Song Of The Week XXIX

War is peace
Peace is war
Less is more
Yes is no
The cows are mad
The chickens glow
And Jesus walks in Idaho
.
Everywhere I go
I hear what's going on
And the more I hear
The less I know

I first went to Cambridge Folk Festival in 1996, my lovely sister took me with her family and afterwards she asked me what I'd enjoyed most. I remember saying that I liked the band that sang the song that went "Please God this is the last time I get married". And so began my love of Oysterband, I've probably seen them more than any other band and have never waned in my love of them. The Big Session festival that I go to in June was started by the Oysterband, so I get to see them at that. Sadly they're not playing Cambridge this year, but I think I'll survive! Maybe!

This is one of my favourite songs, always has been and as you can tell from the audience - it's rather an anthem amongst we Oysterfans.
I particularly like this video for a couple of reasons, firstly, I was at this gig - their 25th anniversary and it was a brilliant night.
Secondly, I'm in the video a couple of times which will always tickle me. I look terrible, I'd danced a ceilidh right before the gig and then danced throughout this and was a little warm!
Well, there's actually a third reason, one of my Celebrity Crushes is on the video too; John Jones - the lead singer.

One more sleep until I'm tucked up in my tent at Cambridge, I might just be a little excited!

The Pencil Test

The following quote that I read today reduced me to giggles and every time I think about it a huge smile spreads across my face, which doubtless makes random strangers wonder just what mischief I'm up to.

Behold random quote:

"Every girl in the world mocks the pencil test until the day she fails it, prompting her to binge on Doritos and investigate whether a boob lift is prohibitively expensive. But you know what helps? UNDERWIRE. It makes cleavage smile"

And here is where these lovely words originated. Go see, it's worth a click! And it's totally clean and safe too!

Anyway, I'm happy in the knowledge that my cleavage is smiling.

Not Long Now

This time next week I'll be readying myself for my third day of the Cambridge Folk Festival.
I feel my heart race a little when I start to think about it. I am somewhat excited!
This also means that my obsession has kicked in again.
I am checking metcheck several times a day to see what the weather has in store, despite the fact that I have almost zero faith in weather forecasting.
After all, we have the classic Michael Fish incident.
Here he is - telling us that there is absolutely no hurricane on the way.

And here's the effects of that non-hurricane. He really was right on the money. Ahem.

Incidentally, I clearly remember this night, standing in the dining room with Mum, watching the wind buffet everything in sight when suddenly our greenhouse completely left the ground. The whole structure raised into the air and then appeared to be thrown back to ground with a very resounding crash. I'm not sure a single pane lived to tell the tale.

Anyway, the current forecast for next weekend - not so pretty. This morning it promises rain. All I want is for it to be dry. Not so much to ask eh?

Song Of The Week XXVIII

I totally meant to add this to the end of the last entry.
Only I forgot that fact until I hit the old publish button.

I absolutely adore this song, have done for years, I can't even remember where I first heard it - as is so often the case. Actually, I'm not even sure when it first came out.

I read somewhere that this song has the absolute best first line of any song, and I have yet to find a song that makes me disagree with that, or find anyone that can offer me a better first line. Now there's a challenge!

Fiona Apple - Criminal:

I just know I'm going to go to sleep tonight with this running round my head, luckily Mifford doesn't object too much to my humming to myself. And maybe because my singing voice so closely resembles caterwauling, she doesn't mind that either...

Repetition

It has to be said that my history of illness and accidents has been well documented over my blog life.
I managed to hurt myself baking.
I feel like I should take a small bow for that.
Although it's not strictly true.
A decade ago I got RSI, it's the kind of thing that just hangs around waiting for you to piss it off at some point in the future.
"Aha" it thinks "you have spent mighty long typing today, I shall give you a little pain".
Or in the most recent case "Aha, so you thought getting into baking would be a good idea? Well let me show you what I think of your whisking, beating and stirring". It didn't think a whole lot of it and my goodness it made me pay.

I was uncharacteristically sensible and rested. I remembered a decade ago, when it got so bad I had no grip in my hand at all and had to have my food cut up for me. I can't decide if that was like regression or premature ageing....
Either way, it's improving slowly, although my online time has been somewhat curtailed.

Add to the fact I had spent Saturday baking, I then decided (before my uncharacteristic sense kicked in) that I would work in the garden. I dug and weeded and planted and fought with ants. This did not help the pain in my wrist (funny that eh?)

I had parked my car in front of my garage, then I came to want to close the garage but the boot of the car was in the way. So I put the key in the ignition and the sound that came out was all wrong. A little like a flooded engine sound. Not a good sound. She's always been a good Beastie and started first time. Until she was in the most inconvenient spot. I tried, dodgy wrist and all, to give her a shove but, shockingly, she was rather heavy and refused to budge.
I made a call and Tim came and helped with the shoving, we closed the garage and abandoned the Beastie.

I saw the man in the garage the next day, Monday. "I'll come out in the afternoon" he said.
Then Tuesday rolled around. I was out all day, I asked my Mum to ring and they said "we'll come out this afternoon".
Wednesday then rolled in. I dropped back in to the garage. "I'll come out this afternoon" he said.
5.30pm rolled around, I felt like a shower, so I decided we were moving out of afternoon and into evening and stepped into the hot water.
I put shampoo on my hair, I made a good lather...
The phone rang.
I ran.
"Are you with your car?"
"I can be."
"See you in five minutes."
"Ok, no worries"
Shit. Shit. Shit.

Thus followed a very fast dive into the shower, a desperate rush to rinse the shampoo and failing miserably. Deciding in my wisdom to push my wet legs into the broken pair of jeans. Broken because the zip 'handle' part broke so the zip slides down if you pull it up, and as a measure before replacing it I put a safety pin in the zip. Which means the movements for dressing in jeans you can't undo are more than a little bizarre, combined with your wet legs and bubble filled head it's really not a pretty picture.

I stroll down to the car, hoping the fact my head is acting like a child's pot of bubbles isn't too noticeable. They arrive from the garage with a tow rope. I am not filled with good feelings.
I cross my fingers and hope that she will turn over and start, as she always has.
But she doesn't.
The two men from the garage look at each other and in an almost duet utter the words "cam belt". Which, when said in a negative tone, are not two words I wish to hear. My heart sinks. I feel the Beastie slipping away.

The bonnet is popped, things are poked, hmming noises are uttered as the engine turns over and the sentence "Oh maybe it's not, there's still movement."
These words are a joy. The Beastie is still with me yet.
I watch her be towed away with a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye.
I'm a giant softie.

Thursday comes and goes. No word from the garage.
Friday arrives. Friday afternoon flies by, suddenly my phone rings.
It's Mum, "What's your licence plate?"
I relay it and she says "We've just seen it driving down the road"
I do an embarrassing dance of joy and keep my fingers crossed that the fact the Beastie is working doesn't also mean that i will be destitute after having paid for her surgery.

I arrive at the garage, "something wrong with your ignition, it's going now, don't know how long it'll go for though". There's no mincing of words at my garage. Which is actually pretty much how I like it.
So, I carefully took the Beastie home (after giving her a hug round the steering wheel when I was sure the mechanics weren't looking) and my pocket was just £50 lighter.

I am a happy bunny, I really missed her.
It was a genuine disaster for me to be threatened with losing her.

And on a lighter note. I have learned that, if you apply some of that holiday skin fake tan lotion that takes a week to show up and then take a bath and scratch your leg, it will remove the fake tan in that area and leave you with the mother of all streaks. Just call me McStreakyLegs. And yes, it really IS as attractive as it sounds.

Song Of The Week XXVII

This wasn't actually part of the list that I've got stored away with songs I love for this wee feature, but, I do love it.
I don't care how cheesy it's now considered to be, it's still, to me, a brilliant song.

Meredith Brooks - Bitch:

I think women love this song because we so entirely understand the lyrics.
We have that multiplicity about us.
Sometimes we are a bitch, sometimes we're softer. Saints and sinners.
She says 'you wouldn't want it any other way'.
I wouldn't want it any other way, I like the fact I'm often a confusion of different facets. And as she says 'I do not feel ashamed'.
There are so many lyrics I could quote from this, just take: 'Just when you think you've got me figured out, the season's already changing' or 'Tomorrow I will change and today won't mean a thing'.
Abso-bloody-lutely.

Thank goodness for the diversity in our personalities, for the unpredictable nature of our emotions, for being human and most of all, being female.
We are the fairer sex after all.
If not also the incredibly complicated sex, which we should never apologise for.
Since when was simple interesting?

The Merest Soupcon Of Drama

I mentioned previously that I was weak and bought crockery at the last auction.
After driving round with it for a few days in the boot, I decided the time was nigh to remove it before all I was removing was shards of kitsch crockery.
I took the first box safely into the house.
I took the second box safely into the house.
Then came the turn of the third box.
(They were small boxes - I didn't buy that much crockery!)
I take a step into my conservatory, I catch the tip of my flip-flop on the doorstep which causes me to take one of those super large steps in order to recover and not fall headlong into the hall. Whilst doing so I also have to make sure the box of crockery does not part company with the hands in which I am holding it.
So, giant step is taken, unfortunately the ground outside was wet.
Wet flip-flops + linoleum = spectacular slide almost resulting in the splits.
My attempt at the splits was stopped by my foot smacking into my porcelain umbrella stand - which survived unscathed, somewhat miraculously.
To top it all.
I didn't break a single piece of crockery, through trip, step and slide I recovered without breaking myself or anything else.
A round of applause if you please.

Pants

I was watching How To Look Good Naked, because you know, one needs all the advice one can handle.
However, Gok said that 10 pairs of knickers was sufficient.
I mean, really?
10 pairs?
That's not even close to sufficient. I stood in the pub with Harriet last night discussing this little tidbit of advice. I visualised my inordinately tidy knicker drawer. 4 rows, three piles deep with at least 4 pairs to a pile, generally more, which means a bare minimum of about 50 pairs (probably nearer 70). So does this mean Gok would think I owned an excessive amount of underwear?
10 pairs doesn't sound like nearly enough.
Is it just me?
Is my knicker drawer overstuffed by most women's standards?
Am I spending too long contemplating this?
The thing is, you think of the styles available, you need a variety in those styles. You can't just have one pair of shorts - you need them in different colours to go with different outfits. Same goes for thongs or big pants.
Gok, I love you I do, but I say pfft to your ten pairs.

***
Totally unrelated.
I got stung on Tuesday, whilst hacking wildly at my hedge a wasp became displeased with me. That really bloody hurt, it was like someone shut my arm in a door.

Song Of The Week XXVI

It's Back!
If this does not create some toe-tapping, I can only insist that you seek medical attention as you are plainly dead.
Which might mean it's too late. But seek some kind of help.

I have no memory how I came to know of John Campbell, or even where the cd originated from. I do know that I love it though. It must be the definition of a gravelly voice.

John Campbell - Saddle Up My Pony: