Go back in time in Hackney.

Do you want a wooden fanjita? Of course you do.

On a frivolous note, I spent some time being laced into 22″ corsets at Camden Market on Sunday so I’d have something to wear on Thursday.
And Dreeny, you’ll be glad to know that my legs are no longer hairy.

Last night I dreamt I hung out with Nick Cave. It was fun, but I woke up before I had a chance to ask him how intent he was on all the religious stuff.
I also dreamt that websites were actually big sheets of calico, with the content painted or screen-printed on, then hung on the wall. If you wanted to change pages you had to unhook the top sheet and fold it down, like a gigantic wall calendar. It was awkward if someone came in while you were browsing a page you shouldn’t, because you had to try and nonchalantly change over a huge sheet of calico.

I got distracted by one thing and another tonight, I think because I was putting together an album of photos for friends who are leaving London. I ended up tracking down an old (1999, so it’s from my second personal site) ‘about me’ page. It’s scary how much of it is still true:
“This is my dog. He’s the best dog in the whole entire world
…
Apart from that, I have quite stunning taste in music, except that no-one believes me after I sang along to Kylie at a Winterdaze recovery.
…
Apart from my dog, I have the best car in the world, except that at the moment it’s at my mechanics being fixed again. But when it comes out, it’ll be the best car in the world again. I also have the world’s worst surfboard – even the tape I’ve got over the dings cost more than the board.
…
I have no dress sense. I’ve got a pot belly that no-one takes seriously. I have hairy legs. And a messy room. My car is also messy, but my dog generally isn’t.”
Tragically, my legs are still hairy, I still have no dress sense and my room is (a bit) messy. But these days I’m open about my love for Kylie, though I don’t have a car or a surfboard. (I did get a much nicer surfboard sometime between now and then) I do have a pot belly that you can’t be polite about. Like my beautiful dog, it lives at the Storage Centre of Mum and Dad while I’m in London.

Ha!

Hurrah for getting past deadlines! Lots of lovely people came out to celebrate on Friday night. And I finally have wireless broadband at home. It’s all good.
It’s also exactly two years since my UK Work Permit came through, which means it’s exactly two years until I could apply to be a Permanent Resident.

I feel a bit mean, as I still have a soft spot for postmodernism, and I’ve made a few brackety puns in essays but still: How to Speak and Write Postmodern.

“A US pressure group is offering music fans the chance to trade in copies of singer Ashlee Simpson’s album for “one of a higher entertainment quality”.
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The group has also demonstrated against celebrity socialite Paris Hilton, at a Los Angeles signing event for her book Confessions of an Heiress.
Members carried placards with slogans such as “Why are you famous?” and “You can’t buy brain cells”.” (BBC)