Welcome to SimonTalksRubbish! Thursday 6.49pm 30/3/2006
After last week's flu and wheelclamp fiasco, little bundles of joy have been bringing the light back into my life. No, not corrupted foetuses, rather: a Maid Marian DVD I ordered from Play.com, a beautiful letter I received all the way from India courtesy of Penny, and a brand spanking new Dell laptop! In addition to these luxury items, I also have a top-notch bender at the 333 club with Shauna to look forward to, and this Sunday's Oxford versus Cambridge boat race! Its all looking peachy!
Tuesday 7.55pm 28/3/2006 Today I had the displeasure of dealing with a pair of Polish wheelclampers. Now, Im not a racist, one of my closest friends is a Slovak (!), but just because one of the wheels of my father's car was on the pavement is hardly reason to pay �95 for the supposed crime. But then that really isn't the issue here. Cunning Wandsworth council have exploited the boom in large, burly Eastern Europeans looking to make a quick buck so that they can build a cinder block chalet back home in Rzesz�w, in order to put innocent, law-abiding folk like myself at a total loss if we try to bluff our way out of a potential wheel-clamping. I mean, what do you say, or do, when confronted by one of these hulking Carpathian golems? Nothing. You shut your pretty little English yap and cough up the sterling. Vultures!
Monday 9.11pm 27/3/2006
Eurostar took us on an 'educational' trip to EuroDisney. I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't looking forward to it, and for the first half hour after entering through the main gates, I was pretty thrilled to be there. But tedium soon set in. Screaming children, puddles of vomit, outrageously-priced candy floss and a disturbing number of empty push-chairs scattered about the place successfully extinguished any dewy-eyed nostalgia of yesteryear. And in any case, all I can remember about the place from my last visit 8 years ago was ditching the family to go and see Scream 2 at the cinema outside, and how fucking brilliant it was.
Saturday 11.27am 25/3/2006
Despite DFS's best efforts to convince you otherwise, a sofa simply isn't sexy. I have spent the best part of a week fermenting on mine, shaking and shivering to those familiar rythms of the common influenza. There is no cure. One can but subject oneself to endless sippings of an insipid Lemsip and that kitchen-sink luxury called 'daytime television'. Whilst the sun outside beats down on frolicking children in the park, and the streets bustle with fire engines and pizza-delivery vans, I remain still and immobile, a snivelling sack of cement consigned to my wretched sofa. Tears stream down my cheeks as 'Adopt Me: I'm a Teenager' enters it's third ad break. I scrape reams of epidermis from my forearms as Icilda, a stout little Jamaican woman, spends an entire episode of 'How Not To Decorate' scrubbing ancient poo out of a toilet bowl. I contemplate death-by-Calpol after celebrity doorman Fran Cosgrove plugs an autobiography on 'Loose Women'. The good news, however, is that today my nose has ceased its leaking. The headache has subsided. I may even be fit enough to go and see 'The Hills Have Eyes' tonight. Unfortunately, thanks to a lethal cocktail of Kleenex and kitchen towel abuse, my right nostril now resembles, what I would imagine to be, Freddy Krueger's sphincter. There comes a point in everyone's life where a balaclava must be worn to the cinema.
Friday 6.53pm 17/3/2006
Tonight I am going to the long awaited opening night of the Popjustice club night at Trash Palace in Soho, can't wait! Sadly, my internet connection has fucked up and I will therefore be unable to keep you, reader, in the loop as to my activities over the next week. And yes, this Saturday, for Anna's Neighbours-themed fancy dress party, I WILL be Summer Hoyland. If you hadn't guessed this already, then you must be a complete idiot, although my Marlene Kratz ruse was exquisitely misleading.
Sunday 11.31pm 12/3/2006
High point of this week: Drinking tea and eating prawn sandwiches at the Union Jack hotel with Estelle, gorging ourselves on Coronation Street and Location, Location, Location. Low point: Getting trashed at Boom indie night and losing my travel pass. Did lots of interesting things this week and had some rather intriguing conversations about Slovakian porn, Fiat Cinquecentos, Canadian working visas, androgynous celebrities and a pair of heroin addicts in Hastings who drove a car over their baby to keep it quiet. I would go into further detail, but I'm too tired and want to hit the hay. Good night!
Tuesday 6.39pm 8/3/2006
My train journey back from work today was ruined by a vile woman. Despite being in a designated 'mobile-free' carriage (clearly stickered), the hot-shot lawyer sitting next to me harped on for an astonishing twenty minutes into her Moto, at cochlear-splitting frequency, about a recent root canal and a pair of drainpipe trousers (!) she bought in Richmond. Despite some brilliant parallels coming to mind between this harridan and the Daphne de Maurier novel I was reading, the racket really was too much and it needed to be stopped. At this point she squawked something about how her job required her to 'talk a lot', a perfect opportunity to pounce, so I said at the top of my voice 'NO SHIT!' so that everybody else in the car could hear. Apart from an office monkey giggling in the opposite row, the deathly hush continued, and the ninny rattled on with her wretched direlogue. I promptly got up and scurried into the next carriage.
Sunday 6.46pm 5/3/2006
Its been a tough week for Tessa Jowell, poor thing. There's nothing like a political marriage going tits up to get the media hacks in a tizzy, especially when it is one that links the prime minister with the mafia. And she thought that getting us the Olympic Games, introducing the super-casino and scrapping the 11pm pub closing would guarantee a long and prosperous future in Parliament. Fat chance. Another pipsqueak lady who this week hit the skids is ex-popstar Javine (left), poor thing! It is probably thanks to Tessa's lax initiative on getting clubs to stay open all night that resulted in the svelte crooner being caught swerving about in her Mercedes with an open bottle of vodka. It is usually around this time of year that 'Jav the Chav' has such bad luck, such as her album flopping in 2004 and her boob popping out in 2005 in front of an audience of millions. Aforementioned escaped-bap incident happened at last year's Eurovision UK finalist's show, a programme to which she returned on Saturday with her head held up high, and belgian buns securely buckled. She was there to award the winner's trophy to a dreadful rapping chav called Daz Sampson. He beat out seasoned pop minstrels Kym Marsh and Anthony Costa, but only because the show was aired on a Saturday night during football week, a time when the whole nation is down the pub sinking snakebites and would only waste 30p on a text-vote for the purpose of a damn good joke, ie: getting a talentless twat into Eurovision to represent their country. I still think the Scottish duo, City Chix, deserved to win. Displaying all the northern sass and choral finesse of a rusty conveyor belt in a haggis factory, they were clearly Eurovision material. And with a name like that, how could they have not romped to victory?
Saturday 6.41pm 4/3/2006
Yesterday I went out again. The social whore that I am, I had cocktails with Scouse Emma in Covent Garden, too many bottles of wine with Saber and Steph at Element, and then ended up in Heaven with JC, trying to score coke off anybody who cared to listen (I was doing this for a random lady who said she'd give me cigarettes if I succeeded) before sliding around like a wet lemon on the dance floor. This excessive leisure time must be drastically reduced. This week, I shall be spending little, and staying in. And I mean it this time. Today I got to hear Tim's new tracks, and he's gone from strength to strength, Im almost certain that he'll make it big, they're extremely catchy. Roberta told me that all white people smell. Aside from being utterly preposterous and a bit racist, this is also untrue. Everyone knows that it's black people who stink. Of course, being black herself, Roberta disagreed. The debate continues, unabated.
Thursday 8.52pm 2/3/2006 Today I tried my first ever Filet-o-Fish! I honestly can't understand why I had attached such stigma to it throughout my life, it is delicious! Especially the tartare sauce, quite an oddity for a burger, but it works a dream. So why the stodge? Last night I went to post-screening drinks at the NFT with Ellie. I had no plans on getting shit-faced but somehow found my way through seven glasses of red wine. I then popped across the Thames to join Ronnie at the notorious Red Lion pub in Westminster, where there was a free bar courtesy of the kind folks at BAE, a weapons manufacturer. Ended up somewhere in Soho at 3am, withdrawing �80 from a cash point to give to a supposedly heavily pregnant homeless woman (who could easily have been lying, I was that drunk, despite inspecting her belly and checking for vibrations that would suggest foetal activity). I suspect I'll be verging on broke again quite soon.
Tuesday 10.54pm 28/2/2006
Where do I begin? Friday was pay day, so I hit the bars with work chums Stephanie, Saber and Estelle. After closing a restaurant and two discos, we sauntered into a Soho members club at 6am, and had drinks, pizzas and paninis bought for us by a lawyer from Chicago. Later that day I got the Eurostar to Paris to see Jessie, and although we tragically missed each other, I still got to hang out with Julia and the Paris gang. We eventually got all nostalgic and ended up at the dreaded Violon Dingue, horrendously mothered, surrounded by a hareem of lecherous, greasy, leather-jacketed Somalis. And it didnt stop there. By 5am the drinking continued down by the Seine, where we head-banged to Scatman John whilst munching on horrid, and highly toxic, Slovakian chocolate liqueurs. Although a lot of fun, its all been pretty disastrous to be honest. My eyes are so purple and sunken they would put Pete Doherty's stylist to shame. My skin is flaking, there are spots in my nostrils. Last night I went to see a great band called Louis at The Metro with Taylor (trying to sort out a stint at Disorder magazine), it only took a few drinks to floor me. I must be losing my touch. Hurrah!
Wednesday 7.59pm 22/2/2006
If you type my name into Google Images... ... I am both a drunken buffoon and a reknowned musician, apparently.
Sunday 11.18pm 19/2/2006
Back in the day, going to watch a Dino de Laurentiis movie meant having to endure one and a half hours of piss-poor effects and risible dialogue. Sadly, these days this is no longer true, what with his recent output including 'Red Dragon' and the excellent 'Breakdown'. But still, one can always squirm in nose-wrinkling revelry at such classics as 'Orca: Killer Whale', 'Amityville II: The Possession' and 'Conan the Destroyer'. And so it was with great pleasure that I introduced Elina and Gools to 'Leviathan' on Friday night. A cobbled together mish-mash and all-round rip-off of 'Alien', 'The Abyss' and 'The Thing', the film is absolutely wonderful, with a hilariously crap script to boot. Suffice to say, Elina and Gools hated it.
Last night I went to Ronnie's birthday which provided much inebriated amusement. Most of her friends work in Parliament so it's always good fun playing the cliques off each other, and believe it or not the cliches were all present and correct; public school Tory boys, dazed and confused Lib Dem drunks and the chummy Labour folk. About twenty of us ended up in the dreaded Fez Club, emptying wine over each other and pelting a pair of canoodling lesbians with truffles. As is the norm for a birthday binge, birthday girl was hunched over in a dark corner, fast asleep.Tuesday 7.40pm 14/2/2006
Lots of things to look forward to this week. Tomorrow I get to see Ellie, who has just returned from a nine month trip around the globe. Its odd to think how much I have done in that period of time, and indeed, how much she has been getting up to. It'll be a long night and quite a few beers. On Thursday we'll also be going to a party somewhere, more on that later. I don't know what I'll be getting up to on Friday night, but I'll make sure that plenty of cheap moonshine makes an appearance. On Saturday I'll get to hear Tim's brand new vinyl/CD promo, and then in the evening it'll be Ronnie's birthday bash in O'Neill's by Putney Bridge. As for tonight, I turned down an Indie disco night at Boom because A: I am broke, and B: because I have a home-made spag bol prepared by yours truly, a bottle of red wine, and a DVD of 'Wolf Creek' right here in this room. I'm such a lush.
Saturday 11.08pm 11/2/2006 People. Feeling stressed? Got the need to indulge in some sado-cinematic therapy? Go and watch 'Final Destination 3'. I have just returned from the cinema, with one helluva satisfying headache. If you thought that bus moment in the first instalment was malicious, and that plate glass scene in the sequel was cruel, prepare yourself for the gloriously grotesque fate-by-nailgun that befalls a hardware store clerk this time round. Dark Lord, if you're reading this, you know what to do next.
Thursday 9.31pm 9/2/2006
A simple trip to Sainsbury's to buy some coke to mix with my Beaujolais, has, as fucking usual, ruined my week. En route to the beverage aisle I made a quick pit stop at the reduced items stall, spotting a stack of frankfurters at 30p a pack of 10! I courteously allowed an elderly gentleman to finish with his choosing (he was so decrepit looking I was right in assuming he'd only be interested in the daily offload of 10p coleslaw) before taking my turn. Just as I reached out for the bargain sausages, an enormous woman of Stay Puft proportions, complete with spotty face and rubber-ring gunt, pushed me out of the way, seizing the whole pile of furters with one arm, all five packs of them! I was so furious about this, I did absolutely nothing about it, instead bottling up my anger and proceeding to the check-out, cola in hand, and of an 'it could be worse' disposition. I merrily asked the lady at the till how she was, and before you could shout 'Nectar Card' she launched into a ten minute eulogy about how, in fact, she was not very well at all, thank you very much. It turns out that said woman has had to lug around several litres of piss inside her urinary tote bag because her boss won't let her go to the loo. Despite her having overcharged me �2 on some reduced cocktail sausages (a meagre recompense after the furter theft) I was desperate to escape, thrusting the cash into her sweaty palm, and storming out of that god forsaken place. Let her keep the fucking change. In case you hadn't noticed, Im now halfway through my bottle of wine. And it hasn't soothed me one jot.
Wednesday 7.23pm 8/2/2006
Funniest joke this week has to be when one of Abu 'clothes peg' Hamza's minions told BBC News: "One day the black flag of Islam will be flying over Downing Street!" If I hadn't been in the staff canteen, I would have rolled onto the floor, hugging my sides for fear of them splitting (thus causing a dreadful, unhygienic mess), so I didn't. The ranting cleric may be in the slammer, but at least this chirpy Muhajirounie will give us many more punchlines for us to chuckle over in the years to come. An ideal contestant for the Big Brother House, if you ask me, its just a shame he doesn't have any hooks for hands. That would really have put him in Hamza's league. Widow Twanky may be behind bars, but the panto must go on!
Monday 8.41pm 6/2/2006
Aww, its been a tough month for poor Ruthie! First that hoo-ha surrounding the paedo PE teachers, then the crap School Reforms Bill, and now this 'foul' play (gedditt!?!!) And there was Tony thinking he was quids in: attracting the female voter by putting a middle aged mother in charge of education, brilliant idea! And what a flop. In other news, I must say all the hubbub surrounding the Danish cartoons, well, I bet Denmark's tourist board are happy. Apart from Hans Christian Andersen, overpriced bacon and some mermaid, it never really had much going for it. Anyhoo, the Eurostar training has been going swell. The number of perks you get is astonishing. Free Marks N' Sparks and dry cleaning vouchers, lots of free trips to Paris, gym membership, hotel reductions and some of the best flight deals this side of Pan-Am. Return tickets to New Zealand, Jamaica, Nigeria and Barbados for �100 a pop? Yes please. Same price holiday in Riyadh? Er, no thanks.
Wednesday 9.37pm 1/2/2006
My first day at the Eurostar training course went really well. Highlights were getting to sit in the driver's seat (they even let me honk the horn, twice!) and chatting with an engineer who said he held the record for running over and killing the most cows in one go, a whopping seventeen of 'em whilst en route to Barnstaple. He said he was lucky. He knew someone who mullered a herd of seven, but not without overturning the train and killing five of his passengers. You couldn't make it up!
Monday 6.30pm 30/1/2006
I deleted this entry by accident. It was about how trashed I got in Brighton with Scragg, and a Uwe Boll movie I watched with Julia which was actually not half as shit as I thought it would be. I also mentioned that I was going with Bonnie to Heaven to see JC doing his DJ'ing. Now, in hindsight, I can tell you that Heaven was even seedier than it was when I went four years ago. And the toilets were jam-packed with coke heads and disgusting pervs. Yuck. The drinks were cheap, mind.
Friday 7.02pm 18/1/2006 Its a general rule of thumb that in the film biz an investor is fat, greasy, and always accompanied by a gaggle of fawning Eastern European succubi. And such was the Cannes-imported spectacle I enjoyed when I arrived for 'drinks' (Budweiser in the sink) at Revolution last night. Despite being on my lonesome and barely knowing anyone at all, being ill and within easy reach of wine-infinite (a winning combination, surely?) enabled me to socialize with varying degrees of success. I was itching to chat with Steve Coogan, but then what would I say? Instead I spent most of my time trying to understand what the hell Eva, a cigar-puffing actress from Uzbekistan, was trying to say to me. I then made a dreadful faux pas by asking a costumes girl about the going rate on wigs. At midnight, I eventually felt it was right to leave, as my flu was returning with a vengeance. Unfortunately Ronnie called from Soho, and dragged me into O'Neill's. Can't remember what time we left. Today fucking NatWest charged me forty squid for a bounced cheque! Immediate, and wholly unnecessary monetary scale-balancing was required. I purchased a Busted album for �1.99 at HMV, and a lotto ticket for tonight's Euromillions draw. Guilt successfully erased!
Wednesday 3.20pm 25/1/2006
Today I have the flu (blame it on the ros�), and it had to be my fucking luck that Murder She Wrote was replaced by a double bill of Doctors. And what's all the fuss about this stupid whale that managed to swim up the Thames, it was it's own damn fault. So another big fish has died, who gives a flying fuck, there's plenty more in the sea. And Brokeback Mountain, what's all that about? Another Jake Gyllenhaal movie, that's what. Ang Lee, he directed yawnathon 'Ride with the Devil', and this time its the beast with two backs, except that they're both men, even more devilish! Heath Ledger was good though, but they should have paired him up with Cole Hauser, he could really do with the work right now (re: The Cave). Anyway, I updated the galleries, some new ones from 2005, and photos from the set of 'Poultrygeist'. Long overdue, I know.
Sunday 6.18pm 22/1/2006
Well, last night I went out again. It began rather innocently, what with Jade's pal not turning up for drinks in Putney, she rang me at 11pm and offered to lend some shekels to invest in a night on the tiles. This resulted in a quick stop-off at the corner shop for a four pack of Carlsberg, and the 14 bus to Soho. We both had a terrific time, drank far too much wine, and yelled 'cunt' quite a bit. Got home at 5am. This week I shall be sanguine no more, its time for a detox.
Saturday 9.15pm 21/1/2006
For the past two nights I have been getting horrendously pished, and it didn't cost me a sou. On Thursday Ronnie and Ed invited me to one of those hallowed bars you always hear about in Parliament where the drinks cost nothing. After being frisked, patted down and scanned I entered into a veritable Aladdin's Cave of booze of every colour and creed. Ronnie and I got very sloshed and ended up falling asleep on the underground, missing our stop. But yesterday was even worse. Alex's sister Genia invited us to an exhibition at the Courtauld Institute of Art at Somerset House in Temple. After enduring one minute of a three second loop of photographs of the Telecom tower in a screening room, we put our priorities into check, and hit the wine. Being tired after a hectic day's work at Revolution, and skipping dinner, resulted in me getting so pie-eyed that I couldn't recollect anything that had happened after 9pm. I can't even remember how I got home. Alex then rang me today at Millets (Roberta said I smelt of grapes) to fill me in, and to be honest Im quite ashamed about my behaviour, although he found it all hilarious. Smashing wine bottles, shouting at passengers on the tube, all the usual sins that result from excessive drinking. The worst has to be throwing a bottle of Grolsch into the Somerset ice rink, what on earth was I thinking?! Disgraceful behaviour - it has to stop.
Wednesday 10.59pm 18/1/2006 I thought today's blog entry might work better as a segue, you'll see why. I have just switched off from Celebrity Big Brother, disgusted that screen gem and all-round ledge Faria Alam got the boot. Just as the curvaceous tabloid Svengali was beginning to get cosy with Dennis Rodman, our stupid British public votes her off. Stupid, stupid people. On the subject of screen gems, the Hollywood studio of the same name, and subsidiary of Sony, is famous for churning out such howlers as 'Ghosts of Mars', 'The Cave' and 'Anacondas: Hunt for the Blood Orchid'. I was quite sure I had come across another of their terrific clunkers today whilst reviewing the forthcoming cinema release schedules. So imagine my surprise when I discovered that the deliciously titled 'Snakes on a Plane' is in fact being put out by New Line! And you wondered where all the profits from the Homo-Frodo trilogy went. Forget 'Basic Instinct 2', this is going to be the film I'll be remembering 2006 for. And, whilst we're still toying with the titillating thought of an airborne Samuel L Jackson and his black mamba, onto 'Neighbours'! Today's episode was by far the best in the show's history. A plane crash! Finally, the end of the Bishop clan! But as we all know, the Bishops have a family gene that enables them to breathe underwater (re: Harold 'Jelly Belly' Jelly Fish), so expect David, Liljana and Serena to return in 2007, each with ruddy cheeks, triple chins and a brass intrustment, tootling their way round Anson's Corner to the merry tune of a Sally Army ditty.
Monday 9.37pm 16/1/2006
For the past week I have been a general dogsbody and do-gooder at Revolution Films, Michael Winterbottom's (24 Hour Party People, 9 Songs, A Cock and Bull Story) production shingle in Clerkenwell. It's really just to keep me busy before I start my new job at Eurostar, but I'm also really enjoying the cut and thrust of operations there, and Michael is a charming, no-frills guy. Also, lots of fantastic things have been happening recently. I met Hannah, who I haven't seen in a year, for a piss-up in Kings Cross before she moves to Australia. Ana and Celine came down to London for another drinking session with Pip and Loz in Brick Lane - don't remember much about that one though. Today I bumped into Michelle who was in my Geography class at school, she now works at a casting agency, and she's still a top bird. The other day I saw yet another member of G4, this time the fat and ugly one, at the cheese counter in Wandsworth Sainsbury's. And, last but by far from least, Roberta brought me a drum from Ghana, just what I always wanted! It's all very exciting isn't it?
Sunday 7.36pm 8/1/2006
For the past few days I have been celebrating Henrietta's birthday in Paris, and I drank so much alcohol that the whole top layer of skin on my lips has withered away completely. It all began on Thursday in Lyon, a by-the-numbers city in the Rhone-Alps region of France, where I stayed with Fab who is now teaching there. Saw the sights, bought the postcard, drank a lot of putrid wine in one of those cliched student bars with an awful jazz band, watched 'The Constant Gardener' with his charming pal Deirdre, was introduced to superb television show 'Curb Your Enthusiasm', erm, and that's it really. In Paris I did lots of things, all booze-related, which I shan't bother going into because I'm sure you can imagine how despotic it must have all been. And it was. I had a lovely time.
Tuesday 7.21pm 3/1/2006
Long time no update. And for good reason. Its been a particularly busy Xmas and New Year's for me this time round, in that I have fussed an awful lot about nothing at all. Lots of tidying, organising, preparing, thinking, adjusting, head-scratching, you know, boring things like that which are pretty irrelevant and could always wait until later. How to sum up the past week? Lots of turkey, wine and cheese with the family in Hurstpierpoint, more soul-destroying discussions about cagoules at Millets, drinking White Lightning and gin at Lynnie's in Bethnal Green, missing the New Year count down (again), catching up with the latest episode of Poirot at Anna's flat, and discovering (joy!) that Rachel Stevens is being contracted for a third album, despite her last one and all the singles on it being bought by about six people. I also got to watch some brilliant films. Gregg Araki's latest, Mysterious Skin is miles ahead of his previous works because, aside from showcasing his usual arthouse flair, it is actually coherent, plot-driven and has a cast of established and talented actors. I finally got to watch The Descent, which is fucking fantastic. And who can forget National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation? Well, I always do because its usually on the telly after I've had a bottle of wine. Nevertheless, it was very funny this time round. Oh yes and I read Brokeback Mountain on the tube on New Year's Day, a rather touching little story.
