I remember saying to Clare one afternoon, “The coolest girl in the world was in our shop earlier. I have no idea where she sprung from, but she was quite, quite amazing – beautiful and oh-so-stylish!” Clare knew from my description I was talking about illustrator and animator, Lesley Barnes.
Before I’d met her, I’d seen Lesley around – on the street, at Made in the Shade events… I often wondered who she was, what she did for a living, what her background was. I think about people I see around, y’see. Probably more than is normal actually. It’s a sort of hobby now. Anyway, as it happened, it turned out this particular gal is a super-talented artist, film maker and animator and before long we were stocking her work at The Maisonette :)
Most recently, Lesley has been making an animated music video to accompany a remix of Belle & Sebastian‘s ‘I Didn’t See It Coming’. On Wednesday evening, Beardy & I were invited along to Offshore in Glasgow (a fabulous coffee shop in the westend with a lovely basement gallery space) for the film premier.
Standing wide-eyed infront of the big white screen, I gripped onto Beardy’s arm as the music started and coloured shapes started moving around. I grinned, I whooped, I eeped, I grinned again. I gave Beardy’s elbow a little squeeze.
Watch the video here…
I was already SO excited to take home one of the bear puppets Lesley had made for the occasion but then I was gifted a bag too! Beardy liked my gifts but was clearly more taken by the gingerbread biscuits.
[I wrote this post on Friday 29th April 2011. I was all set to publish it when my internet connection zonked out. Oh - and I have no digi pics of my wedding oddly enough so I've rather crudely taken some pictures OF my wedding pictures! Here's my wedding-y post - a couple of days late... ]
Right up until today, I can honestly say I really didn’t give too much of a hoot about The Royal Wedding. I mean, I wasn’t actively avoiding it or being publicly outspoken about my not caring much about it, I just didn’t really think about it. What business is it of mine that people I have never met, or am ever likely to meet, are getting married? “Prince William and Kate Middleton are tying the knot? Aaaaaw. That’s nice. “ And. Now to get on with my work/chores/sleeping ( I’m usually only ever doing one of those three things). That’s sort of how it went in my head in the weeks and months leading up to what everyone on tv was calling ‘The Big Day’. Phhht. Big day? Certainly no big shakes.
This morning, I woke up at 8am. A little woozy and having barely opened my eyes, I switched on the tv. “BBC 1! BBC1! Where is BBC 1?” (I hadn’t even allowed myself the few seconds required to put my glasses on). After some moments fumbling around, jabbing at the remote control and hollering at Smokey Cat to, “Help me find the right channel!”, I heard ol’ Huw Edwards’ voice coming from the far end of my bedroom. He wasn’t IN my bedroom. He was on the television, broadcasting live from outside Buckingham Palace. Oh hoorah for Kate and William! The Big Day has arrived at last… Oh my! And it would appear I’ve decided to give a shit? Surely not.
Indeed, it was true. I was caring. I was excited, even. By the time I was dressed and ready to leave the house, William & Harry were driving to The Abbey in a fancy Big Potatoes car. Why are my eyes watering? Am I shedding a tear? Am I feeling some sort of weird emotional attachment to two PRINCES I do not know? “Och, int’it a pure shame their mammy’s no’ there the day…” I began to question whether I might be having some sort of breakdown.
I quite often find myself questioning whether I might be having some sort of breakdown. I wasn’t as panicked by the possibility as you might expect a person to be when confronted by the very real notion they just might need to visit a mental health professional. I’d been through worse. However, when I started to get crazily uptight about being late for the start of the ceremony, realising too that since I took so long putting my make-up on (a gal needs to put her make-up on to ‘go’ to a Royal Wedding!), I no longer had time to stop off en route to pick up some supplies (you know – the things you need when you ‘go’ to a Royal Wedding like bottles of £2 Bucks Fizz and pan au chocolat) I was quite, quite sure I was losing my mind.
Having watched Kate and William say their respective ‘I do’s, I came over all a-mush and got to thinking about mine and Beardy’s wedding day. A sucker for a wedding and usually always the first guest to blub, I somehow managed to be a tear-free bride. Am I remembering that correctly? I think I am… I guess it really is amazing what a nip of whiskey can do for a gal if she whams one back before taking a stroll on down that aisle. Or maybe I had no tears left since I’d cried ‘em all the day before like a crazy goon! (Classic pre-wedding vodka tears).
A far cry from royal fanfares, maple trees and diamond tiaras, Beardy and I celebrated our union in a big stripey tent. It looked a little bit like a Big Top. It was decorated with flowery bits and enlarged, photocopied pictures of us looking smiley and in love. ‘Twas all very DIY. Just the way we intended. Our marquee-o-rama was pitched in the carpark of The Trentham Hotel in Dornoch. Owned by dear Beardy family friends and the location of much of Beardy’s teenage tomfoolery, we were dead set on the venue and we were dead set on throwing a super-relaxed shindig for our friends and family members. With tonnes of help from generous mums, dads, sisters, brothers, aunties, uncles, grandparents and pals – we had ourselves a merry little marriage celebration.
All our smiley faced wedding guests, in the carpark of The Trentham Hotel - outside our Big Top tent!
Natasha Bedingfield, These Words
I’ve heard since from several brides that this particularly troubling syndrome (let’s just call it Crazy Over-Emotional Bride Syndrome) is common amongst the ‘bride-to-be’ contingent. Under normal circumstances, you have a pretty great and varied taste in music. You know? Cos you’re cool. But there you are… The week before your wedding - in a shop, or in a cafe… A song comes on. A stupid, rubbish song. Ordinarily you’d ignore it or maybe make some sort of flippant comment about how stupid and rubbish it is. The week before your wedding though? It would seem that even the most poorly conceived musical/ lyrical combo can move a gal to tears. I heard a story once of a bride-to-be that cried infront of a sales assistant in a department store when she heard Ronan Keating, ‘Life Is A Rollercoaster’ on the shop music loop. I was lucky in comparison. I burst into tears in the privacy of my own house - when I saw this Natasha Bedingfield video on T4.
Badly Drawn Boy, The Shining
The song I toddled down the aisle to. Not a dry eye in the house… Not a dry eye here now either! Makes me blub every time I hear it still.
Neil Diamond, Forever in Blue Jeans
Beardy and I were super-particular about the music plans for our wedding. But you know what they say about the best laid plans… :/ We’d painstakingly put together playlists to see us through every waking minute of our day – from a slushy mix of quiet loveliness for guests to listen to before the ceremony, to an upbeat breakfast soundtrack and ambient background hilarity for the hotel bar – we’d planned it all. We’d even made up a whole bundle of songs for ‘the dancing’ at the reception. We’d settled on a traditional live ceilidh band for the first half of the reception and generous DJ pal Duffy agreed to be in charge of our cd playlists afterwards. Aherm. None of that came to fruition. Our ceilidh band had accidentally double booked and instead, we were met with a bunch of ageing hippies (and not the good, fun kind) that could barely play their instruments and who chose to play a full set of positively gruesome songs that no one knew. There was more than one comparison drawn between our wedding band and Pheonix Nights. However, the highlight of their performance (apart from when the drummer got a little bit over excited and fell of his stool, out the back of the marquee) was the first song. Forever in Blue Jeans :)
Madonna, True Blue
My sister and Maid of Honour, Marie, flew all the way from West Africa to be at our wedding. Her journey, as if not already crazy enough, was plagued with disasters and delays and she missed out on the ceremony in the end. But! All was not lost! She still had her chance to pull her ‘lil surprise at the reception. When I was little, I used to pop my head phones on, sing along to my favourite songs and record myself with the mic on my mum’s big black radio. By the time I was about 11, there must have been several tapes kicking about our house that had me wailing along to The Hits of the 80s (and a fair few that had my version of the entire soundtrack of The Slipper & The Rose on). Little did I know, that some 18 years after recording my ‘debut’, Marie had salvaged one of my secret tapes and shared the best and worst of its contents with our wedding guests! Despite my reactionary loud exclamation of horror, “Bastard!” (I couldn’t hold it in. “Yes darling, the bride did just holler ‘bastard’!”), turned out, my rendition of Madonna’s True Blue a la 1986 wasn’t nearly as awful as I thought. It was certainly more entertaining than the wedding band.
*I really, really wanted to share our ‘first dance’ song with you but you know what? I can’t find it on You Tube. If you want to have a search, look for I’ll Let Nothing Separate Us by Otis Redding. Beardy chose it. And it was perfect.
This is one of my very favourite photographs from our wedding day.
As wonderful as our wedding was 7 years ago, I’d love to recreate it – this time including guests that couldn’t make it and guests we hadn’t met yet! Maybe when we reach our 10th anniversary, we just might organise that :)
I like this one too - though my weird double chin kind of spoils it. Beardy looks nice in it though!
… The smaller my troubles grow? Um, no. ‘Fraid not. I shan’t pretend this hasn’t been a rubbish week. It really, really has. In a bid to perk up at least enough to blog a little, I’ve decided to resist plunging into the ‘sad songs’ catalogue (this would not be wise and would most certainly result in a soggy laptop and everyone concerned feeling a little awk-ward!) but instead dig out a few happy tunes – songs that are cute, songs that are funny, super-cheesy or downright daft. Songs that make a gal dance, songs that need to be sung at top volume while waving ones arms around and jiggling ones bottom – songs that take us back to a simpler time. You may be surprised to find out, I do know some.
Not much guffawing to talk of this week - but...
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I don’t flash my toothy grin very often. Not because I’m utterly miserable all of the time but because the bigger my toothy grin is – the more likely it is that people will notice the discolouration of my teeth. That photo? Up there – with the white teeth? That’s been touched up in Photoshop. Whatever, this song makes me happy. I’m even more happy now I’ve found this cute accompanying stop-frame animation :)
Patience & Prudence: A Smile and a Ribbon
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This song reminds me of my sister. I can’t remember the exact circumstances under which she introduced me to it but I do remember I had it recorded onto cassette tape and could regularly be found performing my own rendition in the privacy of my bedroom when I was little. In retrospect, not sure how appropriate that was…
Meri Wilson, Telephone Man
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Sticking on the ‘Marie’ thread for a moment or two, this is another treat bestowed upon me by my eldest sister. I distinctly remember doing The Hucklebuck with GREAT enthusiasm in the living room when my parents were out. We had this song on 45 and were thumping around so much the needle on the record player kept skipping. If I could remember how to do it, I’d give The Hucklebuck a right good bash now. Hey! Ho! My poor friends… I really was the school freaker. Pals would come over for tea or whatever, probably expecting to play with Barbie or to pleat My Little Pony’s hair or something and I’d have ‘em doing The Hucklebuck and/or watching Status Quo concerts on video! Apologies to Sharon and Audrey in particular – who suffered more than most :/
Coast to Coast, Do The Hucklebuck
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I shoulda-coulda-woulda been Claire. Even now I’m a little bitter. I wanted to be Claire, singing on Top of the Pops, meeting Philip Schofield, hanging out with chat show hosts. Screw you Claire. And your friends! ;) I also wanted to be that girl that sang Hey Mickey on Going Live! Remember her? My dad bought me this single as a gift. I think an Easter gift? Or a Glasgow Fair treat? I can’t quite remember. I got a case to keep my records in and inside was this AND a copy of Anita Dobson, ‘Anyone Can Fall In Love’. Fleekin’ delighted I was.
Claire & Friends, ‘Orrible Being In Love
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I’m pretty sure if I had to, I could listen to this song on loop for days – weeks even, and never tire of it. Another sister recommendation but my other sister, Lisa, this time. She gifted me Phosphorescent album, ‘Here’s To Taking It Easy’, at Crimbletime. “If I’m talking to you mister then you best be writing down what I say. If you’re talking to me like that then you best be quickly walking away. I ain’t came here to stand none o’ this bullshit, man, I came here to play”. Fabulous beardy boys. I hear they are playing a show in Stereo soon. I would LOVE to go.
Phosphorescent, It’s Hard to be Humble
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This gem was the b-side of some Levellers single I bought on tape. The single turned out to be a bit rubbish but worth the £1.99 just to unearth the fiddly, joyous rumpus of Plastic Jesus.
The Levellers, Plastic Jesus
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Take me back to the days when I wasn’t afraid of big crowds, when a gig wasn’t a gig unless you left the venue sopping wet and missing at least one item of clothing and a full face of makeup. Take me back to the days when I could jump up and down for hours without needing a ‘wee seat’. Ba-ba-ooo-wa!
Terrorvision, Oblivion
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Y’know what? That kind of did the trick I think… For the first time all week, I’m not frowning but infact rather amused.
A long-distance snap from the free Glasvegas show on Buchanan Street this afternoon
Before I left the flat this morning, I was chuckling with Beardy about how the weather outside was frightful – and so typical for supposed springtime in Glasgow. You know - bitterly cold, rainy, windy – the crocuses drowning in puddles and the poor daffodils having a last minute rethink and deciding not to bother blooming just yet incase they face the same watery demise.
I ventured outside only to have a rather unpleasant altercation with a bus driver (see what I mean?) and sat alone, all the way into town positively seething that the bus fares have been all muddled up and that not only did I not understand how the new system worked but that apparently now have to pay £1.80 to get anywhere. It’s official. I can no longer afford to go outside.
I met a friend for breakfast who commented that he liked my coat. I joked that it was my winter coat but that since I live here, it’s worn all year round – along with my matching winter/all-year-round boots. After some happy chat with my chum, I left him at the train station and wandered through town. I had no big plans – just needed to pick up a baguette on the way home. Glamorous.
Trekking up Buchanan Street – wind in my face and rain in my eyes, I was met with an intriguing hullabaloo on the steps of the concert hall. A little gazebo was erected and lots of burly men in fluorescent jackets were buzzing around – generally being burly (and very organised). Although I was curious (for I am, let’s face it, the queen of the skoomers), I was scared that my contact lenses might fall out of my eyes as the rain was playing havoc and somehow making it into my eyeballs.
So – I’m in Topshop, having a wee look in the sale on the offchance that the highly coveted red suede shorts had made it onto the reductions rail when I heard a big cheer (well – more of a super-loud, fevered, high pitched scream, actually). I wondered… Who, or WHAT on earth is pitching up in that big white tent? Next thing – whaddayaknow? That unmistakable big boom boom boom sound boomed its way through Buchanan Street. It was only ol’ Mr Rock’n'Roll and his Glasvegas chums making a racket doon the toon.
I shuffled my way out of the shop (laughing outloud and not really caring if passers by thought I was mental) and found myself a little spot on a step – high enough that I could just about see what was going on. Yup – my ears did not decieve me – and although my eyes were still a bit blurry due to rainwater overflow, I was definitely able to see the big massive Glasvegas logo right there in white light – if not much else. I hung out for a while with a bunch of hardcore fans that had gathered for the occasion. The special free gig was held in celebration of the launch of the band’s album y’see. I’m sure the young ‘uns must’ve thought I was someone’s mum. “Well ‘am no’. ‘Am James’ pal fae way back, awrite?” Ha. I didn’t say that. I made my way off again having tapped my toe and clapped my hands (at appropriate times – not just generally) and thoroughly enjoying renditions of Geraldine, My Own Cheating Heart, Daddy’s Gone – and everybody’s favourite cover of Be My Baby. I do love a surprise musical interlude of a Monday afternoon.
With my £1.80 in hand, I trotted to the bus stop. I made the bus driver prise the coins out of my clenched fist while tickling my chin and calling me Princess Shantaniqua.
Beardy – as well as being a wonderful photographer, is also a rockin’ roll drummer. He plays in a band called Schnapps. This evening, Schnapps are playing a show at Stereo in Glasgow with the Babies. Their first gig of 2011 and I’m missing it. Baaaaa.
Shark! Shark! Shark!
Fresh from recording their album, Nasty Buffet (I say ‘fresh from’ – they weren’t that fresh afterwards to be fair. They were sweaty and dirty and covered in candyfloss, Findus Crispy Pancakes, marshmallows and beans), Schnapps are now in the middle of making a ‘lil video to accompany their second single release, No Contact. I love this song. I thought I might share it with y’all. Just for fun. The Schnappers said it was ok for me to post the video pre-edit. This is a proper sneaky peeky!
The sad song series continues. You know the routine – go get your gin. And a box of tissues (or a fistful of kitchen roll). Themed loosely around my being home alone missing my beau and the emotional trauma that was Blue Valentine, we’re delving feet first into the heartbreak swamp. Leaving, being left, feeling lonesome… We can do this. I’ve peppered in some “fun” 90s angst for respite! :/
James Taylor, Fire & Rain
I had hoped to share the John Denver version, but his videoes were rubbish. And besides, James Taylor’s quite pretty.
Elvis, Are You Lonesome Tonight?
Black. Leather.
Lisa Loeb, Stay (I Missed You)
Aaah, Reality Bites. Oh, how my 15 year old self loved that movie. You know, I sneaked out of school one afternoon and got my (very long) hair cut into a (very short) Winona Ryder style crop after I saw this flick! “You look like a doillie”. Love it.
Elvis Costello, Good Year For The Roses
Was tempted to share the George Jones version, but as controversial as this might seem, I think I prefer ol’ Elvis’ better.
Hank Williams, I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry
Yup.
Faithless, Don’t Leave
Ooooft. Another 90s tear jerker. While many a sniffle has been known to emanate from my head during playback of this number, it also reminds me of fun times with Nurse Betty, running around a Glasgow nightclub at the Faithless aftershow party circa 1997 looking for Maxi Jazz and the fella that sings this song (Jesus). Needless to say, Maxi Jazz was eventually found in a corner being naughty with the lady who flashed her boobs from the crowd earlier in the evening. Jesus? Nowhere to be found.
Glasvegas, Please Come Back Home
Rock’n'roll pals Glasvegas will be onstage in Glasgow round about now. Threw in this ‘lil gem for good measure.
Ricky Nelson, Lonesome Town
Oh jeez Louise…
Dusty Springfield, I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself
Has anyone else read I Hate Myself and I Want to Die: The 52 most depressing songs you’ve ever heard (by Tom Reynolds)? No? The book was published in 2005 and I happened upon it in a stack of coffee table reads in record store, Fopp a short while after. Let’s be honest. I couldn’t not buy it. I was quite convinced at the time that this was a book, the book I should have written. Why, doesn’t Tom Reynolds know that I am Carrie Tragic? The mistress of melancholy? The dj of darkness and musical instigator of feelings of despair and impending doom? Jeez Louise…
Anyway, as it turned out, this book wasn’t really my book. I was a bit disappointed to find that I (the above mentioned queenie of the weepy) only knew 20-odd of the 52 songs catalogued and of those, I didn’t really agree that many were indeed, the most depressing songs I’d ever heard. Whitney Houston? Evanescence? Man… Not even touching the tip of my tuneful iceberg of depression, heartbreak and discontent! And you know what was worse? Not a single Hank Williams song made it onto the list. Imagine! Should say though – it was a smashing little Sunday afternoon read all the same.
So. This morning, while I was getting dressed (well, I say ‘getting dressed’ – I was hauling on one of Beardy’s shirts and my paint stained, 10 year old Levis) a sad song I’d loved but hadn’t heard in a while came on the ol’ wireless. Then – that song made me think of another and so my brain went on, recollecting terribly sad, sad songs I’d temporarily forgotten about. Or maybe blocked out? Ha.
Now, as was the case with me and the list Tom Reynolds compiled in his book, these ditties (if we can give them such a chirpy name) might not be to your taste, but I bet your boots you’ll recognise ‘em as fleekin’ sad. Depressing even. Tragic sometimes. Certainly emotive. Brace yourself for the first instalment of musical melancholy from Carrie - Not the Kind of Girl You’d Marry (not least because of the contents of her record collection). I don’t want to send y’all rattling down a black hole of ill health and mental fragility or anything. No, no. We want happy, healthy brains please. But you might want to let out a wee mutter of, “Jeezoh… Yer kiddin’ me on. That’d bring a tear tae a glass eye…” or some such. Grab a stiff gin, pop your headphones on and enjoy!
1. Mercury Rev – Tonight It Shows
(This is the song that came to mind this morning)
2. Camera Obscura – The Blizzard
I’d only ever heard the Jim Reeves version of this song until Clare sneaked this onto our Christmas shopping soundtrack at The Maisonette. A lovely cover. There I was, in the shop, drying my eyes discreetly as happy customers enjoyed the festivities!
3. Donovan – The Little Tin Soldier.
My sister, ever the jester, tormented me with this song as a child. Even the opening chords are enough to send me into a teary stuper even now.
4. Hank Snow – Nobody’s Child
Hmmm? What was that? “Oh jeezoh… Yer kiddin’ me on? That’d bring a tear tae a glass eye?” You betcha.
5. David Gray – Shine
A tear-jerking classic from the days when David Gray could elicit a goosebump even in the very first line of a song! I first heard it in 1998/1999 when my other sister (who also enjoys poking fun at the lack of control I have over my tear ducts) took me to see David Gray at King Tut’s. If you were there, I was the idiot bawling uncontrollably in the corner.
6. Bright Eyes – Landlocked Blues
Which leads seamlessly to this gem from King of Angst, Conor Oberst. I hadn’t heard this song before either until I was watching a live performance from the balcony of The Debating Chamber in Glasgow University (with my sister of course). Yup. I was the sniffling, snotty mess weeping into my plastic pint glass. You’d think I would have learned to hold it in! ou’d think she might have learned to pre-warn me. Weepy alert!
Ok – just one more before I need to go and blow my nose.
7. The Longpigs – On and On
Oh Lordy… This one I couldn’t even bare to listen to between 1996 and well, now I guess. Bubble. Snort. Sniffle.
We’ll ‘enjoy’ (?!) another instalment of Sad Songs again soon. In the meantime, send requests, share stories and start compiling your own Top 52 Saddest Songs You’ve Ever Heard.
A few years ago, Beardy and I took a trip to London for a couple of days. I relived my musical youth as we pottered along the South Bank. When I was at school (and for a little while afterwards), I was a member of an early music consort called Flat Pavan. I pure loved Flat Pavan. Every summer (well, just about every summer), we travelled to London to perform in the final stages of the National Festival of Music for Youth. We played in The Royal Festival Hall, in The Queen Elizabeth Hall and even in The Royal Albert Hall. One summer, when I was too old to perform with the group anymore, I took some work experience with the festival organisers and spent my days running after invigilators with jugs of iced water and directing coach loads of teens through concrete stairwells. I remember those times fondly!
Beardy emailed this pic out of the blue just the other day. It made me chuckle – not only because my stance in this picture only serves to accentuate the protruding pot belly that’s trying to fight it’s way out of my woolly waistcoat (?!) but that I remembered how super excited I was at the time to find that the old coloured sign posts were still around. “Take my picture! Take my pciture! Get the signs in! Get the signs in!” Ha. Poor Beardy…
I’ve just had a quick snoop around the National Festival website (‘They didn’t have that in my day’ – she says, waving her walking stick in the air) and noticed that Larry (the fella who was head of the whole shebang back in the Flat Pavan heyday), is now Larry Westland CBE. That’s pretty swell. A quick Google search for Flat Pavan throws up few results, sadly. I did happen upon a neglected diy website (hadn’t been updated since 2000) but all the links to the pics are dead and the midi player made my computer crash :(
A day off. Everyone but everyone needs a day off. At least once a week, ideally. But – at least once EVER, for certain.
Today was my day off. I tend to have one every Saturday. Clare looks after The Maisonette and I officially get to step away from the computer. I say I officially get to step away from the computer. Sometimes, day off or not, I end up pottering away on some piece of Made in the Shade work that niggles at my brain. In this bid to be kinder to myself and my family this year, I’m desperately trying to enjoy days off. Thing is – every time Saturday comes around, I face the same dilema. What to do? If I spend the day being domestic – filling the dishwasher, doing laundry, tidying up and doing a bit of nesting, is that a well spent day? Or – if I decide to leave the mess that’s accumulated during the previous 6 days to fester for the next 6 and devote my day to some quality couch time eating violet cremes and watching The Jolson Story – have I wasted my time? If I decide to get out and about – go outside, meet someone for a cup of tea and a chatter and maybe do some window shopping on the local charity shop trail, when do I get to sit on my ass and relax? I need three days off. One to be domestic, one for lounging and one for being a normal person who engages in conversation and fun times with friends and loved ones. Can we arrange that please? No?
Today, still riding the wave of sociable-ness I grabbed on Thursday, Beardy and I decided to ditch the chores and head down town like normal people.
With our tummies a-rumblin’, our first stop – Chopstix. Chopstix is a funny Chinese canteen in a fairly ugly part of town near the train station. Vaguely reminiscent of a dinner school (where all the dinner ladies are Chinese men), Chopstix offers up wonderfully massive boxes of delicious, freshly cooked rice and noodle dishes on plastic trays. The metal chair legs make a horrible scraping noise on the tiled floor. It’s not really a place to hang out – more of a quick stop fill up station. Beardy scoffed some salt & pepper chicken and I munched through every last nugget of sweet and sour yummness before we headed next door to the music store to spend some gift vouchers we got for Christmas but hadn’t had a chance to cash-in until now.
There's something about eating food from a box.
The Fopp trip (Fopp’s the music shop), took up more time that we expected. I was my usual indecisive self. With an armful of books, cds and movies, the sifting process was a sore one as I plumped to leave behind the Jesus & Mary Chain boxset, zine compendium and Single Man dvd. However, I did eventually purchase these…
Belated gifts from Santa
Next up, we trotted round the corner to the Sub Club. A veritable den of iniquity and dirty techno most weekends, this afternoon the club was playing host to Glasgow’s newest fashion event, pop-up styling shindig, Bold Souls. Not sure what to expect exactly, I realised pretty quickly that I wasn’t nearly cool cat enough not to stick out like a sore, poorly dressed thumb as I wandered round the makeshift fashion booths and make-over pods. However, I did enjoy ooh-ing and aah-ing at beautiful handmade collections by Jennie Loof, Sew Vintage and Margolily. Oh – and a fella from fancy style blog, Les Garcons de Glasgow took my picture – but I’m guessing more as a ‘what not to do’ example than anything else. Wearing my hat backwards and with a button missing from my coat, I was hardly rockin’ the street style vibo!
Carrie: Style Calamity
Inspired/shamed by my lack of catwalk cool at Bold Souls, I hit the shops in search of something new, something different, something a little bit out of character. For years now I’ve been mocking up my own 40s/50s esque, part Pink Lady, part granny chic look. These days? I’m hankering for change. Just as I’ve become a bit bored with Glasgow, with the colour of the walls in my hallway and the tv schedule, I’ve become a bit bored with myself. I dragged poor Beardy round every clothing fixture in H&M for at least an hour, as I picked up items I’d usually walk straight past. I pondered whether I ought to try squishing my ass into a peg leg troo. Then thought I might be better off hiding it with a harem pant. I wondered if I might be able to ‘work’ a floor length knitted dress? A deep v-neck jumbo knit jumper? Leggings? Smock tops? Riding jackets? I took a little selection of bits to try on and emerged rather smug that the peg-leg troo plan worked out for the best. Sold. Oh – and I went a little bit wild in the hoisery section, but then, I did have to splurge on some new footsie wear to compliment my oh-so-special clogs!
And now I’m at home. I’m watching a movie as I type and thinking in the back of my mind that maybe if I hadn’t spent yet more cashola I don’t have on bobby socks, I just might be able to order myself a pizza.
Well I’ve certainly honoured my resolution to get out and about more this week. This blogging lark really does force a gal to get up off the sofa and re-engage with her surroundings! I’ve even talked to some strangers AND caught up with some friends. Wowsers. Following a boozy evening of fun times and much guffawing with Clare and our favourite Meat Men on Thursday, my fella and I stepped out again last night for dinner, drinks and gig action out west at The Captain’s Rest. Although a little rough round the edges to begin with, a carbohydrate boost, the discovery of Tsing Tao beer and some rib tickling banter with funny friends and loved ones soon perked me up, up, up.
Last summer, Clare and I embarked upon a little DIY SOS style refurbishment of our shop. Every day, as we painted and hammered and moved things around from one display area to another, we listened to BBC 6music for hours and hours at a time. This song was playlisted at the time and sneaked into just about every show we heard.
Much to Clare’s annoyance, every single time the happy bassline intro bumped onto our radio, I’d say, “Oh! This is a nice wee song. Who’s this?” – never remembering that Clare had already explained to me that the song was by Allo Darlin’ and that yes – it was indeed a ‘nice wee song’. Every day. Bum. Bum ba ba bum. Bum ba ba ba ba bum. “Oh! Who’s this? That’s a nice wee song…” Poor Clare. Eventually I did remember, of course. When we reopened The Maisonette after the refurbishment, Clare made another of her fabulous shopping soundtrack compilations and on there was another little ditty by Allo Darlin’ – Kiss Your Lips (or at least – I’m guessing that’s what it’s called).
Allo Darlin'. Image from band's website.
On the basis of my love and excitement for these two songs, we decided to see if we could wangle a little guest pass to the Allo Darlin’ show at The Captain’s Rest (muchos gracias to John). If Loneliness Was Art was track number one. Hoorah! I bounced, I whooped, I jiggled my hips and smiled broadly from start to finish, singing along under my breath. I realised quite quickly though (probably by the end of track two) that Allo Darlin’ were maybe a little bit too sugary sweet for me. I love an upbeat bouncy number as much as the next person – and I do enjoy a sing-a-long-a-ba-ba-ba/sha-la-la chorus, but I did become uncomfortably aware that I was probably having a nice time on behalf of my 14-year-old self as opposed to my actual 31 year old self. Undoubtedly upbeat and catchy, a ‘lil bit Dawson’s Creek, annoyingly contagious and just the right amount of London/Oz ‘cool’ – these guys and gals would have been definite teen favourites. Their album would have been a permanent fixture in my cassette player. I’m sure of it.
I hung around long enough to hear favourite Allo Darlin’ song number II (about two thirds of the way through the show I guess?) but then decided to put Beardy out of his misery and suggest taxi time! Poor Beardy… While I bobbed around and shoogled myself about in tandem with the super energetic, super smiley moustachioed bassist, I could feel my poor husband practically clench. He stood absolutely still behind me. No whooping. No nodding. Not even a toe tap. I’m not even sure he managed to muster up a polite applause. Sensing his bad vibes and feeling a bit sorry that I made him accompany me on this little bubblegum jaunt, I dragged 14 year old me up the stairs and into the street! Bless his woolly cardigan. We plumped for taxi, tea and television.
