I just had to queue in the Post Office for over half an hour. It was like Alton Towers but without the rides.
It occurred to me that in the future, when letters and parcels have been completely superceded by email and transmat or whatever, the only reason people will have to go to the Post Office is to buy Mills and Boon novels.
With the tiny number of staff they had working the busy late-afternoon slot, you’d think it had already happened.
Today I went to Mr Polito’s for a haircut. I favour Mr Polito’s because, although it’s a slightly pot-luck approach to hairstyles (there’s a camp man who does a really stylish cut, and a schoolteacherly middle-aged woman who just lops the whole lot off), unlike many similarly-priced barbers they always make sure that they have a good selection of broadsheets to read and freshly made coffee for you to drink while you wait.
The broadsheets are hung one of those clever wooden brackets where the paper itself is threaded through a wooden holder that sits neatly in the slots provided. As I was having my haircut I watched a clumsy looking student make a protracted attempt to unthread the newspaper from its wooden holder. When my hairdresser politely told him not to do it, he looked up in confusion, said with absolute sincerity “I’m sorry, I thought they were for reading”, and replaced the newspaper in the stand – presumably convinced that Mr Polito chooses to decorate his shop with fresh but entirely ornamental newspapers every morning.
One has to hope that he isn’t a student at Cambridge’s famous academic institution, but in this town there’s every chance that he’s somebody who’ll be running the country in twenty years’ time.
Whilst having my hair cut (and people alarmed by the photo posted with my first podcast will also be relieved to hear that the facial hair was there through laziness rather than a decision to grow a beard, and it is now gone) Jason Donovan came onto the radio and talked about his burgeoning career. And it is worth pointing out that, given the man did an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical then sank into complete obscurity fifteen years ago, he does seem to be doing pretty well for himself. He tours to one of Cambridge’s larger venues in May and – I’m told – it has already sold out.
Not that I’d have bought tickets myself… but I’ve pointed out before that the man and his work were once the obsession of a much younger James Lark, so it’s nice to see that he’s doin’ fine.
I’m especially excited to have discovered his MySpace page which is worth looking at most of all for the profile pictures of his MySpace friends, all of whom appear to be hugging Jason himself in various different places. Clearly he is generous to his fans. He comes across as an enthusiastic, happy celebrity (no less than two of his five blog entries have “wow!” in the title) and, most surprisingly, the new tracks he has put up for people to listen to are pretty good. A bit dirgy, but a cut above your average MySpace fodder.
Take That has recently led a trend for pop comebacks, with The Police and Westlife hot on their heels. Could Jason Donovan be the next faded star on the brink of a once unthinkable return to chart success?
Apologies for the uncharactaristic drying up of blog entries from this quarter. I’ve been trying to combine a complicated social life with a number of creative endeavours and a persistent cold, and writing about them would just have made it all worse.
However, last night I found myself sitting round a table with my housemates and branching out into the exciting media of podcast, which is essentially to radio what blogging is to editorials in the Guardian. I can’t really remember what’s in our first episode, but we laughed a lot at the time, and there’s a section where we try to phone up Priests which I expect you’ll enjoy. Should you be fed up of working with Woman’s Hour in the background, you can listen to me instead on 2 Victoria Street at home.
We wrote a jingle for it and everything.
Since James Aylett pointed out some time ago that we owe a large number of hits on our blog to people searching for Harry Potter porn (or Hermione porn, or James Lark porn), I felt it would be remiss of me not to at least acknowledge something which, for the many people who have been disappointed by this blog over the years, must feel like the answer to a million prayers:
Yes, it is a publicity shot for an edgy and brilliant play. Yes, it is beautifully lit and artfully photographed. Nevertheless, I challenge anyone to deny that this is a shameless piece of Harry Potter porn.
As such, it has provoked an amusing response from parents across the country who believe that young Potter is setting a very bad example to their children. Of course, they’re missing the point – Harry Potter has grown up with his fans, so the original devotees of his wizardly adventures are just reaching the age when they might start to feel their first stirrings of a desire to sleep with horses. As for Harry’s younger fans, surely you can never be too young to learn that horses are very lovely animals but there is such a thing as liking them too much?
Apparently ticket sales of Equus (which is not exactly Les Miserables) are already in their millions. Clearly there are a lot of people out there who do like horses very much indeed…
James Aylett once said to me “that’s one of the three stills you need to sell the film to people”:
…so there it is.
Anyone want to buy it? Or at the very least, watch it?
Just in case anyone wants proof that 19th century gear suits me better than anything in my own wardrobe, here is my resplendant self taking a turn around the garden with Alastair.
It looks like 19th century clothes suit him as well.
Alastair was also responsible for the moment when I did a Colin Firth style “emerging from the lake”. I suggested as the party wore on that it might be aposite to wander around in shirt sleeves with a damp, smouldering look, to which he responded by turning the shower on me. The results speak for themselves.
I’m sure it’s what Jane Austen would have wanted.
One of the joys of being a resident at 2 Victoria Street, aside from the fact that our ceiling is lined with sewage (file under “still unresolved”), is that our parties have become notorious for being stylish and memorable events.
We set the standard with our 1930s-themed housewarming party, at which people wore hats, outlandish cocktails were mixed and Miller’s Crossing was projected on the wall. Our winter warmer party in December raised the bar even further, with somebody tearing two ligaments dancing to the Mary Poppins soundtrack and a member of the household (who shall remain nameless for his own protection) drunkenly touching the left nipple of one of the female guests without waiting to be invited.
On Sunday night, however, I feel that we beat all previous records with the most successful venture yet: our long-awaited Pride and Prejudice party.
Some would say that this was a cynical cashing-in on the fact that we live with a Mr Bennett. But whatever our motives, this was a genuinely classy affair. For a start, we all looked fabulous – our trip to a local costumier involved the realisation that 19th century garb looks better on me than anything I actually own. Secondly, our house, lit almost entirely by candles, also looked fabulous – and we saved on an evening’s worth of electricity. It was also a civilised evening throughout; fine wine and champagne flowed freely, there was domestic performance at the virginal (well, Alastair and I bashed through the Pride and Prejudice theme on the piano), people took turns around the garden (we only have a tiny backyard, but after a little encouragement guests threw themselves into turning around it with great aplomb) and we even managed a spot of country dancing.
The dance in question was a simple little number called “The Love Knot”, and in case you would like to attempt it at your own parties (it is highly recommended) here are the directions:
Longways, four facing four.
First Lady leads the Ladies line leads round Gents line (8 bars).
First Gent drags other Gents round Ladies Line (8 bars).
Top couple cross to other line, “weave” down “wrong” line to bottom, then return to own side and stay down there (8 bars).
Make two stars, near & far, right & left (8 bars).
Ladies start again with new top lady.
I suggest you walk through the moves once or twice then whack on the music. Our guests managed it admirably, though Chris did choose to interpret “weave” down “wrong” line to bottom as meaning throw yourself on top of the lady opposite – but that’s pretty much what we’ve come to expect.
Most successfully of all, the same female guest as last time had her left nipple touched by a member of the household – albeit with her consent (and indeed her other nipple).
On the downside, my bike has been stolen – again. It is widely known that bike theft in Cambridge is virtually an industry in its own right, and it doesn’t seem to me as a resident that the police are doing an awful lot about it. For all that their website boast testimonials from six-year-olds who have been reunited with their beloved vehicles after nights of fearful weeping, this is now the fourth time I have had a bike stolen, but the only arrest ever made in connection with my vehicle was when I was fined £30 for cycling home without lights a couple of years ago (uncharacteristically, I might add). At two in the morning, along a deserted road. Far be it from me to accuse the Cambridgeshire Constabulary of sloth, but the phrase “easy target” does spring to mind.
Bravo to Jason Fout who, in order to satisfy my need to procrastinate constantly, has started a week-long Distractionfest. I must say, his efforts to find diverting stories are so impressive I’m wondering if he has distracted himself more than me. Perhaps he sees it as vocational.
It turns out I’ve been laid up in bed with a cold so it’s not even like I’ve been doing any work to need distracting from. But I have been much comforted by the pictures of Rudolf Carnap’s parents.
The news that Alan Johnson is going to raise the compulsory school leaving age to 18 has a possible side effect which the department of education may not have considered. It has been made clear that there would be exemptions for teenage mothers – which I would say offers an obvious and pretty darn simple way out for youngsters who don’t want to stay in school.
What I’m suggesting is that the decision might see an alarming rise in the number of teenage pregnancies.
Another side effect of what I suspect will in the future be known as “the 21st century school leavers’ baby boom” is that, given that genetic science has not yet evolved to the point of allowing teenage boys the option of childbirth, the ratio of educated boys to girls will rise dramatically.
Having spent the previous century fighting for their independence and equality, womankind may be about to suffer a terrible blow as an entire generation of uneducated women stay at home to bring up children while their male contemporaries get clever and carry on the work of running the country.
Just a thought.
I never thought I’d say it. I once did some temping for Cambridge City Council and they treated me like shit. They tax us an unbelievable amount for living in this house and to claim any kind of support you have to go through nine circles of hell and come back with Satan’s broomstick (see former complaints).
And yet, when they go to live in hell, will Cambridge City Council be in the ninth circle (which, as you’ll know if you’ve read yer Dante, represents treachery and has all of the sinners frozen in a lake called Cocytus)? The answer is, no. They may end up in the fifth circle, reserved for the Wrathful and Sullen. But that will still put them many levels above Ambassador Property Management, for whom the eighth circle of hell (fraud) is reserved. (If there’s any justice, said fraudsters will end up in the second section of the eighth circle, where the souls are immersed in their own excrement.)
Because unlike Ambassador, it transpires that Cambridge City Council occasionally actually do what they are meant to!
Cambridge City Council Environmental Services
11 January 2007
Dear Mr Lark
I write further to our meeting at 2 Victoria St on 3rd January 2007 concerning your complaint of disrepair to the kitchen and bathroom.
(Point of note – I didn’t complain about the kitchen, since there was no excrement dripping from it. However, it was in a bit of a state when the nice man from Environmental Services came round, what with Alastair having left a lot of washing up to be done, and I think it’s as well that the situation was exaggerated.)
– I understand that the saniflow macerator pump broke down in mid November and was replaced during mid December. During a period of time faecal matter leaked from the saniflow chamber onto the bathroom floor, through the floor boards and eventually through the ceiling in the hallway and onto the carpet below.
– On entry to the house I detected an unusual musty odour in the hallway.
(Alastair and I agreed that this is actually caused by Chris’ dirty washing, which he stores in a kind of dirty washing version of a pot pourri dispenser.)
Whilst not offensive this odour was not pleasant.
(Well, we’re not disputing that.)
– The hallway ceiling plaster is damaged in an area immediately beneath the WC and there is a stain on the carpet below this.
(The stain in question was actually caused by a careless member of Girton choir and a glass of red wine within two weeks of our moving in here, but as Alastair said, “let them paint a picture”.)
The bathroom floor covering has lifted and is ill fitting in places around the saniflow and WC.
– It is likely that as a result of the leaking saniflow the bathroom floor covering, floor boards/ceiling and carpet have been contaminated with faecal waste and require thorough cleaning and disinfection.
I have contacted Sarah Lawson at Ambassador requesting that they carry out the following.
– Carry out repairs to the ceiling plaster and make good afterwards.
– Thoroughly clean and disinfect the area of stained carpet where the contamination dribbled through the floorboards in the hallway.
– Lift the bathroom floor covering and thoroughly clean and disinfect the floorboards below.
– Refit/replace the bathroom floor covering as it has lifted from the floorboards around the WC.
I trust that Ambassador will carry out the works in the next few weeks. If the have not made any progress in three weeks please contact me again.
Yours sincerely
Name and address supplied
Need I point out the huge triumph this represents? The system, it would appear, worked this time.
Furthermore, if you google for “ambassador property shit”, this blog is the first thing to come up! Now if I could only achieve the same result for “ambassador property”, my life would be complete…
Talk To Rex 