"The countryside is dying. Some say it's already dead. And the huntsman has a boner as the dogs pull it to shreds..."*

Is it possible for a 28 year old girl, sorry, woman, to go through the menopause? I truly feel like I am. About three times a day I get really hot and flushed and sweat for a bit and then I calm down. Its totally fucking weird. Evan thinks its to do with my bobble hat but I'm less convinced. Maybe I'm just very changeable.

I had a great weekend the one just gone. Me and Evan stayed in on Friday night and cooked prawns. We've become, I'd say slightly worryingly, obsessed with prawns of late. I've never really thought about it until right now but that's a bit fucking weird isn't it? So yeah...prawns were ate, beer was drunk, and sleep was had...lovely. Saturday was a frustrating day of waiting around for things that didn't actually materialise - but thats just the way it goes sometimes. But then we eventually got hold of what we wanted and headed out to my friend's wedding party. This was the fourth wedding celebration we've been to this year - but this was ace as it was literally a house party. They fucked off to Vegas to get married and then came back to tell everyone - amazing. They had a Barcardi bar which was evil as the Devil himself...I made full use of that, sampling all the different cocktails and announcing to the world that I'm "not the sharpest tool in the box." Not too sure why this was as amusing as many people found it as I do honestly believe it. Evan maintains I'm not thick but that sometimes I can be a numpty. This I do have to confess too. Well anyway, after numourous cocktails I vomited in my friend's sink and then sat quietly in the corner as the world blurred in front of me.
Sunday was quite an ordeal - getting up to go to Jenny's for Sunday lunch. Once we were there it was fine but poor Evan really struggled...if not mostly because these two kids on the bus insisted on singing "fiiiiiiiiivvvvvve gooold rings!" incorrectly and repetatively. One day Evan will laugh at it...
Anyway - Jenny served us a pork roast with the best crackling EVER and then we popped to Kentish Town to see Frank play at the Bull And Gate. He was excellent. Paul was exceedingly pissed and funny with it. Him and his lovely girlfriend Soph have bought me a brown t-shirt with "bowl-a-thon" written on it. Its the best T-Shirt EVER!!!!!
Thats about it. I'm now starting to sweat again. I haven't moved an inch and yet all of a sudden I'm flushed!! WHAT THE FUCK!!! Is this the beginning of the end? Will my already fledgling moustache turn into a full on Magnum PI within a year?
I'd rather suck the toes of a fat man than have a moustache...dammit.

* this lyric is from the song The Huntsman Comes A Marchin' by Chris TT and was covered by Frank last night. The next line is:
Then he wipes the blood on his daughter's face, and drags her back to bed.

Nice.

"I was wrong. This changes everything..."

I am so fucking bored.

I've noticed if I start the day off doing nothing then I'll find it very diffcult to start anything even remotely to do with work at all for the rest of the day. If however, I start off well I can then continue that throughout the day and not be tempted into playing solitaire, emailing friends, and writing blogs. You can see quite clearly how today started.
I think my problem is that today was the first day in ages that Evan's unemployed - meaning he's at home and I'm not. This has a knock on effect in ways far beyond the obvious slightly short of cash thing. 1) Who the hell do I speak to on email all day now? 2) I have to leave our lovely nice new flat thats all warm and that has an Evan in it to come to pissing work. and 3) its all just bollocks.

The one unbelievably amazing thing about today though is we've had no bosses and no snivelling little Jewish princess to adhere to when choosing music for the office. The three of us who are in have therefore been indulging in the one band that we all agree on. Tool. Tool and their debut full-length album Undertow to be precise.
Its an album I've been listening to for years and can still find bits on that I've not noticed before. A word that has been puzzling me will suddenly become clear and give the song a new meaning. I love that. Undertow is an album that's dark, unforgiving, shameless and angry and centered around two subjects: drowning and anal sex. I mean what more in an album do you want? And you get to yell "I have found some kind of temporary sanity in this shit blood and cum on my hands." and it kinda rules doing that.

I'm off for a curry on Brick Lane tonight and seeing some band at Catch 22 in the fashionable depths of Shoreditch. I fucking hate Shoreditch. I'll be one of about 3 people there not addicted to crack, not obsessed with Pete Doherty and not wearing fucking awful vintage clothing that doesn't match or my mum's net curtains as a dress. I should run a tally of how many people barge passed me with their shiney plastic 1940's handbags and sneer at me as I get in their way. Wankers.
I am wearing faded skinny black jeans though so maybe, just maybe they'll let me through the gates.
To be honest I kinda wish they don't so I can't go and so I can go home to my new lovely flat, an Evan and Grand Designs. Fucking love that program.

"you and me can rest our bones, a place where we can both call home..."

WE'RE IN!

Fucking hell what a relief. A stressful week all round, fucking about with references, account details, money and other suck bollocks has all gone by the wayside and matters not as we have moved in! Saturday afternoon wasn't quite the romantic vision I had of picking cutlery and choosing what set of crockery to get and then skipping home with our shared goods. It was a pisser of an afternoon where neither of us could choose anything, or make any kind of decision whatsoever. A row was avoided however, and in rather spectacular fashion we happily settled on some square scratchy plates and mugs and bowls that are too small and cutlery thats very heavy and kinda stripy, but the spoons are deep so thats good. We don't have any bins and have managed to damage the wall already which isn't very good, but we're happy. Jenny, my best friend and once proud housemate of mine, came over on Sunday night to inspect the place. "This flat has good energy." she said. Now, I don't know much about that hippy crap, the closest I get to hippyness is some old flares, a love of fire, nakedness and Neil Young, and being friends with Frank, but I kinda have to agree with her. It already feels like we've been there awhile.
Thats a good thing I think.
I have to be honest though - I think it takes me a little longer than others, well certainly Evan, to fully fit myself in somewhere new. By that I mean adapt and feel comfortable. Evan's right in there, like a pig in shit, but I've been a bit more tentative and unsure. That is until this morning. This morning I felt normal and I knew where things were, and I had a bit of a routine. Evan makes me a cuppa tea in the morning, has made me dinner three nights in a row and is generally being the best roomie ever!
I'm sure it won't last but I'm milking it for all its worth while it does ;0)

The agent bint who made our lives miserable last week has emailed me this morning. Its a standard pleasantry that they must fire off to all new tenants but reads as this:

Dear Dani

Hope your move went well. I wish you all the best of luck for your new home. Should you like to comment on the service provided by us please contact at the following email address: ***

Kindly,

Here is my draft reply:

Dear Cock end

Our move went very well thank you and we're very happy to be in. This is of course despite the absolute horror of dealing with you, and your money grabbing vile company. We found your services inadequate at best and you personally were pushy, demanding, sly and damn right fucking rude. My favourite bit being the bit that you told us that not only was our rent going to be more than we had previously agreed on and that had been cleared by you, but that we were to be left with no bed or couch or any other furnishings that were promised for our FURNISHED flat. But its ok, cos you waived your already extortionate admin fee and said we can buy a couch and bed with that. On what fucking planet can you buy a bed, a mattress and a couch for £200 that is devoid of fleas, and isn't dogshit? You conniving, manipulating, fat ankled, hope you get bird flu, South African cunt face.

yours sincerely

Chronic

Evan - wanna add anything?

"suddenly I see...why the hell this means so much to me..."

Oh my God! I feel utterly dreadful. I'm so hungover. Like death warmed up but only to a slight tepid temperature. Clammy Death. Thats how I feel. Clammy fucking death.

Last night was wicked. I met Fighting With Wire who are a new band I'm working with and they were lovely and played excellently and then Reuben played and I was almost in tears. Amazing.
To put it into context, Reuben are a small band who've been around for a while, built up a very strong fanbase thats steadily growing and whilst the fans love them and some press love them too - its hard getting them into the papers as they're seen as just this small band playing rock music. Except last night saw them headline and sell out a venue way bigger then they've played before, have intro music, a lighting guy, and crew!!! They seemed so big, so important and so unReuben like in that it felt like the next stop is gonna be the Astoria or something. Just incredible. Made me realise that all our hard work does pay off in the end.
After that we drank more and then went home. I had a fantastic night right from 7pm in the pub to 2am when I finally went to bed.
I've had not very much sleep and am consequently a complete and utter spacca at work today. Its taking me three times as long to do things and I can't really string an articulate sentence together.

Me and Evan move in together tomorrow. We pick up the keys tomorrow morning then pile all our stuff into Evan's friend's (Pornboy) car and heave it up four floors to our love den, aka chez Danevan. YAAAAY!!
I won't lie and say its been a smooth operation this week getting all our stuff together. In truth its been a fucking nightmare and both our stress levels have peaked continuously since Tuesday. However, its done and we're in and its really exciting.

I'm sure we'll have a gathering of around 10 people (thats the absolute most it can hold I reckon) in the near future.

I don't think I've ever been happier....



I actually could vomit.......yup yup I could definitely vomit. The smell of Mr. Christian's famous ratatouille is starting to churn my delicate constitution.

"Don't look at me that waaaay..."

I've been trying to write a blog for a good few days now. Many subjects have entered into my head as things to off-load. They include: an upper middle class colleague of mine who is so painfully snooty, into Prada, 4 holildays a year, daddy's credit card, blah blah blah who has been winding me up of late. Luckily she's off to Florida on her 3rd holiday of the year...so a bit of peace is on its way. Another topic was the nightmare housing situation that me and Evan are in - its stressful and worrying but its changing continuously so I'm just gonna wait till its all final and then talk about it. And the other was the fact that I'm thinking of going back to writing again. I had a brief stint as a music journalist. It was cool and everything, and I certainly enjoyed telling people that thats what I did for a living but essentially I waitressed too and I wasn't very good and the final straw was having to review Papa Roach at Brixton on a Monday night with the Murderdolls in support. I totally slagged it off (obviously) and the magazine I was writing for didn't believe in giving negative reviews so changed it to look like I loved them. CUNTS!!!!
Its a pie in the sky idea at the moment but one I'm definitely thinking about. I think I'm better than I was - I know more - and have more of an understanding of the world generally so maybe I could make it work. Just scared that I'd end up waitressing again. I vowed never to waitress again as not only was I totally shit but I'm not very good with the general public. They're a bunch of absolute wankers.

But in the end I decided to focus my attention to an absolute genius piece of television last night. 'Grumpy Old Women'. I think this is the spin off from 'Grumpy Old Men' and involves a bunch of well to do successful celebrity women bitching and moaning about stuff. Men being the main topic. I could give or take all that stereotypical mumbo-jumbo and was about to switch it over when the glorious Janet Street Porter came on and in rant about shopping in Tescos had this to say:
"The thing I hate most about Tesco shopping is all the fat people there. I want to give up my job and be the fat police in Tesco, going around and stealthy hijacking their trollies, taking out all the biscuits and custard tarts, and chips, and crisps and chocolate and all the things that they shouldn't be eating out and replace it with fresh fruit and veg."

It got me to thinking - what an amazing job. I would love that. I already have a spy coat and I look good in hats and my shades so I can be like a spy, hiding behind tins of soup, and pyramids of cereal boxes, sneakily replenshing trollies with organic goods in replace of cookie mix and lard. The more successful I became the more I could franchise out into other supermarkets and soon the ever-increasing weight problems that this country faces will decrease and the general health will improve, meaning the whole country will improve, and I will be awarded a knighthood for impeccable services to humankind.

There'll be a statue

An annual national holiday

Maybe even a street named after me

Maybe...

"It snot you, its me. Its what I'm going through..."

I've emergrd from under my snot stained duvet and blinked into the daylight. Today is my first day back at work since taking two mucus filled days off. I've watched some absolute shite on television and generally flumped around in my pyjamas sulking.
I did put on a brave face on Tuesday to go and view a flat in Bow.
'A selection of luxury one bedroom designer furnished apartments in brand new development located minutes from Bow Church D.L.R. or Bow Road tube station. Fabulous fitted kitchen & bathrooms'
Sounds wicked right?
Interpretation:
Bedroom will only fit a double bed in and that's it. Brand new development that looks and feels like a cross between a hotel, a school and a hospital. Minutes from Bow Church DLR meaning that the bedroom window looks directly on to the tracks. A fabulous fitted kitchen it is, granted, but happens to run along one of the walls of the living room which in itself is kinda pokey. FUCKERS! And the weasely looking estate agent (who was an aussie) kept me waiting for 20 minutes, didn't know which building we were looking at AND only showed me properties that were out of our price range. Weasley, aussie cunt.
Anyway that was that. I legged it to Islington to see a shite flat with no oven or washing machine ("but there is a launderette downstairs!!!!!") and then moped back home to feel even more rubbish and more sorry for myself. It was then I decided to fuck off work the next day too and flump.
Evan came round in the morning feeling like utter dog shit as he hadn't slept yet and we both moaned and grunted at each other until around 1pm when we left to view another place near Caledonian Road. It was a shit heap and smelt of boy. Do you know what I mean by that? Boys smell. Its a very distinct smell and the only way to describe it would be to say that its a...er....sweaty, clammy, stale beer, fusion, linked together with a over-powering stench of sexual frustration. Ming.
But then the estate agent took us to this place in Finsbury Park which is now - OUR flat!!!!!!! YIPPEE! Well thats if I pass credit check. hmmmmm.
Should be cool.
Its gonna be amazing. Evan, its gonna be amazing.
I'm suddenly very excited. I have to admit that I've been a bit scared by this of late. Its nothing to do with Evan at all, more that I've lived with a guy before and that went completely wrong so I guess its natural to feel a little tense. Admittedly though, this guy was a self-obsessed, relationship retard with an eating disorder so I guess it's shelf life was always going to be limited.
It is a big step but its one that feels right and exciting so fuck it. YAY!!!

Anyway - my left nostril has just clogged up with some absolutely foul feeling goo so I'm going to blow it free of it's contents.

"well you and I, collapsed in love and it looks we might have made it..."

The world is out to get me and Evan. Danevan. Team Danevan. But it won't succeed. It can get its filthy fucking evil little paws off us and go and spoil someone else's life because its not gonna work with us. We're too whiley. Too cunning. Too...too...better than that to be foiled by its pathetic little games. I mean who does it think it is, putting obsticles like no money, uncertain jobs and council tax and ever-increasing Egg Card bills to pay, in our way; in our pursuit of a happy life together. Its like...er.....FUCK OFF!!!!!!!!!! I mean what the fuck? What the fuck did we do to deserve any of this bullshit.

Well the world can fuck off. I'm gonna hide under a duvet for the rest of the day until my bunged up nose and sore head goes away, and Evan will join me until all the shit things in his life all disappear and there...in the middle of my comfortable, warm bed, we will remain, united against the shit and then when the world has fucked off to trouble someone else we'll emerge with a new found lust for life......and bed sores.

Until then...

"wa wa waaaaaaaaaa ba da ba da ba ba weeeeeeeeeee..."

Other than me looking as old as he does - isn't this the best picture EVER!!!!!!!!!

He was exceptionally charming. You know the kind - just oozing charisma and style and rock God-ary. Amazing.
The story is thus:
I'm at the Classic Rock Awards and I'm on a different table to the band I actually work with. They're on a table with Howard Marks and me and my boss are up on the mezzanine looking down at the stage. Was momentarily put out until I re-read the seating plan and squealled as I saw that two tables to my left was the guitar king, the rock guru, the fucking don Jimmy Page. I spent a good hour or two searching for people I knew who knew him. He was with his minder who politely waved people away from him every 5 minutes or so. I then spotted Mr Tony Woolliscroft - rock photographer who was sat at his table and asked him oh so nicely if he could introduce me to Mr Page. He said yes. I started to sweat. Had a few more drinks, nipped to the loo to 'find some courage' and saunted back to my table.
Tony grabbed me by the hand and led me over to His table and asked Him: "Jim, would you mind meeting my friend Dani?" "No" He replied and patted the empty seat next to him and smiled. I gingerly sat down and had the following conversation:
Me: "I'm sorry to have interrupted your meal."
Jimbo: "No, no, you didn't - I don't know about you but I'm just here for the dessert."
Me: "Yeah me too. I heard its Pavalova"(!!!????!!!!)
Jimbo: "I hope so. I love Pavalova"
We both laugh. I have to explain here that Pavalova was not on the menu and no there had been no previous mention of Pavalova at all, all night. Our actual dessert was chocolate mousse so really what the fuck am I talking about?
Jimbo: "So really, what brings you here?"
Me: "I work with The Answer who are about to win Best New Band."
Jimbo: "Great band, really great band."
Me: "Yeah they are - I'm really pleased for them."
pause
Me: "Actually your daughter, Scarlet did their press photos. I went to Belfast with her for two days to do them."
Jimbo: "Ah how nice. Well I wish you and the band all the best.
Tony: "Do you mind posing for a picture?"
Jimbo: "No no not at all" Puts his arm round me and we pose.
Me: "Thank you so much and apologies again for intrupting your night."
Jimbo: "It was a pleasure meeting you." winks "and congratualtions once again."
Me: " Thank you, have a great night."
Jimbo: "you too."

I could have died. I've been listening to Led Zeppelin since I was about 14, more avidly since I was about 22 but have been wanting to meet Jimmy Page since 14 and so here I am - I'm there sat next to him and the first thing I talk to him about is fucking meringue!!!!!!!!! What the fuck!!

Oh well - I did manage to be quite restrained throughout the whole night - avoided embarrassing fuck ups and bottled out of Stringfellows to watch naked women dance, opting to go and see Evan instead and hiccup my way through the night with him.

God I've changed!

Since I've been lovin' you, yeah, I'm about to lose my worried mind, yeah. Watch out!...

So...................................................................



I MET JIMMY PAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Picture and story coming soon.

OH MY GOD!!!