrobe full of clothes, my ambitions and aims have become confused and cluttered, some worn out and replaced but none yet fully discarded. No clear style has ever emerged out of my wardrobe other than "purple". No clear aim has ever emerged out of my life other than "make shiny things". I'm not a very clear-cut person. Perhaps I should make purple shiny things.

I can make chocolate cake though. It's one of the things I'm good at. I can't blame my expanding waistline on anyone but myself when I make stuff like this. Melt 300g darkest chocolate with 275g whitest sugar and 165g hard baking margarine (or butter if you're not allergic). Melt them slowly, in a glass dish over hot water, stirring, inhaling the vapour and watching the bizarre crunchy lumps turn to glistening dark goo. Don't microwave it; that'll take the soul out of the recipe. Beat 5 large eggs together and stir them into to the hot chocolate slowly to form a glossy, gloopy batter. Pour into a well greased cake time with a removeable base. Bake at 180 degrees for 35-40 minutes, cool, and remove the sides of the tin. Serve in small wedges. Its more of a baked mousse than a cake, and I nicked the original recipe from the Green and Black's cookbook My friend stray named this cake; after first tasting it, she said "Wow, that's like... porn for the mouth! it's pure filth!" and so it became... Filth Cake. Enjoy!

teeth

Yup, it's both my right wisdom teeth. I went in and the young man said "You're down here to be having two out" And I must have said something that sounded like "WHAT!!!!" but he said it would be nescessary and Ok....what could I do? He was the one with enormous shiny steel plunger with the super-long, glitteringly sharp, hair-fine needle in it... he was the one wearing the pinstripe shirt and the grin. I suddenly got all a bit trembly, or at least, my hands did, which seemed to be running on a different emotional circuit to my cheerful breezy voice. All in all, considering how the LAST one went (over an hour and 5 jabs, drilled away bone what felt like half my jaw, left massive loopy stitches, huge swelling continuous bleeding and left me out of action for 3 weeks) this one was a total party. But the young man still had to call his boss in to get the top one out.

What is it with me and medical observers? Even on completely routine tooth-out surgery they have to call the boss in. On allergy testing, they always call the students in. Even in therapy I had a work-experience lady sitting in on one or two sessions. Hopefully it's not just me; hopefully its just that lots of people are studying medicine. That's what I hope anyway. Because the world certainly need it's share of doctors.

On a more up-note, I'm going to try this again, come November. Seeing as I have no job, in the official sense of the word, I may as well bash out my Opus Novel.