When I grow up

It is 1pm, I’m still in bed. I’ve been lying here thinking I should get out of bed for the last hour, but it’s not happening. The cat is asleep next to me and getting up would wake her up. So I’ll lie here and write a blog.

When I grow up I’m going to be an old woman, yes I said an old an old a really old woman.

Can’t remember who sang that, but yes I will be a really old woman with extremely long white hair that slithers down my body like a snake. I’ll sit on a tree stump in the middle of a woods muttering to myself. You will visit me there, and I’ll probably spit at you and you will be pleased that I did. Though by then you will be really really old too. Unless you have had large quantities of plastic surgery to keep you young, in which case you probably won’t register as living to me, who will be talking mainly to the trees.

If then you are really old like me, bring a good red wine or bottle of champagne along with you and we can sit in the wood and drink the night away singing old half remembered songs. We will be so old by then we won’t worry about health conditions or waking up in the morning. Maybe we will take off all our clothes, so we’ll be really old and naked in the woods, and we’ll dance around all wrinkly like the trees.

Quick note – dancing and wobbling on Sunday

For those of you in London this weekend I will be squeezing my big fat belly into a tight tight corset or other type garment and prancing around stage. Join me in some wiggling of the bottom and wobbling of the thighs at The Constition in Camden, 42 st Pancras way, NW1 0QT. This Sunday starting 8pm. Free I believe, but possibly a £2 raffle ticket.

Anyone who gets there and can say “Big Fat Belly!” Gets a free badge.

Big fat belly – food as a new discovery and a new fear

The new tables I’m on keep me in linear time, put me in a good mood, improve taste, and increase my appetite, unsurprisingly.

At first I was curious and, I must admit, a little excited. You see I’ve never put much weight on before. I was a skinny girl, a stick insect, and the boyish figure stayed into adulthood with little change. I wanted a ‘womanly’ figure, as my friend Jill puts it. At various times I had tried to put on weight, stuffing vast cakes till I felt sick, but it wasn’t happening.

Now all that has changed.

First though I have to say how great it is to enjoy food. I look forward to eating now, I plan my meals in advance. I realise I love aubergine and peeled tomato (the skins give me stomach cramp), broccoli and stilton, almonds and apricot. Before they had tasted pleasant now they taste great!

And I can eat, boy can I eat! I wouldn’t say food is better than sex, but eating a big meal and having a big full belly does make me feel weirdly sexy. I also find a full belly a comforting thing, when I was stressed working on a commission the other day a belly full of good food was a nice thing to stroke.

But here is where it all goes wrong. Friends I tell about my new love for food tend to be very negative about it, “oh you better get down the gym” they say and “diet, diet, diet! And fast one day a week”. I think this a little extreme as my weight gain isn’t even very noticeable yet.

Then there’s the internet. I start to grow out of my clothes, not that much but things are starting to look significantly tighter. I decide to buy a new outfit for teaching, I like to look smart. I go on the Internet to look at what’s available. I pick one and go to buy it, need to measure my chest, hips and waist – but my god my waist is huge! According to this Ive gone from extra small to medium verging on the large in four weeks! I don’t buy it and look for something else. Now I notice lots of adds popping up for dieting and exercise. I click one. I have never dieted in my life, do I have to now? Does this new delight for food have to be reined in?

More adds come up, now there are medical ones, talking about large bellies and the link to diabetes. I feel squeamish. I look down at my belly, it looks massive! I am a giant pregnant elephant!

I’m a psychological mess obsessed with weight for two days. I ate hardly anything which is exceedingly hard on these tablets. Then I stoped. I knew there was a reason why I avoid popular culture, it can turn you into a wreck!

Now time for a big breakfast

The BEGOTTEN. A dark, haunting, experiment.

Begotten – created, produced, generated, spawned.

The silent cult film called Begotten directed by E.Elias Merhige and released in 1990 starts with God disemboweling himself till he dies. Mother Earth then emerges from his remains, sexually arouses the corpse and inseminates herself with his semen.

The Begotten, the band, creates the live soundtrack to this dark fantasy horror. Or at least it used to. Those that experienced these live events were disturbed in a way they could not explain nor shake off.

The peak of this was a version performed a couple of years ago with the original film recording of the 16mm film. This is where the band made their mistake. They watched this original film. Merhige had experimented with the film reel to give it an old, withered look, this included running the upshot negative through sandpaper before shooting. It was grain, it was beautiful, it was perfect for the film. Alas no digital copy of it can compare and it is only let out at a very high price.

So, this situation has generated a new type of performance. Based upon there original sounds this piece will emerge from the primitive mud to create a whole new experience.

An experiment.

A spawning

Starts 7.30pm Tuesday 30th October

Courtyard Theatre, Pitfield Street, N1 6EU

Come and be part of it.

Ugly Boy – Rest In Peace

uglyboycartoonThis is a very sad blog indeed. Ugly Boy (real name Jeremy Henty), one of the founder members of the Rude Mechanicals, has passed away, I hope to a better world.

Ugly Boy was in the Rude Mechanicals before even I was a member. He bought a drum kit to distract his mind from the state of his Phd. He was an eccentric, a maths genius who got into Cambridge at the tender age of 16.  He perhaps could never quite cope with what had been expected of him. I remember him walking down Mill road in Cambridge, in the chefs trousers covered in pictures of knives and forks that he always used to wear, and a naughty grin on his face. I liked that grin.

I wish we had never lost touch, I wish things had ended on a good note, but you never can predict the future and “I’ll contact him tomorrow” will, in the end, fall short.

Below is a very old picture of the Rude Mechanicals, Ugly Boy is the man in the strange pyjama-like outfit. I’ve included the lyrics of a song he wrote for the band underneath. Rest in peace Jeremy.


You’re an ugly little boy
playing in the dirt
your friends are the bugs and the worms
and then there’s me

Oh what fun you have

Foul creatures draw near
and wipe their filthy paws
all vermin is here
because like is attracted to like

Don’t mess up my dress

Earth in my hair
and dew upon my skin
grime beneath my nails
and the ugly little boy
is watching closely

Oh what fun.

by Uglyboy 2001

The Men in the Shadows

The men in the shadows The sketch is one i did a long time ago. It is of the men in the shadows, they were here then and they are here again. How to explain without seeming completely loopy?

There are men, at least they look like men, standing in the corners watching me. Not all the time, just occasionally. They have been here lately. They look like film detectives in long dodgy coats and black hats. They stand in the corners of my flat, by green bushes as I walk along the pavement, only half visible, but very definitely there.

They have taken lots of forms before though, government officials, aliens, the devil. Think I wrote a blog about them once or twice. I know it is them because there is something very sinister about them. They are taking notes on me, monitoring me. I often try to make light of them, call them friendly aliens or perhaps even Derek, and then they go away for a bit. But they always come back.

What do they want?

Where do they come from?

Do they mean me harm?

Why me?!

They don’t talk. Sometimes they open their mouths like they are going to scream, but nothing comes out.

What do they know that I don’t?

What am I supposed to do?

Is it part of a conspiracy?

The other day I was seeing them around lots. Also people’s faces were changing, collapsing. Like mercury their noses and eyes were melting down their faces.

Were they part of the same conspiracy?

yet I must pretend that they are not there, that I can’t see them, and that everyone face is in one piece and not sliding off. I must pretend that everything is ok, and so I do.

A Mess, and a possible ghost

This weekend I’ve been moving out of my art studio and trying to get all my stuff into my flat. This is very much like trying to fit a large elephant in a shoebox, practically it is just not going to happen. I’m giving it a good go though. I’ve decided it needs to be done with finite detail and order. All items must be in their own box and labelled. And the boxes can’t just be any old box, and since I can’t afford to buy storage boxes I’m decorating old shoe boxes of mine. Yes it’s all become very Blue Peter here, and unsurprisingly it is all taking a long time.

” I will get there, I will get order!” I say to myself as my body droops and part of my brain is secretly thinking it could just leave it all piled up throughout the flat and live on top of it. Last time I started doing that the cat got so distressed she poo-ed all over the flat. She likes things clean and tidy and in order. So I continue with this slow process. A couple of people’s offered to come round and help, but I can’t think how that would work, or rather I can understand perfectly how that would work, they would want to throw out 90% of my belongings thinking it’s useless rubbish where as I live in the constant belief that each and every item will be of vital importance one day.

I’m now having a glass of whiskey to celebrate having decorated 3 boxes, cleaned out 6 old boxes, neatly filed away my drawings of monsters, plants and almost human creatures, ordered the scissors, glue, tape and string and labelled them and threw out a whole bunch of old magazines. I was very pleased with throwing out the magazines, I just have to make sure I go ahead with it tomorrow and fully chuck them out, rather than search through the bin for snippets of information that are just so very important…

I think there is a ghost in this flat, but it’s an alright one, not troublesome. It is just always cold here, the doors bang shut or open of there own accord with no wind, and things fall off shelves when nobody is in the room. I’ve seen ghosts here and heard voices but then what I see and hear can not be trusted as I hallucinate so much, but there is something more believable about the banging and crashing and finding things on the floor that shouldn’t be… though I suppose it could just be the cat.

The whiskey is delicious and blurs the hideous mess around me. I start to look at the shapes and colours as abstract, lacking a name or purpose, and in this situation it is very enjoyable, not like coming round from a seizure where the not knowing what anything is, is terrifying.

No right now I am floating,

in my mess,

with the cat looking deeply unimpressed.