There's no way back from here

Ok, I admit it, I'm poor, I need cash too! Though I do feel guilty touting these wares to people I know. The better things have been listed on ebay - shoe, bags, lippie, perfume, a choker and skirt have so far made it onto there. I'm sure there'll be more to come.

My ebay shop.

I'm moving house soon and I have a truckload of gubbins I really don't need to drag with me...

Due to Freecycle's demise it seems I won't be reaching the hoards of hungry freebie-grabbers that normally relieve me of extraneous matter (there's a temporary group set up but I doubt all freecyclers know about it yet as the group was deleted without warning). Henceforth I am posting the list of junk, erm, I mean goodies, here in the hope that some of you lot will want some of it.

Bag of cosmetics in various states of use
Small bottle of Olay sensitive beauty fluid (partly used)
Tub V05 Rework fibre putty
Two half-full tins of lighter fluid
Unopened tub of Directions hair dye in cerise
Bag of make-up sponges
Blue shower puff
Black/brown cloth Ollie & Nic shoulder bag, decent size, well-loved but with
plenty of mileage left
Pack of 12 steel wool pads
750ml bottl white spirit, unopened
500ml tin of all-purpose 'Nitro Mors paint and varnish remover' for wood, metal
and masonry.

Also a bag of ladies clothes, size 14 (my mum's) - in shades of beige, black and green. Not very exciting I'm afraid.

I might consider posting certain items, but if you're local - you know where I live! Or at least how to contact me to find out where I live...

I posted this to my 'secret' work-based blog, but then decided it was so important that I needed to post it here as well. It's unsatisfactory and I'm sure I've failed this ridiculously vital topic by my lack of succinct lucidity, but it's better than nothing at all.

One of my volunteers told me today, in not so many words, that she is a Nazi.

I cannot recall how we got onto the subject, but she stated that she thought that Hitler's ideas were actually pretty good - he just went about them in the wrong way. I was absolutely dumbfounded. Well, no, that's not strictly true, what I did was argue with her quite heatedly for some minutes, to the point where the other volunteer present actually got up and left the room! Not the best approach.

Now, she is one of my favourite volunteers, we get on really well most of the time, but it has always been clear we have serious differences of opinion - she also told me that she voted for UKIP earlier this year (and today said she'd have voted BNP if they'd had a candidate here). Normally we just agree to disagree and I diplomatically attempt to restrain myself from getting into a 'debate'.

If it was anyone else I'd really have had to consider the possibility of asking them to leave... but I simply refuse to believe that she really thinks that way. Either she has a poor understanding of Nazi policy or simply doesn't realise the implications of it. She is absolutely anti-immigration - she'd have them all sent back regardless, from what I can gather. Her main argument was about benefits and stolen identities - yes, she does read the Daily Mail.

It's really worrying though (and, I suspect, exactly the point I was trying to make when I originally brought up the subject of UKIP and the BNP), and she is far from alone in her views. So worrying, in fact, that the only plan I can formulate to try to combat the burgeoning (I say burgeoning, she's about 65!) white supremacist in our midst is to try to talk to her in a reasonable way about what it is she's advocating and why. Surely that can be the only way to dispel these myths and fears? She told me I was a liberal and I petulantly flung back that I was an anarchist. Not strictly true, but I do seem to be heading in that direction - if only for the reason that I don't believe that anybody has any right to tell anyone else what to do. We're all people, these bits of land divvied up into countries are all just space, what right to any of us have to be in one place and not another?!

We did agree on the totalitarian state we are living in, though - and she said she had absolutely no problem with people demonstrating, and thought that they definitely should. She even lauded the now unfashionable soap box. Both of us see the need for radical change, but we both see opposite ends of the spectrum! She mentioned the awful adverts telling people to spy on their neighbours, and to be suspicious if you see someone with 'too much bling' - though I'm not sure how she thinks a fortressed dictatorship will make that any better... She equates that with Soviet Russia for some reason. I'm pretty sure the Jews had the same problem. In fact I've wondered very frequently of late how a lot of people who sympathise with the far right fail to see the correlation between the rise of Nazi power in Germany and the xenophobic, terrorist-obsessed fearmongering going on in this country right now.

One can only hope to bring rationality to such a person's views. I'll do my best.

Recently I was told that my behaviour lately has been 'crazy'. I asked what was crazy about baking cupcakes (being the subject of conversation over which this prognosis was made).

'It's Stepfordy.'

Stepfordy? Vegan cupcakes? Hmm. I suppose it would be if the ideal fantasy life was still women with aprons, perfect smiles and perfect kitchens. These days it seems to run more along the lines of a perfect home cinema system with Blu-Ray player and spray on tv (credit to Mango for that one), every computer console going and meals cooked somewhere other than your kitchen (well in that respect it still renders the kitchen perfect). Not forgetting the forgettable yet well-paid 9-5 career enabling such luxuries, and a healthy respect for democracy, capitalism and the power of advertising.

I think I'll stick with the cupcakes.

It's an absolute mystery. What exactly can one do... What do other people do? Other than drink, or sit in front of the goggle box or computer.

My non-boyfriend and I were discussing how to break our routine of Wednesday night 'cookery club' - we got into the habit of trying a new recipe every week - and couldn't think what else we could do. Our only activities, both together and separately, seem to be cooking and eating, watching films, and going for walks.

There must be more to life... But what the devil is it!?

...this dress:



It is special. Not merely because of its appearance - no! I'm not that shallow, am I, hmm? The magic of this dress is that my mum made it, when she was 16. Not only that, but she wore it on her first date with my dad.

Vintage with history.

Today Brighton was marvellous. Not only glorious sunshine but a perfectly designed light sea breeze to take the edge off the heat.

We (me plus housemates x 2) dashed down to the pier at about 12 to meet some people and watch the Naked Bike Ride, but it turned out the bike ride wasn't scheduled to leave til 1.30 and nor were the people we were meant to meet! Ice cream, anyone!? I don't often sit on the beach but it was a lovely novelty to just lay out in the sun. I read a bit of Vanity Fair and we discussed the merits of the best locations to avoid climate change/global fascism, and whether or not dictatorships would be willing to work alongside one another.

Then we found a cafe, and Simon and I sampled an exciting sounding sandwich - hummus with kiwi, raisins, pineapple and tomato. It was delicious, the perfect sandwich for a hot summer's day. We headed back down the the pier just in time to catch the naked cyclists. It looked great fun and I'd quite like to have done it if I had a bike. People were in various states of undress but there was a great atmosphere, very carnival. I was particularly pleased by the two body-painted people on a tandem; and a couple of very brave and ambitious fellows on unicycles. Several on rollerblades too.

Afterwards I left the company to have a wander alone into town. I had on my agenda to purchase a new copy of Disraeli Gears by Cream, having upsettingly found my copy had gone AWOL; and to buy more ribbon for my shoes. I also found that putting on my sunglasses instead of my prescription glasses gives me a rather nice sense of anonymity - a childish idea that if I can't see anyone else, they can't see me either! Anyway, I went along the seafront, through the hordes rammed along the promenade, then up to the main road to find the appropriate shops. I bought lots of bits of ribbon from Fabricland, some random buttons from The Works, and, inexplicably, a pair of purple trainers from the BHF shop. I hate trainers, I never wear them, I have no idea why I decided to get them. Must be the sun.

Then I headed back towards the North Laine for a nice independent record shop to give my money to in exchange for the desired CD. As I did so, the naked cyclists passed me again coming down North Street. There was one of the rollerbladers (totally starkers except for a hat and a flag) pelting down the hill at quite a rate, waving his arms frantically and being cheered on by the onlookers - just before he reached the turning to Ship Street he lost it and skidded, bum first, into the tarmac. That's got to smart a bit! His backside was skinned when he stood up. Ouch. Oddly enough I had met this very chap a couple of days earlier, working behind the bar at the Cowley Club. Poor man's going to have trouble sitting down for the next few days!

On to the record shop, and I was suddenly filled with the impulse to buy something new and random - it's been a long time since I've listened to music in any kind of purposeful way, but I've been starting to do so a bit more in the last few weeks. Once I'd found good old Disraeli Gears I started to browse the recommended/new release display. And what did I find but that my beloved Eels have a new album out! So serendipitous. I also spent a bit of time indulging another old pleasure, browsing second-hand bookshops. I was strong and didn't buy anything with the weight of Vanity Fair already pressing on me in my rucksack, but the urge is strong to build up another big stack of classics. Don Quixote is next on the list. Perhaps my brain isn't as dead as I thought. 

I'm exhausted now, I don't know why the sun should tire one so, but it does. Fortunately avoided pinkness though, which none of my housemates did. They are all sore this evening. It's possible that I might achieve a tan this year, having studiously maintained my paleness over the last two summers. It could be a new project for me! And so to bed, after the cornucopia of delights today has brought.

This evening I went to a drop-in session held by the Another London Road group about the Council's SPD (supplementary planning document) regarding the regeneration of this area. That won't mean a lot to anyone who doesn't live round here, but the London Road has a terrible reputation and is generally run down (verbally and in reality). Recently there's been a lot of talk about what to do about it, and several options have been rumoured. Firstly the 'redevelopment' (for redevelopment, see knock down and start again) of the Open Market; secondly, what to do with the old Co-op building (very large and mostly empty, fairly central to the street); thirdly, and most contentiously, the prospect of a *very* large Tesco 'hypermarket' being built at one end of the road. And when I say end, I mean a vast area covering about a third of the London Road, five times the size of the big Sainsbury's that only just opened there two years ago (not to mention the new Aldi, and the not so new Co-op, Somerfield and Iceland).

ALR, with help from Tescopoly, primarily have been concerned with stopping the Tesco proposal (see their websites http://anotherlondonroad.googlepages.com/, and http://www.tescopoly.org/, both have really good information), but also with finding out what people who use the local area actually want (Council seems to have been very quiet on this point - there was a public consultation but badly advertised and I can say as a local retailer that no businesses have been contacted to discuss the plans!). Their ideas seem far more realistic and based on the needs of the people who use the area rather than on the projected needs of fictional yuppies who might potentially use the area if it was knocked down and rebuilt in the style of somewhere else. Cleaning up the frontages down the main drag, opening up the neglected side streets and encouraging local businesses to get their act together are just a few small changes that could be implemented to have a really big impact. The other major hurdle, as far as I can see, is overcoming the general populous' ingrained negative perception of the street and the surrounding area. It seems like a lot of people would find it difficult to concede that the odd tweak would be enough to warrant spending a bit more time there, and unless every trace of its current state is removed they will continue to slander and avoid it.

When I first started working at the BHF shop on London Road two and a half years ago, I shared the opinion (though I suspect this is largely due to having heard nothing but bad things about it previously, then backed up by the people I worked with) that it was awful, needed cleaning up, is dangerous, dirty, full of crap shops, etc. Now I find myself actively enjoying being there. Even on my days off it's where I shop! Once you're under the skin of it, it's a really great area with some fab little shops that you don't find elsewhere in the city. They might not be fab in the sense of avant-garde jewellers and overpriced retro clothing, but there are grocers and butchers and independent organic food stores, lovely cafes, a plethora of charity shops, jewellers, barbers, fabric shops, seamstresses and cobblers - need I go on? Just because they don't have the gloss of Western Road or the North Laine, they are ignored. I'm beginning to particularly appreciate the old fashioned sense of community spirit - even the fact that the ALR exists is proof that people care about where they live, as a group of people who live and work in the area who decided to take action. It's a place where faces are familiar - and bizarrely enough, I think I may have become one of those faces! - rather than the general rotation of anonymous bodies so many cities seem to be populated by. How do we convince everyone else that London Road is actually a good resource with a lot to offer (especially for those on a budget), rather than a dingy danger hotspot to be avoided? It will also be difficult to maintain the integrity of the area and retain the low-cost businesses if a major redevelopment plan goes ahead - and then it'll just be another gentrified, soulless chain-filled bourgeois clone.

I could go on about this forever, but think about it - there's the Level, the Duke of York's, St Peter's Church, St Bartholemew's Church (one of my favourite pieces of trivia - it's the biggest church in England!), the Co-op building, the Open Market, City College, New England House (an eyesore but don't judge a book by its cover), and some really interesting architecture all the way down London Road. If you are a Brightonian, ignore the ground floor shop frontages for a moment next time you're down that way and spend a few minutes admiring the buildings they're attached to! One idea at the ALR meeting was for the implementation of a London Road Conservation Area - I'd be very much in support of that, plus it would stop the Council from razing everything to the ground. Having just had this discussion with one of my flatmates, it does seem like the Council have a bizarre kind of all-or-nothing approach to the various crumbling structures and 'untidy' areas of the city. Instead of doing something about the West Pier while it was still more or less standing, they ignored it until it burned down, and are now building some horrendous modern pinnacle around it with complete disregard for any principles of town planning or popular opinion (ie mass residential complaints about the project). Similarly a large area of the North Laine was pulled down and 'Jubilee Square' (also known as Pizza Express Square) and the new, empty library were built in blindingly shiny glass and metal. Speaking of blindingly shiny, there is also the giant block of flats built opposite the Pavilion (seriously, why?!); and the 'New England' quarter. Now, having ignored London Road for the last few decades, they are going gung-ho for total overhaul. They ought to learn a bit of tact.

It's a strange thing these days, the idea of 'need'. People who shop in places like Primark (i'm guilty of it, but not for some time now) do so because it's cheap. And they 'need' cheap clothes. And the slave labour that is employed (regardless of what the company says to the contrary, i refuse to believe they can make profit at such prices without it-and yes i did see the tv programme about it) is ok because they 'need' the money.
So what my volunteer, and others who use this argument, is saying, is that her desire for a few new clothes on a slightly more regular basis than she would otherwise be able to afford is more important than the welfare of those who make them. Being forced to basically pawn your child (this is what happens, the parents are so poor they 'sell' there child for £20 or so, and then the child repays this debt with their labour) so that you can eat, is need. You do not need those new clothes - you can fix or alter the ones you already have, or buy second hand. There's no shortage of clothing in the world. In saying that it's ok to shop in places that employ poor ethical practices in the making or selling of their products (and that covers a multitude of evils/evil-doers), you are putting your convenience, your wallet and your desires above the suffering of people who you can't see. (There's a question on okcupid.com that asks: Would you rather you die, or 10 random people in the world? What about 1000 people? Would you rather stub your toe, or a child in india starve? Would you rather not have this new top, or a child in india starve?) Slavery was abolished here hundreds of years ago, but we still condone it as a nation through our consumer habits. Making a ridiculous justification such as 'at least they've got a job' is the fallback of millions of middle class white people in order to avoid having to care, to actually think about what they are doing, or to compromise ther own lifestyle in any way. This makes me very angry.
You are not more important than anyone else. Please give a shit.

As many of you know, i try to maintain an ethical approach to life - i don't shop in supermarkets, my list of boycotts on food products and companies with known dirty dealings grows bigger by the day. I also refuse to earn money for people who don't need it - hence why i work managing a charity shop. Now, one would make a natural connection with this type of work and people who want to make the world better - or at least want to not contribute to making it any worse. And yet in more than one conversation with several of my volunteers on the subject of ethics, without wanting to sound holier than thou, i have been stunned by their attitude.
I was examining some Gap Kids clothes and said that their stuff was expensive. One volunteer said that the kids' clothes weren't particularly, though the rest is. I responded that i didn't really know as i rarely go in there (in fact i don't think i've ever bought anything in there, one of my first boycotts, drummed into me at an early age!) - adding the quip 'made for kids, by kids' to demonstrate my objection. The volunteer in question, backed up by another in the vicinity with whom i have had this discussion on a previous occasion, stated that it was good for them because otherwise they wouldn't have jobs at all!
This line of reasoning incenses me, and always has done. I have to take a deep breath and ignore it at work, but i did reply that they ought to be at school ('oh no, there's not enough schools for them all...'). What if it was their children forced to work 12 hours a day in a darkened room for 50p an item?! But of course that wouldn't happen, so why would they consider the possibility... I just fail to comprehend how people who make this excuse don't consider the reality of what they're saying. If kids were still sent up chimneys or down mines in this country, they'd be appalled, right? Though perhaps if they were alive 100 years ago when it was happening, they'd be among the number who justified it, or even employed them because it cost them less.
Tbc.

I'm in a warehouse in Moulsecoombe full of dogs and people with dreadlocks. There are bits of wood and art and white vans all over the place. It's like having an out of body experience. I have no idea what I'm doing here except that someone I know said it was great and I should come! I feel like the stiff bourgeoisie come to try and hang out with the cool kids. Though to be honest I often feel like that. It doesn't help that I came straight from work, so I'm just sat on a wooden pallet trying to relax and get out of manager mode... Part of me wants to run with the cool kids - the other part sees them all swigging cans of cider, and the joints in their grubby hands, and wants to delicately pick up my handbag and slink out again. Let's be honest though, that's what most people do of an evening. Maybe just cigarettes rather than joints, and the cider might be in a glass; but really I should embrace the fact that I'm not sat in my living room with a cup of peppermint tea, slowly disappearing into the computer screen (or, less likely, in the pub surrounded by very bad music and very loud drunks).

Let thy judgment evaporate! Or at least hang fire until you've actually experienced the experience... One can only hope my friend will arrive shortly and the strange people milling about will, by way of association with her, be rendered non-scary.

...........

Funny how whenever I'm left alone in a crowd I want to write. Anyway. My company has wandered off. I have made two collages. One of them has paint and little stars on it. I am a cool kid. It's getting colder in the warehouse but things seem to be happening. Lights are being turned on and off, music is playing, and people are moving about with things like hula hoops (the big plastic kind, not the small crunchy kind!) and a sense of purpose. A trapeze is being painstakingly hung from the extremely high metal girders in the ceiling (a person on a ladder on a van? somebody call health and safety, for goodness' sake!). I may be persuaded to make a twit of myself on it later if pushed. There's a kid riding around on one of those push scooters. Can't be any older than about 3 or 4. It has fallen off approximately the same number of times. The first time, I heard the crash, looked up, and expected the startled child to start wailing, after the obligatory 3-second delay. Instead, the child just picked the thing up and carried on. I have never seen this before. And I used to work in a nursery. It happened a few more times until it fell into a big piece of chipboard being used as a canvas. This time for sure there'd be some tears - or at least a protective parent to check for breaks. Nothing! The mother did intervene, but only to rescue the fallen artwork from the floor. I can't help thinking that this kid is pretty well set for life!

...........

After becoming accustomed to the place, it really was quite amazing. Rather like getting your eyes used to the dark. The sign outside says 'Art Exhibition' - but really it's a make-your-own-art exhibition. There are no rules here... Except that you must put your rubbish into the correct bun for recycling. The more I looked around the more things I saw. It appeals to me, as an habitual mess-maker - it isn't mess, it's collective creativity! This confirms to me the innate artistic superiority of those not compelled to scrub, sweep, bleach and organise every square millimetre they occupy...

As part of my ongoing battle with the trials of life, I have a half-formed hare-brained plan to go mobile phone-less for a length of time - say a month, for starters.

I'm aware, of course, that this is perfectly possible and for the first 17 years of my life I managed it without much incident. Has existence in this modern world evolved so far in the subsequent 8 years that this is no longer a reasonable thing to do? One suspects, should I take the plunge and switch my phone off, that people will look at me with suspicion, tell me I'm mad and ask how on earth I can manage without it.

Watch this space ;)

First of all I'd like to apologise for the imminent nautical metaphors. They are terribly twee but I've been reading Conrad and it seems to work well given the way I'm feeling about things.

I've felt a bit at a loss for what to do with myself for some time now. There are vague plans in my mind about things I'd like to do, but I don't know where to start or indeed if once I got there I would really like it after all.

But last night I was talking to a friend, and she was saying how many things there were that she wanted to do and just not the time to do them all. I said at least you know what the things are! I told her I felt a bit adrift. But instead of saying, as is usual and as I expected, oh don't worry you'll think of something/you must have some ideas/what about x y z, she said that perhaps it was a good thing - I could just go where the wind took me! I hadn't really thought of it like that before. There seems to be a lot of pressure to have some kind of direction, to know where you intend to end up and so on - but she might be right. It's always more alarming and a bit frightening to do things out of the ordinary, and others find it difficult to understand, though that's never stopped me before. I just have to make sure that I'm really open to what might come along, and be quick to put the sails up when the wind rises!

</nautical metaphors>

I have loads to post about. But right now I simply CBA. To do anything, in fact. The world will have to wait for my next soupcon of dry wit and wisdom. Hah.

I've just had a really random memory. When I was about 7 or 8 I had one of those brilliant old Atari ST computer consoles, with such gems as Chuckie Egg, Q*Bert, Xenon and Chrono Quest on floppy disk. IT wasn't particularly stable, though, and every now and then it would blue screen (although I didn't know what this was at the time, obviously - and I'm not sure it was blue either, think it might have been green!). In the top left corner there would be a row of little pixelated bombs. A quick google now tells me that the number of bombs apparently indicated what the error is.

Anyway, there was a boy called Alexander who came to play every now and then, because we were born on the same day and our mums were next to each other on the maternity ward (entirely possible he was the reason my middle name is Alexandra, though I've never thought to ask). He was really into computer games, had every console going and spent every minute playing them - when he wasn't blowing things up or setting booby traps in the back garden, that is (ADHD anyone?). Consequently, when he came to visit, this is what we did - though of course my dear old crappy Atari was the subject of much scorn and condescension.

Once while we were playing together the blue screen occurred - and Alexander convinced me that the bombs meant the computer was actually going to blow up, and we had to get as far away from it as possible! Whether or not he was just having me on or not, I really believed him and we ran out into the woods at the back of my dad's house. Of course I realised eventually that nothing had happened, but I was always a little bit scared after that whenever I saw the little bombs come up...

I want new piercings and tattoos... It's been too long since I was irreversibly mutliated by something pointy!

My anti-eyebrow dermal anchor is suffering a bit and I don't know how much longer it will last, once thats gone I will certainly need some kind of replacement. But what... The scarring on my chest from my sternum bar is much too pronounced to get away with any replacement there. Unless I get one much further down, out of the line of sight (and where's the point in that, hmm?).

The other thing I want is a tattoo on my head, under my hair... Not sure what but it'd have to match my back piece I think. Something in an inverted 'v' to follow the shape of my skull. And not quite reaching the neckline so when my hair grows out a bit it's not visible.

*fidgets and ponders*

http://petitions.number10.gov.uk/DoYourRealJob/

This is entertaining. Even more entertaining is the list of petitions - these people are insane! Although it's a nice idea that any member of the public can address an appeal direct to the Prime Minister, the effectiveness of this is cut drastically when there are 6000+ running, most of which comprise such silliness as 'Ban ALL Pornography', or 'make it a criminal offence for preganant women to smoke', and, my personal favourite, 'Make OAPs travel for free before 9:30am'. I'm not sure that's what she means.

Surely there should be at least a couple of hoops to jump through before wasting everyone's time posting some ridiculous request to number 10...

My option for the future, as follows:

• Stay at the BHF
• Stay at the BHF and do some college
• Go part time at the BHF and do some college
• Leave the BHF for a new job
• Leave BHF and do some college
• Leave BHF and and travel
• Leave Brighton and do college elsewhere
• Leave Brighton and get a new job elsewhere

I don't think the first one is an option. It's the only one I really want to rule out, which means I really have to do something else! If I have to merchandise another load of Christmas giftware I may as well just rip my heart out and pin it to the notice board in my office, because that is where it will stay.

In which case I have to learn to do something else! Cue much perusing of the college prospectuses...

So. Jade Goody. The anathemaic words...

As Simon's put it yesterday: 'I have one thing to say to you - and that is get out of my news!' This was after having spotted the Jade Goody tribute issue of OK magazine in Clinton cards - published BEFORE her death. The ridiculousness of the woman never fails to astound me.

Now, for all of you who are thinking what a cold-hearted bitch I am for berating a dying/dead woman, I would just like to ask why it is that she is more important than all the other people in the world who are dying of cancer. That it is fitting she should publicise her pointless death in the same way as she publicised her pointless life, is of little consequence to me. I wasn't interested in her alive or dead. She is some bizarre post-modern spectacle, famous for getting her tits out and for being stupid, then for being racist, and then for having cancer. She was on Celebrity Big Brother after having become a celebrity by being on Big Brother. The mind boggles.

She. Is. Not. Important.

The only good thing she might ever have done for the world is to encourage more young women to have smear tests. And in years to come, she may be dimly remembered by some university student writing dissertations on postmodern irony and popular culture. 

I am now going to go for a walk, and attempt to avoid all news-related items in which some bigoted chav is sympathetically remembered because she had cancer and it's mother's day and she had kids. No one's pulling my heart strings today, thank you!

I've been misquoted by the Argus! How shocking. They came to interview me about the opening of the new Aldi down London Road, and not only did they get my name wrong, they paraphrased (badly) what I said, basically turning it on its head. Bastards.

Note to self  - next time you talk to a journalist, be totally unequivocal!