Sunday, 15 November 2009

Facebook Feedback

Did a club night last night and Tim was invited on facebook.
FYI - Here's Tim. Let's not censor him - love him. He'll hate it.

"Who and what the fuck is electric blow hole and why am i getting messages through from it/him/her? I hate some peoples "stab in the dark" approach to Facebook, especially band promotion, Not Attending"

Tim, have a nice cup of tea and read my letter. That's right, slippers on, feet up. Now then. isn't that all better?x

Dear Tim Clark.
Thank you for confirming your non-attendance. Unfortunately you only did this an hour after the event had finished, so we all spent all night looking out for you.
Never mind.
We take your comments about "Stab in the dark" advertising on board. However, you must have been on a friend's list of one of the organisers, artists, bands, DJ's or film-makers involved, to have received an invite.
Therefore I would treat all of your friends with suspision until you winkle out and punish the one who had the audacity to invite you on a night out.
After holding an Electric Blowhole vote, we have decided that;
a) we are glad you didn't come as we had enough bad weather that night without your stormcloud and
b) we don't want to play with you any more.
Take care
Love you unconditionally.

Wednesday, 4 November 2009


and why is it that the people who talk the loudest have the least to say?
hello lovelies! the puppy is back!
still single, still tired, wired on caffeine.
things are good here, clubnight on November 14th, writing going in a new mag, little boy still the living embodiment of all that is good.

So, why the melancholy, why the dragging feeling deep in my chest?
Vague uneasyness wheneveer i spend too long thinking, intermittent arsiness.

Upon long and deep reflection, i can only think that it must be...

I need a shag.

Thursday, 2 April 2009

Where is everybody?

hello lovelies.

it's lonely hearts night at kitschpuppy this evening.
Yes, that's right, i know its hard to believe, but kitschpuppy is single!
i know, i know, the mixture of sarcasm, bitterness and cynisism displayed on this blog is a heady, sexually intoxicating cocktail!
i know, i know, you have all wondered at the physical form such cerebral perfection would take.

Well, let me tell you, it's a hard world out there.
30 something, mother of one, thrown on the scrapheap by her emotionally void, bald, ex, who has an incredibly small penis. (yes, that's true, not spite or bitterness, just a medical fact, honest.)

i have met some nice men - all attached and it's a small town.

i have met some older single men - all with weird hair (or lack of it) questionnable habits and backgrounds. They all have a shiftiness about them, maybe they feel silly in bars at their age, maybe they know they have a wife at home. Maybe they are test driving new pants which are too young for them and are cutting in. Whatever - they have odd written all over them. Also, i may be 30 something, but i don't want to sleep with a 50 year old. I'm just not ready - it feels wrong. What if they had a heart attack on the job? what if they wore dentures and they fell on me? What if they were just really sweaty and knackered? Their old men bums and moobs would wobble! YUCK YUCK YUCK! There's only room for one lot of wobbly flesh in this relationship. It would give me the giggles or make me retch - neither one makes for a great shag, i've found.

Have met seriously sexy boys who are apparently too young for me? i pretend to care about the moral and ethical questions around this, but i don't. I like them the best. i like looking at them and i like listening to their frivolous conversations.

After an 8 yr relationship, where, towards the end all we talked about was our son and the bills, any conversation coming from a male mouth is bewitching. in fact talking to me is probably one of the most bewitching things a man could do with his mouth.
my trouble is that i don't feel my age, i don't really worry about whether i am cool enough or young enough - i just want to go out and play. when will i grow up?

So, i trawl my home town, looking for someone who is young, sexy, hasn't got a crap name (Brian, Trevor etc) and who can hold a conversation. And then i just watch them, like a geriactric stalker!

What hope for me the unrealistic, age inappropriate one? i'll just have to keep running off to london for secret kicks and inappropriate giggles.
if you see me out, talk to me- who knows what might happen? unless you are called trevor and have man tits that is......

Thursday, 26 March 2009


I've had a bath and i smell all nice.
see - not everything is gloomy in the house of kitschpuppy.


"My friend Tamra Davis and I have so much in common, it’s ridiculous. We are both mothers of two small children, in the film business, are passionate amateur cooks, have an obsession with Vegenaise, are married to musicians and have a similar food ethos. "

wow, that's just freaky! Imagine having al those similarities, when you only hang out with musicians, film actors and food freaks! How did those two manage to find each other when they are from such different worlds?
What a stoopid cow.
And another thing, why can't you leave a comment anywhere on Gwinnie's blog.. (believe me, I've tried..)
You can't comment on her pages, you can't contact her, all you can do is sign up for her newsletter and receive more of this putrid, offensive shit straight to your inbox.

She has set herself up to sit up there showering down platitudes and restaurant reviews and you can't even tell her to shut the fuck up.
Lame man, lame.


Who watched the programme on Tuesday about the man who "lived with" bears?
I watched it and have been stewing about it ever since. I have to write about it to get it out of my system.
There was a man called Timothy Titface (sic) who decided to go and live amongst bears, in order to protect them from man.
that's the gist. he lived in a tent, in a government controlled nature reserve, 'protecting" the bears. (who already lived in a government protected reserve...) Once a year, just for shits and giggles, timmy went camping in the Grizzly Run, an area outside the reserve, where the bears run wild(er).
Sounds ok so far? Tragically, Timmy was then killed by one of the bears he was trying to protect (still haven't ascertaind what he was protecting it from.) More tragically, Timmy's girlfriend was also killed.
So what's wrong with that, i hear you cry? what could possibly offend about a man trying to protect the noble and misunderstood bear.
Well, I'll tell you.

Timmy was a twat!
He looked like the blonde one from Dumb and Dumber. He talked like Michael Jackson on helium and in my opinion he was one disturbed little weirdo.
Very fond of long monologues to camera on the subject of his bandanas. Very fond of filmng himself running and jumping Rambo style throuh the bushes.
Made friends with foxes and called them all SPIRIT in a really fucking annoying sing song voice. Pretended he was on his own when all the time, he had his girlfriend with him. (interferred with his lone man of the bush persona)
The supervisor of the nature reserve had personally told Timmy not to approach, touch ot bother the bears. (Timmy the Bear botherer). Timmy lied and said he'd stopped. He was aiming to become a bear whisperer. He read them poetry and stories he had written. (poor fuckers.)

eventually turned out that Timmy had suffered for a long time with alcohol abuse, had tried rehab etc and failed every time. then he got the call that the bears needed him to protect them (again, from what?) i have nothing against drunks (some of my best friends are drunks!) but be an honest drunk, don't run off to the bears.
this is boring me again, even thinking about him.
i'm glad the bear got him, (a bear he never liked, by the way...called Mr Chocolate! For fuck's sake..)
i'm glad he taped his own death and i'm glad the bear was found eating his ribcage. I'm not glad the bear got shot for it - he was the one protecting us - from Timmy the Twatty Weirdo.
Timmy claimed to have identified 21 different bear phrases and meanings to their grunts. Shame he missed the one that meant, "Get the fuck out of my way, you freaky looking, hippie bear botherer."

Friday, 20 March 2009


This week on the bus i have heard the following conversations, all separately;

1) The new buses are too small. Because of this, people with pushchairs should stay at home, walk or only use the buses when no-one else needs to. This also applies to people with Down's Syndrome, as they don't really need to go out.

2) When "they" were young, they used to walk their children everywhere. it's not good for children to be taken on the bus, they and their mothers need exercise. When it was pointed out that a) silver cross prams (back in the day) didn't fit on the bus, so it was not really an option, conversation ceased for a moment. Old women came back with, "mums nowadays should walk. they are all overweight." again, it was pointed out that the woman complaining was carrying a wide load and could have done with a walk herself. She was also taking up two seats, which the buggy wasn't. She had also pushed into the queue and was taking a space that b rights, a buggy should have fitted into. Conversation ceased again. Three mothers cheering on the inside.

3) Man complaining that he hadn't been allowed to see his child for three months, unless a social worker was present. Didn't know what the fuss was, he had only had a wake up fix a couple of times, when he'd had his kid at his house. If there was going to be a social worker around, he wasn't gunna bovver, know what i mean?
Now he had decided to see him and had been given a time to meet.
He'd had to get a train and a fuckin' bus, so now he was late. This was a stupid time for an appointment anyway (mid afternoon) - how was he supposed to get there in time?
Last thing, as he got off the bus was they'd better still give him his full hour or he wasn't gunna bovver, know what i mean?

4) A woman who i happen to know has nothing wrong with her leg, (or didn't last week, when i saw her dancing rather vigorously) complaining loudly that the half empty bus was not giving her enough space for her walking stick and her leg which has to be kept straight at all times. Also, the bus was crowded enough to be sparking her claustrophobia! (There must be something in the fashion pages which i haven't seen, because there seems to be an awful lot of people in Hastings who are using a walking stick as this season's accessory!)

5) "she's just a cunt, know what i mean? she was all over him, rubbing her twat up and down him, like i weren't even there. bitch."

sometimes, i don't like people.


"I’m not one of those film people who can tell you who the cinematographer was on On The Waterfront or who most influenced Truffaut. When it comes to knowledge of film history, I’m semi-rubbish (a friend of mine once left the dinner table when I admitted I had never seen one of the most famous and most well-regarded films of all time). "

what a twat. double twat. hate her.
this isn't funny or clever, just wanted to express my disgust and pity for her sham of a life.

Wednesday, 4 March 2009


there's an american. i like him. he's nice. he has issues, but hey.....who am i to judge?
he's married to my friend.
so anyhoo, it's his birthday, it's pub quiz. he's happy. he likes his presents. he's intelligent, he's contributing. everything's cordial.
we walk to the cab, we decide to stop at the kebab shop for loosely meat based snacks.
suddenly -BOOM!
my newspapers wrong, my star signs wrong, my chips are wrong!
he's winding me up and waiting for me to blow, then - take that! cut to the chase sarf london styleee!
a slap to the forehead (sizeable) and he's crying for his momma.
before you know it, it's all "get out of my cab, i'm not talking to you, my eye is weeping, i threw my presents away, yadee yadee yah"
his wife's laughing, he's not, i'm doing hardfaced, it's all gone tits up.
as soon as i deliver a heart felt apology, he'll turn on me and gloat.
happy birthday Ben.
growin' ta luv ya dude.

Tuesday, 3 March 2009


i checked goop today.
I was feeling a bit low and reading that inane eejit's self-indulgent ramblings is a legitimate form of self-harm which doesn't lead to psychiatrists visiting you. Although the sense of shame and worthlessness it provokes seems more severe than psychiatric care, in my humble opinion.
However, i was shocked and saddened to discover that it hasn't been updated since before Valentine's Day!!
For fuck's sake!
What has happened?
Is the army of third world children who are specially trained in condesension and who may (or may not) write "her" blog, dead or worse?
Is Gwinnie lost for words?
Has she finally imparted the last of her valuable advice?
Has she had a bad macrobiotic shake and been incapacitated?
Has she finally been strangled, beaten and swallowed whole by her own smugness?
She can't leave us hanging like this. How will i continue to keep my chris martin - a -like husband happy and my friends jealous, without her guidance?
i don't know what to wear, what to eat or how to feel about my parenting.
i'm scared. i'm going to my room to straighten my hair, sing coldplay songs, pretend to talk to madonna on the phone and wait until she comes back.

Monday, 2 March 2009


Well now, Brighton, there's a thing.
Like it, have bought new clothes, inspired by some things. Other things - oh shut up hippies!
i saw a greetings card with "nourishing and enriching" tasks for you to do. One of them was "laugh out loud on your own." amd the next one was "eat a mango in the nude and lick the juice off your own arms."
well, to me, laughing out loud and licking food off your arms, on your own and in the nude, makes you a windowlicker.
end of.


going to Brighton today. on the train. me and the little one very excited about a tupperware box full of sandwiches and a fresh beach.
may tell you all about it when i get back, if anything sufficiently exciting happens.
if not, don't worry, i'll keep it to myself.
don't worry, the blog will get more exciting than this.
i will copy some of gwinnie's receipes if all else fails.
big love and out.

The Scarlet Harlots.

The Scarlet Harlots.
A kick arse band from Birmingham. I invited them to Hastings, they came, we all had fun. Click on their pic to hear them....i recommend "A Secret"

Bend it, bend, just a little bit.............

What's that all about then? No curtains at the window, no dvds in the cupboard, Just a butt plug on the table. A sex squat. With an inflatable haemaphrodite frog sex pest. Count me out, thanks for asking.

Ain't it pretty?

Ain't it pretty?
imagine if you had to lick it.........