To flash or not to flash......

There are two types of people in this world: Those who love to strut around the house naked, with the curtains open, and those, like me, who don't, and even in semi-nakedness, feel the need to run quickly past windows due to believing that someone somewhere will see their bare flesh and that would be a terrible thing. In our bedroom at the back of our flat for example, we have a view of a brick wall (oh the joys of urban living), albeit a pretty, ivy-covered one, and yet I still feel the need to draw the blinds when I'm getting dressed or am having a bit of nookie. It's as though somewhere deep down I believe that Spiderman really exists, and as well as his alter-ego Peter Parker, also has a third persona as a peeping tom. That's the only person who is likely to see me as they would have to be able to climb walls and would also have to have the body of a superhero to be able to bend right back to get a good look at my nudeyness, but I continue to be paranoid about it happening.

Soundtrack: Stevie Wonder-Higher Ground

Fresh lungs and how to survive being ginger

As someone who used to regularly enjoy chain smoking benson and hedges in the pub over a pint or three, I can't believe I am actually going to say this, but I am SO happy that pubs are now non-smoking. I went to my favourite public house in Brighton today (the 'Hand In Hand' in Kemptown by the way; see http://www.beerintheevening.com/pubs/s/23/2390/Hand_In_Hand/Brighton) with Andy and for the first time (we haven't been there since the ban- we don't get out that often...) I could actually SEE the bar when I walked in and BREATHE. I am now going home after a visit to the local with my senses still intact (well apart from my sense of reality, having had a few, but that's why I like a drink) and no need to wash my clothes the next day. BUT the best thing about the smoking ban is that now we can get a seat in the pub, no matter what time and what day of the week it is. There must be a whole load of smoking dens in people's houses now, as more than half of Brighton no longer comes out to play, especially now it's got so blimin' chilly. A bit sad but it's always nice to get a good seat innit.
Speaking of pubs, and actually now you are going to think I am a liar and in fact DO get out more than I say I do, we met up with the lovely Joy and Geoff last night for a drinkie or two in the Lanes. Geoff is such a funny man. My face didn't just ache from laughing at his banter, it actually felt like it was going to fall off. They are very creative and inspiring those two as well, and what with their publishing know-how, are urging us on to make a coffee table book displaying Andy's crisp packet collection (see pic). He has the largest collection of packets in the world and they are just rotting in the shed of our garden in Camden. If people bought 'Boring Postcards' all those years ago (I did) then surely a book of comical ('Craps' anyone?), kitsch and colourful snack jackets will please the book-mad public.
Do you know I saw two books next to each other in the gift section at Borders the other day- one entitled 'How to spot that your other half is an utter twat' and the other 'How to survive being ginger' (I was tempted by both but let's say no more). If this bollocks is selling then we're onto a winner.

Twitter Ye Not

Did anyone ever watch gooey tear jerker film Bambi when they were small? If so- do you remember when it was twitterpating season and all the animals started getting friendly with each other and then made some baby Disney-animated animals together? Well I'm a bit scared to go back out my front door this morning, as that seems to be what's going on in Brighton this today- everyone's twitterpated. Even the checkout boy at Tesco was flirting with the french lady who had just come in to buy her bog roll, and seemed to be about to ask her out. As I walked past Starf+@%ers on the corner of my street there was a couple snogging in the window. Then, on my morning run (or rather fast walk as Miss Glazier and I were feeling weary), the cute guy from the video shop jogged past us and winked at me. The highlight was the man decorating our hallway who, seeing me coming back laden with food packed LEOPARD PRINT LAUNDRY BAGS (do you like the way I let you know oh-so-subtly that I don't use carrier bags) from Tesco, asked me, as if we were 'intimate', 'What are we having for dinner tonight darling?'. What's going on? The cats are now leaving us alone, but now I seemed to have been teleported into Lurve Land. I keep expecting Austin Powers to jump out in front of me snorting 'Yeah baby!'.
It beats yesterday, when, due to pissing rain, everybody was ratty and seemed to hate everyone they laid eyes on. Bring on the lust I say. But please Mr Painter and Decorator- stop looking at my arse.

The connection between sausages and god

Talk about comfort eating. Yesterday I had a mild hangover, I was freezing cold no matter how many clothes I put on, and I had the last remnants of MT (without the P). So I did what I always did when I feel slightly ill, cold and down: I cooked a HUGE sausage casserole...(recipe below by the way). Andy was still in London so I cooked a feast for Sadie and myself. I put in twelve chipolata sausages and cooked the tomatoey, salty stew with buttery mashed potatoes and actually felt very high whilst eating it for my lunch. I thought I'd leave what was left, after Sadie and I had eaten half, but I spent the rest of the day, like an under-nourished trout swimming to the worms, gorging on it. I ended up finishing the lot. If I deduct the two sausages eaten by Sadie, I can deduce that I ate NINE sausages yesterday. That is DISGUSTING. I am quite ashamed... (but they were organic). And today I look pregnant.
Just been on the phone to my lovely Aunty Anne. She's such an amazing woman and I've always been close to her, but tonight I had a realisation as I spoke to her about how many times I say the word 'god' when waffling. She's a very religious woman you see and with every comment I made to her, I would mutter, completely without thinking, 'for god's sake', 'oh my god', 'god almighty', 'god no!', 'god really?', and other such blasphemous tittle. I became aware of how much I was doing it, so started trying to use 'goodness', 'gosh' and 'flippin' heck' in 'god''s place. It was a real shame as I haven't spoken to her in a long time and she's very liberal really, and probably wouldn't have minded, but I was so pre-occupied with my use of the lord's name in vain that I didn't really listen to her properly. Damnation!!

Cathy's Sausage Stew
(serves four on a good day; one and a half on a bad day)
12 organic pork chipolata sausages / 8 normal fat sausages
2 celery sticks, chopped
2 large, ripe tomatoes, chopped
1 can chickpeas
fresh basil and parsley, chopped
2 jars of Dolmio tomato and bacon pasta sauce (or 1 jar of Lloyd Grossman Smoky Bacon pasta sauce if you can find anywhere that sells it)

Heat a large frying pan and cook sausages until browned. Cut into bite-sized chunks, then add celery and chick peas. Stir for about 5 mins until celery a bit softer, and then add tomatoes, pasta sauce + 250ml water. Bring to boil and simmer for 10 mins. Take off heat and stir in chopped herbs. Serve with mash or new potatoes, depending on time of year and comfort needed (mash being ultimate comfort food after sausages).

Soundtrack: Madonna- Beautiful Stranger

Buy Nothing Day

Next Saturday is Buy Nothing Day- a day for people to attempt not to be consumers for 24 hours. This will be easy for us as we NEVER shop on Saturdays due to avoiding the Chav Zombies who invade town to buy anything and everything in order to fill their empty lives. I particularly avoid Primark for the vicious, bargain-smock-grabbing vultures. Please go to www.buynothingday.co.uk to join the force!
This Christmas I will be attempting to purchase as many presents as possible from charity shops, will be making jars of home made chutney, and will also be buying family members the odd cow or allotment in a third world country, as I do every year, but it's impossible to not be tempted by the shop windows and glistening newness of things. (Cue advert: For those of who want to buy new and groovy gifts for your friends and kids go to www.planetboo.co.uk for some marvellous nick nacks and attire. I will also profit from this, so will be able to buy more charity shop goods and goats from Oxfam, so you will be doing a good deed in a roundabout way. But remember to wait until after next Saturday).
I can't believe I've just used Buy Nothing Day as a way of getting you to give me some money. How sick am I?

Please Don't Magazine

If you want to listen to a load of old w@*k then please log onto http://www.dontmagazine.com/#/5/david-langley/ and listen to an artist talk shit. Stick to the rather nice collages love and keep your mouth shut- you are really really dull and ramble even more than me.

Throw it on the fire and take the car down town

Oh my god- what a hilarious morning I had. I have offered to help out a Sadie's school every couple of weeks, and usually us parents are sensibly designated to the dummy jobs like cutting realistic leaf shapes out of card or tidying the crumbs up from the snack corner....., but today, as the only one stupid enough to volunteer to help for 'Maths Week' (I am such a creep), I was basically enrolled as a maths teacher (luckily this is reception year so I just about had the know-how). There was me thinking that spying on my daughter in class was going to be a swizz.
My job was to play maths games FOR TWO HOURS with a group of four and five year olds. It was like trying to deal with a group of extremely pissed people who didn't give a flying f**k what I said and just wanted to skid around on the floor or pinch each other. The funniest part was when I took them into the playground to count our footsteps and, like a firework exploding, the moment our feet hit the concrete, the six little excitable munchkins splayed off in all directions. I couldn't gather them all back into a group for about ten minutes. I think all they learnt about maths was 'How many minutes does it take for that silly woman with the red hair to come and find us all?'. Oh how I laughed. And oh how my slight incline towards becoming a primary school teacher just faded right there and then. But at the end of the class when they all sweetly said in unison "Thank you for helping us today Cathy" I nearly wept. Ah- kids are ace. Maybe there is hope yet.....

Soundtrack: David Bowie-Kooks