I'm an evil alien

So...today I did potentially the most rock and roll thing I've ever done in my life! I flew to France for lunch. In a tiny plane with only 6 leather seats. We flew from Rochester to Le Touquet and had a delightful meal and a play on the beach and then flew back again.

The journey all started yesterday really. Yesterday I went to Bluewater and bought the pair of boots that will be integral to my winter foot health. I had to sell a kidney to afford them due to severe financial restrictions right now, but they are genuinely a necessity as without them I would be in flip flops until after Christmas which could lead to pneumonia. I think. In all honesty I'm not really sure how you get pneumonia but I assume if you get cold, wet feet it can happen.

After Bluewater which involved two krispy kreme doughnuts and a minor mall induced panic attack. I went to Whitechapel for a gig. Now, I don't like to be judgemental. That's a massive lie - I revel in it. But, I'm not usually vocal about it. Usually I keep my contempt in until I'm in a safe place and have fully assessed my opinion on the subject. Yesterday I did not.

It was a gong show and there was a huge crowd assembled and I started out enthusiastic. My enthusiasm waned as I got further and further into the gig and realised that the combined IQ of the entire audience must have been somewhat akin with a Kerry Katona book signing. And that includes the guy employed to remind her how to spell her name. And how to hold a pen. And what a fucking book is. Kerry Katona...easy target? Well, yes, probably, but there's a good chance my entire ability to be funny has been trashed by this experience of comedy.

The first act in the gong was very good, a nice intelligent guy with some delightful lines and a strong delivery...after that I felt the night deteriorated somewhat. The audience stamped their feet and whooped and cheered at the most banal material - seeming to revel in their cluelessness. I was almost disappointed to survive the gong. Being booed by a balding 20something in a checked shirt who seemed to be modelling his look on a decaying gormless lumberjack with less finesse was a highlight.

The prize for the night was £50...at the point where an 'act' got practically a standing ovation for describing the disabled children he worked with as 'top level spastics' and 'dribble covered wheelers'...I left. I gave up any desire to be Queen of this night and hightailed it out of there and back to the real world where people engage their brains before braying before a moron.

Snob? Me? Yes. Absolutely. And fucking proud of it.

SO I left that gig and disappeared up to Barnet, High Barnet. The tallest haircut in London. I stayed over night with one of my fellow elves from Lapland and we watched Stepbrothers and had a perfect sleepover. Stepbrothers is one of my favourite films. We love it so much that in Lapland we actually made our beds into bunk beds. Fact. See Facebook for pictorial evidence.

This morning we awoke and headed over to Rochester. We got mildly lost and I have seen the same roundabout at least 3 times today. But finally we were at the airfield.

The tiny plane was excellent and although I was rather nauseous taking off we were soon in the air and sailing over Canterbury. It was amazing to see a city I know so well from the air. I have a lot of incredibly happy memories in Canterbury and seeing it from a perfect blue sky was amazing.

We landed in Le Touquet and headed into town. Le Touquet is rather like Wysteria Lane in Desperate Housewives. There were more Mercs and MX5s in driveways than I've ever seen in my life. But I ate salmon (my favourite) and played on the beach (I adore beaches and the sea - see previous blogs for gushing) and all in all have had a miraculous day. A perfect day.

Have you? Sorry, just realised I've been a bit 'me, me, me'.

Standing on my Earlobes

Free!

Panic not fine friends - it turns out the guy with the funny shirt thought I was Lady GaGa (because we look so similar) and kidnapped me by accident. After 4 hours of him asking me to sing Ra ma ooh la la, and me failing miserably, he clicked that I wasn't her and he let me go.

Relief is not the word! I spent the night in the bath trying to wash the smell out of my hair and this morning I have fingers and toes like a prune. Its a nice look but I'm going to have to sit in the airing cupboard after I've written to you and try and dry out a bit.

Right now I'm sitting on the sofa fuming about the fact that I have a Saturday morning off and Saturday Kitchen has been replaced with The Commonwealth Games - gutted! I'm trying to tell myself that the fault lies with me that I don't appreciate sport over fun cooking challenges and hairy bikers...it probably shouldn't be too difficult. I think I'm a little culturally challenged.

I'm supposed to be going shopping today - and I will attend the shopping centre but unfortunately no purchasing will be done due to severe financial straits. Ah, sigh, poor me, the life of an artist and all that...meh. But, yesterday, some oppurtunist git decided to take advantage of the fact that I was a little snoozy on the train and swiped my Oyster card as I drooled.

The weird thing about this petty theft (replace petty with ridiculous if you like) is that my laptop was also on the train table and they didn't bother with that...surely that's lesson one in theft?

Q. If offered a nice laptop or unlimited access to zone 1 for the next two days - which should you take?

A. Well, I am a big fan of the District Line...

Knob.

So I have a new Oyster Card now - and this one is called Fenella (after Fenella Fudge who does the travel on Radio 2 sometimes and has possibly the best name I've ever heard ever). I wouldn't have minded losing the last oyster card so much had I not given him a name (Steve Wright - my mp3s are god themed, oyster cards are radio 2 themed). I'm a bit worried that whoever has Steve Wright now is not treating him nicely and wilfully smacking him into the little yellow circle without a care for his brain haemorrhaging or anything like that. Poor Steve Wright.

Tomorrow's blog may be late but should be incredibly intensely exciting as I am going to France - just for lunch - yeah ROCK AND ROLL! Tell you about it soon...

You Drive Me Crazy

I'm genuinely blogging from the inside of a haggis. I've had the weirdest dat today - when I woke up there was a tall man with a blue shirt on standing over my bed holding a hessian sack. I was a little alarmed to see him there and asked what was going on. He asked me why I dribble so much at night and I was a little embarassed. He took this oppurtunity to put the bag over my head and kidnap me.

Then he put me in this haggis. It's moist, not uncomfortable, and a little smelly if I'm honest. I don't think he intends to kill me - it's potentially an experiment to see if I'll eat my way out. I don't think I will - at least not for a few days as I am pretty good at coping without food and I also like to be the winner very much.

The man had a light Welsh accent which is another baffling clue to this puzzle - I'm 99% sure haggis is a Scottish delicacy which could mean he is working for some kind of alliance. Alliances freak me out really. Especially the Royal Sun Alliance. That is a freakishly big, hot, regal alliance.

So, all in all, there's not really much to say in this blog as I haven't been able to do much today due to kidnap and haggis restraint. If I am out by tomorrow I'll let you know how it goes but in the meantime if you have any ideas on how to escape do let me know.

Sing Like No one Likes Ribena

I'm quite poor this month. By quite poor I mean I got paid yesterday and now am back in my overdraft again having paid rent and other such fun expenditures. As a result of this I am living solely off bread and pot noodles. It's a curious thing how much my body hates me right now. The sort of hate usually reserved for an X Factor judge who's made an ill advised decision - you know; super serious.

Usually I'm quite springy. The addition of much crust and dried peas to my diet has made some of the springyness disappear. It's not that my body doesn't want to be springy any more - it's just that it can't be. Because it is leaden. Nightmare. Usually I approach escalators and other such rising aids with a delight that I can bounce up, up and up and reach the top like a brunette tigger with a red bull addiction. The last few days it's been more a case of flumping onto the bottom step and enjoying the feeling of the slatted surface caressing my face as the suits walk all over my back on their way past.

By the end of this month I might start to resemble the bread. This wouldn't be the end of the world as my bread of choice is a particularly tasty 90p Tiger Loaf with black pepper coating. So I'm going to be a feisty tiger by November. I'm wondering whether my skin will resemble that of a tiger, or that of a flaky white loaf. I hope the tiger. I would like to look like a tiger. And it would make me worry less about yeast infections.

I would also get to have whiskers if I were a tiger - it's no secret that I'd genuinely like to have facial hair. Not the kind of facial hair that women sadly get when they reach a certain age - but proper facial hair. A funky moustache and a massive beard that I could keep things in and stroke when I was feeling poignant.

But for now I am just a bit hungry and looking forward to my slices of bread for lunch. It's a wonderful life.

Living with Penelope

Blogosphere, hear me roar!

I'm not totally sure what I'm roaring about but I thought I'd kick things off with a big noise and we can go from there. That ok?

Well, I'm sorry you were expecting something a little more profound but I can't help but feel you're reading the wrong blog if that's what you wanted. Yes, this is Laura's blog. Lexx? Yeah, small one. No shoes? I thought that'd work. Cool.

So we're all up to speed? Why were you late? So far...not a lot. I roared, you guys argued a bit but essentially we've all settled down and are now enjoying each other's company. You more than me because, let's face it, I do the lion's share of the work in this shindig. Not that I mind. Oh, come on, don't get upset...but how often do you give input that isn't just in my mind? Exactly. Stop whining.

I went to Manchester yesterday. I REALLY like Manchester. It is full of excellent coloured buildings that look interesting and slightly archaic but still exciting and spiffy. Yes, that's right Manchester, I gave you spiffy. It's not as grey as London - not that I don't like London, it's just I think it can lack personality.

I'm a dedicated Southerner and I'd genuinely struggle to move up North but it really is appealing sometimes. The problem with London is that there is so much personality stuffed into here that we almost lack an identity as a community - we are the mongrel of the UK. The most popular stereotype of a Londoner is a moody curmudgeon on the tube that wears a suit and talks to no one.

I dislike this stereotype and feel that we only fall into the trap because it's expected of us. If people talked about London as being a super colourful vibrant place then I'm sure we'd let that soak into our bones and we'd go with it. Like Camden, Camden high street has really taken people's fantasies and run with it - why can't the rest of London go with that?

As an experiment I tested out whether Londoners are stuck in their rut by making sure I smiled at 5 people on the tube to see their reactions. They ALL smiled back! What a discovery! All London needs is someone to chivvy them into realising that we don't all have to play up to the mindless drone stereotype. We are dying to talk to each other and express some personality and turn our city into some kind of happy town where people don't judge us based on the behaviour of tired commuters on a packed public transport system.

And if we don't all join together and do it then I'm moving to Manchester. Fact. So, here you go - out and about today pick 5 people who look the least like muggers and smile at them. I bet they were just dying to find someone to smile at. Makes you feel like a hell of a person.

Denver has the lowest number of water buffalo

Going to Manchester today...I like Manchester. It's full of men and pecs. Work that one out yourselves.

yesterday was an arse-ridden day full of pox and gimpy things that made me wrinkle my nose and weep. Weeping is a much better way to say 'I cried like a small child at the age of 24'. Weeping implies I was a maiden who had been long since separated from her family and forced to work in a corn field but carried on stoically, even if I did weep a little at night. Silently of course. Weeping says nothing of the streaming nose and puffy eyes. Weeping also sounds a little like a sore. Like a big nasty red boil that oozed pus. I was not like that. But I may have wept.

I'm not weeping today. I'm going to Manchester to see tall buildings and talk to important people.

It's been a busy week and here are some major reasons for the blog hiatus, which I count as holiday time and shall not be shouted at for;

1. It was my birthday. Yes, that's right. I got a year older and am now at the shockingly dizzy heights of 24. I'm hoping 24 is going to be a really good age to be. I wasn't really a fan of being 23 - except for Lapland which was a total lifetime wonder - nothing much good occurred at the age of 23 and overall being 22 was a lot better. I'm wondering if it's an inate need for control that I can only really enjoy myself when I am an even number? Which means I'm going to be totally screwed up when I'm 30 because although I know it is an even number, I consider it an odd one and this is going to be tricky. My birthday was a day of 2 halves - 1 half being poo and in Gravesend, the other half being a delightfully laid back evening of drinks with some awesome people.

2. I moved house. Potentially more exciting than this whole nonsense birthday thing. I now live precariously close to the Monopoly board having just transferred to within spitting distance of the Old Kent Road. This move is intended to save me a lot of time in the morning and to give me somewhere fancy to live. Fancy, yes. Time? Not yesterday while the entire London transport system ground to a halt over these tube strikes. I was astonishingly late for work. This sparked a fail day of epic proportions which wound up with me losing £1200 and shouting at a bus all the way home.

That bus was a knob. Like a big, red, mechanical road based tapeworm.

3. I did some comedy for children. This was an excellent addition to my weekend - they are difficult but satisyingly interesting to perform to. Long may my foray into the world of children's entertainment continue...yessum. I found out that my long term plan to have everyone living in bouncy castles is a fail plan and that tomorrow's generation wouldn't go for it...shame. No imagination the youth of today.


And those were the highlights of my week. Except for deciding that I am truly addicted to X Factor and not ashamed of it. Saturday nights are now firmly Merlin, X Factor and sleep. Cool I am not.

Le Freak

Well, I have not blogged for an age,
Because I went out earning a wage.
I decided it sucked,
And the world can get fucked,
And I'll blog when I'm let out my cage...


*Normal Service Resumes Tomorrow*


Much like the tramping sodding bumfuckwit underground which can go soak its balls in vinegar for ruining my morning which had a knock on effect on the rest of the wanktestical day.