The pilgrimage to Leith finally happened.

It was executed in the most fitting of styles.

I wandered the hallowed length of Leith Walk at 7.30am after an all night party, litre of Glen Moray in hand, joy in my somewhat hammered heart and the best company a girl could ask for.

Prior to this adventure, Dougal, Pepper, Turtle and I sat on some cows in Edinburgh town centre and then climbed Carlton Hill and sat on the Acropolis. I was overjoyed to find that Dougal is also obsessed with New Breed Zombies and has contingency plans that far outstrip mine.

Between us we’ve got the country covered, North to South, for when it happens.

Brilliant brilliant brilliant.

A tale of internet community.....

The hoover in the House of Rats finally gives up the ghost and conks out. The carpet is suffering from the footfalls of many scurrying rats who always forget to take their shoes off, but the rats can’t afford a new hoover.

I put a shout out on freecycle.com and am immediately offered about a thousand million hoovers from the good residents of Hackney and Islington.

Online communities rock ass.

I am so knackered from the mind-blowing Sigur Ros gig last night that I have just emailed a gallery in Milan regarding a late Stand contract asking them to:

“Return their Satan’s Acceptance Forms to me via fax immediately.”

Lunar Park has had an adverse effect on my mind set.

I am fascinated with the Terby and was late for work this morning as I stood rooted to the platform at Angel tube station for fifteen minutes at rush hour, devouring page after page of the fabulously sinister novel. A book that can frighten a happy young lass in one of the most crowded and bright environments in the world is a strong piece of work indeed.

Bret triumphs again – such a clever boy.

Important Rat's Nest news - We've got a new flatmate. She's nice. Her name is Cat. It was her first night in the house last night.

A night which unfortunately coincided with the World cup final. An event which put the house rats in a most drunken and despairing mood due to Zizou's shameful exit from international football....

We rolled into the house drunk as skunks, shouting and throwing cold sardines around the kitchen whilst arguing like brats, causing Cat to come out from her room where she was having a quiet evening no doubt contemplating her new home.

Then she looked on in horror or was it bemusement as the three of us fought over noodle soup from one gigantic bowl, spilling it everywhere as we missed our mouths and said narky, football induced things to each other.

Leo has sent me an email which sums it up perfectly...

"I can only imagine what a dark and twisted scene it must have appeared, as three voracious and hairy beasts poured themselves over the noodle troff and stuck their snouts in, bickering amongst each other as they went..., leo "he's a SECRET italy supporter...stop hogging the noodle!"...jess, "yeh shut up turtle..this needs some stock!"..., Turtle, "Well Im going to have a rolie!"...Its like bad theatre, haha the poor girl must have been wondering what she got herself into! WELCOME TO THE HOUSE OF HORROR RATS MOOHAHA!!"

Ahem. Poor Cat.

This basically sums up how I feel today....



Zidane - I still love you but you're a silly git.

I feel ever so sick. How the fuck am I going to get through the day?

Banksy gets to work on the illegal, israeli built wall seperating the occupied teritories from Israel.

I've said it before and I'll say it again - the guy's a fucking genius.

Ode to Helsy:

To the fabulous and legendary Slutmonkey General.....leaving the rat’s nest to strike out and conquer South America in manner of a bloodthirsty Spanish git.

To the finest best man a couple could ask for, guaranteed to lose the rings & the groom, turn up late and smelling of whisky having crashed the hire car and upstage the bride in a shockingly revealing dress draped over gazelle-like limbs.

To the most extreme flirt in the world - breaking young (and I mean well young like - 12) men’s hearts as she saunters down the mean streets of the east end, winking and coquettish and then refuses to let them in the house for a shag. Instead, WE have to go to the door and tell them to go away.

To the most naked houserat of them all – I will look back fondly on our drill wielding DIY sessions where we wore nothing but thongs as we put up shelves, convulsing with giggles.

To the hamster toting Goddess, the night where we introduced our new born son to the world of NME readers and poseurs was one of my funnest nights ever in the history of indie clubs, if not the actual funnest.

To the girl who can actually match my own intense and vile slovenliness - I will never forget all the hundreds of hours we’ve spent slumped in your bed together, me in a negligee, you naked, surrounded by; empty Chinese cartons, bottles of Jamesons, wind-up rats, egg-shells, wigs, random bits of jewellery, crusts of toast, bags of valium, fluffy pigs that make frightening sounds, half drunk cups of tea with banana liqueur in, DVDs of tigers, text messages from insane men and of course the Glock.

I love you Hels. Whenever you're feeling blue and there's an internet caff nearby, read this post and remember: “Nobody puts baby in the corner.”

First weekend in London for about five months. So much to do and so many people to catch up with....

Spent it at home in the rat’s nest, vomiting violently and shivering with fever, due to a sickness bug picked up from Lucy’s kids.

Managed to watch both games on Saturday though, cosily cutched up Carla’s bed with Boo and Dash, trotting out the room every now and then to throw up.

Went from admiring Ronaldo’s aesthetic to despising him for his Machiavellian pantomime antics – although they are damn entertaining. Little portuguese rat's gonna get roasted when he gets back Man U. Even felt a squeeze of pity for Beckham when he got injured.

It was clear we were never going to get through though and I have been supporting France anyway – like a true patriot. At least I’m not supporting Germany I suppose. The world cup is great for bringing out the racist in all of us.

Also, Brit bunting and flags will be well cheap now for the Burn. Let the scavenging commence.

Was gutted to miss Dougal, stopping the night just down the road on his way to NoWhere. Being tied to the bathroom does impact on one’s social life indeed.

Spent Sunday resting up - watching an excellently shit film with Leo and then clearing out drawers and shelves in my room for the imminent arrival of a husband. (Well, in three months but it’s good to be prepared.) Even did bizarre things like washing the skirting board and re-organising my books. Nesty, nesty, nesty.....cluck cluck.

Oh my God I am so happy. All the vomiting in the world can’t dent that.