Now I don't have to worry about riding my bike in a skirt.
Sunday, 30 March 2008
fatty
I just ate a steak sandwich with cheese
Now I don't have to worry about riding my bike in a skirt.
Now I don't have to worry about riding my bike in a skirt.
Saturday, 29 March 2008
I've just spent four days writing a poem about this chic!
Serious hard graft!
My grandma thinks it's quite good but that I should do a few more drafts. Some words don't fit the rhytm very well. Time to get out the thesaurus I think.
I'm going to enter it into some poetry competitions this summer, although I hope I don't win. The prize money would be nice, but I think that winning something so young would sort of make me give up because I would know how little I need to do in order to succed and that's depressing.
I get motivated by not getting things, it drives me to work alittle harder and do alittle better. The juice of such strife is me at my best, I think.
Sorry about the bad spelling, I've just been dancing my ass off to some rio baile block party music, in the style of Josephine Baker and I can hardly see straight.
Oh yeah, I forgot, no one actually reads this.
I'm going to loose ten pounds for summer, if my ass gets any bigger I'm going to have to rent two rooms in Auckland next year.
Roll on June, Kathleen, I'm gonna come get you, squeeze you and possibly never let you go!
sincerely
loaded on endorphins
Phoebe xxx
Wednesday, 26 March 2008
Pease pudding
Does anyone remember that nursery rhyme about pease pudding?
Pease pudding hot
pease pudding cold
pease pudding in the pot nine days old
some like it hot
some like it cold
some like it in the pot nice days old
mmm chopin would've have sweated blood from the stress if it'd been his job to write that one!
It was a very disturbing song to me as a child, because at first I thought it said 'please' pudding, but why would anyone ask to have pudding that had been cold and festering in a cooking pot for over a week. This led me to believe that it was a song about a horrible, tasteless 'alsorts' cassarole that working class victorian mothers would make by throwing anything they had into a big pot and simmering it into a grey, gruel-like mash with no nutritional content, serving the same purpose as polyfiller on a child's stomach. The song seemed to be some sort of children's anthem of defeatism, a way of making poverty and childhood somehow pleasant and normal.
"mmmm cold nine day old porrige again mum? Well thank God, some kids like cold pudding, some posh bastards like it heated up alittle, but not me, I like a pudding that has been caked to the bottom of a pan for atleast a week. What's for breakfast tomorrow? Another beating? AND a week in the broom cupboard! Oh mum!"
I had totally forgotten about this 'David Pelzer novel' of a song until a few days ago when I saw a product I never knew existed.
Apparently pease pudding is a sort of vegetable mash which comes in a can and is mostly found in the industrial towns in the middle of England. Intended to be served with meats such as beef or bacon, although the can suggests that you can also eat it in a quiche or dolloped on top of a scone.
I'm such a foreigner! I only tried cornedbeef hash a few months ago. Next I'll start talking in an American accent about how England is boring with wierd food and that Europe is so small that you can walk from France to Russia in a day.
Anyway I bought a can of pease pudding and I don't dare open it, it looks so old I feel like my mum has just sent me down the road with a farthing before school to get her three packs of cigarettes for the day and a can of pease pudding for dinner.
Errr I'll have mine hot with lots of salt and cheese please
xxx
Pease pudding hot
pease pudding cold
pease pudding in the pot nine days old
some like it hot
some like it cold
some like it in the pot nice days old
mmm chopin would've have sweated blood from the stress if it'd been his job to write that one!
It was a very disturbing song to me as a child, because at first I thought it said 'please' pudding, but why would anyone ask to have pudding that had been cold and festering in a cooking pot for over a week. This led me to believe that it was a song about a horrible, tasteless 'alsorts' cassarole that working class victorian mothers would make by throwing anything they had into a big pot and simmering it into a grey, gruel-like mash with no nutritional content, serving the same purpose as polyfiller on a child's stomach. The song seemed to be some sort of children's anthem of defeatism, a way of making poverty and childhood somehow pleasant and normal.
"mmmm cold nine day old porrige again mum? Well thank God, some kids like cold pudding, some posh bastards like it heated up alittle, but not me, I like a pudding that has been caked to the bottom of a pan for atleast a week. What's for breakfast tomorrow? Another beating? AND a week in the broom cupboard! Oh mum!"
I had totally forgotten about this 'David Pelzer novel' of a song until a few days ago when I saw a product I never knew existed.
Apparently pease pudding is a sort of vegetable mash which comes in a can and is mostly found in the industrial towns in the middle of England. Intended to be served with meats such as beef or bacon, although the can suggests that you can also eat it in a quiche or dolloped on top of a scone.
I'm such a foreigner! I only tried cornedbeef hash a few months ago. Next I'll start talking in an American accent about how England is boring with wierd food and that Europe is so small that you can walk from France to Russia in a day.
Anyway I bought a can of pease pudding and I don't dare open it, it looks so old I feel like my mum has just sent me down the road with a farthing before school to get her three packs of cigarettes for the day and a can of pease pudding for dinner.
Errr I'll have mine hot with lots of salt and cheese please
xxx
Bad photo
There are unflattering photos, then there are confidence crushingly bad photos that take a day to get over, and then....
There are those photos that make you look so unhumane that you wonder why nobody has ever pointed out the flaming similarity between you and john goodman.
what....the...fuck!
If I'm going to look like I eat 6000 calories a day I might as well enjoy it, give my clothes to charity, put on a bin bag dress and eat myself into imperturbation.
As a start I'm going to go stick my head in a bathtub of lyle's golden syrup and eat my way out.
There are those photos that make you look so unhumane that you wonder why nobody has ever pointed out the flaming similarity between you and john goodman.
what....the...fuck!
If I'm going to look like I eat 6000 calories a day I might as well enjoy it, give my clothes to charity, put on a bin bag dress and eat myself into imperturbation.
As a start I'm going to go stick my head in a bathtub of lyle's golden syrup and eat my way out.
Sunday, 2 March 2008
A change of skin
I was really bored the other day so I decided to dress up as my friend Haariet. She was staying at her boyfriend's house and always leaves her door open so I borrowed a blonde wig from Abbie, knicked some of harriets clothes that were lying around her room. As I painted my eyebrows ginger and practised various 'Harrietisms' in my mirror, I sent her a text explaining that a woman was in her room who was claimed to be her but I wasn't convinced.
She got such a fright when she opened her bedroom door.
Harriet
My crude imitation
It was wierd standing in her bedroom, trying on her clothes in her room, I creeped myself out a bit over how much I got into it, I think I even put alittle bit of her purfume on so I'd smell like her (eeeuughhhh!)
It reminded me of this bit in a novel I read called 'the scapegoat' by Daphne Du Maurier, about a french teacher who one day meets a man who looks exactly like him, they get drunk together and he wakes up in the morning in a strange hotel room to find the man has gone, taking the other mans things with him and leaving his own, essentially swapping his identity. The man has no choice but to wear the other man's clothes out of the hotel, and as he is dressing he describes how strange it is to suddely become somebody else simply buy wearing their clothes. He has an uncontrollable urge to take the other man's brush and style his hair in the same way and wear a bit of his cologne. I got a similar feeling in Harriets room, obviously I don't look like her but it does make you think, how much of a person's personality is dictated by their possesions, can you replace or replicate them simply by dressing and looking like them, or immitating their characteristics.
I never liked shakespeare at school but this makes me want to read Hamlet!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6zEVZGuU3BU
She got such a fright when she opened her bedroom door.
Harriet
My crude imitation
It was wierd standing in her bedroom, trying on her clothes in her room, I creeped myself out a bit over how much I got into it, I think I even put alittle bit of her purfume on so I'd smell like her (eeeuughhhh!)
It reminded me of this bit in a novel I read called 'the scapegoat' by Daphne Du Maurier, about a french teacher who one day meets a man who looks exactly like him, they get drunk together and he wakes up in the morning in a strange hotel room to find the man has gone, taking the other mans things with him and leaving his own, essentially swapping his identity. The man has no choice but to wear the other man's clothes out of the hotel, and as he is dressing he describes how strange it is to suddely become somebody else simply buy wearing their clothes. He has an uncontrollable urge to take the other man's brush and style his hair in the same way and wear a bit of his cologne. I got a similar feeling in Harriets room, obviously I don't look like her but it does make you think, how much of a person's personality is dictated by their possesions, can you replace or replicate them simply by dressing and looking like them, or immitating their characteristics.
I never liked shakespeare at school but this makes me want to read Hamlet!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6zEVZGuU3BU
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