Oh dear. Having watched 28 Days Later AGAIN last night, I decided to google “New Breed Zombies” in order to learn more about this very real threat to mankind.

Imagine my surprise when the only thing that came up from the search was two entries from my very own blog.

Fuck’s sakes that is worrying. Is no one else aware of this impending doom? Does the world sleep in blissful ignorance? Are Dougaldutch and I the only people who would survive the inevitable? Or are we just insane?

So today at work has been crazy busy, fire fighting left right and centre which in exhibition speak rather than real fire fighters speak means talking down very angry gallery owners after giving them terrible news about their space and trying to persuade them not to pull out of the show, for which the catalogue, (which incidentally I have sweated blood over for the last three weeks) has already gone to print with them in it.

This is obviously nothing to even begin complaining about compared to, for example a real fire fighter who might have pulled a charred corpse out of someone’s ex-home, and I dislike myself immensly for even whinging, which just adds to the general malaise. This state of mind produces a comforting retreat into vapid thoughts such as:

"Whoever thought that putting dehydrated bits if carrot and pea in “cup-a-soup” is innovative and delicious is completely fucking insane."

On this note I shall take my vapid thoughts home, do the graveyard shuffle on the Northern Line along with millions of people that Turtle and I have affectionately dubbed “The Shits” and hoover the Rat House. Yee-Fuckin-Ha.

Yes, glum Wednesday syndrome affects us all.

In the news today: This person is coming to the House of Rats. Funded by the Beave and Khalil Reiki Charitable Trust for Blinky Trannies.

I am most excited. It will be fabulous.

My husband has summed up most succinctly in an email what that weekend will be like:

"I can see him and Chrissie in the Wentworth arms

Jamie: Love and dust
Chrissie: Come and have a drink with me
Jamie: What the fuck are we doing here in the god damm wentie!
Chrissie: drinking red stripe

i can see them all in the snug doing Reiki with Zolton in the corner fucked on K whilst Dougle parades around suggestively in a neon zombie tranni outfit insulting everyone with his gruff Scottish voice while Pepper completely bessoted with the whole situation exclaims "Im so happy!""

Ha! It's going to be great.

So time ticks on & rats move on..... Huge changes are occurring in our little friendship group, which was so comfortingly static for a few years..... The earthworm burrows and the butterfly feeds. (Yes husband I’m plagiarising you but at least you get a credit.)

As the winter draws in Turtle and I are taking up every invitation we get to gallery openings, shows, album launch parties and the like. Anything, in fact, which offers free vino, free entry and a chance to consume. Milking London for everything the bitch has to offer, whilst mocking our situation & ourselves and saying to each other “How very London......”

Of course it’s all about balance, so we temper this wanky, culture vampire behaviour by hanging out in our local, The Wentworth Arms, and getting smashed with bean faced cockneys called Chrissie, listening to them reminisce about Thai cockfighting (“It’s ok because they don’t make them wear spurs, it’s a family event”), bare-knuckle boxing with the gypsies and the splendours of Luxor.

Turtle is working with a bunch of gay hacks and becomes more camp by the day, although he of course denies this vigorously. He got his first front cover interview published on Thursday, namely an interview with McFly, where he coerced details of their cock size out of them in an east end studio. I am most proud indeed.


Tick tock.....

Behold, a new Josef has been born.

I am an Auntie which means my brother Joshua (“Got any crack Mum/I’m gonna fuckin batter him with a jemmy/I’ve got a nine bar under my bed and I’m only 16”)is a Dad. It barely seems yesterday that he himself was a baby and an ugly one at that.....Although I must admit he was the most beautiful toddler ever. I can't wait to meet my niece, Sky and am hot footing it back to the West Country as soon as my work schedule will allow.

Ah, the circle of life. This event has been a bit of a tear jerker actually and has inspired lots of pride in my heart. It has also inspired a bit of relief that it’s his turn and not mine.

No pitter patter of tiny Turtle fins as yet. We’d have to keep them in the bath until we could afford a tank....

“sweetheart i've brought you a coffee"

"hate it"

"ill just leave it here"

"wah, i'm not getting up!!"

"darling..?"

"stupid...stupid furby!”


Turtle has just emailed me this as a direct transcript of my mood this morning. Oh dear........

It is simply not cricket to call your new husband a “stupid furby” no matter how hungover you are.

A quick pint and lunch in Wetherspoons yesterday turned into just a teeny weeny bit of a binge. I got carried away by the fact that so many lovely friends were there (Boo & Joe, Richie, Kat, Amanda and Ruban) and consumed pint after pint as we gossiped away like starved fishwives. Somewhere amongst the lagery fug, Boo, Richie and I set up a production company, Moop productions.

The weekend has involved equal amounts of art and beer.

The ceramics installation at the V&A on Friday was great. Less great was the “art installation” I woke up to on Saturday morning.

Toddling downstairs to get myself a glass of orange juice, pondering on what an excellent night we’d had at the Roundhouse, I noticed through squinting eyes that the kitchen seemed a bit odd. Someone had opened the doors of the all the cupboards, the oven, the microwave, the washing machine, taken the lid of every bottle, jar and container and there were roses and carnations protruding from the grill and hanging off the light fittings.

A tell tale bottle of Jim Beam was empty on the table along with an envelope marked “Urgent! Press cuttings: Ruban Yogarajah”
There were two strange men asleep in Carla’s room (she was not there I should add) and rose petals scattered all over the floor.

I thought, “I’ll just go back to bed for a bit and maybe it’ll go away. Along with my headache.”

The House of Rats does seem to be becoming more odd.

I like it.