London in July

From our house, it's only 20 minutes by tube from the end of our street to the centre of one of the most vibrant and exciting cities in Europe (or tourist hell, depending on my mood). And 20 minutes drive from our house in the other direction, away from the centre, we have this. Not bad eh? Not bad at all.

July in the garden

The lawn’s as lush as it’s ever been and the water butt is full. Because of all the rain this summer, everything looks fab in the garden but without sunlight on the flowers, it doesn’t really bring out the best. But still, it's looking gorgeous, if not a tad wet.

Living it up in London

To Sadler’s Wells last week to see Matthew Bourne’s The Car Man. Fantabulous. I think I’ve seen all of his shows now and while this was my second viewing of The Car Man and I’ve seen Swan Lake three times over the last few years at the theatre, I don’t think I’ll be rushing back to see Highland Fling but everything else he’s done has been sublime.

Also went to see Patrick Hamilton’s Gaslight at The Old Vic a couple of weeks ago which was wonderful stuff. Upcoming delights we’ve got tickets for include Elling and Fiddler on the Roof although I’m looking forward to that one more than my boyfriend is, can’t think why. What’s not to like about overblown West End musical theatre?

Making the most of living in London is what it’s all about. My thinking is that if you don’t go out and see things, do things, take what’s offered and enjoy it, you might as well not be here, in one of the most exciting cities in the world. I know, I'm so fickle. One minute I love the place and the next I'm pining for up north by the sea.

B-52’s at Lovebox

After 13 years, the B-52’s finally played in the UK and I got to see them at the Lovebox festival last weekend. I can now tick off one more of the things on my “100 things to do before you get too old to leave the house to do them” list.

They were incredible but in fact, the whole day was excellent. Sunday afternoon was spent dancing in a shaded glade to Trojan Records ska and reggae music spun by DJ Derek and Jerry Dammers (ex-Specials). I think this should be compulsory for everyone on a Sunday afternoon. And then after mooching around the park, listening to bands who took our fancy, watching people on the dodgems and then drinking warm beer in the afternoon sun, it was time for the B-52’s.

So they looked a little older and beefier than they used to, who doesn’t? They rocked the park, opening with Strobelight, Private Idaho, Give Me Back My Man and splicing in some songs from the new album they’ve been promising for years. The new songs were energetic dancy numbers, showing no lack of enthusiasm. After an hour they were gone but came back for an encore, keeping their two best for last and that’s when I lost it completely. Who can keep still for Planet Claire and Rock Lobster? I certainly couldn’t. When they finally went off stage, a bloke ahead in the crowd turned to me and said: “Your dancing was wicked” which was a bit odd as all I’d done for over an hour was jump up and down, wave my arms in the air and scream my head off to all the songs I knew.

It was quite the most perfect Sunday. I just hope they don’t leave it another 13 years before they return.

No! Not Liz Kershaw...

My favourite DJ, our Elizabeth, has become embroiled in the latest BBC phone-in competition scandal.

Pre-recorded programmes were presented as if they were live and Liz announced a competition which appeared to feature real listeners phoning in to take part, one of whom would win a prize on air. In fact there were no competitions and there were no prizes, and all of the callers were members of the production team and their friends or so it says here.

If we can’t trust Liz Kershaw, who can we trust? Is the whole world going to hell in a handcart? Will I be tuning in on Saturday morning as per usual, wondering how she'll explain her way out of this one? Oh yes.

The Joy of YouTube

One of the absolute joys of YouTube is finding songs and videos that bring back memories from (too) many years ago. The other day I was boogying about in my chair to the theme tune from the Double Deckers Saturday morning telly show and today I had a lump in my throat listening to this.

It’s Morrissey and Siouxsie singing Interlude. It wasn’t a commercial success because of the falling out of the two mega-ego-icons (allegedly) who refused to promote it. It’s classic though but, and the way Siouxsie’s voice soars at the end sends shivers down my spine. Don’t watch the video though, which has nothing to do with the song, just listen to it and tell me it’s not fab. Go on, I double-decker dare you.

Having a poke at Facebook

Switch on, boot up, log in, open mail. Delete the porn, the spam, the offers to extend my penis and enlarge my septic tank. Delete the emails that want to send me Viagra and Cialis and turn down the offer of £1m from a widow in Nigeria (although I was tempted by this one, oh yes). Right, so that’s the crap cleared out of my inbox, what’s left? Oooh, lovely there’s a message from someone I haven’t seen in four years. Hang on, what’s she saying? She wants me to sign up to be her friend on Facebook? I haven’t seen her for four years and that’s the best she can do? I emailed her straight back, told her I wasn’t into Facebook or Myspace but was over the moon to have heard from her again. I was a bit confused by the Facebook thing but decided to ignore it and plowed on with a gushing reply. I asked her about her life, her son, her business. I recalled things we’d done together in the past, putting memories into the message, encouraging a reply from the other end of the country from someone’s life I was genuinely interested in learning more about.

That was a week ago. Have I heard back? Have I f..f..f… facebook.

It seems for some people, if you’re not a friend on Facebook, you’re not a friend at all. The Facebook website says it’s a social utility that connects you with the people around you. Well, that may be true. You might end up with 458 “friends” but the true meaning of the word is now lost. [Originally written for Dollymix]