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Monday, December 26, 2005
I'm stuck at home on my own and am going insane with boredom, even though Buffy is on. I realise that I must come across as a bit of a sad billy-no-mates. Poor thing - his girlfriend goes away for a few days and he has no one to go out with. The thing is, everyone else has gone away too. It's just me and the rats. And Buffy. Unfortunately, despite some of my favourite and most thought-through fantasies, Buffy is not actually my friend. Christmas Eve evening, while I was sat watching the entire second series of Peep Show on DVD, Syd got into the bedroom and started rifling through the Xmas presents. Or rather, chewing through. I had bought my grandad a box of diabetic chocolates and some hankies. Classic old person presents. Syd found the chocolates, ripped the wrapping paper off, gnawed into the box and ate an entire choc. She also chewed the hankie box. So poor grandad got no present this year. I didn't think he'd want an incomplete box of chocolates. Ah, twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring apart for a rat. Saturday, December 24, 2005
It'll be lonely this Christmas - in fact, it already is. Butter has gone to see her family in Yorkshire leaving me alone. I was supposed to go with her but have had to stay at home to look after the house. Here's why: We came home on Monday to find that someone had scaled our garden fence, taken the hacksaw out of the shed and sawed a hole in the back door around the cat flap. It must have been kids, unless it was a professional burglar taking part in 'bring your kid to work day', because the hole was too small even for a skinny git like me to get through. They made off with my Apple iBook, the digital camera, Gameboy and a load of DVDs. The eMac was unplugged, and they took the mouse, bizarrely, but luckily it weighs more than Jordan's first kid, ie too heavy to make a quick getaway with. If they took the eMac I would be screwed because my whole life is on this computer: pictures, music, everything I've written, all my emails. Oh, OK, not my whole life, but it would have been disastrous. The other stroke of luck is that we're insured. Actually, that's not luck - it's called being sensible. The insurance co are going to replace the door but can't do it till the new year because the suppliers are shut for Christmas. So I didn't want to leave the house with a hole in the door for 3 days, with a sign outside saying, 'Burglars - help yourselves!' and before you ask, yes, we've boarded the hole up but it's hardly the most secure piece of board in the world. I'm going to spend Xmas day at my sister's now, which will be nice, but it means I have to go another few days without Butter. I'll be waking up on Christmas morning alone. Is this the saddest story you've ever heard, or am I being melodramatic. Whatever, I hope my MarkCity readers have a wonderful Christmas. I'll have some big news to impart in the new year. Yep, really big. Happy Christmas Mark x Sunday, December 11, 2005
I'm home alone because Butter has gallivanted off to Houston on a business trip. I hate being at home on my own; I go a bit crazy when I'm stuck in the house with no-one to talk to. Unused to keeping quiet I start gibbering away to myself, or the rats, and spend endless hours surfing the web and feeling my life essence being sucked into the screen. Fortunately I have two work night outs to enjoy this week, including our Xmas party. I must not drink too much. I must not... oh I probably will. I drank quite a lot at Butter's work party and nearly fell over several times. Debbie and I were the first people on the dancefloor, but the DJ sucked. Butter and I snuck off early because her company has paid for us to stay in a suite. Posh. I have a pile of presents here waiting to be wrapped. Good old Amazon. Apart from grandad's pressie, this year I bought everything from Amazon. Damn, should have got them to wrap it all as well. I went to a fantastic photography exhibition this week: Nobuyoshi Araki at the Barbican. Hundreds of photos, many of them borderline pornographic but mixed with some fantastic images of Tokyo. I think I irritated my friends by saying, 'Ooh, I've been there' and going on about Japan for the umpteenth time. Have you heard the new Katie Melua single? It's an atrocity. She's taken one of the giddiest, most brilliant pop songs of all time, 'Just Like Heaven', and sucked all the joy and life out of it. It's horrific and she deserves to be punished. Speaking of dodgy pop songs, my prediction for Xmas No.1 - and this is not an original prediction - is The JCB Song. No, it has nothing to do with Bob the Builder. Here's a Christmas Joke: Q. What is Good King Wenceslas's favourite kind of pizza? A. Deep pan - crisp and even Sunday, November 27, 2005
Thanks to the magic of Friends Reunited, I met up with one of my best friends from school on Friday. David - who reads this blog and who featured in the goth photos that appeared on here last year - lives in Melbourne now. I hadn't seen him for 12 years, so I was nervous about meeting up. What if there were long, awkward silences? What if we didn't have anything in common any more? Thankfully it went really well and it's a shame he's going back to Oz tomorrow. Only four weeks to Christmas. My God. The effort of buying presents and being jolly is just too much. We're going to be spending Xmas in Yorkshire this year. Butter's Grandma rang today and said, 'Don't bring them rats with you.' Poor little unwelcome creatures. I've bought tickets to see Edward Scissorhands at Sadler's Wells as a treat for Butter. Yes, another Matthew Bourne ballet. What have I let myself in for? Sunday, November 13, 2005
We've just had a rat photo session which wasn't very successful due to excessive wriggling. No, not me: Muffin and Flake. They just won't sit still. Here's what we got, anyway. The solo pics are of Flake, who is a lot braver than Muffin.    I'm becoming increasingly obsessed with the X Factor this year. Last night, a terrible travesty of justice occurred when Louis 'Son of Satan' Walsh sent home the very sexy Maria over the very sexless Conway Sisters. The Conways sang 'Hold On' by Wilson Philips, which is apt because both groups contained a fat girl who stood at the back. My favourite this year is Chico, a lonely goat-herder who can't sing but sure can move. He claims to have bedded over 100 women - hey, it's quality not quantity that counts, Chico - but is a strict Muslim who wants to marry a virgin. After the X Factor finished, I watched The Simon Cowell Story. Yes, it was a Saturday night. I should repeat that. While the rest of the world was out having fun, I was sat at home watching The Simon Cowell Story on ITV2. My excuse is that I was recovering from the previous weekend's revelries, when a triple-whammy of late nights marked my 35th birthday. Thursday night I got very drunk with my 'London' friends in a pub called The Slaughtered Lamb; then on Friday, Butter took me to the v posh Hotel du Vin for a slap-up binge; and on Saturday we went with Richard and Debbie to the Bowlplex, which was empty, and we ended up being the only 4 people left in the place, with the dancefloor to ourselves. We got the DJ to play various indie hits and went ker-azy. It was a fun end to a fantastic trio of days. Sunday, October 30, 2005
I've just uploaded our holiday pictures. South Beach The Everglades Hurricane Wilma In more exciting news, we got two new rat girls today! We got them from a rat rescue place in Surrey. One is pure white, and the other is silver fawn. The woman who was fostering them has called them Podgemuffin and Pooflake. We're trying to decide whether to change their names to Fred and Wilma, after the hurricane and continuing our tradition of rats with sexually-ambiguous names. But it's quite hard to get out of the habit of calling them Podge and Poof. Syd is meeting them right now and seems quite excited to have two new friends. Photos will, of course, follow. Friday, October 28, 2005
Uuurgh.. jetlag. I'm in that weird half-dead state that comes from being awake for 24 hours, most of that time sat in an airport or on a plane. We just went to pick Syd up. She's looking very perky. We're thinking of getting a couple of little sisters for her. Watch this space. Holiday snaps will appear here during the next couple of days, when I've gathered the energy. It's good to be back though. In the land of boring weather. Tuesday, October 25, 2005
We survived Wilma! The highlight was when the hotel window blew in and the power died. We've been without electricity for over 24 hours (last night was surreal; we sat in the hotel lobby with a couple of candles eating Pringles and drinking tepid Budweiser) but the power has just come back. Miami isn't devastated - just badly damaged. Trees lie in the road along with traffic lights. Shop windows are gone. Crazed people roam and all the shops are shut. It's post-apocalyptic, man. At the moment, the airports are closed but we're hoping everything will be back to normal by Thursday when we're due to fly back. We're now waiting for the restaurants to open so we can get some hot food. Oh, and it's cold outside. Not England cold, but not sunbathing weather. Friday, October 21, 2005
The wedding was brought forward because of Wilma the Hurricane, so yesterday we rushed up to Bonita Springs, on the west coast of Florida and stayed at the extremely posh Hyatt Hotel. Much nicer than our Miami hotel. The wedding took place out by the pool, with the rain lashing down in the background. It was a wonderful wedding, actually: another thing the Americans know how to do really well. The girls cried, the blokes cheered and love shone all around. Aah. Later, at the reception, I somehow got hold of the microphone and sang Robbie's 'Angels', accompanied on the choruses by Martin and Dominic. An excellent night. Today we drove back across Florida stopping off at the Everglades where we took a tram tour and saw tons of alligators (and other less interesting species, like herons and stuff). It was fantastically interesting; a highlight. The latest news on Wilma is that she's likely to strike Monday, although no one really knows much and we don't know if she's going to hit Miami. It's rubbish weather here, though. Overcast. Bang goes my tan. Wednesday, October 19, 2005
I decided to bring the iBook to Florida after all. Miami is sticky, sweaty and pretty sleazy, with lunatic panhandlers roaming the streets and the most astonishing humidity this side of Tokyo. It was raining when we arrived yesterday, and this wasn't just a shower but a goddamn cloudburst. Still, I'm sure Hurricane Wilma will clear the air. Yes, that's right. A record-breaking storm, the strongest ever recorded in the Atlantic, is heading our way, due to hit at the weekend (probably during the wedding, or while we're cruising merrily down the Gulf of Mexico). My God. The Florida Keys have been evacuated. The alligators in the Everglades have packed their crocodile handbags. I will, of course, keep you posted. Let's hope my next headline won't be 'Florida really blew me away'. Saturday, October 15, 2005
We were supposed to go hot air ballooning today but it was cancelled again because it's too breezy. My Phileas Fogg is going to have to wait. (I was going to say 'Richard Branson impression' but the thought was too horrifying, and not only because of the prospect of crashing.) I guess that means we'll have to stay in and watch X-Factor instead. I can't help it - I'm addicted again, even though that F***wit Louis Walsh chucked out little 16-year-old James, who clearly deserved to win. I don't like any of the other contestants, although I have a soft spot for Chico, the lunatic Ricky Martin-on-speed-a-like who jumped into a pool with a live mike. Last year I recall ranting about how much I hated Sharon Osbourne, but Louis is now my least fave by far. Of course he picked all the boys who might have made it into Boyzone if they'd been prepared for a stint on his casting couch. Horrid, creepy little man. So we head off to Miami on Tuesday. I've decided not to take my laptop because I don't want to obsessively check my emails while I'm away. However, if I make it near a computer I might post on here. Otherwise I'll be back in two weeks with lots of pictures of me with Will Smith and Don Johnson. One final thing - Arctic Monkeys are going to be bigger than Oasis. I know I'm not being totally original saying that, but they're brilliant, and they deserve everything that's coming their way. Sunday, October 09, 2005
 Little Nancy passed away today after fighting illness for a couple of months. It was awful: we got up this mroning and found her lying on her side, unable to get up. She was obviously suffering so we called the emergency vet and took her down there. When we got home - and I'd managed to stop blubbing - we let Syd say goodbye to her and had a little funeral in the garden. It's so sad. But I know we gave her the best life a rat could ever hope for. Well, she might have hoped for even more chocolate, but then she would have died of gluttony a long time ago. RIP, Nancy. You were an excellent companion. Sunday, October 02, 2005
Cousin Martin, whose wedding we're going to later this month, has asked me the following question: What songs are must-haves at wedding receptions? This is a tricky one. The wedding reception DJ has a responsibility to please everyone, from slack-jawed teens who think that anything released before 1998 is ancient history to inebriated aunts who think anything released after 1978 is a racket in which you can't even understand what they're singing about. Then you have indie snobs like me who would rather be drowned in vomit than listen to the records DJs usually drag out of their dusty boxes on these occasions: 'Hi Ho Silver Lining', 'The Conga', 'Saving All My Love For You'. (Do they still play slowies at wedding discos? You certainly never hear them anywhere else these days.) The question is made even more complicated by the fact that the groom is British and the bride American, and the guests will be divided along these national lines. For a UK wedding, you would be safe pulling out some pan-generational crowd-pleasers like Robbie's 'Angels', Oasis's 'Wonderwall' and Queen's 'Don't Stop Me Now'. But has anyone in the States heard these records? Goldie Lookin Chain's 'Your Missus is a Nutter' probably wouldn't go down very well, either. Conversely, the DJ, who is going to be American, I imagine, will baffle the Brits if he puts on... er, whichever artists are big in the States but unheard of over here. Gretchen Wilson? The Dave Matthews Band? The aptyl-named Panic at the Disco? If it was my wedding, I would just plug in my iPod and put it on shuffle. Imagine the joy on the faces of the guests as Morrissey comes on for the eighth time, swiftly followed by Suede, the Killers, Razorlight and the Pixies. But it's not my wedding, so here are some recommendations. 'Crazy in Love' Beyonce and Jay-Z 'Super Duper Love' Joss Stone (even though it's rubbish) 'Do You Want To?' Franz Ferdinand Anything by the Beatles 'I Believe in a Thing Called Love' The Darkness Can anyon else think of any must-have wedding numbers? Monday, September 26, 2005
Belle and Sebastian were wonderful. Maggie and I had the best seats in the house, eye to eye with Stuart Murdoch, who kept forgetting the words but who otherwise led the band through a spine-tingling performance. Towards the end they invited a section of the audience onto the stage to join the squillion band members - I was so jealous. As usual, I had to leave before the end and leg it to London Bridge after escaping the maze that is the Barbican. I bought a really cool T-shirt but it's a bit short and I risk exposing my belly when I stretch. Or move. Poor Nancy has had a bit of a relapse. She's still eating but also wheezing and wobbling again. Have to wait and see how she does. Claws crossed. Butter and I are trying to decide where to go on our next holiday. We're off to Miami next month but are already looking beyond that one. We're thinking maybe India or South Africa. We want a beach + culture holiday again, like we had in Thailand. We haven't been away since April 04. My God, the torments of the middle class. 18 months between exotic holidays. Unthinkable. Thursday, September 22, 2005
I spent the weekend ripping wallpaper from the walls of our second bedroom, along with a ton of plaster which means we're going to need to get a plasterer in. One of my favourite beginnings to a sentence is "Nobody ever lay on their death bed wishing they'd..." Done more washing up Spent more time ironing Done more DIY The same goes for staring at a computer screen. I'm incredibly stressed at work at the moment. Most people think my job is a doss, 8 hours of internet surfing, but sometimes I feel more like a juggler of virtual hot potatoes, trying desperately to keep everything from crashing around me and creating, er, mash. I enjoy it, but today I felt myslf go a bit wobbly at around noon, because everything got too much for a moment, and had to go for a walk. I'm alright now. I'm reading the Belle and Sebastian biography at the moment. It's hardly 'No One Gets Out of Here Alive' but between trips to church they have had the odd tiff. And made tons of indescribably beautiful music. I'm going to see them on Sunday at the Barbican. I'm going to stop staring at a computer screen now. Thursday, September 15, 2005
It was a year ago today that I broke my knee, and to mark this momentous occasion I'm - gasp - posting on here. I know, I know, I broke my promise. I've been bad. I will slap my own wrist. It's just that over the last month a curious mix of laziness and busyness have combined to conspire against MarkCity. So here's all the latest news: V Festival Butter and I went to V in Chelmsford with our friends Debbie and Richard. The highlights were Embrace, Goldie Lookin Chain (I take it all back), the Zutons, Franz and Oasis. The lowlight was very definitely the camping. I had forgotten how much I dislike it. The discomfort. The proximity to nature. The pissing in the bushes. Not that there are any bushes at V - one either has to brave the nasty loos or go against the fence. I didn't sleep for 2 nights, not because I was on a wild hedonistic rampage but because the bloke in the next tent was talking about his boring life all night. The highlight was when he and his mates played I-spy. Not ordinary I-spy, mind you. This was 2-character I-Spy. "I spy with my little eye something beginning with BC." "Er, big clock? Big crisps? Is the first word big?" Aaaargh! Butter had a minor nervous breakdown, but I won't go into that. So... V. Music, yes. Camping, no. I know - I'm a big soft wuss. Nancy Nancy has had something of a miracle recovery. After a course of steroids and then antibiotics, she's almost back to her old self. I can hardly believe it. It shows that Butter and I are clearly expert rat nurses. We're now trying to fatten her up (no, not for Christmas) while simultaneously slimming Syd down. Southend We spent the bank holiday in Southend. Yes, two visits to Essex in one month. Southend is a bit like Hastings but even brasher and gaudier. Played crazy golf (I sucked) and pitch n putt (I was alright), drank lots, ate loads of Mexican food, had a barbie, lounged in the sunshine and watched cricket. Yes, I, like everyone else who's sick of our terrible football team, have done something I never ever thought possible. I've enjoyed watching what I previously thought of as the sporting equivalent to an episode of the Archers - ie mind-numbingly twee, middle-English and dull dull dull. Now I... quite like it. That'll do for now. Sunday, August 14, 2005
I know - it's been a long time. I'm responsible for our company blog now which means I'm blogged out by the time I get home. It's been all tears and upset here this morning because one of our rats, Nancy, is ill. She can't walk properly or hold her food or wash, and we think it's a pituitary tumour, which is incurable. Poor little Nancy. It's come on so suddenly. But she and Syd are two years old now which is about standard for a rat. We're going to try to get an appointment at the vet's tomorrow. I just have this horrible feeling that he'll say she should be put to sleep. Butter and I are too soft and emotional for all this dying pets stuff. I've already got through about 20 tissues this morning. So what else has happened since I last blogged? As an update on my injured colleagues, one is now out of hospital and the other is due out this week, so that's really good news. Here's what else I've been up to: Fighting fire alarms Picture the scene: Friday night, we're sitting peacefully watching a boring DVD, when suddenly: woo-woo-wigga-wigga-wigga-wooooooo-woooooooo. Some idiot's alarm is going off. Ten minutes later I poked my head out the back door and realised that I was that idiot. The burlgar alrm was fitted by the previous occupant before last and we've never even armed it, so god knows why it went off. But it wouldn't stop. We tried the keycode which was written in the manual, but the keypad wasn't working. We switched mains off. Nothing. We pulled the battery out but it kept wailing. By now the neighbours were gathering and the screeching was making me feel psychotic. I called the police, who told me to try ringing an alarm company, so I did that and was told that I'd have to get up to the actual alarm, unscrew it and remove the batteries. So... I asked the neighbours if they had a ladder. Nope, but a bloke down the road does. I found said bloke, got him out of his house and he kindly carried his ladders up the road to our house. I looked up. The alarm was very high, and with my dodgy leg getting up ladders is not my ideal pastime. However, it had to be done so I scaled the ladder with half the street watching me. At the top I could barely see because it by now dark, the alarm was screaming in my ear and the screws on the alarm were so rusted up they wouldn't undo. I considered throwing myself off, but the ladder-guy went and got a crowbar, scaled the ladder and ripped the alarm off the wall. At the bottom, Butter and I had another go at removing the screws, the alrm still wailing, until I finally snapped, picked it up and SMASHED it on the ground. Silence. And the most wonderful feeling of relief ever. Doing Karaoke I went to a new, posh karaoke place in Soho called Lucky Voice. It was fantastic. We had the deluxe room, complete with wigs, blow-up guitars and gold walls. I think I hogged the mike a little. Okay, a lot. But it was brilliant, if ridiculously expensive. I've run out of steam now, but will try and keep this more up to date. Sunday, July 17, 2005
I visited my colleagues in hospital on Thursday. I feel odd mentioning them by name on here, as if I'm writing about them without their permission, so will just use their first initials, J and S. J is the woman who had never travelled by bus before, although I'm beginning to suspect this may be an office myth. Whatever, she is the most "okay" of the two, sitting up, mostly unharmed from the waist up, complaining about hospital food and laughing about how she missed a visit from Princess Anne because she was sitting on the commode at the time. J told us the whole story of that morning, from having to vacate the tube through finding a seat upstairs on the bus, to being blown out of the back window and waking up with a terrible ringing in her ears. Her legs are lacerated and she's still undergoing surgery. But she's bored and wants to go home. We entertained her by telling her what she's been missing on Big Brother. S is in worse condition but was also able to smile and crack jokes. She broke her cheekbones, though these have been fixed, and her knee, plus has some nerve damage in her fingers. She's been moved into a private room. I think she got to meet Princess Anne. Lucky her. In what seems like a parallel universe, Britain has been gripped by Harry Potter fever. I got mine: £7.97 from Tesco. Of course, I would have supported my local small bookshop except, er, I don't have one. The Co-op at the end of the road is selling it but I don't think they count. I was planning to start reading it this weekend but Butter has hijacked it. Saw War of the Worlds last night. Loved it. It brought back the terror of listening to the Jeff Wayne album in the seventies. My mum would play it after I'd gone to bed. I had to ask her to stop because it gave me nightmares. I was surprised by how dark and bloody the film was. In search of some mindless entertainment this evening we started watching Troy on DVD. Twenty minutes into this ludicrous, overblown pile of codswallop (which is a very underused word), the washing up suddenly seemed very appealing. Thursday, July 07, 2005
I've had loads of emails and calls today from people making sure I wasn't caught up in the horror in London. I got to my office in EC1 at about 8:50. Five minutes later we heard there'd been an explosion at Liverpool Street. At first, we didn't think much of it, but then more reports started to come in - there'd been a power surge on the tube; reports that two tube trains had crashed. A lot of my colleagues were late because the Underground had shut down. Two girls who were turfed off the train rang in to say they'd be getting the bus. Then we heard there'd been an explosion on a bus. Suddenly, it was clear this was terrorism. The information coming in was patchy and unreliable. Texts and calls started coming in from people at home watching TV. Ambulances screamed past the office, sirens wailing. The two girls who were getting the bus in hadn't arrived yet. No-one could get hold of them - and then we got the bad news. One of them was in hospital. The other missing. The office manager rushed to the hospital where the first girl had been taken; we heard she had a collapsed lung. Finally, we got news of our missing colleague - she was also in hospital, being treated for burns on her legs. The first girl was okay, with, in the end, just cuts and bruises. But they had been on the bus that got blown up. The burned girl, who has lived in London, had never been on a bus before - she hates them and is scared of them. At 3pm I left the office to walk to Cannon Street station, not knowing if it was going to be open. None of the tubes or buses were running and the streets were fuller than I've ever seen them - thousands of people walking the streets, just wanting to get home. Luckily, I found a train to Tunbridge Wells where I sit now, dazed and emotional. What a day. Yesterday, the city was euphoric because of the Olympics. Only a few days before that, the optimism of Live 8. What a week. Saturday, July 02, 2005
I've been watching Live 8 all afternoon and evening, only tuning out in order to avoid the world's most pompous twit, Sting, and Mariah 'I don't' Carey. I missed Elton John too. (Great review this, isn't it? Me banging on about the people I didn't see?) My highlights were Razorlight, who will surely go on to be megastars, Coldplay. The Killers, though their set was far too short, and dear old Robbie. 'Feel' and 'Angels' made me go all tingly. Madonna was good too, although I hate her, with her awful books and hunting and fishing. Whose idea was it to let Velvet Revolver play? Did they blackmail Sir Bob? Sir Bob hasn't sworn at all this year but Snoop Dogg made up for it, saying 'motherf*cker', 'bitch', 'shit' and, er, 'bottoms' (probably) all in the space of 15 seconds. I bet the Beeb's switchboards lit up like Peter Kay's face when he sees a cream cake. The Who are on now. Zzzzzzz. Then I expect Pink Floyd will put me to sleep. I'm only staying up hoping for a big historic singalong at the end. I remember watching Live Aid when I was 14, lying on my dad's sofa with sunburn because I'd been playing tennis all morning. Back then, nobody seemed to know what they were doing and we were full of naive optimism, thinking that giving our f*cking money was going to solve the world's problems. Except it didn't. It's slicker now, and the aims are grander and less simple. It's about awareness, about adding your voice to the cry for justice. It's all about the media, and using the media for change. There are two massive issues facing the world right now - Africa and climate change. Let's hope Live 8 can persuade those powerful men in Edinburgh to tackle one of them; and let's pray they deal with the other too. Blimey, got a bit serious then. Let's talk about Big Brother. Saskia went last night. The loathsome harridan didn't get booed nearly enough as far as I'm concerned. She's a horrible, racist piece of trash. Makozi to win! Wednesday, June 22, 2005
There are several reasons why I haven't blogged so much recently. The comments still ain't working which makes me feel it's hardly worth bothering. It's too hot to do anything except watch Big Brother and eat ice cream. And I'm growing bored of the whole blogging thing. Sigh. Maybe my enthusiasm will return at some point. I hope so. I've been banished to the spare room, not because of anything I've done (hey, I'm a good boy) but because Syd and Nancy are banned from the living room. This is because they've chewed a hole in our brand new sofa. Also, during the last few weeks, they've destroyed 3 of my best T-shirts, 2 pillows, a couple of house plants and assorted other bits and pieces. They've gone crazy and have been given their own room to play in, which is where I am now, supervising them. The other day, Nancy got into the kitchen and the back door was open. When I went into the kitchen, a cat was crouching by the fridge! Nancy was hiding behind it - it took me an hour to coax her out. After yesterday's sofa munching incident, we're kind of wishing I'd left her to the cat. (I don't mean it.) I have an album recommendation - 'Tales from Turnpike House' by Saint Etienne. Yes, they're still going. And this is a gorgeous, summery album, ideal for hot, lazy days. Monday, June 13, 2005
We're running the Big Brother Eviction Prediction competition at work again this year. Last year I got it right with Nadia. It's much harder to predict this year but, for the record, here is my list, with the winner at 1 and the next out at 11. 1. Makozi 2. Kemal 3. Saskia 4. Anthony 5. Vanessa 6. Craig 7. Maxwell 8. Sam 9. Roberto 10. Science 11. Derek I've edited this several times because I couldn't make my mind up. Looking at it again I still think it's probably hopelessly wrong. Oh well. Tuesday, June 07, 2005
I'm blogging in the garden - just because I can! Butter ran the Stockholm Marathon on Sunday and got a very respectable time of 4:36. She walked like an extra from Sean of the Dead for the day but is now recovered. I'm very proud. She's already talking about which one to run next. There are pictures here. Monday, May 30, 2005
Ah, isn't it nice to be back in the old place. That new site just didn't feel comfortable. Plus people kept moaning that they couldn't see it properly. I hate to let down any of my regular readers and would like to say a big thank you to all five of you, and welcome back to MarkCity. Here are some of the things I've done recently but haven't yet written about: 1) I went to New York on business. My god, that makes me feel like a proper grown up with a career and everything. I saw Quentin Tarantino standing in a bar doorway. I stayed in the Chelsea apartment of an old hippie who told me within five minutes that she was a gemini with her moon in scorpio. I walked for miles and miles and miles. I discovered that not everyone in NYC is rude. 2) Butter and I bought some original Japanese wood prints, including this one:  3) I've put together a dozen pieces of furniture. I've put shelves on upside down, bookcase panels on back-to-front. I've hung pictures unevenly. I managed to get my wireless internet set up easily though. 4) I've watched, with great excitement, the opening of the new series of Big Brother, although I'm undecided as yet. They're all so unlikeable. And I have no idea who's going to win. Who knows, Mary, the psychic, stary witch might win over the hearts and minds of the public. Or the stiletto-wearing belly dancer Kemal (who's a bloke, by the way). One thing's for certain, it won't be any of the mammoth-boobed chavesses. 5) I've started seeing another physio in an attempt to finally stop walking like Long John Silver. There's lots more, and I will honestly try to better from now on, now that there's less DIY to do. Next weekend we're off to Stockholm for the marathon. No, I'm not running. I'm cheering. Expect a full report with pictures. Friday, April 08, 2005
Sunday, April 03, 2005
We've exchanged on our house, which means Butter and I are now officially saddled together, joined by a huge debt. Marvellous. We're due to complete on April 22nd, although we'll need to spend some time tackling the green carpet, woodchip wallpaper and other seventies decorations that mar the property at present. We're also on the look-out for some art to spice up the walls, Butter having decided that prints are 'common'. So no pictures of crying children or clowns then. Damn. A great tragedy has struck MarkCity - the comments have vanished. All that collected wisdom - gone! This blog has been running for two and half years now, and I'd collected quite a lot of comments from my three readers. F*** knows what's happened. But without comments, blogging seems a bit pointless. I need interaction. I'm just about to turn on the built-in Blogger comments feature. If it works, you should now be able to leave comments more easily. Let's see. Sunday, March 27, 2005
Ikea wasn't as terrible as I feared. We arrived before it opened and sat enjoying a Swedish coffee with all the other early birds. Just before ten, some people started twitching and creeping towards the entrance, clutching their little free pencils (good for eyeball-stabbing) and paper tape measures (for strangling), as if there was only one plastic bag dispenser for sale and they would kill to get it. By five-past, this hardcore had been swallowed up by the store's great belly, allowing Butter and I to saunter around planning the decor of our nest. It was almost too relaxed. Halfway through the marketplace area, we realised we needed a trolley, so I made my way back to find one. The crowd got denser and denser the further I went back. I grabbed a trolley and, making my way back to Butter, felt my first stirrings of Ikea rage. 'Quick,' I said, when I found her again in the light-bulb aisle, 'the mob are behind us. Press on.' We made it without losing any limbs, and will be returning, this time to actually buy some furniture. By the way, Ikea's vegetarian option - watery pasta covered with some kind of green gloop - was the most revolting food I've had in a long time. Even Oliver Twist would have turned his nose up. Doctor Who returned last night. I've been waiting for a long time and wasn't disappointed. Billie Piper is sensational in it. A truly inspired choice of assistant. Mmmm, Billie. I knew she'd come good. I've just finished reading 'The Insider' by Piers Morgan, which was astoundingly entertaining and interesting. It's written as a diary, but was actually written retrospectively. Shame Piers can't stop himself saying things like "When I heard Di was going out with Dodi I knew it would end in tears". Okay, I made that example up but it's not far from the mark. Despite this, I like Piers. He's almost fearless, and an excellent editor. The front pages of the Mirror during the Iraq war were powerful and righteous. Of course, sales plummeted. But that's the British public for you. Sunday, March 20, 2005
The first hint of sunshine and the whole country goes ker-azy. Friday evening, half of London was standing outside pubs wearing shorts and T-shirts. We were in a summery mood too, and got very drunk before going to Wagamama. As anyone who's read my guide to being a veggie in Japan will know, food was the worst thing about our stay in Tokyo. Wagamama (it means 'selfish' in Japanese, fact fans) is great though. The food is almost authentic and is highly veggie-friendly. Excellent beer too: Asahi, Kirin, Sapporo. Yum. I took Mimo to Wagamama in Covent Garden and despite staring incredulously at some of the bizarre, to her eyes, dishes being served up, she gave it her seal of approval. We visited our house again yesterday, armed with a tape measure. The sun was shining in the garden and I was relieved to find that I still liked the property. Touch wood (not woodworm-ridden or damp wood, obviously) we'll be moving in before the end of April. This means we'll be spending the next few weeks swatting up on fridge freezers and washing machines and visiting Ikea. I've never been to Ikea before. I've been put off by the thought of being crushed to death in a riot, or stabbed during a fight over a sofa. Sofas aren't worth dying for, no matter how nice and cheap. Did I tell you we got our car? It's a bright blue Rover Metro, L Reg. It's the least cool car in the world, and came complete with my grandad's tape collection: Chas and Dave; Dusty; the Royal Grenadier Guards. Still, it may be uncool, but it goes. It will henceforth be referred to as the Buttermobile. We've bought tickets for the V festival in Chelmsford in August. We're going with Debbie and Richard. I've heard that the V festival is full of posh people in designers wellies with fold-out chairs and tents with porch extensions. In my day, only scruffy students were allowed into festivals, three men to a six-man tent, and we'd survive on one lousy veggieburger for the whole weekend then hitch a ride home tied to the roofrack of an old banger driven by a hippie. Ah, Glastonbury 1993. The worst sunburn of my life, dropping my friend Dave's torch down a legendary Glasto toilet and waiting 3 hours beside the motorway in Birmingham for a lift. Those were the days. My company's sending me to New Yawk in May for a conference. I'm hoping this time I won't (nearly) get arrested or stay in a hotel that's so filthy that even roaches won't stay there. Monday, March 14, 2005
Butter ran the Hastings Half Marathon on Sunday and finished in a highly respectable two hours and two minutes. I stood with my mum and watched her run off, then, while she legged it up hill and down, er, hill, I sat in a cafe and ate biscuits for an hour and a half. The Hastings Half is known as one of the best distance running events in the country. The townsfolk lurch out of their caves and bang drums and stamp their feet as the runners go by. At the end of the race the whole seafront is lined with spectators, trying to ignore the biting wind that blows in from the sea, talking about how next year they might just get off their butts and join in. Of course, I would, if it wasn't for my dodgy knee. Just before Butter came in - barely out of breath, though a bit pink - Supergirl ran past me and puked on the pavement. Butter beat her target time by ten minutes. I was very proud of her. Sunday, February 27, 2005
 We woke up this morning, heavily hungover, to find that the world had turned white. So, of course, we dashed out into the snow, trying not to fall and break any kneecaps, taking the Uglydolls and Beanies with us. They had a great time. The whole wintry experience has been captured here. I think Ice Bat is responsible for bringing the snow to Tunbridge Wells. Ever since I ordered him, we've had terrible weather. He's signed by the artists, David Horvath and Sun-Min Kim, a pair of geniuses. If Uglydolls ever become huge, he'l be worth a fortune. Which was why I was slightly upset when Butter dropped him in the snow. Sunday, February 20, 2005
It's been a long day. My grandad has been told that he's too clapped-out and old to drive any more so he offered to give us his clapped-out old car. This will be very useful when we move out into the boonies (the area we're moving to has nothing but a dodgy chip shop, an even dodgier pub, a Co-op and two - yes, two - pet shops) so we accepted gladly and arranged to pick it up today. We travelled down to Hastings by bus, because there were engineering works and no trains. The bus took us on a scenic tour of East Sussex. I kept a look-out for Keane as we passed through Battle, but no joy. Probably in LA or somewhere. Then we had lunch with my mum, who told us all about her latest nightmarish man problems, before heading up to collect the motor. After spending an hour sorting through several enormous piles of yellowing, mildewing documents, searching for the MOT (he had just handed Butter what he thought was the MOT; it was dated 1995 and was for a different car!) it turned out that grandad had forgotten to get an MOT last year. And he's been driving it around since the MOT ran out... He's going to get it sorted this week, but because we didn't fancy another tortuous trip through the countryside on a bus, my dad drove us home. Unfortunately, Butter - who has a tendency towards travel-sickness, as you may remember from our trip to the Grand Canyon - couldn't handle the winding country lanes and puked in the back of my dad's car*. We got our house though, assuming the survey, which should happen this week, doesn't reveal it to be a crumbling money pit/death trap. *Luckily, she happened (!) to have a British Airways sick bag with her. Sunday, February 13, 2005
Butter just said, incredulously, "You haven't blogged since the 30th January?" Well, I've been too busy trying to get onto the property ladder. We've had an offer accepted on a house and we're now trying to sort out the finance (ie, voluntarily shackle ourselves with a humongous lifelong debt). But I don't want to write about it too much in case I jinx us. Anyway, this house-buying stuff does take over your life, so I haven't done much else this month. I think I've got the end-of-winter blues, when the season feels like it's gone on longer than the last ice age and all you crave is to feel the sun again. I've also got injured-knee blues. I've been going to the gym again, trying to pump up my quads - or whatever - but the damn thing is taking forever to recover. I still can't run, although it might be a mental block. Perhaps if I was being chased down the street by a polar bear I could do it. But I'm convinced that if i try to do anything other than walk slowly I'll pitch over and break my other knee.  I cheered myself up by buying myself a vinyl Ice Bat Uglydoll to go with the Target I got for Christmas. They now sit on my desk at work, adding gravitas to my workspace. Everyone who passes says, "What are they?" "They're Uglydolls," I reply. "Oh," they say. Sunday, January 30, 2005
I write this in a state of mental and physical exhaustion, after another weekend touring the streets and houses of Tunbridge Wells. My dad put us off the house we thought we liked by pointing out that it lacked privacy, what with the eyeball-to-eyeball view of the neighbours as you and they did their washing up and the public front which could well have the neighbours' kids and dogs running all over it come the summer. A home needs to be a sanctuary, a place to retreat to after work and commuting, so privacy is important. Oh, and we don't want to live next door to anyone with children. Ugh - heaven forbid. Today we saw a house that hadn't been redecorated since 1974, another house with a picture of Uma Thurman sellotaped to the front door and the owner asleep on the sofa, and another which was so cold that the vendor was wearing gloves indoors. But then we saw a house that gave us that tingle. Lovely open-paln lounge, secluded and spacious garden, three bedrooms. Shame about the boy racers zooming up and down the street, but I think this could be the one. Until my dad puts us off again. I will, of course, keep you posted. I visited Simon Finch Rare Books on Friday to choose my £250 prize. My eyes immediately fell upon a signed 1st edition of Philip Pullman's 'Northern Lights'. A snip at £9000. A paperback proof of 'Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets' was £4000. There wasn't much in my price range, but I settled on a 1st edition of Iain Banks' 'The Wasp Factory', a signed 'Interview with the Vampire' and a signed 'The Remains of the Day'. Friday night was karaoke night. I've been desperate to experience karaoke Japanese-style since leaving Tokyo, so I assembled a group of friends and colleagues - the ditty dozen - and took them to Karaoke Box Dai Chan in London's Frith Street. The rooms were smaller than those in Japan, and the competition to get on the mic fiercer, but everyone had a superb singsongy time, and I knew I'd had a good night when I awoke at 3am with ringing ears, a screaming head and a tongue like a dried-out cuttlefish. Sunday, January 23, 2005
Last month, fewer first-time buyers than ever entered the housing market in the UK. This weekend, as the kind of people who like to buck trends, Butter and I started to look for a place to live, a new MarkCity crib, somewhere for Syd and Nancy to run, play and chew - although we're also hoping to get a cat or two, which might not please the rats too much. Can cats and rats co-habit happily without the rats becoming a snack? Hmm, we need to research that one. Anyway, we've already visited most of the estate agents in town and been to view five properties. We're going to have to choose between a small two-up-two-down house or a large flat. I think we'd prefer a house, somewhere with a small garden which doesn't require too much maintenance. Lawn-mowing, and gardening in general, is one of my least favourite things in the world. I nearly killed myself once while mowing the lawn, chopping through a live lead with a pair of shears; there was a huge bang and a chunk of metal flew out of the shears. But I survived. What a way to go that would have been - even a terrible ironing accident would be better. I keep digressing. Of the houses and flats we've looked at, four have either been too grotty or too expensive. One house can't have been redecorated since the sixties, and I know that shouldn't put you off but... well, they even had a Huey Lewis CD in the bedroom. The place is tainted. Then we met the landlady from hell, who's selling a flat out from under the current tenant. The tenant wanted to buy it but then split with his girlfriend so can't afford it now. Unfortunately for him, the landlady had smelled cash so is now turfing him out and selling it to someone else. We saw one house that we really like, but I don't want to jinx it by writing much about it. Plus, you never know, the seller might stumble across MarkCity. Highly unlikely, I know, but stranger things have happened to me. In other news, I finally got my prize - vouchers to buy £250 of rare books - from Zembla Magazine. I promised to post the (very short) story on here, so here it is. It had to be fewer than 300 words and written under the title, 'What I wish I hadn't seen at the beach'. My girlfriend was like Othello, but ginger. I sensed her narrowing her eyes and watching me. Her sister had just taken all her clothes off and I didn’t know where to look. Fairlight Cove naturist beach was a fifteen-minute skip from the caravan park where I was staying with my girlfriend, Debbie, her sister, Amy, and her friends, Julian and the pregnant Juliana. Debbie had needed some persuading to come. ‘All those girls. Including my sister.’ Two years older than Debbie, Amy once had a poem published. She was blonde and pretty. Debbie loved her, hated her and thought I fancied her. I didn’t – I loved Debbie – but the more I was told I fancied Amy, the more I thought about her. Julian and Juliana were hippies. Juliana was planning to give birth in a cloud of dope smoke. ‘Public nudity equals freedom from the fashion fascists,’ drawled Julian. We followed them to the beach. I wish I hadn’t seen that man bend over and air his haemorrhoids. I wish I hadn’t seen Julian’s crooked cock. I concentrated on the sea. Nudist soup. Fat ones, skinny ones, little kids, old ladies. ‘I’m going to do it,’ giggled Amy. ‘Go on,’ urged Julian. Debbie glared at them. I watched Amy’s shadow as she pulled off her top; heard her unzip her jeans and wriggle free. My mouth was dry. Wanting to act natural and casual, I turned to talk to Amy. She had perfect breasts and a freckle on her hip. That night, Debbie cried. ‘You shouldn’t have looked.’ ‘I wish I hadn’t.’ ‘But you did.’ She carried on like this all night, sitting outside the caravan. I sat there and made reassuring noises while picturing her sister’s breasts. Saturday, January 08, 2005
The beasties above are the latest additions to our household: Titus the bear, Affonso the rhino and Hannibal the gorilla. They are members of the IWG - Insurgents Wilderness Gruppo, a group of mutated animals who have declared war on hunters and poachers. As well as being extremely cool, collectable vinyl toys, a proportion of each sale goes to wildlife charities. Happy Birthday Elvis, 70 today, wherever you are... sunning yourself on an island with Princess Di and Marilyn or working in a chip shop in Grimsby. An Elvis single is being released every week between now and the end of So there's a good chance that Elvis will have the 1000th No 1 single in the UK. Apparently, Jailhouse Rock is on course to be the 999th when the chart is announced tomorrow. On a much more sombre note - and I feel quite uncomfortable veering from the trivial to the horrific like this - we found out that the hotel where we stayed in Phi Phi, the PP Princess, was completely destroyed by the tsunami. That's completely destroyed. 49 staff and approximately 100 guests died; many more were injured. The before and after pictures are here, but be warned, they're terrible, especially if you've been there. Saturday, January 01, 2005
Over the last few years Butter and I have celebrated New Year in a number of ways: at a house party, at a temple in Kyoto and - possibly the best - sitting on my sofa while Butter languished in her sick bed. (Speaking of whom, she bought me a Gameboy for Xmas and has been hogging it all afternoon and I want a go!) Last night, we did something we've never done before: joined the throngs in London Town. We stayed at a hotel near Waterloo called the Mad Hatter - motto 'You don't have to be mad to stay here, but it helps'. Actually, it was okay, apart from the apple pie beds and the lunatic at breakfast (more of him in a sec). After a warm-up drink and a pizza, we went to see Bill Bailey, half-man, half-troll, at the Apollo. He was very funny, although he's been doing the same routine for years. Still, when you're onto a winner, why change things? The only moan I have is that, as always, the man with the world's largest head sat in front of me. I wouldn't mind so much but the bastard didn't laugh once. Perhaps he was a Belgian tourist who'd wandered in by mistake. Leaving the theatre at 10.15, we found ourselves among the madding crowd flooding around Leicester Square. Ah, it made me proud to be British: drunks fighting with corner shop proprietors while the police stood nearby munching KFC; swarms of chavs staggering towards the moshpit of Trafalgar Square, furtively smuggling Bacardi Breezers into the alcohol-free zone. We manouvered our way onto the Embankment, where thousands of people were crowding to get a view of the London Eye and the midnight fireworks display. We ended up watching it from behind the Royal Festival Hall, near some bins. It was highly impressive, although it had been scaled down because of the tsunami, and there was a minute's silence before midnight, which nobody in our vicinity was aware of. Finally, we went back to the hotel for a nice cup of tea. It was the most sober New Year of my adult life, and it was lovely to wake up this morning without a hangover. So, back to the breakfast-time nutter. There we were, peacefully awaiting our breakfast, when the man at the table behind us accused us of complaining about him. Then he thought we'd stolen his toast, and tried to take ours. He couldn't work ouy why he only had four slices while we had twelve (er, possibly because there were four of us and only one of him). He kept walking in and out of the kitchen, haranguing the staff, before returning to his table and muttering swear words under his breath. The best bit was when, just before he left, he walked over to the buffet, produced a plastic bag and filled it with rolls and fruit. Fantastic. My aim for 2005 is to not have a single accident. Oh, and we're hoping to buy somewhere. Expect months of tortured descriptions of the house-buying process. Happy New Year. |