Welcome to SimonTalksRubbish!
Tuesday 11.41am 27/9/2005
Last night I went to a retro pub quiz with Gools and Oscar in Highbury. It was quite a swanky affair, there was even a plasma screen for the picture round - how very London. I managed to correctly put the name (Gyles Brandreth, left, with the irrepressible Auntie June) to the picture, the genius that I am. Lisa, who does the marketing at Troma in New York, met us for a drink later on. It was great catching up with her, and getting to talk to her outside of the Troma bubble. This morning I got a phone call from EMAP, I have an interview next Monday! Hopefully my mouth ulcer, which in the past week has swelled to the size of Montenegro, won't impede on my elocution skills, ie: chatting up the interviewer. Tomorrow Im going to see Alex who has just returned from his year of globe-trotting, which culminated in a week of debauchery, with his own sister no less, in Bangkok. He has many stories involving lady boys and terrapins (much like Liz's foul-mouthed sister from Paris, remember her?) Because we haven't seen each other in such a long time, we will celebrate with a tall glass of whisky with pink elephant ice cubes and a Slenderella cigar, a special tradition of ours.
"Burying the baby leg"Monday 10.40am 26/9/2005
A text message from Beth in Paris! Greenclaws, Julia, Fab and I are in the ALCOHOLICS PUB. It is an aberration of nature. There are two BOUNCERS on the door, one of whom showed us to our seats and had the audacity to offer us a table and bottles of wine. I am refusing to drink here! Nobody is drunk!Sunday 12.51pm 25/9/2005
Got wasted at a karaoke bar in Stepney Green last night. Sang S Club 7's 'Dont Stop Moving', which the pint-swilling drag queen DJ announced as sounding like "Hitler addressing the troops at a Nazi rally".
Friday 12.23pm 23/9/2005
Just had a 20 minute telephone interview with the EMAP Television promotions department and got seriously grilled. Accidentally fessing up to buying the occasional Smash Hits magazine (target audience: 11-13yr olds) turned out to be not such a bad thing, rather, not initially knowing enough about the television channels they air was a big no-no (some misinterpretation was involved). The manageress hinted at a second stage interview, which would be a perfect opportunity to show off my purple tie, but we shall see. In fact, I rather enjoyed the conversation, it put me on the spot and pressed for quick thinking, and Im pretty sure that with enough practice I will have perfected this interview technique.
Tuesday 11.52pm 20/9/2005
Met up with Elina, Horny Hamish and Greek George at a Cuban pool bar at London Bridge yesterday and spent my last �3 on a packet of fags and a pint of coke. Am now officially penniless. Elina and I have decided to go to Tunisia next summer, and squeeze in Mount Etna and Greece while we're at it. Michael Howard was on telly again this morning, such a charming old fuddy duddy, he's one of the few Conservatives who has any character. It will be a sad day when he steps down. In fact that's probably why this young lady here on your left is looking so distressed. Or is it because she is included in the latest batch of teen fodder in 'Final Destination 3', which hits cinemas in February? Judging by her Kwik Fit overalls and line of sight, which suggests either a falling scaffolding that will pummel her face into the ground or a fork-lift gone haywire that will her rip to pieces, I would say that our bumbling Tory is the least of her concerns. Wouldn't you?
Sunday 6.41pm 18/9/2005
Last night was okay, I guess. Trying to catch up with 30+ uni friends in a cramped nightclub aptly titled 'Zoo Bar' was never going to be easy. Especially when you've realised all your money and the 75% travel discount pass you nicked from Eurostar have been pick-pocketed. Mind you, all this paled in comparison to the downright embarrassing behaviour demonstrated by Melissa Leigh, her drunken antics putting even the notorious McFlurry-gate incident of summer 2002 to shame. She demonstrated the kind of arse over tit gymnastics one would usually associate with the tetraplegic entry for figure skating at the Paralympics. At one point she rolled off a bar stool and hit the floor face first, spread-eagled, necklaces, earrings and the splintered heel of her shoe scattered several metres away from her. Thankfully, not even a ripple had registered in the vodka orange she was clutching. Then, at about 1am, to the booming thud of S Club's 'Don't Stop Moving', Mel seized the dancefloor, displaying all the rythm and flair of a scarecrow on a skateboard. I love it when Mel comes out with us in London.
Saturday 12.53am 17/9/2005
Just got back from Hammersmith where Ronnie and I had lots of wine in the company of her Parliament chums. Drank quite a bit actually. Went down very well. Am now considering a career in politics. Don't hold your breath.
Tuesday 1.51pm 13/9/2005 
Look at this very weird and quite revolting image that was featured on a pop-up message under 'PROTECT YOUR PC FROM SPYWARES AND ADWARES!' It rudely interrupted me halfway through reading The Dark Lord's blog. I don't mind these adverts so much, it only takes a single mouse-click to get rid of them, but do they have to be so disturbing? I mean, what does it imply? Fornication with a laptop? Very odd. Anyway, yesterday I went over to Gools' house in Muswell Hill to watch 'The Clown at Midnight' but because we got so carried away pausing and rewinding the videotape to examine Margot Kidder's make-up and to replay the bit where the geek gets her head chopped off (we were rather sloshed by this point), I ended up missing the last train and had to crash at Elina's. Today myself and Elina are both experiencing serious bowel problems thanks to a Turkish delicacy we indulged in at 1am. More on that later.
Sunday 6.50pm 11/9/2005
Sunday morning at 8am. Wake up next to a can of Castlemaine in a suburb of Hove. Must get to Millets in Wimbledon by 11am. Remember Scrag's advice (for this was the day after his birthday piss-up) "turn right out the house and look for a gay street". I find Dyke road and am at the station in half an hour. I catch the train on time and make it to work. Unfortunately this week I have not been a recluse at all. Wednesday: Wine and weed at Elina's on Caledonian road. Thursday: Wine and lemon vodka at Anna's house in Archway followed by another few bottles in Camden with Elina and Clare resulted in the destruction of my brand new $400 digital camera. Must stop jumping onto piles of rubbish. Last night Rachel 'aka Miss Lemon from ITV's series of Poirot' joined myself, Scrag, Tara, Franco and others for a night on the razz in Brighton. I had a twatted rant at one of his random sober friends because the Odeon she works at isn't showing 'The Cave' (left). She even mistook it for that other sperlunking movie, 'The Descent'. Shame on her.
Tuesday 2.32pm 6/9/2005
How ridiculous. Cuba and Iran donating aid to America to clean up New Orleans! Not a peep out of the French yet, not surprisingly, but I'm actually with them on that one. By the time the rest of the world gets their doctors and food packages out there, maybe Dubya would have pulled his finger out of his bum in time. Perhaps Cheney will do it for him. We shall see. My week of being a recluse has gotten off to a bad start. Yesterday I got fooked in Holborn with Elina and Clare and Kenny and Lizzy. Fell over in the middle of the road and cut my hand.
Monday 6.18pm 5/9/2005
I couldn't find a relevant picture to go with this entry so I typed the word 'recluse' into Google and this one came up, so it will just have to do for now. Its that time of year again folks, yes, its time to be a lonely old housebound miser. I have no money and must find a job in journalism or film and television, which is extremely competitive. I must also move in with my Dad which is proving rather difficult what with the piles of shit I managed to accrue during my fianl year at university. Yesterday it was my birthday, hooray, and I am now 23. I have landed a job selling tents and sleeping bags at Millets in Wimbledon on Saturdays, with my Clinton Cards buddies Tim and Roberta. It'll be nice to hang out with them again after all these years.
Thursday 6.02am 1/9/2005
I'm leaving New York today. Had my last White Castle burger, my final PBR beer, and now I must go. A funny thing happened at the local store yesterday. There was this tiny old black lady with enormous sun glasses and a purple weave, singing along to Staying Alive which was playing over the PA system. She heard me chuckle and then came up to me, announcing "You know how they say 'cut the rug'? Well in my day I ripped that shit up!" She then drops her trolley, finds a space over by a powdered milk rack, and does a little dance for me right there in the middle of the shop floor. And boy, she did indeed rip up some shit.
Sunday 11.23am 28/8/2005 
Thanks to that blasted Hurricane Katrina (see bitch above) myself and Julia's family had to be evacuated from New Orleans. On the other hand, we got to go to Tuscaloosa, Alabama, where we subsequently went out and got pissed last night at a state university frat party. Sigma Phi something or other, we were even given a tour by some parrot called Kelly. Saw some dorms, kegs, underage drinkers and all the rest of it. Today we are going to Birmingham, I wonder what wonders shall await us there? God I hope I make it back to NYC for my flight on Thursday, I didn't take out travel insurance. Mind you, Julia's house is probably going to be flattened and pummelled under ten metres of mud and sewage, so I could be worse off.
Friday 10.14pm 26/8/2005
New Orleans: Hurricanes, Grenades, Monsoons, 25c Martinis, Po'Boys, Muffalettas, Crawfish, Gumbo, Lindsay Lohan, Jean Lafitte, and many more cocktails, munchies and famous persons abound in the Big Easy. Julia is taking me on a bar crawl tonight. Let the good times roll!
Tuesday 9.50am 23/8/2005
If you want to go on a shoddy rollercoaster and actually scream as if your life depended on it, I strongly reccommend you visit Coney Island, a disgraceful excuse for a theme park reeking of rotting food and teeming with the worst possible kind of tourist, complete with umbrella hats and screaming kids clenching those stupid big swirly lollies. I had a marvellous time.
Thursday 11.27am 18/8/2005
So Im back in New York after the lunacy that was Poultrygeist in Buffalo. Despite the 12 hour delayed Amtrak journey Im glad I'm back as there's some serious battery recharging that needs to be done. On Sunday I was drafted in to be a stunt double for a scene where I got my face dunked into a deep fat fryer 3 times and my bollocks ripped out (also fried), the make-up was a tortuous hour but the effect was amazing. My one immortal line of dialogue? "My balls! My balls!" Monday I hit the town with the delectable Anna Chiaretta and Pavel, an Irish journalist from Hotdog magazine who was doing a set report. We got thoroughly hammered and met this guy who had two interesting scars on his chest. One was the size of a small pea, a bullet wound. The other was about ten inches wide, because apparently they had to remove all the beer and chicken wings from his stomach after he was shot, how bizarre! Yesterday I went to the Metropolitan with Jessie's friend Mara, a huge, fascinating place, it was just a pity we got lost on the Egyptian art floor. Impossible to escape that dross isn't it? Also went to Bret Easton Ellis' book signing and bought a whole bunch of cheap clothes, H&M of course. Tonight Im going to see a PG-13 Wes Craven film (left) with Chris, and then tomorrow I'll be sitting in the audience for the Today show. On Saturday I'm going to Coney Island and after that Lorna wants us to go to a scary street gang club in Brooklyn called 'Blackland'. Uh-oh.
Sunday 11.46am 14/8/2005
Last night, or rather this morning at 2am, shooting wrapped for Friday. Lloyd Kaufman (the director) insisted the shoot be extended to accommodate a scene featuring the death of his visiting 17 year old daughter via a soda dispenser. Again, I got blasted with a jet of fake blood from a water cannon, the force being so much that my prosthetic beak was ripped off my nose. Today the carnage continues, with lunch at 7pm and dinner at 1am. The nearest bar closes at 4.30am, and I think we'll all be needing a strong drink by that point.
Tuesday 4.10pm 9/8/2005
So, what's new. Well here in Tromaville life trundles along at its usual soul-destroying pace. Whether it be mopping up red food dye and pizza dough, cleaning out the portaloo, or having to chow down on fake intestines whilst being blasted with a blood filled sump pump, every day is as messy as the last. I haven't had a good night's sleep since I got here, and the zombie make-up has already added twenty years worth of wrinkles to my face. The people here all have fascinating stories to tell, I've made some great friends already. A fight broke out between the grip and the DP in the parking lot today, fists and all. Yet again, more thrilling activities to behold! Lots of green vomit, too.
Friday 11.56pm 5/8/2005
Just a short update. Things in Buffalo are intense. Just came out from a make-up rehearsal where I was transformed into a chicken zombie in the space of seven minutes! Gruelling stuff for the effects artists but bloody marvellous for me! The ex-fast food outlet where the film is being shot is in a really run down part of town where they have gang wars. The other day some guy across the street got stabbed for not handing over a dollar. Thrilling stuff! Ive been writing my arse off for a book treatment with interviews, diaries and observations. Have decided that I'll go back to NYC for a week sometime soon to get my stuff together and churn out a structure and some creative writing. Everything is so mental. Must rush off now, 6am roll call tomorrow. Zzzzzz
Monday 11.45pm 1/8/2005
Met up with Giselle in Union Square for quite possibly the best smoothie I have ever tasted. She is going to Ghana next week to study for a semester, the lucky sod. Went shopping for a goldfish with Lorna, Jessie showed me Little Italy and SoHo before we sat down next to a little old Yenta lady who was complaining that "so I say to my doctor, doctor, you've gotta help me stop smowkin' and so he says I should see a radiologist but I say ah don't wanna no radiashun and so I phone my son, he's a doctor, and I say son, you gotta help me quit..." Last night I got royally wankered in trendy Williamsburg with Chris, and my hangover is killing me. Gerald is picking me up in a few hours and driving me to Buffalo. Might have to stop off at a White Castle for a Slyder!
Wednesday 9.21am 27/7/2005
Another late entry, but as the mighty Keraig David would say, "let me fill you in". Friday I went out with Ronnie and her Houses of Parliament buddies to G-A-Y, a horrible club which is on a par with Sound, the difference being that this one was full of raving bummers. Saturday was my brother's birthday at the swanky member's club, Kensington Rooftop Gardens. Don't ask how I managed to get in, I still don't believe it, suffice to say everyone thought I was in a band. My brother was thoroughly embarrassed at my drunkeness. Next day, turned up 3 hours late for my last day at work and then on Monday I took my cousin Penny for a day trip to Paris. On Wednesday I flew to NYC, a rather hellish trip, and took the Amtrak straight to Philadelphia where old Paris chum Barbara and I met up and enjoyed a cheeky cigarette together. Neither of us have managed to quit, yet. The awful driver that she is, we had some trouble finding the freeway but eventually we were on our way to East Coast Las Vegas Rip-Off, Atlantic City! String vests and wheelchairs abound as we stayed at the Shangri-La-esque 'Hotel Tropicana'. Drank lots of cocktails and watched little old ladies pushing coins into flashing slot machines with names like 'Spamtastic' and 'Burn, Money, Burn'. The next day we drove around New Jersey and ate enormous omelettes and pancakes at an i-hop diner before heading to NooYoik. Met her glam friends, an actor and a soon to be red carpet organiser for VH-1 (I know, how New York!) and eventually got ditched in Brooklyn where I met up with Lorna. After purchasing and drinking half a bottle of Jim Beam from a liquor store (complete with brown paper bag - I know, how New York!) we headed off to a bar on the lower east side where we met the legendary Jessie Hock, another pal from Paris. She is now working at a top paralegal firm downtown (I thought this was a place where disabled people went to fess up crimes), little do they know what a seasoned drinker she can be. All I remember was drinking lots of cheap beer and urinating on the subway - I know, how New York!
Thursday 15.07pm 21/7/2005
I just received a call at work from a cowardly weeping willow, a condescending French woman who insisted she get a refund on her measly 35 euro train ticket due to the 'bombs going off everywhere' in London. This would have been perfectly understandable if the train was due to travel today, what with those dummy bombs being triggered an hour ago. But no, she wanted a refund for a trip TWO WEEKS away. When I said 'non' she then broke into hysterics, claiming that I was forcing her to travel on a train that might have a bomb on it. She then got angry and started scoffing at me, as if such an inhuman act was barely believable. I pretty much told her to deal with it and refused to say any more, and she finally buggered off. I mean honestly, get a grip. We cannot let ourselves live in fear, this is what the terrorists want, it may even happen in Paris next week. Why should we let ourselves be afraid of living life, just to satisfy a bunch of brainwashed muslims and disillusioned clerics? What a worm this French woman was.
Wednesday 14.54pm 20/7/2005 
Last night I watched a beautiful film, Central do Brasil, or Central Station. When the end credits rolled I was bawling my eyes out. To date, only Candyman and Requiem for a Dream have accomplished this. The story follows a bitter old cynic who helps an orphaned boy find his father in central Brazil. The performances are superb and both actors are from completely different backgrounds, one being Brazil's most respected and famous female actresses, the other a shoe-shine boy who had never even been in a cinema before. The director has since done The Motorcycle Diaries and the remake of Dark Water, and hopefully there will be many more to come, too.
Tuesday 18.12pm 19/7/2005
On Friday I went to the Isle of Wight with Mel and stayed at my Gran's. We sunned it on the beach for a bit, had a curry and went to one of the worst clubs on the face of the planet: The Balcony in Ryde. The place was teeming with pint-sized OAP's and wan-faced teenagers, and upon requesting S Club Juniors the DJ barked at Mel: "This is a nightblub not a youth club!" I mean, really. The next day we went to Suzy and Ari's fantastic wedding. The church was a cute little thing huddled away in the woods of Shanklin and the reception was held at a health spa with a three tiered garden leading down to the sea. The bride looked stunning, the hors d'oeuvres were superb little salmony creamy things, the speeches were first rate, and there was LOADS to drink. I don't think I've ever drunk such a huge variety of alcohol in my life. In chronological order, and at least three glasses of each, (except the gin, I was bordering on a coma at that point) champagne, Pimms, white wine, red wine, more Pimms, Stella, whisky and the grisly Bombay Sapphire. By this point I got into a big debate with some Irish dude about South Africa and then told a pair of lesbians from Salford that they could have my sperm. After a bit of hideously bad 'bad dancing' with Mel, we both retired to the garden shed and fell asleep. Congratulations to the happy couple, and I know they're going to be a huge success.
Thursday 16.37pm 14/7/2005
I feel awful. Aching from head to toe, bruises across my back and neck, foul breath and spotty flesh. Yes, these are the kinds of ailments you would expect to suffer after celebrating a graduation. The whole thing was such a circus of silly gowns, cheap wine and soppy goodbyes that I really don't feel like going into much detail over it. Not that I remember much of it anyway. And no, I'm not going to explain why I felt it appropriate to simulate sex with an ironing board in the middle of the street, why I snogged Steve Friar's mum's car (she was present at the time) and why I was, well, being a complete and utter drunken prick for two days straight. No, instead I will let the photographs tell the twisted story. When I get them developed that is.
Monday 16.12pm 11/7/2005
Isn't it great to see the British public up and about on public transport, busying themselves with their day to day lives, no doubt pondering what gossip there is to be shared by the water cooler on their tea break. After the bombings and the ensuing panic it makes you proud of your country to see it back in the swing of things.
"People come to live in London so they can live the life they choose. No matter how many people you kill, you will fail." - Ken Livingstone, Mayor of London
Tuesday 10.41am 5/7/2005
Happy birthday Alex, and thank you for inviting me to your wonderful birthday bash in London, which resulted in this sorry spectacle (see left). It was actually a rather pleasant evening to begin with, as I got to catch up with a few people I rarely see these days. But, as we stumbled and tripped across our alcohol tolerance thresholds, and into the gutter outside the pub, we had our sights firmly set on getting obliterated. Suffice to say, I don't remember much. Other news: Last night I had a rather odd dream involving the Fantastic Four, this might be because the movie is coming out soon. It looks
fucking awfullike the only one worth watching this summer.
"Fantastic Four"Saturday 18.47pm 2/7/2005
Well Live Aid doesn't look too cheerful does it? Where's the vibe? The atmosphere? I may be grumpy and jealous, slaving away over a hot telephone at Eurostar Call Centre in Trashford, but judging by the po-faced sobriety being beamed to the billions on the telly, I can't say Im that bothered I didn't go. Of course, its all for a good cause, but why deny the masses essential alcohol to encourage a bit of merriment? A shame, really.
