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BB had a great birhday. Lapped up all the attention and stayed up late. My cousins sent this fantastic card –
The silliest nickname lives on! My friend told me that she was mortified to hear that her parents used to call her ‘Clairie Cloggs’ as a baby. Obvously in terms of embarrasing names, Clairie Cloggs has got nothing on Blibiblob. As a one-year-old, our daughter is much less of a blob now, but she is still pretty blibby.


Ok so I’m crap at maintaining a blog.

On a more positive note I think I’ve found the key to the universe.

You’ll never guess where it was.

Time has gone by. What should I break the silence with? A description of a Danish Sausage from an authentic pølsevogn? My glorious conversion to Glastonbury since it revealed itself to me as something you might want to go to? A eulogy on the advantageous qualities of the guitar and accordion being instruments whose vibrations you can feel against your belly? An exploration of my recent experience of witnessing an adored family member depart this world? Or a reaction to the tone chosen by bureaucrat at the registry office in which to address my 88-year-old granddad on registering the death of his wife of 60 years – who would think that calling him ‘sweetheart’ every sentence and making twee little jokes was appropriate? I guess the same person who then didn’t get the jokes which came back at her from the person she was trying to patronise. ‘Pop your signature on there, sweetheart’. Why is everyone always popping? Pop your pin number in, pop your coat on, pop out, pop in, pop yourself down there for a while. When did this vile word begin to be such a staple of certain people’s vocabulary? Why do I care? why my loathing of a west-countryism which has crept into my speech – pronouncing the word, ’email’ as eemell? Why do I hate the use of smileys and exclamation marks?!!!!!!!! Should I rant? No, I’ll just tell you what happened in the music shop where I sometimes work the other day.


This lady came in and said her son needed a piano tutor book, she didn’t have the title or author, but on the cover was a picture of an owl and a rat. Now, the piano teaching section is bigger than you might think, it covers a sizeable wall. The assistants went about looking at the cover of each book, but without success. The customer then suggested she ring her son and try to glean more information. After a phone call, she came back to the assistants saying she had more details on the book. The rat, she said, has a stick, and the owl is wearing glasses.



Monday was freaky storm day. Great globules of copious water collaborated with knock-you-over ferocious gusts of wind to generally re-arrange people and things in the capital.

walking along, I was blown sideways then bombed in the face by two large water-filled bobbles from a plane tree arriving at considerable speed and force.

On my way to band practice in Bethnal Green on monday night I started to notice mangled umbrellas of all colours and creeds sticking out of every bin and skip, or forlornly lying bent and abandoned wherever they had ceased to be of use. 

On tuesday in Shepherds Bush and Fulham the wreckage from the day before was everywhere I looked.


Think of this: each miserable carcass equals at least one completely drenched, blown and battered Londoner. How many people must have shared this experience? If you got completely soaked on monday, lost your umbrella in battle, leaving it for dead in the street or bitterly thrusting it into a bin, rainwater pouring from your sleeves, know this – you’re not alone.



Bethnal Green Road



Goldhawk Road



Askew Road



Fulham Palace Road

There are some poor bastards that have had a fate worse than skip lobing. They’ve had their molecules realigned by the continuous traffic of major arteries such as Holland Park Avenue and Fulham Palace Road and are flattened out of all recognition. Behold – umbrella road kill.


Ugh the horror.

My beautiful Danish friend helped me make this site ages ago. I’ve found some random musings on my computer. I guess they belong here.