Hey everyone,

How are you? Well I've been a busy little bee this week. I've decided to look for another job. It's not fun working here with Graham now, and this was only meant to be a temporary thing, so I'm looking elsewhere. Ben thinks I'm being very grown up which makes a change. I've been scouring the papers, and nothing's come up yet, but I'm sure if I keep looking I'll be fine.

Of course, I haven't really been trying *that* hard. It was the weekend after all. I've been being Christmassy instead! There's a new Cologne Christmas Market along Southbank and I have to tell you, I do get very festive. Very very festive. If you see a girl wearing fluffy red and white ear-muffs, and humming Jingle Bells on the tube, say hello. That'll be me.

The Cologne Christmas market is brilliant. You can see Santa! Decorate gingerbread! Eat Sauerkraut (er... if you like)! And the best bit? There's a carousel. There's nothing more festive and getting your hair stuck in a toffee apple while you whizz around on a pretty horse. I've haven't laughed that much in weeks.

And then of course there's the mulled wine. Everything in the world is made better by mulled wine.

I might just be getting back to my normal cheery self.

Happy Christmas everybody.

I've finally escaped from the jaws of death that have been clamped down around me for this past week. I no longer have a cold, and have been outside the warehouse - but only to buy cranberries for our thanksgiving dinner last night.

Oh, I guess I didn't mention that one of my [ware]housemates is from The colonies. She's called Imogen, which is annoying, because:

 a) it's a made-up name that only came about as a result of Shakespeare's dyslexia, and

b) I thought all American girls were called Candy, and Wendy, and... erm... Rosalita.

Anyway - we had thanksgiving dinner on the work-surface in the kitchen/spraypainting area and it eventually descended into a choreographed food fight.

They'd prepared full plastic bodysuits and a designated battle zone with a German word I'm not familiar with spray painted on the wall.

I never knew that much about American culture, but this all came as a surprise to me. I'd just bought the cranberry sauce. (Yeah, I know I sort of implied earlier there that I made the cranberry sauce, but my laptop got stolen last week when I went to the loo in the train station. I say 'loo', it was more of a hedge with a wall next to it- but my laptop still got stolen. And I can't get recipes for cranberry sauce without my laptop. Yes - I am currently blogging on a freakin' Apple Macintosh or whatever you call it.)

Anyway, to cut a long story short I think I have a crush on Imogen. Do people say that anymore? I'm so out of the loop. I haven't even seen Eastenders since I moved in here.

Yeah, I think I have a crush on Imogen: but there are six other people living here and I was the only one who didn't know what thanksgiving was.I thought it was when you went around to old people's homes and gave them all tins of sweetcorn and danced for them. That's what we did at school. Wasn't that called thanksgiving or something?

I forget.

Anyway, I'll be back on the going places and doing stuff and reviewing it soon, because Imogen goes out all the time, and I'm going to start stalking her. In a non-creepy way.

Like I mentioned earlier this week, I wanted to go to Warped tomorrow night, but it seems the dates have mysteriously vanished from the website, so I’m not sure if it’s taking place at all anymore. And Aimee does not trek to all the way to Farringdon for just anyone, and certainly not for events that might not even be on. So instead I’ll stick with Punk. I know it’s been done to death by every slapper between here and South Ken, but at least it’s only one night bus from home (I know I’ve already ranted and raved about the night buses once this week, so I’ll spare you a second instalment. But it does make a difference when selecting a venue for an evening’s entertainment, especially at the temperatures we’ve been having lately. Sad but true.) Plus I might spot Noel Fielding smooching someone inappropriate, and make myself a fortune from the photos. (I know it’s not much of a dream, but come on, it’s Friday. My brain is too frazzled for anything more complex than ludicrous celeb-based scheming.) You’re more than welcome to come if you feel like buying me an overpriced drink or two. If not, I’ll probably be starting out at the North Pole, in Greenwich, which does champagne cocktails for £7, and where Charlotte has a date later on, hence me making myself scarce. This is an exciting development chez moi, since Char is not the most social of butterflies, so I can’t wait to find out how it goes. I’ll let you know next week…

(Flickr image of Punk from Jon Emmony's photostream)

That bloody temp is out for an hour, so I’ve commandeered the reception computer to blog quickly.

Last night at the Pear Tree was a laugh: pleasant pub and good ol’ merry sing songs, although I left after a couple when I remembered I’m going to be skint all month thanks to my Dresden f*ck-up. The whole thing was part of Whitechapel gallery’s Street Project, which is pretty damn interesting.

It’s friends’ birthday celebrations for the remainder of the week, before the Christmas carnage begins, so I’m not sure where I’ll be as yet, although apparently I’m going to Camden to play musical bingo tomorrow, although I’ve no idea where. Will let you know as soon as I get told!

Otherwise, just wanted to share a little gem with you that finishes this weekend: Roger Hiorn's Seizure. You’ve probably been by now, but if you haven’t, make sure you go see it this weekend. It’s a load of copper sulphate flushed through an old, scuzzy council flat and it’s amazing, like walking into some strange socialist jewel (okay, that’s my mancunian, working-class attempt at being an art critic, and it ain’t working). Here’s a tip though: if you want to avoid the queue for wellies, take your own and get in quicker. It’s your last chance to see a future Turner Prize winner (probably) since the flats are being knocked down next year (definitely).

Right, back to it before she gets back.

Okay so I haven’t posted in a while, due to the ridiculous temp I’ve told you about, who keeps breathing down my neck. I’m worried she’s going to grass me in for spending company time blogging. She’s after my job, I know it. Anyway, I didn’t help matters by going over to Berlin for a long weekend to see my lovely Sally with the plan of flying back at 6am yesterday and being in work by 10. The weekend was ACE (but I won’t go in to it as this is a blog about London, not Berlin); the return journey, though, wasn’t. I managed to get up and get to the Ostbahnhof for 5am, which is a 15-minute train ride to the airport. I didn’t expect to fall asleep as soon as I got on the train though. Nor did I expect to wake up to see the airport disappearing into the distance. That’s ok, I’m thinking, I’ll get off at the next stop and then get the train back. Should still be ok for my flight.

Except the next stop is Dresden. Which is two hours away from Berlin airport.

Let’s just say I’ve blown my Christmas budget on a flight back, lost a day’s holiday AND put irritating temp one step closer to snatching my job from me. Grrrrr.

Anyway, to cheer myself up I’m gonna get drunk tonight at the Palm Tree and sing along to some Bud Flanagan accompanied by a ukulele and a piano. Gotta love these Whitechapel gallery events. And with a bit of luck I won't sleep in tomorrow ...

photo courtesy of clarkworldtravel's photostream 

I'm ill, which is totally unfair because I haven't done anything at all to warrant it, barely having left the [ware]house since last Thursday. That being the case my capacity for dazzling anecdotes and spot-on reviews of London's nightlife ain't so hot right now: just the occasional dash across the motorway bridge for cheap bread, peanut butter and fags with all-new pictures of throat ulcers and (bizarrely) hypodermic needles on them.

What's with that? We gonna have pictures of beaten wives on cans of Stella next? Pictures of fat children on quavers? Pictures of bald battery hens on eggboxes?

The latter may not be such a bad idea actually...

Anyway, as I have no tales with which to regail you, here's some upcoming gigs from the next week or so, which are unmissable to the point that I might actually borrow some money off my housemates and go to one/two of them:

* Wed Nov 26: Ulu - Satyricon (forward-thinking groovy black metal from Norway, of course)

* Thurs Nov 27 Barden's Boudoir - Wojtek Godzisz (former-Symposium songwriter now solo artist peddling melodic folk rock with pagan vibes. Seen him 3 times this year and he's not disappointed once)

* Fri Nov 28 The Windmill, Brixton - Pumajaw (ace Scottish folksters on the wonderful Fire Records label)

* Sat Nov 29/30 The Troxy, Limehouse - Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds (needs no introduction - probably sold out but if you have pr friends now is the time to call in your favours!)

* Sun Nov 30  Shepherds Bush Empire - Ben Folds (minus 'Five' but none the worse for it, everyone loves Ben Folds, right?)

* Mon Dec 1 London Forum, Kentish Town - Gorgoroth (pretty hardcore Norwegian black metal band, and the singer came out recently! Should be an interesting show)

* Tues Dec 2 Rhythm Factory, Whitechapel - Paul Hawkins and Thee Awkward Silences (nice little venue and my friend Adam from Brighton highly reccommends these guys)

* Weds Dec 3 Barden's Boudoir (again) - Naevus (album launch for this neofolk/post punk band's latest. Saw them in spring and was very impressed, check out their single 'video' here)

It's been a tough weekend and things still don't look to get any better. Thankfully Graham is away on some business trip for the rest of this week. I'm not sure I want to talk about the long email I got from him trying to explain.

Now, I know some of you don't understand how I couldn't have known he was married. Call me stupid, but I honestly had no idea. Of course, I knew he was a "ladies man." Ben told me that much. But honestly, the girls in this office aren't exactly on speaking terms with me (they hate me, I'm just the temp) so they just couldn't wait for this to blow up in my face. I'm amazed they managed to keep quiet so long.

Yes, in hindsight (god that's a bitch) it seems to make sense, but is him being away most weekends that shocking? Ben goes away all the time. I didn't think anything of it. Why would I?

So, I'm treating myself today. I'm off to my favourite hairdressers Taylor Taylor to get my hair done (too cliched?) I deserve a bit of pampering and a few glasses of champagne and a new hair do from Robbi will perk me right up. If nothing else, when Graham gets back it'll make him see what he's missing.

Ooooh look, I almost managed fake happy. I'm getting there.

Flickr image from Madaise's photostream.

Dear oh dear, Poppy’s in a right pickle lately, ain’t she? As a result of all her recent mishaps, it seemed somehow appropriate to invite her to Feeling Gloomy at the weekend. But, bizarrely, she didn’t see the funny side. All I got was a snarled answering machine message specifying in no uncertain terms that she would not be attending, so I was left to make my way to deepest darkest Islington on my own. So, on Saturday night at Bar Academy near Angel, I had a most enjoyable and cathartic dance. Well, it’s not often that I find somewhere that will play both Belle & Sebastian and Abba. And although it’s near unforgivable that they didn’t have any Hefner, I did have a good night. But I must say that the whole affair got a bit tawdry and wedding-disco at about two, so I made my excuses and left. My feet are still frozen from the journey home; it’s getting far too cold for these two-hour epic night bus quests to back from a night of dancing. If someone could start a cool clubnight in South-East London I’d be eternally grateful. Or maybe you know of one that exists already? If so, let me know. And if not, I’ll have a warming cup of tea, and a foot rub, if you’re offering.

(Flickr image via *ade's photostream)

Yuck, Mondays are horrible aren't they? Best not think about it too hard, and concentrate on what else is going on this week instead:

Monday: All this week, and up until 23^rd December, Eddie Izzard will be performing his latest stage show, Stripped, at The Lyric Theatre on Shaftesbury Avenue. At £40-£60, tickets are too expensive for the likes of me, but if you’re more able to flash the cash then get yours booked before they sell out.

Tuesday: The Gay Camberwell crew were so charming last time I went to one of their events that I don’t think it would be moral for me to renege on my promise to go back. And tomorrow they’re showing My Summer of Love at Sun and Doves, from 8pm. Get there early for a space on the sofas and a fistful of free popcorn.

Wednesday: The absolute love of my life, Jarvis Cocker, will be performing at Shepherd’s Bush Empire, to celebrate the thirtieth birthday of Rough Trade Records. Come and say hello if you see me: I’ll be the weeping girl on the front row in a wedding dress.

Thursday: I know it’s nerdy, but I’m a massive fan of QI. I have an unabashed love of Stephen Fry, and a somewhat more secret crush on Alan Davies. (Yes, I know it’s perverse to fancy Jonathan Creek. But I bet I’m not the only one!) So, on Thursday I’m off for an evening with the writers behind the show: John Lloyd and John Mitchinson. They’ll be at the Roberts Lecture Hall at UCL from 7pm, and you can get your tickets for a mere £3 from the Waterstones on Gower Street.

Friday: Following my epic failure to make it to Kimono Krush last Friday, this week I’ll be attempting once again to make it to the Royal Vauxhall Tavern. Only this time it’s for Kunst – The Winter of Discontent cabaret night. Entry’s free if you go dresses as a work of art. And it is getting a bit nippy out, so maybe I can drag along my dirty duvet and claim to be Tracey Emin’s Bed?

Saturday: When I was younger I had a bit of an obsession about the Back to the Future films. So the idea of Warped, which described itself as “the party that travels through time,” is highly alluring. A night that actively encourages dressing up in the style of my favourite decades (20s, 50s, or 80s) with music to match definitely sounds good to me!

Sunday: BFI Southbank are hosting a special screening of The Naked Civil Servant. The film will be introduced by John Hurt, discussing his breakthrough role as the theatrical and flamboyant Quentin Crisp, and his reprise of the part in the eagerly anticipated sequel, An Englishman in New York, which is scheduled for release early next year. I loved the autobiography that the film is based on, so just this once I’m willing to break my usual rule about not leaving the house on Sundays.

(Flickr image of RVT via nickmerritt's photostream)