Scorpio Rising

Birthday time for us sting-in-the-tail types. I've had the most lovely weekend. Began with another evening at The Haberdashery with my dear pal Smiff selling our old junk. We like to think of ourselves as Steptoe and Son (I'm Albert, she's the long-suffering Harold). Great fun and a few bob in the pocket:

Soundtrack to our lives

Saturday included pottering around the cafés of Crouch End with The Ex, eating cakes, drinking tea, talking about dildos (don't ask). The Ex is a successful web producer at the BBC. His team had bought him a birthday card (his birthday is the day before mine) which was a really sweet picture of meadow flowers, and they'd drawn a great big cock over the top of it. I found this very touching - they obviously think he's a great boss and have a lot of respect for him:

They spend your licence fee on stuff like this

Was really bloody lucky to get into a completely sold-out Warlocks gig at the Luminaire. Yet again, it's who I know and certainly not what I know. Having been previously introduced to the very witty and charming Andy Inglis who runs the Luminaire by Howard Local at a gig (Dan Mangan if my fading memory serves me right), we were lucky enough to bump into him on the door and get a sneaky pass in. Back of the net! And they were superb, those Warlocks (Bobby Hecksher is top - I saw him afterwards and told him so, to which he replied, "oh, thanks so much for coming down" in a truly humble and enthusiastic way - lovely manners). And then, there seemed to be a lot of booze and things turned a bit soft round the edges, including me...all good, though...:

The perfect combo of psych and good manners

Good, that is, until I had to collect my car next morning after 4 hours sleep...not big, not at all clever. Not entirely sure I should have been driving, actually. But after a shower and a mammoth fry-up, this Lady Lazarus rose again. Back to the pub for my birthday drinks with all my nearest and dearest. Perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon - pals, few drinks (medicinal, by this point), lots of laughs - big love goes to anyone who turned up and for my goodies too: Mr & Mrs Barton for the choccy cake and fizz; Vik and Tim for my french violet creams; Smiff for my slap; Mr Local for my jazz-metal CD; Liza and Dave for the scary slinky thing and screenprint; Ber & K for the curry when I got in; but topping the lot, me old mucker Blondie who had hunted down a copy of my 70's Hornsea pottery childhood mug which I loved so dearly, until I broke it some years back:

What a mug (it, not me)

(Postscript: Having just read this week's Luminaire mailout, can I suggest that any of my regular readers subscribe here: http://www.theluminaire.co.uk/ Even if you only subscribe, with no intention of going to what can only be described as probably London's best small venue, run by a very witty Scot, staffed by cheerful, competent people, hosting some fine musicians every week, then you will at least be treated to what is one of the funniest mailouts I have the pleasure of reading. This week I feature heavily (see Warlocks paragraph above) as the inebriated 'friend' who suggested he might want to bring the swearing and ranting back into the mailout. We raging potty mouths have to stick together.)

Lunacy

For anyone who believes in that kinda thing, tonight sees the Scorpio Full Moon. Once a year, it makes us sting-tailed types madder than ever (apparently). I've had a pretty frenzied couple of weeks since I got back from NY, both socially and mentally. Not sure I can blame all this on outer space, but it's nice to use it as an excuse...

Was sitting contemplating my life on a park bench at Alexandra Palace, flask of camomile tea for company, when my phone rang. It was Miss P. Miss P is easily one of the best women I've ever met. Although we've only known each other since I moved to London, our friendship has become one of my most valued, usually only reserved for folks I've known for donkeys (cautious type, me). She's a very talented art buyer at my favourite ad agency, and we click on so many things, work and life related. Mammoth chat ensued (life, work, men, family), and I was just lamenting how quiet I'd been workwise, when I had another caller trying to come in. Told Miss P I'd call her back. It was a styling job for Vodafone/Man Utd/Champions League - wahey! Tried calling Miss P back - engaged. Eventually, she called me back...weirdly, whilst I was off the line, she'd had a call from a producer friend asking if she knew any good producers who might want to start a new production company up...oooh, could this be Moon The Loon fixing stuff up for me?

Finished the styling job. Everyone's thrilled, as I managed to source all the things the clients were panicking about (leave it to the professionals), so I am loved by all on the job. My pal Sue (überstylist and top woman) had something I needed to borrow, so I popped in for a cuppa. I asked her if she was feeling a bit mental at the moment..."YES!!! I am off my trolley!" she shrieked. I told her about the Moon stuff...Sue is a Scorpio too, so she was thrilled to hear she had an excuse to act like a nutter. Her husband Howard says she doesn't need an excuse, but did confirm she had been extra-freakish for the last few days.

Went to the supermarket on the way back, as Smiff is coming for tea before we head out to a birthday party. I was at the checkout. In front of me was a small, very old man, at least in his 80s. When paying for his stuff, he got out a small carrier bag. It just wasn't big enough for the things he'd bought. Checkout lady said 'do you need another bag?' but then proceeded to only look for the thin bags and she didn't have any left. So then she suggested he look in the carrier recycling box, which I did on his behalf - empty. I could feel his embarassment, as he said, 'I'll just carry them in my arm'. This old dear was using a stick, for fuck's sake. I went to grab one of the 'pay-10p-cos-it's better-quality' bags and told her I'd pay for it. 

What is this country coming to? I'm all for recycling, but when did it start being OK to make some sweet old pensioner struggle with his shopping cos he'd inadvertantly not brought a big enough shopping bag? Fucking carrier bag police and smug middle class 'my shopper is made from recycled angel tears and old tyres'. I think I was more sensitive because he'd bought a massive box of Tetley, a McVitie Manor House fruit cake (my Dad liked that) and a big box of Kit-E-Kat. So now I'm thinking of him sitting at home, all on his own, with a nice cuppa and a slice of cake, whilst Tiddles cleans herself after a lovely bowl of Rabbit 'n' Chicken in aspic. I can barely speak to checkout lady, I am so cross. Not sure I can blame my fury on lunar activity...

Off to the party. The party is the "I'm 29 for the next 5 years" party for the German Blonde. GB is a lovely creature. We've known her for a few years, but in the last couple of years, she has blossomed. She is the girlfriend of my very dear friend Hands Randall. Hands was ladyless for a long time, and we used to discuss waiting for the right person to come along. And finally she did. They are unbearably cute together, and oh-so-very much in love (you can actually feel it between them, I kid you not):

She dressed in this gorgeous 40's outfit, her hair was stunning, she looked wonderful. It was a brilliant party - like a family wedding, saw loads of people I haven't seen for ages. Midnight arrives. Wandered home by the light of that enormous moon. I've had a good long stare at it and concluded that there might be something magical in it after all...