gibbon-arsed ramblings of a hopeless underachiever
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| bandhag gibbon-arsed ramblings of a hopeless underachiever |
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Saturday, June 21, 2003 In order to look under the bed, I had to get onto the bed. The cat was on the bed. She was all warm and cuddly, and she made me fall asleep. Bad kitty. posted by bandhag | 6/21/2003 03:09:00 PM Packing. It's not much fun, is it? Possibly why the first "full day of proper packing and sorting out" has turned into several hours organising my mp3s, a good amount of time making a copy of both the Goldfrapp albums for my lovely friends, some time researching Dreamweaver, some washing, some sitting around cuddling the cat, several fags, a couple of Diet Cokes and no packing at all. I did open the cupboard under the stairs "to get those boxes I've never unpacked out of the way". Instead I made a face, swore a bit, and shut the door. Just can't seem to get motivated at the moment. Ho hum. Time to go and look under the bed now, for "things I can get rid of/put in boxes". Pffft. See you in five, then. posted by bandhag | 6/21/2003 02:18:00 PM Tuesday, June 17, 2003 Just for slavey and his web page Holly: A Clubber's Guide to Cambridge Chapter 1. Go somewhere else. The End But seriously: 1. Kambar (where the "indie" club was on Saturday): used to be called Route 66. Is a bloody weird layout and has fake beams on the ceiling and walls. It was much too light, and always is. I've been on different 'nights' (jungle, dance, indie) and they always seem to play far too much stuff that people spend a lot of time looking at each other, going "What the fuck is this?" to. Gives you the impression that in the middle of you getting on down to the Stone Roses or some such, some girl in a striped pinafore and boater is going to come up and ask "Have you been to a Harvester before?". Not a Proper Club - see above. 2. 5th Avenue: used to be Cinderellas. Your basic dreadful meat market club, where the blokes all wear Ben Sherman shirts and too much gel in their (inexplicably brushed forward) hair, and the girls wear very little. Regular clientele are looking to get laid or get in a fight, often they don't mind much which order those come in. Not a Proper Club on account of the fact you could get the same effect by blasting loud music into the local Wetherspoons. 3. Life: used to be Chicagos. As above, only the clientele seems to be mostly desperate divorc�s/divorc�es. Fighting, not so much, but crazy with the leery old man action and the ladies with the leathery chests flinging themselves at any (rare) poor unfortunate attractive younger man that might wander in accidentally. Not a Proper Club on account of the fact that they, too, have a problem with leaving the lights on full blast (how does anyone dance in that?) 4. Club Fez: can't remember what it used to be.... a caf� or something maybe? Very very posy - lots of people standing at the edge of the dancefloor pretending to enjoy obscure tracks from obscure genres. I have nothing against either of those, as long as they're not...y'know...completely fucking shit. Might be a Proper Club, but the dancefloors bloody tiny. 5. Po Na Na: I've never been in it. Don't know why - I have a dim feeling the "Rah Rah Rah, We're going to smash the oiks!" brigade hang out in there, but I don't think that's based in fact. Not a Proper Club on account of the fact I've never been in it, so I'm not even sure it exists (yeah, ok, I'm clutching). 6. COCO: used to be the Job Centre. No, that's not an ironic club name, it used to be The "Have you been actively seeking employment for the past two weeks? I bet you haven't, you scummer, leave your dignity by the door" Job Centre. Haven't been there, either, but I'm assured by those who have that it's yet another variation on the them of 5th/Life/etc. Not a Proper Club on account of the fact it used to be the Job Centre, and because I bloody say so, right? 7. The Junction: actually does have some half-decent nights on, but they're generally totally over-crowded because everything in town is so shit. Fairly far out of the centre, so a pain in the arse to get to. I miss going to Dot Cotton, the lesbigay night there. That's on my 'to do' list when I get back over that side of town. Still gets its fair share of morons. So that's that. There are clubs in Cambridge, they're just not proper clubs. And as I write this, I realise that the problem with all of them (bar The Junction) is the dancefloors. They're either too small (or very awkwardly laid out, with lots of poles/bar areas in the middle of them), too light, or both. I suspect the smallness is a device so that anywhere you want to go, you have to crush past the dancing people, which makes the place seem fuller and more 'buzzy'. Actually it's just really irritating for those who are trying to move around the club and really irritating for those who are trying to dance and keep getting shoved. I have no idea why some of them are too light - I can only assume it's because either a) the owners haven't a fucking clue or b) they're very pleased with the d�cor and want everyone to see it. I see TV shows with clubs that have huge dancefloors, really dark so that that fills up any space, and makes everyone more confident and comfortable dancing, not just those who think they're God's gift. I want one of those. That's why I like going to London, to clubs held in rooms where there are usually gigs - plenty of room to dance. I think I am quite a good dancer, but I still like to do it with my eyes closed, in as dark a room as possible - not that I don't like disco lights, I just don't like house lights on when the dancing starts. It's a "feel the music" thing. I'll go now, before I get really poncey. Maybe I'll turn the lights in the front room off and jump around to some music for a while posted by bandhag | 6/17/2003 08:02:00 PM Oh tits. Where've my archives gone? Facking Blogger. My boss asked me not to go and sign my new tenancy agreement first thing this morning as I'd planned to do, but to be in work early and she'd let me leave early-ish, as she was going to be out all afternoon but in all morning. And has she turned up yet? Has she bollocks. Facking Bosses. Had to call Environmental Health out about the upstairs neighbours last night when, at midnight, they were still playing music, screaming, shouting, whooping and stamping so loud that when my sister rang she got all umpty about the fact I could "turn the stereo down when you're on the phone". Would that I could, my dear. Would that I could. I have absolutely nothing against people kicking up a bit of a ruckus every now and again - it's good for you. But on a Monday bloody night? I couldn't even hear Big Brother over the top of it. That's probably not a bad thing. But that kind of thing... makes you jangly, y'know? Well, it does me anyway - very stressful and nothing you can do to escape it. Facking neighbours. Are you picking up on the fact that I'm not in the best of moods today?... I'll try again later, once I've managed to track down a vanilla diet coke (mmmm, sin-free ice cream soda) and a packet of Munchies. posted by bandhag | 6/17/2003 09:54:00 AM Monday, June 16, 2003 'tis warm, n'est ce pas? One of my mates' birthdays this weekend, so we've all been doing lots of pub and eating things. We ate ourselves asleep at the local tapas bar last night. I heart tapas very much but we really did overdo it, and spent the next hour groaning and trying not to fall asleep. It was, then, probably not the greatest idea in the world for us to attempt to go to a club afterwards. Haven't been to a Cambridge indie club in years. The music was kind of ok, but the DJ had a really bad feel for what people would dance to - playing slow and/or undanceable tracks fairly frequently. And the dancefloor was teeny. And a very tall man decided it would be hilarious to start hitting me a lot when he was dancing - you know, when people are deliberately getting all shovey to get themselves more room/be annoying. So I shoved him away - a normal indie club/gig manoeuvre. Only he decided that this meant I wanted a fight or something, and amused himself by standing right next to me so I couldn't move and staring at me in an intimidating way, saying "Yeah, come on, shove me, I love it". Ho hum. My fault, perhaps, but I kind of think if you're male, 6'5" and built like a brick shithouse you've no real need to bounce very short women all over the dancefloor. And yesterday, to another pub for yet more food - Sunday roast. Mmmmmm. And then a different pub in the evening for a quick drink and sit by the river with a different friend. This experience is all but ruined in Cambridge by the horrendous proliferation of posh posy twats that hang around the pubs by the river giving it "rah rah rah" in their matching blazers and ties, which clearly symbolise their membership of some sporting club or other. Blazers and ties. In a pub. I ask you... It's this kind of appalling rugger bugger and the simpering waifs they invariably have in tow that give Cambridge a bad name, with their rude, brash, pompous behaviour. Genuinely makes me feel extremely sorry for all the normal, pleasant human beings who go to that University and get tarred with the same brush. Oops, sorry - that turned into a mini-rant about the "gown" - or part of it. Don't even get me started on the "town"... posted by bandhag | 6/16/2003 08:52:00 AM Wednesday, June 11, 2003 Back. Thank fuck that's over. If you ever spot me talking about doing another course, please - for the love of God - hunt me down and beat me about the head with something. A fantastic weekend of giggery which included AAA pass to...erm...a band who's quite famous. My fabulous, fabulous friends R&A got me in, for which I'm eternally grateful, and it was fucking amazing being on the stage watching this gig. They're so good to me - always getting me in to cool places and letting me stay at theirs. And what do I give back? Why, I hang around being useless and drunk, of course! Lucky them. I don't want to mention band names, as there is a small chance of being reckanized (as I expect the homies spell it) due to some onstage thing I ended up doing. That sounds like I went to a strip thing and was one of those birds they drag up on stage to rub oil into the naked men, doesn't it? It wasn't that. And to pay for these two nights of debauchery, I spent three nights out of 7 getting absolutely NO sleep at all (rock and or roll, guv) and about 3 hours on the nights I did sleep. All in the name of study. Pfff. And I'm moving to the co-op. This scares and pleases me in equal measures. Scary - facing the task of sorting through my mountains of junk and whittling them down enough to fit into one not-very-large-at-all room. Actually, it's not so much that it's small, it's that it's not very well laid-out, so that wall space is pretty minimal. This is going to make getting furniture in there pretty tricky. Still it's very very VERY cheap, so - focus, girl. All will be fine. I'll be the only girl in a house of 6 - no-one will nick my hairbands. Hurrah! Talking of which, I'd better fuck off and do some tidying/packing. Tara, chucks. posted by bandhag | 6/11/2003 08:50:00 PM |
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