Im drunk

and imn posting

oops

I could say something, but I'D regret it n the morning....

Fancy Slacks

Oh MY GOD! This month I have spent almost £500 in clothes. And I don't seem to be able to stop myself.

This evening I purchased a £160 new coat and £85 pair of new walking boots (admittedly for my trip to Iceland on Thursday).
I think I have a problem.

Here is a list of what I have bought this month.

White slim fit shirt from Zara - very sheer, very slimming
Green striped shirt from Zara - you know, looks good with the
Beige corduroys from you know where.
New gym shorts and G star T shirt on that day I just didn't like what was in my gym bag and I needed to check out House of Fraser
Black slim fit tshirt from Zara
green and grey striped tshirt from zara, on that Friday night i just wasn't appropriately dressed after work to fraternise at the gentlemen's bar in Soho
Brown and black and beige houndstooth pants from you know where for the staff party - what was i thinking? I went in jeans, and had to make a quick nip into my favourite store
Black knit to accompany said houndstooth pant (from HOF)
Duck and Cover thick coat
Rockport boots.

Sorry, I just like buying clothes.

Now I do have a monthly clothing budget, which I think has just suffered a huge beating for the next few months, so if you find me nude loitering around the windows of Selfridges, or any Zara store in the city, please take me inside and buy me something.

I put out.

The blue lagoon.

On Thursday I'm going to Iceland. No, I'm not talking about the supermarket where everything is sold out of giant freezers. I'm talking about the real home of Bjork, land of eternal day nee night country of Auroras and a volcanic wonderland that apparently looks like the moon.

In honour of my voyage to this great Scandinavian frontier, I thought I would just regale you with a few little known facts about Icelanders.

Iceland is home and country of Origin of Bjork. Bjork had a very successful singing career with hits such as Big time Sensuality and Venus as a boy. She also went to the oscars dressed like a giant swan and laid an egg on the red carpet. Cool.


There is a place in Iceland called The Blue Lagoon, where one may bath in hot thermal water that is fluorescent blue against a rugged lunar landscape. It is Iceland's top tourist destination, yet it's actually not made from hot geyser water that flows naturally from its volcanic springs. In fact the water comes from the hydro thermal power plants nearby. Its safe to swim in though. I'm hoping. Glad I ate that extra burger last week and now cant fit into my bathers. Yes, Im still not availing myself to the salad, and a life as Buck it will be.

Icelanders are big drinkers. Help.

They drive monster trucks, and especially enjoy racing car driving around the barren landscape of the country side, often after drinking lots. Maybe not quite so cool.

I'ts really really cold in the winter, and apparently, the depression that usually sets in to communities starved of sunlight and daylight for months at a time, actually hits in the summer time when most of them work 20 hour days and don't sleep because its light all the time. Every year there is at around this time, a 'festival of lights' where this marks the moment when the sun starts to set, they turn the street lights on, and they can all go to bed.

Which is in fact, where I'm off to right now.

Good night my lovelies.

xx

Lumpy Moet.

Enough said really.

Iron Maiden

The other night the husband was ironing his shirt for work and he blew up the iron, and very nearly damned blew up the whole house (well all the lights went out when the fuse blew and SHOCK HORROR GREY'S ANATOMY went off...)

So, looking like something that crawled out of a bag of dried apricots, I took myself off the next day to get me a new iron. There's this place called ARGOS where you buy out of a catalogue. At the counter, there are tables full of these catalogues where you can buy anything from pooper paper to and elephant. But the best thing is the jewelry. Now I know where chavs buy their necklace's, their diamond drops and their special Jordan pendants. That's right, joolery from Jordan, aka Katie Price.

How I wanted the diamonte love heart drop pendant. *sigh*

But in the mean time I have to be happy with my nice, pink iron.

Can you see the criteria upon which I made my choice from the catalogue? pretty pretty pretty pretty...

Backfat Buck

My very good friend Bretty is doing an expose on Australian TV in his Blog. Check it out. I never watched a lot of Australian TV, but I did have an obsession for anything made by Aaron Spelling or Glen A. Larson ( Battlestar Galactica, Buck Rogers in the 25th Century).


Its a little known fact around this big gay town, that I once had an obsession with Gil Gerard from Buck Rogers. Yes, I might have been 12 years old, but nonetheless, it was love. I never went so far a to have a lunchbox with him on it, nor did I have posters on my wall (there was no room, the walls were covered in pictures of Duran Duran...actually, I think there was one in the corner, just in the right spot so he was the last thing I saw before falling off to sleep...) I did have all the playing cards, and I recall having a tantrum once when we got stuck in a traffic jam and I missed an episode....


Can you see why I loved him so?

The husband bought me the box set of series one for Christmas (bless) and I ingested every epidose (that's not a typo, that's a lame attempt at humour). What did strike me as kind of odd, was how chunky Buck really was. And my infatuation (ha!) with him at such a young age. Was this an omen as to my fate? Am I to end up a shadow (or would that be an eclipse) of Backfat Buck? We have just watched Buck parade around rescuing maidens and entering strange vortexes (sounds like me), and it was hard to keep my chicken and red onion salad down. Sorry Gil, you should have spent more time on the treadmill in your spunky youth. You were very hot though. Hubba Hubba so was Erin Grey, but thats a whole other post, and another visit to my shrink.



This picture doesn't at all illustrate my point. In fact, Buck looks just as dreamy as I remembered him. Funny that I couldn't find a picture of him bursting out of his white spandex jumpsuit ANYWHERE. Bless you Buck run and hide.

Now, caring reader, I am making a pledge to you right here and now, that from this moment on I will never ever ever wear white spandex, nor will I make a second trip to the buffet, nor will I nag the husband to fetch me icecream in the night, nor will I develop a Tunnocks caramel biscuit dependency nor will I ever, ever, get, backfat.

Now off to the tower with you! and you too.

Until this afternoon at approximately 4.05:34 pm, I had never seen the crown jewels of HRH Queen Elizabeth II, whom you all know I utterly adore. I don't know if there had been a conspiracy by my mother to keep me from them, or if my true missive in migrating from Australia to the England was to but gaze upon their regal splendour. I tell you what though mate, I sure would go for just 5 minutes with that lot on.



The crown jewels have been on public display at the Tower of London since the 17th Century in a number of locations including the Martin Tower and the Wakefield Tower. Today they are housed in the Waterloo Barracks, which was built in the 19th century in a castellated neo-Gothic style complete with elaborate battlements and gargoyles. It was built while the Duke of Wellington was Constable of the Tower (1826-52) to provide accommodation for almost 1000 soldiers.

The Jewels on display in the Jewel House are largely those items used at the coronation of a sovereign and are collectively known as the Coronation Regalia. Most of the collection dates from the restoration of the monarchy in 1660 when Charles II ascended to the throne. The old regalia used up to the coronation of the last king, Charles I, in 1626 had been destroyed after his execution in 1649 when Oliver Cromwell, the Parliamentary general, ordered that it be "totally broken, and that they melt down all the gold and silver, and sell the jewels to the best advantage of the Commonwealth."

In addition to their enormous historical value, the Crown Jewels incorporate some spectacular and priceless stones. The largest top quality cut diamond in the world, the First Star of Africa (Cullinan 1), which weighs just over 530 carats, is set in the head of the Sovereign's scepter with cross. Some stones are also famous for their historical associations and numerous legends surround the Koh-i-Noor diamond, set in the Crown of Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother and the 'Stuart Sapphire', the 'Black Prince's Ruby' and 'Queen Elizabeth's Pearls', all set in the Imperial State Crown.


I knitted this replica of the St Edward's crown (c.2004) with Jo Sharp Burgandy, white mohair, metallic gold, silver and coloured yarn. It took me a year to make and is my most ambitious knitting project to date. Next I will be knitting the trouping of the guards uniform, with full coronation regaila. Do you think I'm kidding?

You better wise up Janet Weiss

Touch me touch me touch me touch me.

I want to feel dirty.

uh huh.

What? Am I Invisible?

Um, Hello, can you see me?

You know, I dont normally expect, as I'm swanning elegantly through the busy streets of London, that people will just naturally get out of my way because I'm the damned Queen of the Universe or anything;

BUT I'M THE DAMNED QUEEN OF THE UNIVERSE SO GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY.

Today about 5 or 6 people physically shoved me out of the way to either get before me in a queue, push me out of the way on an escalator, shove me to get into an ELEVATOR before me (um hi, I'm getting in after you and you're not going to get to your damned dictaphone any quicker) shove before me getting OUT of the elevator then dawdle in front of me accros the whole foyer whilst TEXTING !! ?? There was even a tour bus operator who was conducting a transaction with a client and thereby blocking the whole footpath and wouldn't even move when I politely said excuse me.... you see what I mean.

My favourite little tick off, is how people in this town actually walk into you because they dont look where they're going. In most cities I have been to, people have a fairly good understanding of the trajectories of at least the nearest 5 or 6 people around them so they dont end up wearing each other's Natural Glow or Simply Luscious Mascara. Nah uh, not here. Nobody dont wanna know about any damned trajectory. No sir. No forward trajectory planning goin' on no place, no time.

So from now on, BACK OFF and LOOK OUT coz I've got Natural Glow AND Luscious Mascara on and I'm making a line right for you and your cheap, white, blouse.


Mrs PTC

Millionaire 911 widows

I'm watching television with the husband and I just cant believe what I'm seeing.

It's hard enough to sit here and watch the whole grizzly 911 event again, and even to see footage I never hoped to have ever witnessed - LEST WE FORGET. But to see a bunch of obviously highly distressed women relate how they were offered "blood money" and to see their struggle with the "system" is actually something I have become really angry and passionate about in my post Chicken Jalfrezzi haze...

In a nutshell...

The government and all the superduperstars (including Goldie) of the world managed to raise about 10 BILLION dollars for compensation within about a few weeks - certainly 2 billion in the first week. The compensation was dished out on a BY EARNINGS basis - ie, the rich got more, the janitors got a few thousand, because they aren't obviously as American, nor did their families suffer as much; or their Bollinger bills weren't as high.

So the trust fund for compensation tells everyone that they will get so much (however American they are) on the condition that they wont sue the airlines or the World Trade Centre. Because it was - so like the WTC's fault for being so high, and like having offices in it.

So when one woman decides to SUE (yes mam, the favourite American pastime) the fund for discriminating on the compensation, what does the fund's spokesperson say?

something like:

Compensation couldn't all be equal, that's just not American.

And there we have it.

Kathy Trent got 7 million and spent 5 million on "stuff" after losing her husband. I acknowledge that no amount of compensation money could ever give this woman back her life or her husband, so was it fair that she got a right rogering in the press? At least she didn't wrap her freshly liposucked thighs around one of the "firefighters who left their wives for their friend's millionaire widows". tsk.

Some families actually !!shock horror!! Didn't access the fund because they had a shred of dignity and realised that no money could compensate their loss. I bet they're all a lot more at peace with the world than the others, who knows. They were probably smart enough to realise that some insurance fat cat was going to place some value on their loved one which was proportionate to his/her predeath income. But, tell me...Aren't we all equal in the eyes of your big fat GOD? Hmmmmmmmm?

I could go on but its actually boring even me right now.

What I want to know is how America, Gods own country, could raise so much money (probably close to 10 billion) so quickly for its worst act of terror, but sat and watched its people drown and starve to death in appalling conditions only a couple of years later in New Orleans in its worst natural disaster.

Of course we all know the answer to that.

God Bless America.

Salad

I'm putting on weight.

Its hard to believe, given my rigorous schedule of being utterly fabulous and working as a Landscape Architect to the stars. But lets turn to camera two with a serious face and consider its real implications. Its a death knoll in this fabulously fickle gay old town. And a move that could see me totally alienated from my fabulously glittering A-list social clique of Aussie expats and my cat (bitchy lot). So I've decided to do something about it.

A good friend once said to me that I was obsessed with my weight. Well, honey, yes I might be, but look at you. You're a 6ft 2 Amazon supermodel who is the only person I have ever known who would turn heads at 9 months pregnant. And obviously you isn't no gay man, so lets not judge Mrs Pussy please. Its part of mine and every man who owned a Deee-lite album's genes to be obsessed with our centre of gravity. And every self respecting Friend of Liza will be nodding in total unflubbering agreement.

I've been on diets before, and I'm not even going to muse on what sort of rubbish calorie free flavour free celery rich cabbage encrusted crock of shit diet I might have gotten sucked into if it weren't for my trusty favourite sandwich shoppe on the corner. So, there, every day, made especially fresh for me (despite me getting it off a semi cooled shelf totally exposed to the busy street) I may purchase a lovely bread free sandwich; thoroughly enjoyable, despite the fact that it is really just salad.

Yesterday, this was, mind you, just after I had been sweating my guts out at the gym (well, alright, I did 10 minutes on the runner whilst I sang the latest Alcazar album out loud). And what's the number one priority for all aspiring walnuts to do, once we have pumped our little muscles in the gymnasium? Well, ingest at least half a buffalo in protein, naturally. Or at least a protein shake or bar would help.

I swear, when the president of Gaytopia decrees that carbs are no longer allowed, and that we're only supposed to eat salad and buffalo, he should fnerking well tell all respectable scoff houses, supermarkets, noodle houses, deli's and Zara boutiques. I went into Marks and Spencer food and they had a whole aisle of chips and bread, half the shop was dedicated to some form of pasta I had never even heard of, and a whole WALL OF CHOCOLATE PUDDING, but NOTHING with any quick to ingest protein.

I suppose that's good if you're the other fat lady. Which in a very short time, I very well may be.

Fun with Dick and Dick.

Now it's a well known fact that I am very good with craft. Don't ask why, I couldn't tell you where my deftness with knitting needles comes from. I just am blessed OK?

I seem (to no-ones surprise) to also be quite obsessive compulsive. When packing up for our great transcontinental migration, I simply couldn't bring myself to throw out 4 boxes full of knitting wool that I had collected over the years. In fact, during the weeks where we were sifting stuff to throw away, I was actually in the process of purchasing MORE knitting wool. I think I kept the entire Knitting Wool economy alive in the Melbourne CBD for a while there. I wonder how its still going..... could someone go to The Wool Shop on the corner of Bourke and Russell streets and tell me if they're still there? I wager they may have now fallen on hard times. Alas.

SO arriving shortly are a selection of luxury packages from home; little gifts, clothes, tupperware in boxes all stuffed full of wool. It does make an excellent packing material you see. And you will all be wetting yourselves to know that since being here I have in fact managed to twiddle out a new iPod jumper for my new 60GB video iPod that Im totally in love with. And the best thing; it matches my new Crumpler bag. Victim to fashion? Moi? Victim? Maybe.

But that's just a segue into my latest infatuation. Apart from entertaining it would seem only myself writing this blog, I have found myself collecting pencils. This has, I have found, also started to solicit peculiar mumblings from the husband everytime we visit some tourist shoppe in a new fabulous city, and there's ANOTHER new piece of rubbish in the tacky souvenir bag. Lord.


But you see, pencils are useful. Especially ones with the little erasers on the ends. They are especially nice to do Sudoku with. And the day I find an especially agreeable set, I may even knit something with them! God, the mind boggles.

MPT

xx

Hmm, I seem to be a damned yellow muppet.

You Are Bert

Extremely serious and a little eccentric, people find you loveable - even if you don't love them! You are usually feeling: Logical - you rarely let your emotions rule you You are famous for: Being smart, a total neat freak, and maybe just a little evil How you life your life: With passion, even if your odd passions (like bottle caps and pigeons) are baffling to others

The Sesame Street Personality Quiz

Crikey!

I'm sorry but I refuse to be embarrassed by the fact that I feel so incredibly sad at the passing of Crikey Irwin. What a character he was, how many laughs he gave us, how much amazing work he did for the cause of nature conservation.

Mr Irwin, the world is less interesting now you are no longer in it. You will be very sorely missed.

God Bless.

muffins

This is ABSOLUTELY DEMENTED.
If you liked Shoes, you'll enjoy this.
I love it.

Snakes on a Tube

Ok, is it me or is the whole "Snakes on a plane" thing just the most ridiculous concept or what? It just goes to show how Hollywood hype can infect every sane thought you ever had, making you believe that even Gwynneth Paltrow might have an interesting opinion and it might be a nice idea to go visit the movie house and part with 12 quids to see some period rubbish with her in it only to realize that the best screen moment she ever had was when her dismembered head appeared in 12 monkeys. or was it seven? or did I ever bother to even see.. whatever....

But enough of that malarky.

What I really wanted to muse on this fine Saturday evening, whilst my chicken is a roastin' (no cottage, I think I have finally managed to give that one up) and the beans (bunnies) are a boilin', is about what ticks me off when I catch the tube.

Now having left Melbourne but a mere 2.5 months ago, gloriously putting crap public transport and a totally f***ed up banking system behind me, I have been generally impressed with the tube experience, being thrust down a dark hole squashed up next to total strangers, frotting hotly in their Zara work combo's.

So what the sweet fark is it about Victoria station? This is my place of work and every day I must sidestep every goddamned special with their cheap luggage with wheels as they amble towards the Gatwick express counter in a scene reminiscent of dawn of the dead.

The other day, I was dawdling my way to work, my iPod firmly in my ears iBlocking the iDin, and, upon arriving at said station of hell, Duran Duran's Hungry Like the Wolf announced itself with that characteristic little "ha ha!" Bless, it was just the right thing at just the right time to lift my mood. I even thought about scratching some slowpoke tourist across the face for the hell of it. But I wouldn't want to ruin my new manicure, would I?

Thank you Duran Duran, I will always love you the most.

Now why am I sitting here on a Saturday night?

shoes


Undoubtably the favourite thing on the world wibe web this week for me.

Fuck you. lets get some shoes.
x