Friday, 2 December 2011

Cat Bite Mutant! (Or, Thumbs Are Useful)

Everyone knows, that when you are bitten by an animal, there is the chance that you may turn into a superhuman.  Especially if that animal is a)irradiated, b)itself a mutant, or c)the bastard spawn of the Devil.

The evil two-faced cat that bit me was the bastard spawn of the Devil.

A mere two weeks ago to the day, I and the Llama arrived at the country cottages beside the wild Welsh border that we and our friends frequent once a year, at the time when the veils between the worlds are weakest, and thus creatures fey and foul are able to tread the land.

We had unpacked, stowed newly delivered food and beverages for the weekend, and were chilling out in front of one cottage when this one foul fey creature appeared, a black and white long haired cat which porceeded to endear itself to us, cuddling up on my friend Mozz's chest for instance. 

Now I love cats, and was immediately drawn by this creature's dark seductions to pet it thoroughly, which many of my friends had done.  I managed to get it sitting on my lap, by doing the leg slap employed by cat-people to draw the dratted animal's attentions.  In my mind I was informing the cat that here was a nice warm place to sit, where it would be petted to its little blood-pump's content.

In fairness, I was warned that the cat was a bitey cat, and had bitten another friend.  Now I thought this meant that the cat had nibbled her.  I've been nibbled before...by cats, in that friendly playful way that doesn't leave a mark.

I was happily stroking the little beast, and I thought the little beast was happy.  Indeed it did not give any indication of unhappiness, was not growling or flicking its tale.  It was purring.  Fucking purring for Thor's sake.  And without provocation, indication or warning, it lunged for my thumb and bit down through skin and muscle and, it felt at the time, to the fucking BONE!

And then the little bastard ran off into the night, after I practically threw it off my lap.

I bled and bruised and got a lovely little swelling thanks to that cat's saliva, that made my right hand useless for the rest of the weekend.  I could not hold anything, could not cut potatoes, and worse, could not hold a drink, except in my left hand.  And thats just weird.

And then an amazing thing happened.

It was the next night, and a group of us were playing charades.  I came up with an ingenious representation of a Tyranosaurus Rex, but I cannot find the photo, so have a picture instead.


I had a better one, but the scanner went into a depression and refused to scan.  As you can see, I adopted the basic pose of the Chicken, but with the facial expressions of the Frog by way of a toothache. 

We then began to drink shots, and I felt a strange sensation, quite unlike anything else I'd ever felt before, and totally not to do with the lovely alcohols parading before me. 

The beast's venom was beginning to work on me, re-writing my DNA, changing me in ways I could not imagine.  And as I downed shot after shot (that's me mouthing a small skull recepticle as I could
not pick it up), the Devil carved his name on every cell in my body, thanks to his little demon cat.

In the short space of time when one shot became ten, I was transformed into a superhuman, mutated beyond recognition. 

I could leap over armchairs with ease, crawl invisible around my compadre's legs as I searched for victims to save and criminals to punish, criminals such as the evil bottles that had my friends in thrall.  I had to fight them by drinking their contents and destroying them with my super powered stomach acids.

I was a creature of might, invincible by dint of a bite to the hand by Satan's Sourpuss, but my metamorphosis was not yet complete.  There was still one change yet to come.

In the blink of an eye I transported myself to the next cottage over using my newfound abilities, bampf!  And there I completed my transfiguration.  I grew a shell of adamantium, and a jaw that would break concrete.

I became the totally terrific Tortoise-Girl!!

And I developed a craving for bread.

And went to sleep, for after all that remodeling I was a very tired Tortoise-Girl.

Monday, 14 November 2011

New Look!

The red Victorian wallpaper wasn't working for me anymore.  It was getting too "A Study In Scarlet" for me.

I like autumnal colours though, so I decided to keep that kind of colour scheme, just go lighter!

Have some puppies.



Disclaimer: Not my puppies.

Wednesday, 9 November 2011

Oxfam Is Cool

I love working/volunteering at Oxfam.  Yes it's not a paying job, but there are books galore, and I get to read while I'm on the till!  And I can take a break whenever I want, and drink hot chocolate, which is yummy and my version of crack cocaine, especially if served with a plethora of mini marshmellows.

And people are nice, which is more important.  My manager isn't all, "Targets!  Targets!  MUST MEET OUR TARGETS!  WORK HARDER OR I WILL STRIKE YOU WITH WHIPPETS!"  She is a lovely relaxed lady, quite impressed with my knowledge of sci-fi as pertaining to books and old action figures.  I ACTUALLY HELD AN ORIGINAL PLANET OF THE APES GORILLA SOLDIER!

And yesterday at Oxfam I was indescribably incandescent with pleasure when I saw what had been donated recently.  MINT CONDITION IRON MAIDEN VINYL RECORDS!  LIKE, TEN OF THEM!  Man I wish I had the dough....

I'm working there tomorrow, and can safely say its the first job I have really enjoyed.  Just wish I got paid, and all would be perfection.

Monday, 17 October 2011

The British Are Coming!

As I type this, fair and gentle reader, I am updating my ipod with enough music to see me through several hours over international waters. 

FOR WE AM GOING TO AMERICALAND.

Yes presently I shall be forced awake at four in the morning to catch a plane that will deposit us the wrong side of the pond, the bit where the goldfish go to die, and will be travelling round the desert in a camper van!  My expression this moment, I kid you not is joyous.  I can strike Vegas off my bucketlist.

But really, this is going to be a fantastic trip.  We'll be climbing up to Silica Dome where Captain Kirk died/is buried, visiting the Hoover Dam which took the lives of a hundred of its workers, watching vampire women take their clothes off, and watching snow fall in the desert.  Basically a goth's wet dream, and there's chocolate pizza too!

Adios diet plan!


Wednesday, 5 October 2011

Vertigo And Three Eyed Angel Babies

When you have an attack of vertigo, it is horrible.  You feel like you have to hold on to the floor so that the world doesn't tip you off into space, much like a drunkard, except without the comfort of a tall cold glass of cider.  And the slightest turn of the head sets the room revolving again, round and round and round, making the nausea rise in your dry mouth, which is horrid because you needed some water and sat up to get some which set the bastard off in the first place.

Currently, just a slight feeling of dizziness at times persists, so that is all well and good.

Now lets get to the three-eyed angel babies.

Three-eyed angel babies I hear you ask?  Yes I reply, three-eyed angel babies, because I had a dream that I can probably quite confidantly say has been one of the most balls trippingly weird dreams I've had in a while, and I can't for the life of me decipher it.

You see, archangels have come down on a divine mission from above, to find human women to procreate with.  But these women, once inseminated with winged sperm, give birth to three-eyed angel babies.  And not three eyes as you would expect, ie, two in the normal position and one in the forehead, all looking quite the same, but three eyes as in two fairly normal ones and one right between the eyebrows, bulbous and bloody and without eyelids, sometimes with a bit of stringy flesh down the middle bisecting it.  Sometimes the eye is normal, but its where the bridge of the nose is.  And the archangels say that these are just the first and second genesis, that the third and fourth genesis will be better, and then I started calling them arch angelics and THEN I woke up and the room was spinning.

A kiss to anyone with any clue as to what the psychedelic fuck my mind is trying to tell me.

Thursday, 8 September 2011

My Dark Fiction Entry

So I didn't get shortlisted for the Dark Fiction EPIC FLASH FICTION COMPETITION.  Le sigh.  I am not bitter, congrats to everyone who got picked, I shall be hearing some of you forthwith :).

And so, since Martin Six-Winged-God-Of-Llamas said he liked my story, I thought I would share it with you, fair and gentle reader.

WARNING: It rhymes.

How Far The Road To The Howling Shore

How far the road to the howling shore?
Which mad men tread to return no more
Obsidian stone laid mile on mile
It winds and writhes with serpentine guile.
From a city cursed to guard its gate
Through desert cold to uncertain fate
Pass sages, warriors, filled with might
All lost beneath the claws of the night.

But to the walls of Zanarian fair
In a night-time blessed with sweet scented air
Came riding forth out of the sun's embrace
A woman in red with bright perfect face.
Her mare was the same, a fire borne mount
Both gilded gold, jewels too many to count
They rode to the Gate of the Western Plains
And found the doors to be close barred with chains.

The lady bold she called aloud
Her voice was fierce as flame endowed
“What cost to let these chains fall by!
To let us in my horse and I!”
Expected she a man to shout
Barbican guards all strong and stout
But from the battlement on high
She found a child did to her cry.

“Lady Red please do not stay near!
Lest demons come and find you here!
Run fast you must before the dark!
Or they will brand you with their mark!”
Insistent was the high pitched voice
The lady found she had no choice
“Then let me in, give me a bed!
Or find my fate be on your head!”

The child ran fast to do what she was told
In awe of a lady both brave and bold
In haste they entered into her domain
The lady quick made it secure again.
A small spell of strength, endurance, deceit
Then allowed herself to be led down street
Through a city deserted not by all
The children were left, to live or to fall.

“What blight took place?” asked woman of girl
Bidden the child did this tale unfurl
“Out of the east, an evil smoke rose.
It hid the sun, the start of our woes.
The air was ice, its scent was of death.
We had to fight to take just one breath.
Then a darkness took hold of the grown.
From Zanarian they all have flown.”

“Did these devils come forth with the smoke?”
“The dark transformed Zanarian folk.
My mother, my father, went insane.
Enraged they now roam the Western Plains.”
The girl led on, past fresh water founts.
“But now you are here, that's all that counts.
My lady in red, please help us all.
Stop that which has our parents in thrall.”

They came at last to a building so black
The light of the moon did not reflect back
Its doors were ajar, its timbers rough hewn
They wore painted red, the single same rune.
The child stood afar, she cowered in fright
But Lady Red smiled. “It will be all right.”
She mounted her steed, and entered the hall
That housed the black gate in this city's wall.

Through chill thick air the mare trod on
Upon white bones her light it shone
The skulls of men who'd gone before
Go no further! they did implore.
The lady's eyes were on the end
To breach the gate she did intend
Its form was blackened chiselled stone
Its faces chilled her to the bone.

Their unseen hands did part the way
Animated by magic fey
And from the portal racing east
She felt the road, its lure increased.
Horse and rider quit the dark hall
Under night they flew to the call
Sparks were struck as hooves hit the line
Fast to shore by their own design.

In crashing tides stood an island of rock
All jagged black teeth, the earth it did mock
In stone obsidian the goal rose there
A hell-god's abode, a castle nightmare.
Cross rotting wood the mare took her rider
Under the arch their light it grew brighter
And unto the keep a tower soaring
Their radiance turned evening to morning.

The lady's power called forth the Beast
A sea born monster fat from the feast
It sprang from the dark, tentacles barbed
In poisonous slime its form was garbed.
Myriad eyes observed this new prey
Knowing not her will it would obey
The woman in red raised both hands high
And brought white lightning down from the sky.

Bolts of pure fire danced round the court
Against this web of magic it fought
In language foul it raised the grey tide
Around the castle their powers vied.
The mare cried out, the tentacles thrashed
Against the lady's face cold rain lashed
But the lightning closed in on its aim
Striking the monster, making it lame.

Injured the creature screamed forth its rage
Triumphant the lady wove a cage
To keep bound the monster and its spell
To call no more to ravenous hell.
Avenged were those who had cried for peace
Drawn against sense by sudden caprice
The lady red smiled, her task was done
Now he could rest, her slain golden son.

Now no one goes to the howling shore
The gate and the road lure men no more
Obsidian stone lies under sand
Calm returns to Zanarian's land.
A child tells of a woman in red
Who restored her parents to their bed
For she lifted the curse with her might
And faded away into the night.

Copyright © 2011 LKG Frendo, All Rights Reserved


Thursday, 18 August 2011

TELL ME I'M WRONGYN!

Fair and gentle reader, I shall communicate with you one of the many words that really irk me.  Not irk as in, "I am mildly annoyed, I shall ignore you til you go away,", but irked as in "I will kill you now with whatever implement I lay my hand on first!  A penny!  I shall kill you with a penny!"

Wombyn.

What does this word mean to you?  Perhaps you find it perfectly acceptable, a gender definition that does not kowtow to da Man, does not associate itself with the old fashioned name for the female race.

It makes me think of the Wombles, but that is a recent discovery.

I absolutely detest this word.  To me it means that to be feminist, as I consider myself to be, I now have to identify myself as a womb.  I am my organs, I am the parts of the sum.

*sigh.  Deep breath*

I refuse to use this word to identify myself.  I am not just a womb, an organ to produce offspring, although I do want to use my womb sometime to produce said chicklets.  I am a woman, a person in possesion of thought, emotion, strength and self-awareness.  I am the sum of all my parts, and to single out one as being more important than another is absurd.  Ludicrous even when you consider that "Wombyn" is a female invention, as if we didn't have enough trouble getting men to think of us as something other then a nice place to deploy their soldiers and bear them hundreds of fat children.

I am woman, not wombyn or womyn (that last annoys me too), and I am an artist, a daughter, a significant other.  I am a witch, a philosopher, a wordsmith (I hope), and a darned feminist!

And now I shall end this rant with a little ditty...

"Underground, overground wombling free!  The Wombles of Wimbledon Common are we!"....

Sunday, 7 August 2011

The Night The Shit Hit The Proverbial Fan

Well my fair and gentle readers, what a weekend eh?  When my Llama Rama and I came up to London for my mother's birthday outing at our favourite local restaurant San Marco, little did we expect a show as well as dinner.  For right outside the windows we were treated to the first few sights of the Tottenham riots, as youths in hoodies and scarves gathered and proceeded to fell a bollard by the railway bridge.  One can only assume now that they had thought to use it as a weapon, but was too heavy, having cement still attached and being made of solid metal.

We had no clue as to what was going on, being sans radio or TV set.  But drifting over the raised railway tracks we could see black smoke, from what I can now say with confidence were the police cars that the mob first set alight.  Of course we did not know this, and carried on with our meal.

We observed, thinking why were people gathering (as it had been some time since the football match at Spurs had ended), why were buses and traffic being turned round.  It was late when we left the restaurant, and could see that there was something wrong in the way that gangs of youths had gathered in front of shops.  It was when we saw them try to break in en masse that we decided a safer distance was required. 

We walked up Bruce Grove to Bruce Castle Museum, and were there picked up and driven to where we were staying for the night, a house owned by friends, near Wood Green.  My Llama Rama did try to get the news on the telly, but alas, we only got terrestrial and there was no news.  We had no idea what was happening around us, so ended up watching a bit of Watchmen before retiring to bed for the night.

And then dear friends, the real fun started.  And not what you might think either, you dirty minded little things.

As we were drifting off to sleep, the sounds of someone trying to break in woke us, loud bangs echoing throughout the house.  It sounded as if it was coming from the front door.

We jumped up and my Llama Rama rang the police while barricading the bedroom door with the bed, as we were the only ones in this strange house.  I peeked through the blinds and saw a man standing outside in a hoody and scarf.  He looked up and must have seen me, as the next moment he was gone.

The police advised us to wait, to stay in our room until officers could arrive, but of course the police were busy with the riots.  They rang us back half an hour later to say that no one was coming, and as we had not heard anything for the duration of that time, we decided to survey the house (my Llama Rama had his belt wrapped round his fist to protect his lady and himself, just in case).  From what we could see, it was all clear.  No damage to the front door, where we thought the sounds had come from.  Nothing from the garden either.  We decided to settle back in front of the telly until we felt we could get back to sleep.

And in the morning we finally found the damage that had been done by the would-be burglars.  The back sliding door had been hit repeatedly with a rock, cracking the double glazing.  Thankfully they had not been able to gain entry, though from the look of the glass, they had given it a pretty good try. 

We surveyed the garden and saw that they had come over the garden wall, as the house we were in was on a corner.  They had scrapped off the cement on top of the wall, in which had been embedded shards of glass.  Taking advantage of the absence of the police no doubt.

But as true Brits, we prepared our breakfast and sat out in said garden, having informed and checked on our friends next door, as the gardens were connected by a gap in the fence.  And then attended on my mother as it was her birthday and we were having lunch and profiterole cake.

At the moment my dears, I am watching the news and lamenting the fact that, the first time I come to London in ages, for my mother's birthday no less, a bloody riot breaks out and my love and I almost become victims of robbery. 

Charming eh.

Thursday, 21 July 2011

New Shop Section!

Roll up folks, this may be your only chance to buy your own piece of Leonie Frendo art for the relatively cheap price of £4 a painting!

Now that shameless piece of advertising is out the way, I can inform you fair and gentle reader, that as of today, there shall be a new section in my Etsy store, the Paintings section.  I have spent the last hour and a bit putting up the first seven products, small watercolour paintings to add decoration and colour to your home, or to give as gifts to friends or family.

I shall say I think that this morning was well spent :)

Wednesday, 20 July 2011

New Cushions!

I've finally put the next two faux fur cushions up on my Etsy shop LKGA.  I quite like these two, they're lilac :)

Unfortunately, I went through five machine needles trying to sew these up, and I have no idea why.  All five were 90/14 gauge needles, and the first one went through the previous two covers just fine.  I may have to invest in higher gauges and see if its the sewing machine eating them up.

Sunday, 17 July 2011

LKGA

Fair and gentle reader, I have come back into the Etsy fold with a new store which I have added to this blog in the right hand column.  I've started with a couple of faux fur cushions, and I'm aiming to add more when I can.  I'll also be planning to put up some jewellery, and maybe some other stuffs, a few small paintings maybe.  We'll see how it goes :)

Wednesday, 13 July 2011

Ripples In Sunlight






Ta-dah!  I'm feeling quite pleased with myself today.  Not only did I finish this yesterday, but today I made a cushion slip from faux fur and faux suede!  I think I've still got time this evening to fit in the manufacture of another as well...

Saturday, 18 June 2011

I Present A Painting...


I finished this today, and named it "Ripples In Moonlight".  It shall go into a portfolio of my work that I'm currently putting together with the aid of Lulu Publishing's studio software.

I think that this shall probably be one of a pair, and its twin will be a day scene, of course :)

Friday, 17 June 2011

Who Needs Cheering Up?!!!

Aha, fair and gentle reader, there you are!  I feared that the sofa goblins had made off with you all.

So how are we on this most miserable of Fridays?  It does rather seem that the gods have made off with our summer doesn't it.

But here, something to lift spirits by Jupiter's cock, as apparently the ancient HBomans used to say.


Monday, 25 April 2011

Bullet, Another Gods Awful Book by Laurall K Hamilton That I Thought Would Be Amusing To Review

Take a skin mag, your average copy of Bizarre, and a wildlife booklet.  Tear out the pages and stick them to your walls, your floor, cover your furniture with them.  Collage them together until all you see is an ocean of skin and fur, and lots and lots of leather.  And bondage toys.

That fair and gentle reader, is Bullet. 

It is 440 pages of sex orgy.  Yes I have used the singular, because though there are a few moments when someone is not fucking someone else, that is pretty much the whole book.  It is, cover to cover, one big orgy.  No story.  Just orgy.  It might as well have terribly graphic pictures of all this "creamy goodness" as the writer likes to put it.

What plot there is, that of the Mother of All Darkness (a big bad vampire goddess apparently) usurping the bodies of the Vampire Council and threatening every vampire and werecreature in America, is put aside, tucked beneath the sex like the silk sheets on Jean-Claude Vampire Cliche's bed. 

But I am not being fair perhaps.  There is the rather immediate subplot of assasination, and a rotting vampire master who's gone bat-shit crazy and skipped his way to a killing spree. 

That's dealt with in the epilogue children!  Not finished, dealt with.  He gets one paragraph, but not even a whole one, and the assasination that seemed to so bother Anita and her harem is quite forgotten.  Well I suppose thats easy when you're boinking your way through all the preternaturals in the southern states.

Now, I like reading about sex, but when every fucking chapter is a continuation of orgiastic fantasies, I get bored.  Note to the writer, I even get bored enough to pick up another book!  And the descriptions of every last character's eyes and fur and hair and clothes is enough to make you scream, literally fall on your kness and rend your vestiges of identity from your body. 

And they're all so gods darned pretty and fit it makes me want to vomit the chocolate egg I had earlier onto their so tediously described hair.  And then I want to point and laugh at Anita Blake for being the most uninspiring role model I've ever had the misfortune to read about.  And for having sick in her hair.

I would recommended this to any writer who wants to feel safe in the knowledge that there is someone out there worse at the craft than they are.  If I advocated book burning, I'd throw it on the hearth to be of some use and heat my soup, because it sure ain't a book to stretch your mind with.  It might stetch your pants, but definately not your mind.

Tell you what, it might not even do that.  Unless you stuff it down your trouser front as the crotch guard it is destined to be.  But don't keep it there for too long.  Your manhood might get squished.

Monday, 11 April 2011

Ranting Through An Attack of The Hiccups

Fair and gentle reader, it has been some time since we last cavorted together upon these virtual meadows beneath the watchful eyes of Big Brother.  I have had much ado, fighting the grime monsters that plague my vacinity under the harsh stick and mouldy carrot of employment, meagre as it is.

But I visit you today on a matter of minor importance, to reveal what I have been up to these past weeks/months.

Well, fighting the long battle really.  I have been informed by my employer on more than one occasion, that my efforts are not as much as she expects.  She expects me to be Superwoman with a mop and bucket.

My beau and I have concurred that it is a fault of people whose talents run to middle management, that they strive to achieve the best results in very little time.  I am given a couple of hours at best to whip round a house, a spray and sponge in my hands, and am then informed that I have "missed this spot here" or "that spot there".

Well middle management, how can you NOT expect us to miss something, when we are constantly reminded to go faster and faster, and do better at the same time?  When robots become mass produced tools of efficiancy, then they will be pleased, but until that time, apologies, but we are merely human. 

And we are all you've got.

Saturday, 26 March 2011

Ambivalent In Black

There's a certain ambivalence that comes over one when they find out that, no matter how hard they work, their employer doesn't think that they are good enough.  Especially when said employer sets one up to fail.

And there's a certain humour in finding that, although one landed an interview, one has not landed the job itself.  Work in this current climate seems fickle, appearing and disappearing at will, while we poor souls chase after it day in and day out.

Speaking of which, anyone want their walls painted?

Monday, 28 February 2011

A Sleepy Green Dragon


This is the birthday gift I prepared for the Llama God's godlessdaughter for her fourth birthday, and as she had selected pink as the new colour for her bedroom, with a cavalcade of fairies and dragons dancing through trees, I thought to paint her something in that vein.

BEHOLD!

Her mother emailed a picture she had taken of a blackboard someone had painted with leaves a fairy and a dragon, so I thought to come up with something similar, in my own fashion of course.  I do love how I've managed to paint that dragon, she just looks so peaceful with her little tongue sticking out and her eyes half closed, like one of my aunty's cats.

Quite pleased with how that one turned out :)

What I've Been Doing Recently

Well, worrying over money mostly, but I have been painting some picture frames as perhaps something to sell on Etsy.  I've finished three, and this is the first.


I've used acrylic paints and a gloss varnish on an Ikea RAM picture frame, and this is the result.  Quite pretty if I do say so myself.  Just posted it on Etsy, so here's the link to Abstract Picture Frame 1.  For only £4.50 you could own this very pretty frame :)

Or another like it...


Monday, 21 February 2011

Laura Linney Stars In My Dream

Brad Pitt had an idea for a show/movie/thing, and he wanted Laura Linney to play the lead role, being a woman who can change minor things at will, such as a cloud covering the sun.  But having done this a whole slew of events unfold, propelling Linney through reality after reality where she becomes that version of herself in that reality, showing her what happens when she plays around with the natural order of things.

Some of herselves are pretty fantastical.  One's a Transformer Fuzor, a unicorn thingy wotsit.  Seriously, there was this whole book about her various selves, pages featuring drawings of her as elementals, creatures, women and men dressed up in odd outfits, Neo-Elizabethan/Victorian dresses, and a mulitude of combinations.

In one reality giants are the dominant species and people are like their garden gnomes.

I love it when I can remember the good dreams.

And by the why Laura Linney, if you're reading this, I'm not quite mad and I love your work. :)

Tuesday, 18 January 2011

A Rant About Current Female Fronted Rock Bands

Fair and gentle reader, you find me today somewhat annoyed, perhaps unshockingly.

What has me in this tizzy I hear you ask? 

Well, I shall divulge.

For the past few days I have noticed a disturbing phenomenon.  A rise in female fronted bands, which in and of itself, is not what has me bubbling at the eyeballs.  It is the inanity of this new sister powered music that has me humphing.

They sing of nothing.  They sing without discernable emotion.  Plus, they're all pretty little things not long out of school, or still hanging round that institution's gates, as if record executives scour playgrounds like prospecters of the Old West, in search of golden vocals and a face they can market.

But what of the young all-male bands who are just as inane and emotionless I hear you cry?

All-male bands are the norm.  Go down to any rock club and I guarantee you will not see more than one woman on stage all evening, if that.

A sad fact is that women are more easily exploitable because of the fact of our sex.  Which is not to say that we should not front rock bands and own our sexuality, but that it should not define us as musicians, singers, and women.

It used to be a badge of honour, women in rock.  Our foremothers had fought bloody battle with the misogynists that kept an iron grip on the music industry, they had proved that women could be women and still make your ears bleed and your faces melt.

But now has come something I call the Paramore Problem.  Girls without bite, without claws or teeth or heart, at least none that I can see.

You may say that I am being hard on my sisters, that it is a good thing that there are more females in the rock industry.  And I say to that, yes, it should be a good thing that the rock industry has more females, boldy and bravely conquering territory once owned by dominating men, and telling their fellow sisters to do the same.  Except these 'girls' aren't.  Instead they release "friendly" music that does nothing to stimulate my body or mind.

I could say that that is down to age.  I am after all an old woman of 25, and these girls are perky pre-schoolers.  Why should they communicate to me when they can tell others their own age or younger of their inexperience and delusions about the big bad world?

Because thats just plain fucking lazy.  And ignorance is never a good thing to pass on.

Monday, 17 January 2011

A Small Project

Want to know what I'm doing at the moment?

I'm making a denim handbag with a red satin lining.  It'll be going up on Etsy quite soon I hope, probably for £20, as it'll be handstitched.

And there will be photos.  There will there will there will.

Thursday, 6 January 2011

Cleaner In Training

Day 1 of training complete, two ensuite bathrooms and a house's worth of dusting down under me belt.

Felt a little knackered, had a hot bath and a long nap and that seemed to do the trick.

Looking forward to earning more cold hard cash with which to buy pretty things like a Hemnes chest of six drawers to put my clothes in, and a pair of glasses with which to see better.

Wednesday, 5 January 2011

The Aftermath

I regret to report, fair amd gentle reader, that I did not keep up with my December NaBloPoMo as intended.  Though it was Christmas.  And over the New Year I moved down to live in my boyfriend's house.

Yes you read that right, I am now a Chandler's Fordian!  Or maybe just a chandler, not sure which.  I shall have to consult the handbook they gave me upon my induction ceremony into country living (it has a whole chapter dedicated to roadkill, and quite a large paragraph on pheasents).

Currently I've been working on our respective DVD and CD collections, and was surprised to find that we didn't have many duplicates.  The geek staples we did each have a copy of, for example "Once More With Feeling", the musical episode from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Firefly.  We did both have copies of mostly every Nightwish album ever put out, but Martin is going to keep his ones for the gym, so he can thrash and exercise at the same time, thus saving time and money by not going to the Dungeon so often, our almost local rock club (its in Southampton, which is only a fifteen/twenty minute train ride away.  We like to go to the Hobbit beforehand for special drinkies).

I've annexed the back bedroom for the glorious Empire of Nemmie, and intend to construct my study therein.  Already put up some lovely colourful curtains.  Hopefully I'll be back to writing more once things are more sorted and there is actually room to swing a hamster.

Not that I will be swinging a hamster, they have no tails to speak of from which to swing themselves.  Though that will be where Holly shall live.  Been wanting to get a few more compartments to add on to her habitat, for even though she is teeny hamster, it'd be nice for her to have some more room to run around in, and work those little legs.

I think that is all to report at the moment, so for those of you who did not see it on twitter:-

Look out Chandler's Ford, for soon I shall be, in ya howzez, kleenen ya baffrooomz.

Have an acceptable Wednesday.

Sunday, 2 January 2011

The New Year

Well its 2011.

Huzzah!  The computers didn't crash and the tectonic plates are still sound.

For the present at least.