WordPress Tag: Blog Nominations

So this seems to be a WordPress game of ‘tag’.

The clinically lazy, somewhat anti-social part of me wants to say thank you for the nomination and then not have to do anything.

(Like tag, if you get tagged you have to tag a bunch of people starting with the person who tagged you.)

But the enthu cutlet part of me has decided to play. In fact I got nominated before for something, but I can’t remember what. I’m going to roll that nomination into this one.

I always liked tag.

Me and the neighbour would gang up on my brother.

He was always ‘it’, poor bastard.

Here are the Rules of WP Tag:

Thank the person/people who nominated you and link back to them in your post.

Here you go. (Funny blog)

Share seven possibly unknown things about yourself.

Christ.

I masturbate when bored. (That’s why I’m so glad I never have to read an ISCE text-book ever again. This also explains why my MA thesis was such a failure.)

Is that the kind of information you want? Can that hefty chunk count as all 7?

What if I told you I started at 10? Probably earlier. I had no idea what I was doing.

I think I’m bored with Barbara Cartland’s now. Or at least, for now.

I’ve decided those 3 mega shares count as 7 combined.

Nominate fifteen or so bloggers you admire.

This one is easy. I’ve chosen largely WordPress blogs. In no-particular order.

1. The Middlest Sister.

Everyone who uses WordPress will come across this brilliant blog-comic at some point. If you havent read it you must. It’s like ‘Little Women’ in cut paper and no one dies. Except maybe a hamster.

2. Bring me the head of David Dixon.

The head of David Dixon Speaks. Another blog comic.

3. Anon & Anon

A good arty farty blog. With lots of great reviews and rants and art stuff. Desi based mostly.

4. Boggleton Drive

Another great comic. Learn how to fix your spelling, punctuation and grammer. Grammar? I’ve learned nothing.

5. The Girl In The Hat

Excerpts and lovely short stories.

6. Moofiate

A fun blog with rants and beautiful gay boy sketches and swearing.

7. Hungry & Excited

A desi food blog with gorgeous photos, unlike most of the food photography blogs out there (Generally soft pastels on white e.g. Soft focus macaroons on rustic kitchen tables and shit. Bored of it.)

8. Charlotte Hu Photography

I love her photographs. Her Secret Cinema post filled me with envy.

9. Draw & Shoot

She draws, she shoots. Well, mostly she shoots. Very sparse and sometimes alien landscapes.

10. Steve McCurry

Die. His photographs. Fuck. So good.  I’m defo not tagging him. He’s a proper professional photographer. Like he cares about this award game.

11. Averil Dean

A writer. Lots of intimate posts. I like intimate.

12. Bizzybiz Blog

I’m obsessed with this blog. She’s reading and reviewing 50 Shades of Grey chapter by chapter, rant by rant.

13. Caitlin Clarkson Illustration

Cute illustrations. Watercolours usually, my bête noir.

14. Illustration Age

Illustration featured daily. Great blog.

15. Lucious Somesuch

I enjoy following this blog because of the insane dedication to a group of Korean pop-star clones in this band called Tara. There are some other Korean bands with nearly identical women in them. I still can’t tell any of them apart. Also the fonts and typesetting are insane. I used to hate the typesetting but it grew on me.

Contact the chosen bloggers to let them know and link back to them.

Darn. The problem is most of these blogs are already swimming in awards.

The Middlest Sister (for example) is constantly being awarded awards. I don’t think I need to contact her. She won’t care any more.

She’ll probably be publishing a book soon and then there’s the animated series / movie.

It’ll happen people. It just has to. Her comics are too good.

Here are some photos under the general heading of

“Rain Rain Go Away. Seriously. Fuck.”

Rain Clouds Essex Road

Renaissance Clouds & Windows

Merchants Hall Clouds

Green Park Tube Wet

Deck Chairs & Umbrellas

Neglected Deck Chairs

Neglected Deck Chairs Closer

Ritz Umbrellas

Kings Cross Hotel entrance

Kings Cross Hotel entrance doorman

Wet Road Highbury

Delicate Tropical Flowers Need Warmth

Being a delicate tropical flower, I wilt in cold weather.

So naturally I enjoy the brief bursts of summer sun London sporadically basks in.

A rare business this summer. It’s usually sunny during the week when you’re stuck inside the office and have to take a hot over-crowded tube in the morning, while the weekends are wet and clouded over. You feel disinclined to change out of your pyjamas for 48 hours.The Urge to hibernate sets in.

When the sun is out, the pub pavements are crawling, the football somehow turns up (or whatever, some sports thing. Olympics garbage. Ugh.) and all the girls seem to have their boobs out.

Seriously, boobs everywhere.

I don’t have any photos of the boobs.

(Sorry)

A bench in Soho. There was some market set up down the street (the one with Cay tre & Candy Bar on it)

Street Shadows. All the gay boys were out in force.

The pretty option – Mango, Strawberry &  Butterscotch Gelato in a cone. This is so goddamn gorgeous.

That gelato moulding is a work of art.

Late evening sun on some steps

Sunbathers in Angel

Sunbathers in Angel

Trees & Clouds Near Portabello

Fluffy purple flower. The entire hedge on the way to work turns purple briefly in summer.

Hedge on the way to work in the morning. This wasn’t full blown purple. Unfortunately the early spring brought the hedge into bloom too early and all the flowers died off quickly.

An eclair from the old fashioned bakery near by & Sink

Flowering Coriander and its Shadow

Shadow Closeup

The Essex Road Library

Sun in the Tree Fork, Essex Road. I had to wait about 6 minutes to get a shot with no traffic.

Essex Road at Sunset

Pink Sunset near Oval

Pink Sunset above the buildings

London Commuting Woes

Sunny Street

The tube in the heat is a nightmare.

Sweaty compressed bodies and endless delays.

Yesterday it took double the time it usually takes to get to work.

Kings Cross had closed some gates in an effort to stem the crowds, the Hammersmith was late, over crowded and stalled at Edware road for what felt like an eon.

Too hot and sweaty to bother with my inter-connection lateness run.

I ended up being 30 mins late, compared to my average of 15.

The usual sorry-I’m-running-late text to my boss and that the train really was delayed didn’t allay my guilt.

I cried wolf too many times.

Wore my “No boyfriend, no problem” t-shirt. Given to me by my mother. It is one of my favourite tees ever. Such a cheezeballs.

Saw a lady crying on the tube this morning.

It was not even 9. She was on the phone and had her fingers compressed tightly over her mouth, the way people do when they want to stifle the sound or want to mask the way their mouth curves downward, like cup held upside down.

Another lady sat next to me, noticing, got up and asked her if she wanted to sit.

On a packed Hammersmith line this is indeed an act of true charity.

But I confess that although the lady offering up her seat meant well, I disapproved.

It was a little tactless I thought, and coming from a person distinctly lacking in social graces or diplomacy that is saying a bit.

There is an unspoken rule, (and if there isn’t, there should be) that if you see a person crying in public (and especially on public transport where there is no escape or place to hide) that unless the person is physically injured or ill,  you pretend you haven’t noticed.

Because you may or may not know from personal experience, that there is nothing more humiliating that being caught crying publicly, and how deeply embarrassing it is when someone asks you if you are ok.

You want everyone to just continue listening to their iPods, and reading their Metros - nothing to see here folks.

You don’t make eye contact with anyone.

If someone notices, it only grates on your nerves . Someone offering assistance, only mortifies.

The crying lady on the tube demurred emphatically, declining to take the other lady’s seat and turned away a step.

As to be expected.

What else could she do?

I would have done the same, silently annoyed that this person couldn’t just pretend to ignore me like everyone else.

People complain about the anonymity of large cities, and of public transport, the lack of eye contact. But it’s rather comforting to be invisible sometimes.

To be crying from Paddington to Hammersmith, once you leave the tube you can pretend it never even happened.

Remember The Sun?

Way back in March there was this glowing yellow thing in the sky. It made everything warmer, all the colours were brighter, the sky was bluer. Feels like it was yonks ago.

I really enjoy using the word ‘yonks’.

It’s very under-used. I’d especially like it used in historical articles or documentaries.

“The Romans invaded Gaul back in…well… yonks ago.”

The sky was a depressing green tinge a last week (as it is now). There was thunder and lightening. Very apocalyptic in the office.

My only hope is that during the Olympics there might just be a flood that washes the entire village away. That would be fun.

(Apparently there is a ban for Olympic ticket holder taking photos and sharing them via social media. These people are fucking morons. I hate the Olympics. I wish we could give it back to France. Just take it France, please.)

This is a very florally set of photos to combat the general depression.

All the flowers have by now fallen off now and it’s been dreary and grey most days.

I’m like a Gran now. I take photos of flowers.

I can’t help it. I’m enjoying the macro zoom on my new little baby.

Be warned, lots of photos will appear on this blog from now on.

Yellow & Pink Flowers

Yellow & Pink Flowers

Yellow Flowers on tree

Strange Green Flowers. No idea what these are.

Green Flowers Closeup

White Blossom Tree. Makes me feel like I’m in Japan.

White Blossom Tree Close Up

Pink Flowers with the sun shining. Ah the sun. So long ago I’ve nearly forgotten.

Pink Flowers with white blooms close up.

Pink flowers bud. Look I warned you this was an uber florally post.

Pink Flowers and white bloom closeup

Sun! Bring it back!!!!

Drawings for Your Boobs

I tried submitting my Gola print to this T-shirt company.

They didn’t want that but liked the font, so asked if I could do some lyrics or quotes in that font.

I really HATE having text that some company has decided represents them stretched across my breasts. I don’t know why so many desi companies think this is a good idea. Stuff that some idiot will tilt his head 45 degrees trying to read.

But what the heck! I figured I’d do it anyway. This lyrics/quotes thing is a bit cheese-balls for my taste but I decided to treat it like it was a challenge (or a procrastination opportunity from my work) to make it interesting for myself somehow.

And on the plus side, if it does get approved, maybe some day I’ll be reading lyrics I picked off someone else’s boobs.  (Whee!)

The chosen theme was ‘Summer’. So I choose the only 2 lyrics I could think of (see below), because all the quotes I found on the internet just were just way too poncy to write on a tee.

Stuff like

“A life without love is like a year without summer.”

You can’t wear that on your boobs!

Paul Weller Weller Weller HUH!

I like to sing this to myself now and then. Mostly I sing the Adam Buxton version.

I did think about Zombie Nazi Penises while I was drawing it though.

I know, I know.

I know.

My ex M.A teachers would be so disappointed in me.

But I rather enjoyed drawing it. Soothing. Un-confrontational. No rape. No bird people. All nice, all happy.

Now I really need to get cracking on my 2012 Drawing To Do list that is nearly as long as my arm.

First things on the list.

1. Finish certain incomplete parts of Arsonist’s Ball.

I sometimes get bored just before the end of a drawing and then it lies with tiny parts incomplete for ages.

2. Scan Picnic & Goddesses.

3. Make Olympic’s poster.

Coming soon.

Kala Khatta Gola

Kala Khatta Gola

I once ate 5 of these one after another.

I couldn’t speak the next day.

But god they are delicious.

So I bought some ice lolly cases on Ebay and made the concentrate from the Rasna packet.

The ice lollies are pretty good, but the texture is just not quite like the real thing.

Hastings Indian Summer and Bawa Fest

I tried walking without shoes and it was excruciating.

The last last weekend England had weather hotter than Spain, the papers proudly bragged. Weather reporters briefly felt like celebrities. People went wild, sales rocketed. An unprecedented amount of pictures of pretty girls in bikini’s in parks popped up all over the paper.

The entire country was engulfed in a warm, deep contentment that only a unprecedented burst of summer in October can bring.

So I toodled off to Hastings again to visit my Great Aunts, and some other bawas who had flown in from Ahmedabad.

Learning from the error of my ways from my last visit (The Aunts drove me down on the Saturday and it took over 4 hours including a stop-over at a store where I ate 2 kulfis and by the end of it I was faintly car sick) and the time before that (6 hour journey due to a signal failure at Tonbridge), I left for Hastings straight after work so I could have an uninterrupted weekend of sunshine by the sea

Saturday morning more distant parsee cousins and relations came down, so it turned into quite the bawa fest over lunch.

I wandered through the old town of Hastings, and bought myself an A3 pop-up paper theatre. It comes in a book, and you just pop-up the pieces (the stage, the sets and the characters) and assemble them.

The story is Cinderella, and the print quality of the book is beautiful. I’ve decided to try to replicate the architecture, but with my own illustrations, decorations and drawings. I don’t have an exact plan in mind for it yet. I also need to find the right paper stock that’s thick enough yet not so thick that cutting it out and illustrating it will be a right pain.

I have a lot of plans – Instead I waste all my time blogging.

The station near my Great Aunt’s place is tiny and unmanned on a Sunday. I walked down to it on the Sunday evening to catch the train from Hastings to London.

I noticed some yellow tape across the entrance to the platform but casually disregarding this I strolled down to the platform.

A short while later a nagging feeling about that tape started to trouble me.

The station guard meanwhile, was following me down to the platform.

I saw him and started to have a very bad feeling about that tape.

The guard came up to me and said,

“The station is closed. Didn’t you see the tape?”

Disregarding the tape yet again I jumped to the more vital part of his statement.

“Closed??… Can I get a train to London from the next one then?”

“There are no trains to London today.”

“WHAT?? NO TRAINS?? OH GOD!!! BUT WHY??”

I’m never moderate in expression when faced with travel difficulties. When I missed my flight once I spent 2 hours crying at the airport.

Really, I hate traveling. It’s just rubbish. It really is. I like to be somewhere, not fucking commuting for hours and hours.

Faced with this outpouring of absolute horror the very nice man at the station told me I could get a rail replacement bus from right outside the station in 15 minutes, which would take TWO HOURS to get to Tonbridge Wells where I could then take a 1 hour .30 minute train into London.

By the time I got home I had spent nearly 4 hours commuting.

Sigh.

Travel.

So overrated.

Here, some photos.

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Middle Class Festival

Nice song by Adam Buxton, I like to hum it. Also now the name ‘Jemima’ makes me giggle. On the inside though. You can’t just go about laughing at words like ‘Jemima’. People might think I need medication.

So it’s the middle of a harsh winter, and although that’s deadly depressing the one silver lining is at least now I won’t have to listen to people talking about their bastard-over-priced-B.S.-mudfest-music-festivals. (Bah humbug)

This guy, one of the ex’s friends (a ‘surfer’ *snort*, like, whatevas) once asked me,

“You don’t like festivals?!?”

In the same tone as though I had just mentioned that I quite enjoyed battering kittens. It offended his surfer sensibilities. Like, dude man, how can anyone not like festivals?? Like, what was wrong with me? Dude. Man. Dude. Oh look a wave! Boogie board!

This annoyed me. I felt this sense of peer pressure to ‘like’ festivals, (in exactly the same way there is this sense of peer pressure that I must, deep down ‘want’ to breed) This annoyed me even more. I felt guilty for feeling guilty about not wanting to spend my time-off cold and wet with a pack of drunk people listening to house music.

I mean, maybe there really is something wrong with me (sure, there is, and plenty) but not about festivals. This first-world enthusiasm of living like some refugee for a couple of days just doesn’t appeal on any level to me.

Look, what if I just want to read a book and do a crossword? I’m a chiller, not a raver, so screw all you hippie-dippy-festival-types.

Leo and I did just that at the Notting Hill Carnival a few years ago – we sat down on a quiet corner and did a crossword, much to the disgust of one of the ex’s friends (different friend from surfer. This one plays African drums. I’d snort again but I can’t be bothered.)

He couldn’t believe we (Leo & I) didn’t want to walk around and around and around with him like ducklings behind some ginormous duck. He is 6.4ft, and his head was nicely in the clouds both metaphorically and literally, while us hobbits were down on the ground amongst all the plebs and garbage and shit, piss and condoms.

I started was taking photos of these piles of rubbish with used condoms occasionally scattered about like Christmas baubles. On a side note, who are these people having sex and tossing condoms on the street at the carnival? Where is the place to have sex? It’s very packed on every street. I don’t understand. Anyway…

He asked me why I was doing that, and I said I wanted to document the spirit of the Carnival.

“That’s not the spirit of the Carnival!”

he said, outraged.

How dare I come to the carnival and take pictures of condoms. Don’t I know it’s about blah blah blah bloo blah puppies and kittens?

He probably said something about love and peace and good times and shit but he is so frickkin tall I stopped listening. The sound travels too slowly from up there anyway.

He wasn’t at all impressed with my Carnival spirit. I should ignore all that and just focus on the people instead…..

This video eventually got its own facebook page called “Mary Moham what were you thinking?” I love the internet.

The ex has been to one festival so far, loved it and now imagines all sorts of festivalling possibilities. I’m really glad the ex doesn’t insist I tag along because pissing in a plastic cup in a field that will soon look like refugee camp is just not my idea of a good time.

No I just can’t. I can’t do it.

We’d probably quarrel like crazy anyway.

I’ve taken the second class from Churchgate to Parla local at rush hour and it seems like it would feel exactly the same, and it only costs Rs.10. (I’m such an Indian. Always looking for a bargain.)

Firangs go to Dharavi and come back shocked: The Horror! The Humanity!

I look at Glastonbury (any festival really) and I feel the same way. And Glastonbury is optional.

I don’t know. Maybe one day I’ll festival it up. It seems unlikely at the moment.

Spot the Difference Slide Show. Bah humbug!

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Hayward Gallery Fountain

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My favorite photos, From the best and hottest week of the summer.
Swam in an art exhibition pool on the Hayward Gallery roof, sunny and lovely and unfortunately only for 30 minutes.
Then ran around this modular fountain overlooking the Southbank.
Sections of the fountain would start up or close off, creating rooms, spaces, light and shadows of people in them.