Goonergal

On Saturday night I paid a visit to Traffik, a bar I frequent in Hoxton square purely because,having tried probably every Mojito in London, I have discovered that theirs are by far the best....in fact the barman started making my Sour Mojito as soon as I walked in which is probably not a good sign. Anyway , after five of these I was well on my way to pissedom so needless to say when we awake on Sunday feeling like Ghandi's flip flop we decided to go on a hunt for the perfect sunday roast.
Now, being London, you would think this an easy feat. Not if you are in Islington, it bloody well isn't. There are very few pubs left that sell a simple, stodgy, hangover curing roast dinner. No, they all have to be ponced up with pan fried this and sauteed that.....take The Narrowboat, for instance. Situated along Regents Canal, and 5 minutes from the house I grew up in, it was a fave haunt for me and all my mates when we were in our late teens. Many a Sunday was spent in there, making our crappy wages stretch out, playing Ocean Colour Scene and Oasis on the jukebox, laughing with Alan the landlord.(This is back in the days when Islington was a bit of a dump,rather than a des res, and real Islingtonians had yet to be priced out by stockbrokers from Surrey) I knew it had changed....but was totally unprepared for how much.
I walked in there yesterday lunchtime through an entrance which was previously the toilets and is now a celebration of all things chrome , Habitat and Heals had obviously been at work here. Up the stairs I went, hoping to catch a glimpse of my old haunt.....nope, no such luck. Everything is now bleached-wood cladded, sanded down to within an inch of its life, with lots more Habitat and Heals tables full of men and women wearing Chino's and linen. The worst part of all is that they had got rid of our Jukebox,the perfect 'soundtrack to the 90's britpop scene' jukebox , and replaced it with 'chilled' pipe music which made me feel like I needed to go out and buy Joss sticks, and they had done an 'All Bar One' and put the menu's up on massive blackboards.
"Nevermind," said my friend, "it has a new chef, at least the food will be good."
It really , really wasn't.
Please, leave our pubs alone!!!!!

"You should keep it somewhere safe, like your bra." - A London Underground official when I told him I had lost my Oyster card

"You have the voice of an angel, and the liver of a fuckin alchy, just like Charlotte Church!" - My mate Colin from the band Runnin Riot, after I sang drunkenly down the phone at him

"You can't have your eighteen dollars.I need that money to build my church.And do you know why? So I can play Banjo!" - Mel Gibson in The Passion Of The Jew, South Park

"Get the hell off my Arsenal shirt." - Me, to a Spurs fan who put his arm round me after an away game at the drain

"I did not see it." - Arsene Wenger, all the time

"There was a Pigeon on his head. There was always a Pigeon on his head. I wondered if the Pigeon thought that all the people who went there every day were there to look at him." - Bill Bryson, on the Abraham Lincoln memorial statue in Washington DC

"Go with Christ, Bra." - Eric Cartman as Dog The Bounty Hunter in South Park

"We all have wings, but some of us don't know why." - The late Michael Hutchence

" The human race is the only animal that kills for greed. You don't see Sparrows stabbing eachother, do you?" - My mate during a debate on Knife crime

"Bore off, loser." - Me, to Peter Stringfellow when he asked me to sit on his lap

In no particular order.....

'Yoofs' who play music off their mobiles in the street/on public transport

Tossers who drive their Chelsea Tractors down the paper shop

People who wear lots of gold, i.e Belcher chains/sovereign rings, usually from Elizabeth Duke at Argos

Jade Goody, and her mother. (needs no explanation)

Big Brother. Everything about it, from the moronic retarded sheep contestants to that hyperactive old bat Davina McCall. F*ck off back to obscurity, you losers.

Spurs (because I'm a Gooner, obviously)

Man U (because they are lucky little gits)

Chelski (Mad Russian with bottomless pockets )

David Beckham. Tosser. Overrated and pointless. He should stick to modelling Pants.

Posh Spice. Where do I begin?

Westlife. They make me want to vomit.

Location: Tesco's, Islington, London
Weather Conditions outside: Pissing down, complete with thunder/lightening

ME: (To Tesco worker) "Excuse me, do you sell Umbrella's?"
TESCO WORKER: Yes madam I'm sure there are some at the back of the shop."
ME:Thanks very much (wanders off to find Umbrella)

(2 minutes later, at till, with said Brolly, ready to pay)
TESCO WORKER: I can't sell you this one, it has no price tag. Was there any more down there?
ME: Yes I'll go and grab one, hang on (runs down to fetch another, then returns to till)
TESCO WORKER: "Where did this come from? It's not one of our lines"
ME: "Well I know its different to the first one but it was on your stand."
TESCO WORKER: No , I'm sorry , it's not one of ours."
ME:"Look, it was on your stand, with four or five others, and its wrapped up. How is it not one of yours??" (exasperated and in a hurry)
TESCO WORKER: "I don't recognise it madam. Can you show me where you got it please?"

(we go to the back of the store where I point out the stand where I got the Brolly)

TESCO WORKER: "I cant sell those to you I'm afraid. I don't know where they came from,they weren't here earlier and they have no price tags. I need to see my supervisor." (trots off, and returns with his supervisor, who is about 12)

SUPERVISOR: I apologise for the confusion madam. Let me fetch you one from the warehouse , those on the stand have not been marked up yet."
ME: "Fine, but do hurry as I'm pretty late, thanks. I'll wait at the till."

(Teenage supervisor returns to the till, Brolly in hand.)

ME: "Oh great, thanks very much. What do I owe you?"
TEENAGE TESCO SUPERVISOR: "I'm sorry madam, but I can't sell you this Umbrella."
ME: "Why on earth not??"
TEENAGE TESCO SUPERVISOR: "My manager just told me that this branch no longer sell Umbrella's."

Kill me. Kill me now.
Morons.

y duz evry1 unda de age of 20 rite in txt spk ??!! I woz just on a facebk grp talkn abt knives and da probs we havn l8tly, an half da peepz on der woz ritin lyke dis! It woz well annoyin man. U getz me? Dey iz all soundin lyke retardz or Ali G on acid. Bo! Takez nuff nuff tyme 2 read it azwel coz I dnt cum frm da getto and lyke to read propa wordz, in inglish, innit!

Now this might just be me although I strongly suspect there are others who feel the same; whenever I see one of those boys in the street wearing his jeans down so far you can see his arse I have an almost uncontrollable urge to pull them down and then run off giggling hysterically. It looks so bloody ridiculous, I don't need to see what colour pants they are wearing!! And they can't even walk properly for Gods sake, they do this kind of constipated Duck waddle, whilst simultaneously trying to look hard and menacing. It is just hilarious, especially when they play tinny sounding 'gangsta' rap off their mobile phones at the same time, it provides a soundtrack for their silly retarded walk. Oh, and there appears to also be a rather bizarre fashion for leaving the price tag on your baseball cap. I cannot for the life of me work out why anyone not requiring mental health treatment wouuld want to walk around with a great big label flapping about madly on the top of their head.
To see these creatures roam in their natural habitat, I recommend a trip to either Tottenham or Wood Green. I don't recommend the pulling down and running away part whilst in these areas however, as they roam in packs and will probably catch you.Another fun excursion not to be missed is a journey on the top deck of a bus. There will be some sitting at the back,complete with feet on seats and tinny soundtrack. A great travel game is to count the various words and award points. Go for 'Blud', 'Safe', 'Isit' , 'Innit', 'Butters', and award extra points for new words you do not understand.
Happy Hoodie spotting!

I have just sat and watched one of my fave shows. Never Mind The Buzzcocks, (with Simon Amstell,not Mark Lamarr) is one of those programmes with the simplest concept in the world but the people on it are seriously funny. Who doesn't love Bill Bailey?! Anyway, I think we will all agree that there is something immensley satisfying about an over-inflated celeb ego getting a bashing , and nobody does this better than Simon Amstell. The beauty of it is that they pic z-list celebs to go on the show, which makes it even funnier as they are clearly so delusional about their status. The best one ever was when Preston (that weedy little boy who sings crap songs but people only know him 'cos he married that thicko off Big Brother....and don't get me started on Big Brother, we'll be here all day) walked out in a huff because Amstell was taking the mick mercilessly but in a very clever way so that it made Preston look like a sulky little teenager. Which is effectively exactly what he is . The other brilliant episode was with Donny Tourette from crap 'Punk' band Towers Of London...he didn't walk out and actually took it in quite good grace which just goes to show how 'punk' he is LOL. Can't see the Pistols putting up with that, Donny!! One hilarious part was when, in an attempt to look like some kind of anarchist , Donny lit a fag. Ooooooh, what a rebel. Down with Thatcher!!!!

There is a group on Facebook called something along the line sof 'Curvy girls are better than size zero girls' or something equally inspired....however, although the title is rubbish, I know where the creator is coming from. What is attractive or sexy about starving yourself until you look like a lollipop? Not to mention the havoc it wreaks with ones menstrual cycle/skin/hair/nails etc. No no no, sooooo not a good look.
So anyway, lots of us 'curvy ' girls have put photo's up on this group, nice photo's , celebrating our curves and our right to have them. Now, this is the bit where the lines get fuzzy. I am a curvy girl. You only have to look at my profile pics to see that. I am also a size 12. If I go up to a size 14, or at a push, a 16 , I will still be considered curvy. If I simply cannot say no to that 10th slice of cake and go beyond the boundry into 18 plus land, I am FAT. Yep, I am saying it, FAT. Sorry ladies (and men) but if you are that big you are unhealthily over weight and that really is all there is to it. On this Facebook group, it has caused quite a stir, as the board has been inundated with pics of really really fat ladies calling themselves curvy who in thier own way are just as bad an example to young girls as the Lollipop brigade. In the same way that it is stupid and rather disgusting to starve yourself, it is stupid and rather disgusting to stuff your face too.
Ok, rant over. I'm pretty sure I shall have lots of cross fat people having a go at me now..........

Hello all....

now,when I called this entry 'catfood',I didnt mean the vile smelling but apparently tasty stuff in sachets that my two cats,Marylin and Manson are partial to.Oh no.Nothing quite so easy to handle.No,the catfood Im talking about is the type that my cat (Manson,that is ....Marylin is far too ladylike for such hideous antics) catches,tortures and kills himself.Although he doesnt kill his prey for hours,he likes to play with it for a while first.Only this morning I awoke to find him gleefully rolling around in the spare room with a (thankfully)dead bird....when I prised it away from him he stared at me reproachfully with feathers protruding from his mouth,looking for all the world like Sylvester having just eaten Tweetie.There have been many worse episodes.Like I said,I was lucky to come across Manson and his bird-rolling when he had already killed it.I remember in our old flat in Enfield I spent 45 minutes before work trying to catch a very large frog which was clearly not too traumatised as it was energetically bouncing round the bedroom.I eventually captured the poor creature in a shoe box,by which time Manson had long lost interest and buggered off back into the garden to pounce on other unsuspecting small animals.Both Baz and myself have had the truly unpleasant experience of stepping on dead mice which tend to get left as gifts in strategic places around the house,like by the bed,so you step on it before you reach a light switch,or at the foot of the stairs.Summertime is the most fun though.This is because Manson has a thing about Bumblebees and worms.He is careful to catch the former and very carefully hold it in his mouth until he gets inside the house,he then lets it go and has hours of fun watching it bounce off walls and closed windows as it trys to make its escape.The latter he brings draped in his jaws so it hangs from either side like a worm-moustache ....he elegantly pads over to where you are sitting and drops it on your toes or in your lap,before looking up at you proudly.

You see,no matter how repulsed you are , or how late for work due to chasing creatures around brandishing a shoebox,what I try to remember is that these things are brought home for us as gifts....in the wild the best share of meat is given the the lioness at the top of the hierarchy...this is how cats see us owners.So I shudder,grit my teeth and give my fat boy a cuddle,feathers sticking out of his mouth and all.

Sarah xx

Morning people

What is it with us Brits and sunshine?Does it go hand in hand with the pub? Yesterday I spent my lunch hour outside a pub by the river with a colleague.....as did many fellow Wharfers....however , despite the blue sky and bright sunshine it was absolutely bloody freezing,especially in the Docklands where the river whips up one hell of a strong wind ( or 'a bit of a breeze'-this is what we say when trying to deny that we are frozen to the bone....why waste the lovely sunshine?!) The thing with us Brits is that we spend most of the year hiding our pasty white skin under hundreds of layers of clothing,the savvy among us never,ever leaving the safety of cover without a brolly.For six months of the year we leave for the office in the dark,and commute home in the dark.When the darkness is accompanied by wind and rain,this makes for a quintessentially British, Grumpy,grey ride home on the 6:15 from Moorgate.

So,when there's the tiniest glimmer of hope that good weather is on its way, woo hoo!! Out we come,all us office bods,sleeves rolled up,ties loosened,sunglasses perched on head,(highlighted hair artfully arranged to compliment these),All saying to eachother;Sod it!! We will stand outside the pub/sit on the grass/bench etc,and bloody well enjoy the cold beer/white wine that is currently sooooooo cold that my hand is a block of ice....because the sun is out,and we are British!British I tell you!!

Hello all....

now,when I called this entry 'catfood',I didnt mean the vile smelling but apparently tasty stuff in sachets that my two cats,Marylin and Manson are partial to.Oh no.Nothing quite so easy to handle.No,the catfood Im talking about is the type that my cat (Manson,that is ....Marylin is far too ladylike for such hideous antics) catches,tortures and kills himself.Although he doesnt kill his prey for hours,he likes to play with it for a while first.Only this morning I awoke to find him gleefully rolling around in the spare room with a (thankfully)dead bird....when I prised it away from him he stared at me reproachfully with feathers protruding from his mouth,looking for all the world like Sylvester having just eaten Tweetie.There have been many worse episodes.Like I said,I was lucky to come across Manson and his bird-rolling when he had already killed it.I remember in our old flat in Enfield I spent 45 minutes before work trying to catch a very large frog which was clearly not too traumatised as it was energetically bouncing round the bedroom.I eventually captured the poor creature in a shoe box,by which time Manson had long lost interest and buggered off back into the garden to pounce on other unsuspecting small animals.Both Baz and myself have had the truly unpleasant experience of stepping on dead mice which tend to get left as gifts in strategic places around the house,like by the bed,so you step on it before you reach a light switch,or at the foot of the stairs.Summertime is the most fun though.This is because Manson has a thing about Bumblebees and worms.He is careful to catch the former and very carefully hold it in his mouth until he gets inside the house,he then lets it go and has hours of fun watching it bounce off walls and closed windows as it trys to make its escape.The latter he brings draped in his jaws so it hangs from either side like a worm-moustache ....he elegantly pads over to where you are sitting and drops it on your toes or in your lap,before looking up at you proudly.

You see,no matter how repulsed you are , or how late for work due to chasing creatures around brandishing a shoebox,what I try to remember is that these things are brought home for us as gifts....in the wild the best share of meat is given the the lioness at the top of the hierarchy...this is how cats see us owners.So I shudder,grit my teeth and give my fat boy a cuddle,feathers sticking out of his mouth and all.