Notes on an Exhibition of Myself

There have been extreme transformations afoot in the House of the Flying Martinis and the final stage reached a conclusion today with the assembly of a structure that Meeester is pretentiously, but unashamedly, calling “The Library”.

Here it is:

Now I am delighted with all modifications to The HOTFMs, what with the new flooring, the fresh paint, and the long overdue ridding of scum filled carpets and sofas. However, today I am suddenly worried that in the words of the late great Freddie Mercury, “I’m going slightly mad”.


A zoom into one of the shelves will illustrate this.

Here’s a nice book. Hmmm... I may buy a copy.





Scratch that. I may buy two.

Bugger that, let’s throw caution to the wind! Make it three!

Three copies of Notes on an Exhibition by Patrick Gale. Look; there they are for all to see.

What the blazes is going on with me that on three separate occasions I have gone into a bookshop and bought the same book? And then not even noticed until months later when I've reorganised all my books?

The madness continues.

Ah, the lovely John Peel. Sadly missed. I feel the need to read about his life and times.



No, entertaining and poignant as that was it just wasn’t enough for me. I shall re-read it in paperback to see if anything different happens.

Anyone else done this. No? No??? Damn, I was afraid you'd say that.

So I feel a Misssives competition coming on. Mainly to hide the evidence of my encroaching dementia.

Here's what you have to do:

Either:

Write a little poem about something you’ve read on the pages of the Misssives, or the general impression you have of the goings on of The Flying Martinis.

OR

Write a snappy and witty advertising slogan or tagline for The Misssives.

I’ll choose a winner and send you Margrave of the Marshes by John Peel (the paperback- I'm keeping the hardback, chums), and Notes on an Exhibition by Patrick Gale (state your preference as to which book you'd prefer, the left, middle or right one). A runner up will receive Notes on an Exhibition. I’ll also post my favourite of the entries in the sidebar as a permanent fixture.

Of course, you don't have to enter. You can simply comment on my obvious mental issues.

*****

In other news, The Sunday Showcase is getting a last outing this Sunday. A sad occasion but it should be a good listen. I’ll be on, and so will The Lorelei, recently voted Aberdeen’s best punk band (eh?) who just happen to sport my husband, Meeester and several of my chums. Tune in to Original 106FM or listen online from 6pm-10pm, and if you think the show is fabulous and it’s a travesty that it’s being axed, then why not email the show and say so.

You can listen online here.

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Let's Kill Culture

Simon Cowell won't find everything for you, you know?

It’s a sad day but one which I’ve thought was in the post for a while. The radio show that I contribute to with my Film Club is being axed. In fact, it has been already, we’re not even getting an opportunity for a swansong. It is the latest in a systematic diluting of everything that was good about the radio station I was involved with, Original 106FM. Over the last few months, the best DJs have left, the playlist has become more mainstream and bit by bit the little touches that made the station different have gone. As one of the DJs said to me a few months back, “This place should be done under the Trades Description Act. It is not Original. It is the same as all the other guff out there”.

But standing as a beacon of originality despite the station's otherwise slide into mediocrity, was Andrew Learmonth’s Sunday Showcase. Playing new music, classic music and having live sessions and interviews from bands, singers, authors, actors, comedians, critics and a whole host of people with something to say about a broad spectrum of cultural happenings, it stood out from the mid-Atlantic sounding blandness that is local radio in my area. for four hours every week, the station was what it claimed to be; original.

It became a regular stop for touring bands, like Glasvegas to Oasis, both of whom gave interviews recently, as well as local bands who would have found it hard to get a look in any of the mainstream media.

People like the popular. Course they do. But how do things become popular? U2 were once a group of wee guys looking for a break playing pubs in Dublin they couldn’t afford (or weren’t the legal age) to drink in. Stephen King was once a struggling author writing in his spare time and trying to get a short story published in between day jobs. Duffy, as all the blurb said after her winning the Brits, was singing to elderly audiences in Old Folks’ homes this time last year trying to keep her dream alive. Kate Winslet was a wee lassie working in a delicatessen waiting for the phone to ring and tell her she’d got a part. Somebody took a chance on all these people and gave them exposure.

These days...especially these days, no one wants to take a gamble. Better to invest in the next book by Patricia Cornwell over the maverick new writer who has no credentials but a great first book. Far better to have radio stations playing exclusively artists that everyone can name and recognise instantly over the fresh new sound from a band that might just be the next big thing, with a little luck on their part, and a little faith and risk taking on someone else's.

Popular culture needs the Sunday Showcases, the Friday Projects, the John Peels, the Rough Trades, and all the other ventures that celebrated the new, the exciting, the risky, the not yet popular. Without them popular culture dies.

So here's to the raw, the undiscovered, the maverick, the exciting, the risky, the next big thing. You won't find it here, though. Not in my neck of the woods.

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I Remember You

Hmmm...awkward!

There are entire TV series, books, whole newspapers, and certainly billions of blogs devoted to people ranting and raving about things that drive them up the wall. I tend to rant off stage rather than putting it all on record here, but the other day something that really does my head in happened.

Someone didn’t remember me when I remembered them.

I won’t go into detail, but this person should have remembered me. I directed him in a programme, for a few weeks, only three years ago. I think it’s acceptable that I should in saying, “Hello, how are you doing?” be in receipt of a “Hi, fine, nice to see you! How are you?” instead of a “Oh, now how do I know you???” quizzical stare and a bumbled attempt to place me, even after I’ve explained who I am in relation to them. I don’t particularly find it embarrassing and I don’t find it a blow to my ego- I just find it rude. If I remember you, you should remember me. It’s as simple as that.

Maybe it’s my peculiar problem because I always do remember people. I might not always remember names but I never forget anyone I’ve met. I just don’t. OK I can also remember a ridiculously unimportant amount of film trivia and plotlines from Coronation Street, but I don’t think I’m that unusual. I’m not exactly a circus freak.

It’s also not that I image change every five minutes like David Bowie, and I haven’t dramatically aged backwards like Benjamin Button. I have had the same hairstyle since time in memoriam and may even be wearing the same boots and clothes you saw me in ten years ago. Flares have been my jeans of choice since 1987. I haven't even flirted with slimfit. There’s no excuse.

SO, if you get caught not remembering someone here’s my handy tips in not letting it show:

1. Pretend you do. “Hi, my goodness! How are you? Great to see you!” That works.

2. Smile instead of looking like someone has just whacked you on the cheeks with a three day old fish.

3.Ask enthusiastic questions the answers to which may give you clues but won’t look like that’s what you are doing “Wow, you’re looking great! So what are you doing now?”, or, “Gosh, when would we last have seen each other? Let me think...ages ago!”

Never say:

“Christ! Who are the blazes are you?”
“Nah, still not placing you...”
“Should I know you?”
“I’m sorry, I meet so many people.....”
“Did we...did we...you know?
“Help! Security!”

All of those make you look like an arse. And contrary to newspaper reports last week that medication and surgery may soon be developed that can help erase painful memories, the science isn't there yet. So don't try the old, "Sorry, I had brain surgery that help remove painful memories and you must have got wiped as part of that". No one's falling for that old chestnut.

So there it is. It’s right up there in the pantheon of Things That Annoy Misssy, along with litter dropping, not indicating, incorrect use of apostrophes and using the F Word as a gap filling tool in sentences.

People forgetting you. It’s rude. Make an effort.

Otherwise, forget about it.





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How to Get Ahead in Advertising

I don’t know whether any of you noticed (or cared) that about six months ago I put advertising on The Misssives. It was either that or the TenaLady sponsorship deal, and I wasn't prepared to wear the shirt with the logo and drive the car with the giant sized replica on the roof, so I went for Google Adsense instead.

Like many of you, I'd done a bit of research, mainly through others' blogs, and I thought that it might pay for my broadband charges at the very least. But who am I kidding, I thought that it might enable me to make more frequent purchases of quality footwear and shiny things. All for writing stuff I was going to write anyway.

The Misssives seems to get a fair amount of traffic, and I figured that maybe I was missing a trick. What would be the harm? Two little boxes with ads relevant to my subject matter. All that has to happen is for browsing visitors to fancy a little bit of what’s on offer (Sexy Scottish Women seemed to feature a lot- what’s not to like?) Fair enough. Show me the money, Tom!

Ah but it’s not about traffic though, is it? It’s about people reading your blog then diverting their attention like sheep suddenly noticing an approaching turnip truck, and clicking the ad in rabid purchase lust. You lot are smarter than that. The figures prove it.

I decided to give it six months and then review the situation. I have now done this and the ads are now firmly off. Frankly, I wish I'd never been seduced. Here’s why:

I made $25 in six months. (Shouts stage left:"Cancel the building crews for the Greek villa! There's been a change of plan!")

Money making through blogging is a bloody lie. However, I now know what stuff you all like to buy.

So, who bought the incontinence pads after wetting their pants laughing at family argument causing saga, Well Hard Wedding? Hmmm?
And who immediately turned and frantically signed up to Scottish Gay Singles advertised when I wrote a post called Girl, I’m Gonna Take you to a Gay Bar? Hmmmmm?
And who rented a cottage for two in the Highlands after feeling all romantic after readiing about how Meeester and I met? Hmmmm?

I know, I know it all!!!

No I don’t. It’s bollocks, there isn’t even that kind of payback.

So, blog advertising; don’t do it, it’s a waste of time. Only career American Blogger Dooce was able to afford to make blogging her day job and that’s only because she lost her real job because of blogging about her workmates and that karma is bad. Fun to read, the evidence suggests, but bad. You don’t want a piece of it. She’s friendless and regretful. Albeit, rich friendless and regretful.

So there you go; there’s no such thing as a free potato. What a great phrase that is! Copyright me. Yes, I just made that one. No, you can’t use it. You can rent it. See? See what the brush with commercialism has done to me? Sorry, have the potato phrase on me.

So how could I have earned that same money without trying over the last six months without soiling my lovely Misssives with invitations to buy Viagra and Rohipnol? I've thought of a few.

1. I could have mineswept under my bed for coppers and probably made more.

2.I could have checked the pockets and trousers I’ve not worn recently for notes. There’s always a secret twenty hiding somewhere; it’s a Law of Physics.



3. I could have done what we used to when we were kids and scoured the neighbourhood for empty “bottles of ginger”. Those 20p returns on a bottle of Irn Bru can really mount up. Help ma Boab, I’ve just turned in to Oor Wullie**.



4. I could have bought own brand shopping for a week and saved the cash. But really, the thought, darlings! Ugh!



5. I could have taken a photo of Sonny the Black Menace and pimped him out to a pet calendar.



6. I could stuck my hat down on the pavement and have interpretive danced for an hour beside that American Christian fella with the dyed black hair and the big guitar who stands outside marks and Spencers in Aberdeen and wants us all to follow the ways of Jesus.



6. I could have sent a funny story into Chat, Take a Break, or Bella magazine and got the £25 prize. I think the one about Indy pretending to be the monkey police. Chat loves a monkey story. The back issues speak for themselves.

Still, I’ve got $25 which I believe roughly translates as £1.16 in Sterling at the moment. What to do with it all?!

I am reminded of the words of the late great Bill Hicks* on the subject of advertising....hmmm but this a family blog and I don’t want to offend my sponsors.







*You’ll have to go to Youtube if you don’t get my reference. But really, Bill Hicks? You don’t know who Bill Hicks is? Tut, tut.





**You'll have to awa an beil yer heid if you don't know who Oor Wullie is. Anyone outside Scotland may struggle, but Google him anyway. Jings, he's a National Treasure!




"Scunnert"

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Cat People

I was up at five this morning. Not by choice. Never by choice.

I was woken by an almighty loud crash and a screaming wailing noise that sounded like the gates of Hell had ripped open in my kitchen. Meeester sprang into action like a cougar, coughed slightly, turned over and said, “You see to it”.

Effectively our splendid lady cats, Lulu and Libby, were being brutally battered by their birth brother Ziggy The Ginger Bastard. He had brazenly come in their (not his- he doesn't live with us) cat flap and set about terrorizing them both. Sonny The Black Menace, our spaniel and potential protector of the lady cats was blissfully sleeping upstairs in his Spiderman jammies lying on the bottom tier of the bunk beds with his sooky blanket tucked under his chin and lace rimmed sleep mask covering his peepers. He was not due to rise until eight, and then only if someone brought him a nice cup of sweet tea and a freshly toasted crumpet.

The job fell to me.

I went down to the kitchen just in time to see a ginger flash disappearing out the flap and a swish of black “Hooded Claw” type velvet cloakage.

I looked at my two fluffy ladies cowering demurely in the corner. Where did the love go?

It occurred to me that Ziggy is in many ways like Jim Corr, guitar player and brother from horrible Irish pseudo folk rock/beauty pageant, The Corrs.

Here are the Corrs. They are siblings, we’re told.

Poor Jim Corr:

Look! The photographer hasn't even lit him!

See Jim there? Poor Jim Corr. Not exactly pick of the litter is he? In fact, some might suggest that Mrs Corr had a wee drunken and ill-thought through clinch with the bean-faced storeman at work that Christmas Party in 1972, whilst the handsomely chiseled Heathcliffe-like Papa Corr stayed at home watching over his three beautiful daughters which were the spit of their Daddy.

Nine months later, there you have it, a son for Papa Corr. But he is a cuckoo in the nest. They all know it, but no one dares speak it. Oh,...oh dear. Poor little Jim. Stick him in with the girls, something might just rub off on him. Quick someone give him some sunglasses for Jaysus sake!

So here is evidence of some bizarre genetic goings on in my own little gang.

Here are my ladies.

Talullah "Lulu" Martini

Elizabeth "Libby" Martini

A couple of prizewinners, aren’t they?

And here is their violent brother, in the only photo I have of him. It's the one I saw of the little litter on the Cat Protection website before me and my buddy adopted them wholesale. OK, he's quite cute there and I do have a very soft spot for him still but.... Ziggy is now fifty times that size and full of rippling muscles and covered in tattoos. He has ASBOS and a gym membership! He is also supposed to be resident at my pal’s house over the road but he seems to prefer our house, with its ready supply of beautiful maidens for him to cuff gangsta rapper style.

Yo, where's ma bitches?

Ziggy also reminds me of this character from Coronation Street. This is Gary Windass, the Young Pretender to the Bad Boy throne of dear departed Les Battersby. He is currently about to get “sent down” for GBH after he put the weasly David Platt in hospital with a single freckled knuckle punch.

See? Same hair, and, same attitude.

The thing is, two weeks ago our well-loved old boy cat, Harleyboy, who was seventeen, died. And my ladies were left without a dad/man about the house. Although in the last few months, our Harley was unable to see, didn’t know what the blazes was going on, and was frightened to go outside never mind see off a feisty ginger intruder, his musky presence was enough to warn off other toms.

When I told my daughter that Harley had gone she wailed and cried. And then she tearfully broke off to ask, in all seriousness, “But who will look after Lulu and Libby?!”

We thought that was tremendously cute. But cuteness aside, it appears she is right. Who will look after Lulu and Libby?

And how can I go about persuading my family that we need a new Tom Cat about the House of the Flying Martinis, given that even my youngest child declared about six months ago, "Mummy, we've too many animals."

We need our own tom round here. Preferably one of those lovely Bengal cats, that just happen to grow to the size of a panther and look like they could be rather handy at five in the morning.

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Empty brain here

Let's get on with the third installment of my blogging research study which I'm now calling The Blogpsyche because it sounds sci-fi and exciting like a scientific device in Barbarella.

Before we get onto Part Three I would like to do you all the courtesy of answering my own questions from Part Two of Blogpsyche, the research for my talk about blogging at The Word Festival in Aberdeen, that you, yes you, can be a part of, simply by telling me your own thoughts on your blog and blogging in general.

Here are the previous questions and my answers:

1. Did you write stuff at all before starting your blog? Tell me more...

Yes, all the time. First of all, I do write stuff for a living anyway but nothing exciting, just scripts for productions at work and educational/corporate material, so that doesn't count. Man, the things I've had to write about.....jeez. But in terms of writing for fun, I have little notebooks full of crapola from my brain all over the place. But none of it is anything more than stuff to remind me of places I've been or things I've seen. I wouldn't show them to anyone, but now I think they could be useful to turn into other things that I would show to people, like blog posts or short stories or...gasp...books. I have also sporadically kept a diary, volumes of which are kept encased in a chest made of Kryptonite in a secret cavern in the South Pole protected by an army of psychotic polar bears.

In addition to all that, as I've already mentioned, I used to write big long group emails to people when on my travels and before that letters, which sadly I can't get back to find out what I was doing and thinking when I was in Germany and Spain as a student, or New Orleans as a illegal immigrant worker, or on that Guyanan penal colony when I was convicted as a murderer and then escaped with only a half blind Dustin Hoffman for company.

2. Did any other writers or bloggers inspire you when you started?

Oh absolutely yes, and they still do. I think I have to name names. My friend Cammy of Stuff on TV made me wise up to the fact that I had to get onto a proper blog platform and start doing this properly for a wider audience. He's also very funny. In terms of style I read Little Red Boat by Anna Pickard and thought, she's so funny and she writes about everyday stuff, and her personality comes across through her writing style. She's consistently good. I was also a big fan of Tired Dad, who would always tell stories instead of just keeping a diary. He inspired me a lot. There's a hole in my blog reading list since he stopped. On a similar theme I've enjoyed the style of Danny Evans of Dad Gone Mad, although his blog has changed slightly since his book deal, which is a common thing, I guess with successful bloggers who then get published. This is not a criticism, just an observation. I'm not surprised he's been published. He can take the most mundane occurance and make it funny with the way he uses language.

Another ex-blogger who has now stopped for personal reasons was Running in Wellies who used to edit a blog magazine, and would include material from The Misssives in the stuff she selected for inclusion and also became a regular reader/read of mine. She brought me readers and confidence. I miss her. Another early find of mine was Emma K from Mommy Has a Headache who has become a friend and writing buddy on a project. More recently Kate Lord Brown of What Kate Did has inspired me to take my writing to the next level, and to think more seriously about it. Her blog is a must read for aspiring writers.

3. Has blogging inspired you to write material outside of your blog?

Well, I've already indicated some of this above. I have been included in the blog book "You're not the Only One" edited by ex-blogger Peach. I cannot over state how exciting and inspiring this was for me. I am sat side by side in the book with many of the bloggers who inspired me in the first place and immensely grateful to Peach for including me.

I am now writing two books- one non-fiction book written with a co-writer which has only just been taken on by a literary agent and another fiction one on my own which I hope to concentrate on more when the first one is finished/or, fingers crossed, accepted by a publisher. I also send short stories to magazines when I have time. I didn't send my writing anywhere until I started blogging. This is largely due to the confidence I've been given by readers. So thanks to you all.

I also am still chugging away writing material for industry eight hours a day but that's for bread, not for kicks. No one writes about the effects of Hydrogen Sulphide on the human body for kicks. Not even Stephen King.

OK, it's your turn.

Here are the three questions for Part Three of the snazzily named Blogpsyche. Even if you haven't been involved up to now, go ahead and answer them. And you can still answer my previous questions by going here and here:

1. Has your blog ever got you into trouble?

2. Where do you draw the line in your blog?

3. What has been family and friends' reaction to your blog?

As before, if you don't want to comment publically but still want to tell me something you can email me as a few of you have already done.

I look forward to reading your comments.

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Notice of Copyright Infringement

Minnie the Minx

(Courtesy of DC Thompson)

Dear Ms Junior Misssy,


It has come to our attention that you are in serious breach of copyright.


Reports coming into our office have indicated that several of the "jolly japes" and characteristics belonging to the well-loved characters of our top-selling Beano comic have been, well, pinched.


We feel that we need to draw this infringement of our creative copyright to your attention and, frankly, ask you to stop this potentially criminal behaviour immediately.


We have outlined your most recent infringement for your deliberation, and we hope, your embarrassment.


Infringement 1


Plaintiff: Junior Misssy


Location: The Master Bedroom of the House of the Flying Martinis


Evidence suggests that you did, in fact, enter the bedroom of your parents at 7.50am on Monday morning of 24th January 2009, and, having previously applied a myriad of spherical red marks to your face using a felt-tipped drawing pen, you then proceeded to claim that there was "something wrong with" your face. Something that may render you unable to go to school. Something that may be potentially contagious.


Miss, I think you will find that this jape is the copyright of our foremost female character, Minnie the Minx. Our records prove that Ms Minx did in fact use this ruse in the following issues of The Beano:

• 12.09.1972 (supposed measles)


• 16.09.1986 (supposed radiation sickness)


• 23.10.1999 (supposed necrotising fasciitis), and


• 01.07.2005 (supposed allergic reaction to a botox injection)

You will also find, if you were to examine these issues for yourself, that Ms Minx did not manage to convince her father that the marks were indeed lesions of a biological nature as, we believe was also the case in your personal attempt. Furthermore, if you were to look back in the issues of 1972 and 1986, you would find that Minnie did, in actual fact, get "the slipper" for her feeble yet hilarious endeavours at truancy. In later issues, she would have been subject to a grounding and laterly she is forced by her father to sit on the "the naughty step" as is the current fashion. Frankly, we prefer the intial old-style punishment but we're not allowed to espouse child beating anymore, so that's the end of that.


Anyway, we digress. These infringements must cease. Your brother is already on his second warning, after his disgraceful attempt to emulate the actions of Bash Street kid hero, Plug, by doing his level best to go to sleep in his school uniform so as to save crucial minutes in the morning, and voiding the need to get dressed. You will find, should you ask your brother, that our reprisal is swift and merciless. And not at all funny.


Rest assured, our lawyers have been informed and you will be hearing from them in due course.


Yours sincerely


DC Thompson


(Owners of the Beano and all the Characters and jokes there-in)


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