I just wanted to tell you........

.and now on Twitter I can. But you know, it's a weird thing - if I tweet someone who is famous in some way I feel quite nervous and embarrassed. It's akin to the feeling I would have if I saw a famous actor in a restaurant say and wanted to ask for an autograph. Actually not a good example because that's something I would never do - firstly because I hate invading someone else's privacy, also because I would be too shy and finally because I think autographs are...er, I don't know.I'm even quite shy of writing on fan pages on FB, it doesn't fit too well with me. I don't want to be a nuisance and although I know that these people probably never look at their FB pages and probably read only 1% of their tweets anyway, I still get that uncomfortable apologetic feeling.

I really like to think that if I was stuck in a lift with a celebrity or ended up sitting next to them on a plane that I wouldn't say 'Oh my god I cannot believe it's you' I remember reading in Michael Jackson's autobiography years ago how this used to amuse him and he would say something like '..why not, I have to be somewhere in the world, why not here?'. I can relate to that. Of course in my dreams there would be a witty, informative entertaining conversation but knowing myself profoundly I suspect there would just be silence on my part. I'm not a great twitterer for the same reason that I'm not a really active blogger or FBooker, I often lack commitment and quite often lack courage. I feel terrible if I don't give everyone my attention and although I know that probably doesn't matter to them, it racks me with guilt. I once had a virtual chihauha ( yeah I know that's spelled wrong and look at me going with americanised 'spelled') on FB and taking care of it worried me so much I had to give it up. Boh.

It occurs to me that outside of my previous work obligations, I have never actually had a celebrity encounter of the close kind.. Now that George Clooney is dating Elisabetta Canalis, it is actually possible that he could turn up in Alghero at some point - I hope I don't end up bumping into him anywhere - what the hell would I say?
And I especially hope Stef wouldn't be with me, because I can tell you, he wouldn't be backward in coming forward oh no.

Our car passed it's Mot again this week - it must be about 18 years old by now and it just flies through -I swear it's going to outlive us and damnit, that chocolate brown Fiat 500 with the cream interior is destined to remain just a dream.

Unless we win the lotto of course but then Stef says he's getting a Ferrari.But that's entirely another story.

6.00pm and not a child in the house washed.....

So. I see that I haven't been here since May which even shocked me. I suppose that between twittering away on Facebook and twittering away on...er Twitter, and writing bits and bobs under my Polyvore sets and all the rest of it, I felt that I had been fairly active. Then a contact on PV mentioned how much she liked my blog and I was consumed by a wave of guilt, having turned into one of those people who keeps a link on her page to something ancient and wrinkly. Must do better in future.

You know, seven years down the line from giving up work and slinking off into the dubious, bureaucracy ridden ikea-less sunsets of hinterland Sardinia, I still haven't been able to structure my time in any manageable and useful way. And like anything unstructured and formless, time slips and slithers and steals away like the thief in the night that it is. Good intentions are not something I have ever lacked. I always intended having one of those composite wardrobes or whatever they're called, outfits that mix and match and take you anywhere, one good pair of shoes, one great bag, the essential this, the classic that. If you buy me a Kelly bag, that would be a grand opener. Take a look in my DVD library and the proof that I always intended devoting an hour every morning to Yoga and Pilates is right there. I have watched those DVD's. Once. Watched, note.

And yes, at least once a week I have this internal convo that goes like this...
OK - mornings, get up really early, get washing on, do housework, no I mean do proper housework because wiping over a work top in between fags and coffee does not count, which will leave afternoons free for .....actually opening those paints and unwrapping that canvas, using those bagfuls of paper and stufffff for the collages, and getting started on that dolls house I want to build, plus an hour of brisk twittering and facebook, plus one Polyvore set a day if possible. Then later in the afternoon when the light isn't so good, some reading. Two hours a week to get to grips with the Italian conditional and really I must learn Dante's Inferno and at least make a start on I Promissi Sposi. The evening will then be dedicated to spending at least half an hour marvelling at how amongst the wealth of 110 channels that are available there isn't one thing I want to watch and having to re-watch Sense and Sensibility on DVD for the 100th time ( or Titanic if I have been a particularly shitty wife today and need to make amends to himself).

But see, by the time I've had that internal convo, I'm exhausted and need to go to Mindjolt games to recharge my batteries. Which could mean at least two hours when himself could come into the room and tell me he is leaving me, a body could fall past the window or the flat could burn to the ground around me and I wouldn't even notice aymi.

Well fiddle dee dee, I'll think about it tomorrow, because tomorrow is another day and all that and I can't go back to Tara anyway because tonight there is...X Factor! But that's another story entirely.

yip

I've kissed the despond of Slough goodbye for the moment as summer is trying to be official which always cheers me up and because I'm learning to fill my day with nice things. This instead of rushing, stressing and forgetting that hey I don't work anymore and it isn't absolutely necessary to try and do everything on Sunday mornings. Yes I know I've not been working for nearly seven years now but that's how hard it is to let old and long sustained habits die.

I'm having a hugely enjoyable time still on Polyvore, it really has added another dimension to life in general. I didn't realise quite how badly I needed a creative outlet and how empowering it can be to find one that fits the bill. And thanks to Lila I can now copy off my sets, save them and print them out. Ok, it's just FUN right? But I can tell you I have learned more about colour and design in the last couple of weeks than I ever did in four years at art college. True.I know feel loads more confident about creative real life stuff, to which end I went out this morning and spent another shitload of money on paints, brushes and the like. Just goes to show that idling away hours on the computer isn't a total waste of time after all.

Lila has also alerted me to the powers of Feng Shui (?? sorry I know that's wrong!)I'm hoping it's going to help me plan new colours for the apartment but one thing it has opened up is that maybe we are sleeping in the wrong room, which fits in with my original plan to move the sitting room to where the bedroom is. Well we shall see.

No news on the bloody TV. Just when I thought it was safe to start combing the shops for a new one, S gave up on giving up on the old one and rang the repair man to see if his beloved old flatron could be repaired after all. Naturally its all a different story now, the guy is now unsure if he can do the work and advised S that the cost of the repairs would buy a new tv anyways. Yes we know that and I suspect that our ( as I now realise) top of the range tv has probably already been repaired and rehomed. We shall see on that one too.

I'm currently very enamoured of Mark Rothko and Jackson Pollock - two artists that I had never really thought about before. I'd like both of them on my walls, something to add to my when-we-win-the-lotto-jackpot wish list along with a dog and a caravan ( oh sorry, mobile home) in Hullbridge.

A small dark scribble on the horizon looms - the computer smells hot. I hope this doesn't foretell some kind of melt down damn.

Watched The Grudge 2 last night which scared me silly in the moment, but this morning I had forgotten I had ever seen it till S mentioned his nightmares. They don't make them like they used to. When I saw the Exorcist I stayed scared for about 20 years.

The Slough of Despond

Only marginally better than being in the despond that is Slough UK, this is me in a very meme moment and feeling emo - although I'm too old to be emo surely? I've had a cold since Easter Monday that comes and goes with the weather and of course has nestled nicely in my abused 30-a-day lungs - in every increasing moments of paranoia I think about the pork chops we ate this week and swine fever which just goes to show how mass media coverage can gain the ascendancy in our weaker moments.

Add to the cold the demise of the beloved flatscreen LG. Did I make the right decision in not going ahead with the repairs? OK, a new screen would have cost €400. I know there are 36" tvs around at the moment that cost €399, decoder integrated ( but interactive- I don't think so?) and you know I always reason that once something has gone wrong, something else will surely follow. Stef points out quite rightly that all of the new models ( within our budget) have black plastic skins ( unlike the silvered non plastic departed) and seem to have integrated speakers and no dolby ( unlike etc) I, who once was so decisive and stuck by my decisions whether I had second thoughts or no, now feel incapable of making the right decision over anything. At some point this weekend I had to call in Stef for the final word on where to position a vase of flowers for goodness heavens sake.

And these tiny weeny things spread out ripples that turn back into the Tsunami of the Big Bad Decision that largely ( no, entirely) rests upon my shoulders. Did we do right to move here? Every day I regret it for at least a couple of hours - balance that against the few minutes every once in a while that I think it isn't so bad after all. Maybe it's the weather and I'll feel ok again about it all when the sun starts shining. Maybe I won't. See? I just can't decide.

I bought and watched Quantum of Solace last night and what do you know, I can't make up my mind about that either. Was it because I watched it on our small notflat screen tv that I couldn't visually decipher the extreme action sequences? Am I out of touch with the language of film? I remember watching The Prince of Tides with mum years ago and I could tell that she couldn't 'read' how the flashbacks were presented - is that happening to me? Is Thelma still editing Scorcese? Surely is she is, then I should be able to follow a carchase? I know I didn't like Q of S as much as Casino Royale anyway. It seemed to me that Daniel Craig only spoke about 10 words in the whole film and his Bond was more frightening than Jason Bourne. You certainly wouldn't want these two painting your apartment anyway. Speaking of which - one wall soft dark grey or soft mink brown in every room - still not decided hahaha.

One enormously bright spot in a miserable week - I got 3rd place in my first Polyvore comp. I was ridiculously pleased and after some poking about online I see that the Cutter which enables you to pick images from the web is not only unavailable to me. From the amount of whingeing and whining on Flickr I think there might be a copyright glitch. It never ceased to amaze me how the same people who happily broadcast their photos on Flickr and etc for us all to fall back and over in admiration suddenly ascend to the level of Fine Artist that one usually associates with the likes of Leonardo, Picasso and Hockney when they think their Work - you know, those photos of sweet peas coming up or dad burning sausages on the bbq- might have been 'stolen' by someone to include in their Spring Fashion set on Polyvore. They should feel honoured.My attitude is you put it out there in the public domain and it becomes public property get over it already. This same thing came up on Yahoo 360 about creative copyright etc - people threatening to sue over so called Works of Art that I'd be embarassed to put my name to. If you don't want it out there, stick it where the sun doesn't shine - I mean a photo album of course. Personally if anyone manages to 'steal' my Flickr pics and use them on Polyvore they are more than welcome. Rant over. Back to work.

It's raining, it's pouring, my love life is boring me to tears....

...I've made a pizza, I've made a Bolzano Apple Cake, I've idled away a bit of time on YouTube, I've googled a few bits and pieces,there's nothing on TV, so what else can I turn to on a wet Saturday afternoon?

It's a thing with me and websites, I go to them, I think oh great then after 10 minutes I've taken anything I want from them and I'm bored. But. Oh Polyvore. So much to do and so little time. Basically this site is for putting together collections - you know like fashion stuff, shoes, dresses, etc...but honestly it's so much more and it isn't necessarily a girl thang either. I did my first collection and then went and looked around at what other people were doing and it blew me away. There is just about everything you want here but not only in terms of clothing and fashion. There is a great interior design section, there are thousands of backgrounds, accessories, objects - and if you can't find what you want you just install a PV clipper and go looking on the net. And you can bring in your own stuff - enough to have something like Photobucket and you can upload your own images to use. Then just go create an image - yes this could be done on PSP but it's so easy here- just drag and drop, flip and flop, clone and cut. The other difference here is that you have to work within a given size- this makes it an additional creative challenge because you are working within a defined frame with objects of a predefined size ( although you can stretch them out) There are also challenges and competitions - I'm not competent or brave enough for those yet, but I will be oh yes.

I could spend hours and hours on Polyvore, it's creative, it's fun and unlike wasting four hours gaming, you do at least have something to show for it at the end..

Polyvore has a blog here too.


grey kitten - by frankie perry on Polyvore.com


japan1 - by frankie perry on Polyvore.com

On the road to San Remo

As it's Tuesday and this is mine I cannot deny myself a smallish x Factor rant.Yes I admit I am sorry to see I Farias go, the loft if nothing else certainly won't be the same without them. Not just because they make sweet harmless music but also because they are such sweet people. For that alone their future is secured. They did a beautiful break in the ghastly Africa of Toto fame but their second song, some hideous Italian folk thing with galloping horses, was unbearable in it's ugliness - not their fault.I regret also the de-americanization of Daniele. Persuaded to remove his trademark glasses in order to 'communicate' better and persuaded to severely limit his funk groove I think we can now say that in his totally demoralised state he can be safely put on the road for San Remo, haven of the grand banal balladeers. Only international stardom will save him now, and that's not at all unlikely. Matteo is already well on the road and I can see him at next years festival, hell I can see him winning it. A beautiful voice, acute and clear, totally thrown away on one of my most detested songs, the trite and dreadfully boring Arthur's Theme. Morgan remarked that of all the possible Beatle songs that the Bastards could have sung, they had to pick Ticket to Ride which was a dismal failure. The same might be said of his choice for Matteo given the back catalogue of Burt Bacharach. Incredibly or maybe not, Enrico was thrown into the ballottagio this week...the Black Hand of Tommassini continues to dog his every footstep - progressing steadily down from last weeks burning bedsheet we had to be distracted instead by a very ugly dance routine which consisted entirely of a female dancer opening her legs, showing her arse and displaying the cheestastically natty X ( as in factor) on the crotch of her knickers. World class rubbish scraped out of the bargain bin of Madonna's thighful performances. In a wholly predictable stand off with Farias, Enrico free at last, was able to show what we all know he has. Of course Ventura eliminated Farias, she wanted to leave the theatre alive. Noemi and Jury were ok but besties of the night were the Bastards with Contessa, an extraordinary and fabulous song. I hate to admit it but the vidwall film conceived by the Black Hand was very good dammit.
I predict that Daniele will be sacrificed for Jury, first Enrico and then Matteo will be sacrificed for Noemi--witness Morgan allocating her one of his own songs pffffft- and the Bastards will win. Next week sees the last 'new entrants' - a total waste of time and effort for all concerned as whoever enters is bound to leave again the following week.

As much as I like Morgans music, and as much as he is charismatic, my adoration of the first few weeks has diminished to nothing.I'm finding him an attention seeking, hysterical prima donna, whose fan base is reducing this programme to a level where cult of personality reigns over music content. Prissy and silly, I can't even find him attractive anymore - egad those nails, those teeth! Showing off by addressing all his comments in english in front of Anastasia was at best embarrassing, at worst pretentious and elitist. Yes, go to Sky, I won't miss you.

On a more delightful note, I'm really enjoying Muziik , a great site I found through cnet and for the sake of auld langs syne this photo of Il Saggio, one of the Farias brothers....gone but not forgotten.

in memorium

a flower is like life itself
from a seed struggling
toward the light
to its unfolding
its unfurling
its blooming

and its petals
vibrant and vulnerable
fragile and fragrant
may fall away slowly
or be blown away
in a sudden passing storm

but its courageous growth
the beauty of its form
its inexplicable perfume
its mysterious heart
and all its glorious colour

once seen, touched and breathed
are rendered immortal
by cherished memories

and another one bites the dust

and that was Chiarastella of Wuthering Heights fame and because it's tuesday and post mortem x factor day in which I read all the forum comments on last night and find I'm totally at odds with everyone else as usual.

Can I really be the only person who watches this programme and thinks it's ok for the person who coreographs people prancing around with twigs on their heads and thinks that in 2009 it's still great to get a female singer to strip off for silly soft porn photos to tell another singer what he must and must not do on stage? The crime of the century involved an amazing singer called Enrico who, last week, in the moment, sang his bit entirely into the eyes of his girlfriend. Given that he has a beautiful voice and is a gentle, quiet person who lacks any sign of your huge showbiz ego, I found this yes moving and rather wonderful. But oh my god. So many egos and so little time. Because apparently this heinous crime has never been committed on any stage anywhere in the world by any singer ever. Because this hanging offence 'exludes the audience' who are apparently incapable of being communicated to unless a singer is looking at 'me me me'. Because the artistic director wasn't consulted! He didn't know! He didn't get the respect he deserves as the man who once worked with Madonna! He actually had to tell Enrico never to do that again! And here is the measure of Enrico's personality--he didn't actually descend from the stage and punch this tapeworms's lights out. Instead he allowed Mr Hissy Fit to have his revenge because yes, believe it or not and I promise I am not making this stuff up, Mr HF contrived a punishment that fit the crime - Enrico had to sing the first part of his song behind a flaming bedsheet ensuring he could look at no-one, so there, ner. Given my house manager past I was so preoccupied with worse case scenarios that the song ( which wasn't all that anyway,seeing as it was some boring banal thing written by Paul McCartney in the 80's) went over my head.

But the Black Hand of Artistic Direction didn't cease there. There is a young guy in the show called Jury ( said Yuri) who is a kind of embryonic Rod Stewart for the new millenium ( for those of us who can remember Rod when he was a fabulous gutsy singer). But oh my god part 2. Bring out the firing squad because last week he moved around too much! and didn't look enough into the cameras! This week the Black Hand clamped him so firmly in place that when this lovely lad finally took the mic in his hand and executed a small jump I leapt from my nest on the sofa yelling ' go for it Jury'. Please.Just leave the kids alone, ok?

With all this and having to throw the thow over my head to hide my guilty ( and spiteful) joy when Farias passed to the next stage( no-one likes them and they are shock horror not even italian) and Chiarastella ( think Minnie Mouse wanting to be Bjork) was eliminated and not Daniele ( no-one likes him because he is cuddly, so perfect it's tired already and too er american?) I'm getting to think death by stress will eliminate me before the finals. Simon Cowell eh, he has a lot to answer for.

Bizarre Moment of the night was a duet between Morgan and Patty Pravo. Pravo's wierded up face sent me rushing to wiki to find out that she is allegedly 61 - isn't it strange how cosmetic enhancement can make people eventually look years older than they really are - she is nonetheless a very fascinating woman who has led a colourful and interesting life and made some great music. The duet? Let's just pretend we were all having an off night.

if it's sunday this must be.....

a new blog at least...

enough already with the sunday night detective, his raincoat, his dog, his cigars - there is still life on mars and I just looked at minime, my little ranter which I do really like in retrospect- very short and sharp and to the point, I shall bring it back from the dead - rise up mini me and walk.

I'm not looking for a global gossip village of readership, been there, learnt the code and oh oh done it to death and I really do not want herb thursdays and fish wednesdays and matchbox mondays cluttering me up and making me desperate for something to say - was I ever that needy? Un giorno si, un giorno no. Ma non oggi.

Today I managed to pluck up courage to enter into the x factor italy forum, crikey how long did it take me to do that, I've been watching this prog like I was in love with someone in it from before it even started, thank you Morgan but do tell, your hair...are you going grey before dinner or is this a statement of your intentions, a badge of honour ( look what you did to me, you turned my hair grey) or er what? I never imagined in one thousand and one nights that I would ever hear someone speak the words Scott and Walker on italian television - you could have knocked me down with a bottle of Jacques Brel or some moody sunglasses with that one. A propros of which did you know that Brel once said he had never ever written a love song? He maintained that even Ne Me Quitte Pas ( quel fromage I don't remember but anyway If You Go Away in english) wasn't a love song, it was about desperation and humiliation and etc. Love actually then.

These then are my three favourite Not About Love songs because they are about something much much more.....

A Case of You sung only by Joni Mitchell, I will not accept substitutes and a freak yachting accident to the fool on Youtube who thought some other singer's version was so much better than the original...boom coming over, don't bother ducking you cloth eared bint. It's all over bar the loving which she can't give up on, no matter how much damage it does and I loved this when I was an emo 21 year old and I love it now as an emo old woman. Best bits? The chorus and this line

I knew a woman, she had a mouth like yours she knew your life, she knew your devils and your deeds, and she said 'go to him, stay with him if you can, but be prepared to bleed' emomissismo

Purple Rain sung only by Prince, who else would dare and who else could because he is the living genius, even Eric Clapton was humbled by his guitar playing so there. Glorious, epic, rock drama with every single component, lyrics, melody, guitar totally spot on. About unconditional love, the best and the hardest and the most painful. Best bits, from the beginning to the end and everything in between plus that Voice. Emo plus.

Amore Assurdo sung only by Marco Morgan Castoldi, this a recent discovery after I thought that I should at least listen to something of his as I am very very emo in his tv presence - shamed also into skulking about Youtube after S told me what a fantastic singer he is - hey hands off caro I don't really want to share my sad fantasies with my partner-in-life and all that. Blindingly powerful monologue on pain that just won't die, the italian language does this sort of thing so well, just read Dante in italian and then try it in english, I was knocked senseless by the lyrics which took me right back to the beginning, the whole Scott then Bowie thing and both of them bringing Amsterdam from Brel right out here where these things should be. The last line was perhaps too emo but I forgive.