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 Archives 
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Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Googling yourself is a guilty pleasure. (That's a sentence that could only make sense in the early 21st Century!) Earlier today, I did an image search on Google for my name, Mark Edwards. I discovered that we, the Mark Edwardseseseses of the world, are a good-looking bunch. We could form a boyband and conquer the hearts and stir the loins of young ladies everywhere. We'd have more knickers thrown at us than Tom Jones, Robbie Williams and Marilyn Manson put together. Here, then, is the lust-inducing line-up of lovelies, in the first ever Global Mark Edwards Gallery:  Q: How much was your wig? A: Toupee  Mark and the Magic Staff  Mark - Sex Cod  Baby, where did my neck go?  Return of the mullet  Another pic from my goth days And here's an album I don't remember releasing:  Wednesday, November 10, 2004
I'm very happy this afternoon. I managed to get tickets for the first ever The Tears gig, which is Brett Anderson and Bernard Butler of Suede's new band. It sold out in milliseconds, but I was in there. Hurrah! Just need to get fit now. And on the theme of music, I am still writing weekly reviews for Stylus Magazine but keep forgetting to mention it. This page links to all my reviews, including my latest: Placebo's greatest hits and Depeche Mode's remix album. I managed to bend my knee 55 degrees yesterday. Next week, I start hydrotherapy, at a Christian health centre on the outskirts of T Wells. They should have me walking on water in no time. Saturday, November 06, 2004
Butter and I spent my birthday at the exceedingly upper-crust Ashdown Park Hotel, deep in the Kentish countryside, a short canter on a pony away from Winnie the Pooh's birthplace. Hoorah! Twas very grand and a bit like staying at Hogwarts, only without the quidditch or headless spooks. Well, I didn't see any - perhaps they were on holiday and only appear when the hotel is busy. As one might expect for the first chilly week of November, Ashdown (as I have come to know it) was almost deserted. We had the swimming pool and jacuzzi all to ourselves. I wasn't able to swim - would a one-legged swimmer go round in circles or just sink? - but soaked my leg in the whirlppol spa for therapeutic purposes. Going through the swimming pool footbath on crutches was an experience I'll never forget. My crutches were lovely and clean afterwards: they sparkled. Then I had a bit of a struggle getting my trunks off in the changing room. I was nearly compelled to call out to the Eastern European attendant (female) for assistance, but I finally managed to remove my sodden swimming garments on my own. Shame. We were outnumbered by staff in the fancy-schmancy restaurant (or banqueting area) too, which was nice as the bored waitresses kept bringing us canapes to sample. After quaffing martinis, we dined on truffle soup, asparagus and avocado salad, goats cheese risotto with a port reduction, and drank the finest wines known to man (aka a lovely bottle of muscadet). For pudding, Butter had pistachio creme brulee and I had a vanilla panna cotta. Shortly afterwards, we passed out. (Upon seeing the bill.) We spent yesterday morning munching pastries and reading the paper in front of an open fire in the sitting room. I felt like Penelope Keith in To the Manor Born. I definitely should have been born into the aristocracy - perhaps there was a mix-up in the maternity ward. After that, I came back down to earth with a visit to the physio, who iced my leg and tried to make me bend it. Aaaargh! I can bend it a mere 47 degrees. Which gets me out of going to church for a while, at least. Wednesday, November 03, 2004
This is my last blog as an early-thirty-something. Tomorrow I will officially be in my mid-thirties. How scary is that? Very scary: I spent a good chunk of yesterday afternoon talking to a pensions advisor, and Butter and I are aiming to buy somewhere within the next year. Anyone know any good money-making schemes? I'm too old to be a rent boy now. I have taken to selling my old junk on eBay though. I've been out of my cast for almost a week. At first it was like being a newborn calf - without the gunk, obviously. It's taking me a lot longer to walk around too. My right leg will hardly bend. You should see me trying to get in and out of the bath... actually, you probably don't want to. (But if you do, send me money and I'll email you some pics.) I'm doing lots of exercises trying to get mobile, with Butter doing her sergeant major act, making me work that limb while I lay on the bed whimpering. We're going to a swanky hotel tomorrow to celebrate my birthday. Four stars, with spa facilities, and you have to wear a jacket or tie to dine in the restaurant. This will make me feel even more mature. Butter called them today and was told that they don't have a lift and that all the ground floor rooms are gone. Great. I can feel a disaster heading our way. Speaking of disasters, isn't everyone happy that Bush got back in? Bang goes the planet. |