Current level of conviction in own genius: 6
Amount of creative activity acheived in last 24 hours: zero
Hair day: Asymmetrical. Braved a visit to local Bethnal Green coiffery, got given a single look by the elaborately boybanded hairdresser who said he could do something 'very interesting' with me. When I asked what, he said he didn't know and would 'just have to go with it, you know?'. Gulped and consented. Emerged with crazy one-short-sided-getting-longer-round-the-other Shohoboho cut. And hilariously for such a cropped lass, have bought straighteners! Ahem.
Have had busy few days. The last bank holiday weekend was a packed one, starting with the registry wedding and henna night of one of my best buddies and am now sporting slightly faded but very groovy henna tattoo on right hand. I made my debut at one of Oxford's legendary Aston Street parties (friends of Andy's), where the attention to detail is ludicrously impressive: a Western theme, they'd removed the lounge door and replaced it with bullet-riddled saloon doors, slung haystacks outside and strategically placed inflatable cacti, and best of all, down at the bottom of their winding secret garden could be found a roaring campfire and shed masquerading as frontier wagon. I made a half-decent attempt at Native American slut (breasts falling out of tassled top, arse hanging out of suede skirt, war paint etc) and boogied to silly house and, much more appealingly, Johnny Cash and Dolly Parton. Rockin'. The next day I supported the Step 13ers at the rough'n'ready 491 Gallery-cum-squat in Leytonstone, where they delivered their usual tight set of friendly drum'n'bass.
This weekend was a fab one, with juice and boys (soon to be labelled 'the juicettes' if they're not careful) taking off to Arhus (key to pronunciation: think Scottish pirate with extreme facial tick) to perform in Roger Marsh's music-theatre loveliness, Pierrot Lunaire at the Spor Festival. The gig went off very successfully, with our intrepid trio doing everything from French cabaret to Eurovision pop, skipping to Monty Python-esque heckling in the audience. In our free time, we hopped on free bikes (you put 2o kroner in a slot and get your bike! like a shopping trolley!) and rode to the beach, enjoyed park walks through banks of wild garlic, saw lots of public art and had a great night in surely the most louche bar in town, Cafe RisRas, which would be THE place to be if bang in the middle of Brick Lane, with its rainbows of beers and 20-strong list of single malts, table football and Scandinavian hip hop on the decks. It's soooo great to be doing, albeit far too occasionally, the kind of well-paid work which allows you to sun yourself in the middle of the cathedral square cramming your face full of Danish ice cream.
Apart from that it's just been the usual mix of improvising percussive weirdness in the studio, quaffing free wine at book launches and trying to forget I still have to be teacher for a living. And also trying to find a pub in East London which will show Wycombe Wanderers' first leg play-off with Cheltenham Town on Saturday evening.... Get in the Wyc!!!!!!!