In Florida there are a lot of gift shops. A LOT. They want all of your disposable income and they will do whatever it takes to get you in their store. A lot of them advertise ridiculous statements such as “gifts as low as $1.99” or “five t-shirts for $9.99” and it’s all lies. You’ll go in to be greeted by five kids t-shirts for $9.99 or the kinds of cheap mugs that not even an auntie with bad eyesight would pick up and consider. All lies.
Initially I ignored these places because I knew what would be inside. Later on I relented for a laugh and, you know what? I was right. Laden with plastics of all shapes and sizes, pirated Disney goods, the kind of nonsense every gift shop has. It was a treasure trove of bobbins.
What made me sit up and notice though were the buildings themselves. Nothing in Florida looks new, in fact everything has this worn out faded murky visage which you get used to after a while.
This shop made me laugh because you notice it straight away and every time I walked past I would think, “mwear!” to myself. The best mwear in all of town. Ladies love top of the line mwear; purchase one today for your gal, fellas!
I also keep saying it in a Matt Berry voice for maximum effect.
Shock news from across the water as a new perfume is about to hit the market with a familiar smell that may turn your stomach.
Australian nose fondling magnate, Winter de Socket, will soon be releasing a fragrance that harnesses the essence of faeces in a move which has confounded critics and befuddled just about everyone else.
“It’s all about turning that notion on its head,” said de Socket at a recent promotional event, “the idea that something is bad. Oh, you can look at something and dismiss it as uncool, pathetic or sad then ten years later that same thing is the talk of the town. Trends change. People change. Why can’t the same thing happens with smells?”
The particular type of faeces chosen for the perfume is from our four legged friend, the cow. Surely the most well known of all poo types, next to our own of course. The fact that de Winter is releasing poo perfume is quite mad, the idea of paying £200.00 for a 200ml bottle surely bordering on insanity and yet since the pre-order window opened, the website has consistently been sold out. Who exactly is buying this guff?
We turned to fashionista Melandra Melody for an insight into this madness. “You have to understand he’s been pushing these kinds of boundaries for years,” she says, “so he knows exactly what he’s doing. You smell poop and you wince away in shame. What Winter smells is the future, what he can smell is fresh money and possibly a new conservatory the size of your house. I saw him waiting tables back in Melbourne and two years later he’s the genius who decided to bottle the smell of fresh hands. Harness the power of scent and you too could be as successful as him.”
What exactly can we expect from the future then? Is going to harness the power of sick and flog it to the rich and wealthy?
“That is a distinct possibility. Stranger things have happened. This is only the first perfume in his new line so your guess is as good as mine. Whatever it is though you can guarantee it will be a hit!”
Comforting words from a world most of us will never fully understand. Will his next perfume be earwax? That weird stuff you find in your belly button? Would you pay two hundred pounds to pour essence of cadaver over your body? If you’ve got deep enough pockets then you too could smell like a hobo for the right price.
When I was a kid, I was surrounded by computers. My dad and brother were obsessed with them, so much so that the latter’s attic bedroom had about a third of it taken up with a desk where two or three computers would permanently sit. We had the good ole BBC, the Archimedes, and sometimes on special occasions the ZX Spectrum would make an appearance.
All I wanted to do was play games. I would make my brother load up something on the BBC and I would play for five minutes until my character inevitably died, then insist on another game. I was never interested in anything to do with programming. I do remember seeing screens of random numbers and wondering what it all meant. Little baby Ian clearly was more concerned with Frogger crossing the road.
I did, however, teach myself to type. Not proper touch typing, I learned to wing it and give myself enough to get by. It is one of the things I’m glad I did practise so as not to be one of those people who must type each letter individually and it takes them 800 years to write a single email. I gave up on the instrument from primary school music class (might have been a French horn, memory is fuzzy) but not typing.
On occasion I see something that makes me want to take a step further, to better myself in the unsure landscape that is the 21st century. Could I do better? Of course I could, I could be like Kev with all his wireless abbababs, throwing them at fictional servers or whatever it is he does all day. If I could really get into something IT-based then it would need to be something important. It would need to be something that would help to make the world a better place. It would have to be what everyone needs and not enough people have.
Then I saw it. I saw it and I had to have it. A new day is dawning.
You know what’s mad? The world of jeans, specifically women’s jeans. Sure, you could easily say the world of cheese (“let’s roll huge wheels of it down a steep hill and let people chase after them,”) or the world of imaginary policemen made of earwax are equally bizarre, and you’d be completely right. The difference though is that I can take law enforcers made of cerumen (it’s a medical term, I looked it up), what I can’t take is wandering into a supermarket and seeing rum and pineapple mixed in with my cheddar. MY cheddar. No. Stop that. None of that.
The world of jeans was so straightforward for me until a recent trip to Marks and Spencer looking for Christmas things brought forward this oddity:
“Mom ankle grazer; what the deuce is that?”
It was then casually explained to me by Vikki that women’s jeans all have these wild and crazy names. How sheltered I must have been to have not realised this sooner. Not that I go wandering around the women’s section in clothes shops (despite what the British press continue to write about me, all of them made up and, no comment, you can get one from my solicitor). I then immediately looked up more details on the M & S website.
Blimey. Was this always the case? Are men’s jeans the same? Not in the slightest. What we have is very basic: loose fit, straight fit, straight let, slim fit, blue, black, grey, tapered. Nothing remotely interesting. It’s nice that everything is so much more playful in the world of women’s jeans. Perhaps it wasn’t always the case and fifty years ago slightly muddled women formed queues around the building for dull, lifeless articles of clothing with names like ‘big’, ‘small’, ‘stocky’ and ‘no’. That said, I wouldn’t fancy wandering into a shop and asking if they have anything in Magic Shaping High Waisted Flare or a Harper Supersoft Cigarette Jeans. Throw in a few more vowels and you may as well be reading Harry Potter spells.
This means that men’s jeans need a radical overhaul and given my vast, rich experience dealing with many different lines of work, I believe I am the right person for the job. This is what I’ve been working on:
Stretch fit changed to Elephant Limo Garrison
Slim fit changed to Furious Corner Pop-up Shop
Straight fit changed to Nothing Flouncy Sunshine
Straight leg changed to Recess Chimney Warrant
Loose fit changed to Barnacle Profit Tax
Tapered changed to Wounded Poison Ranch Dressing
All it took was a little time and a little thought and now everything is so much better. You’ll thank me next time you’re walking around Asda and notice that they have a pair of Furious Corner Pop-up Shop in your size. Yes, you will.
In a small, forgotten quarter of Paris, an unremarkable alley harbours a peculiar sight: a solitary shoe resting atop a weathered bin. This seemingly mundane object becomes the focal point of a poetic journey in Le Soulier d’une Vie.
As the seasons change, we witness fleeting moments from the lives of the residents who cross paths with the shoe. There’s Élodie, a dancer grappling with the loss of her passion; Pierre, an aging baker reminiscing about his long-lost love; and Léon, a young boy with an unyielding curiosity. The shoe, a silent witness, absorbs their dreams, secrets, and sorrows.
Through a tapestry of vignettes, the film delves into themes of impermanence, connection, and the beauty found in the mundane. Shot with a delicate hand and a lyrical eye, Le Soulier d’une Vie is a melancholic, yet hopeful reflection on the fragments of life that unite us all.
Sigh. Well, what did you expect? When you’re pulling four different posts each month, every month, you will occasionally draw a blank. I’ve been knocking these out relentlessly for years now and you’d think it would get easier, but it doesn’t. You go to your phone to find some inspiration (a photo you’ve taken, an article you’ve been reading etc.) and you come up with nothing. What’s the alternative though? Do “a Kev” and scrape a bean once every twelve months?
People want content. Websites need new content. What would our fans (?) do without new things to read and interact with? We have an obligation as content creators (?) to pull more and more things out of our respective backsides to fill empty space. Empty space is similar to dead air; nobody wants it. They also say the same things about my self-help books.
I did briefly consider other options for this photo. If it were necessary to develop it into something more constructive then I could have:
Pretended to be the owner of the shoe and sent out a request for the other to be returned
Written a ransom note as the kidnapper of the shoe
Created a fake dating profile for the shoe looking for a partner
Another thing (the best thing).
What kind of a person would I be? I need to try harder. I can do much better. For this month I will therefore only be posting shoe-based content. November is the month of shoes. It’s not as if you can think any less of me, right?
Oh, how these thirty days have been punishing upon my legs and upon my brow. I have sought thus the goal of running a mile and a hundred in order to furnish those without with the ability to smite the evil. It has been long and I have sweated more than any man should. I have sweated more than any two men should, and showering every day has been a massive burden.
When my troubles did besmirch me, when my woes did overwhelm me, how did I manage to keep going? Those darker moments whence all the light is sucked away from the day and all you are left with is the end in the distance that leaps further and further away from your grasp. How could I keep going?
I would look to the sky, nay, to the universe above and remember that all things must pass and I, too, would soon reach the finishing line. Who was cheering me on? My girlfriend, my family, my friends, some even that were unbeknownst to me. For when browsing the shops last week did I chance upon a little beacon of hope who has been with me in spirit the entire time.
If you ever find yourself in a similar position, if you ever doubt upon your abilities or capabilities at the job within your hands, think on my friend and he will keep you on track.
Would you like to have a go at tiling? You should try it, it’s very satisfying. The only thing you need to consider is that your first project should start off small so you can get the hang of it.
Our utility room has a toilet and a tiny microsink, but the sink was on a painted wall so water would splash on the paint all the time. It needed some tiles. Do a bit of googling and the entire internet will tell you that tiling a splashback is one of the simplest jobs and a great way for a beginner to learn tiling. Great, I thought. I’ll do that then.
The project scope expanded a bit, so now we are tiling the wall around the sink, and the windowsill which didn’t have an actuall sill, and the wall beside the toilet because it’s just a big empty wall and it will look nice. No problem. Bigger than a splashback but that’s just more tiles to stick on, not more difficulty.
All of the above is incorrect. It turns out that I have selected the world’s most fiddly tiling job as my first foray into the world of tiling. This isn’t an easy beginner’s introduction. It is a Tile Saga.
The sink is hard up against the side wall, so ideally would be removed so that the wall to the side and behind it could be tiled and the sink re-attached on top of the tiles. But it would have to be replaced slightly to the right, which is further than the pipes will reach, so it would all need re-plumbing, which I am not prepared to do.
Therefore the sink must stay in place and have tiles cut to go around it. But the sink is entirely curved – every part of it is curved, even across the top, where it could easily just be flat. So all the tiles around it must be cut with very specific and unique curves in them.
There are three pipes underneath and another pipe coming out of the side wall for the toilet cistern overflow. Tiles must be cut around these, requiring more curved cuts.
There’s no point getting an extremely expensive tile drill because they are for cutting circles in the middle of tiles, which I don’t need because all the pipes meet joints, and anyway the pipes are all different sizes and the curves are all unique and not even a consistent radius, so every curved cut needs to be done manually.
I have therefore invested in an angle grinder with a diamond cutting disc, which lets me cut very thin slices, and gentle curves, and notches out of tiles to go around the corners of the window. The angle grinder is the single most terrifying object I own because it cuts through ceramic tiles like soft butter and would remove fingers or even whole limbs if given half a chance. The tiles are small and must be held in place when you cut them so your fingers are very close to the blade. I am scared whenever I have to turn it on.
The angle grinder still cannot cut tight enough curves to get the pipework or the tighter sink edges right, so those bits must be manually filed out of the tiles using a file, which can take up to 20 minutes for a single tile and produces huge volumes of ceramic tile dust, as does the angle grinder now I come to think about it.
I didn’t think about the dust until I developed a dry cough which has mostly gone now but still occasionally rears its head.
The tiles arrived in April and I have now finished tiling the two walls and the windowsill. They still need grouting which is another new skill I am now approaching with some trepidation because it must surely hold further unknown pitfalls.
The other windowsill and the backsplash around the worktop at the other side of the utility room need tiling too, but that can now wait for a few months because I need to do some jobs in the garden and tiling the utility room has used up all my DIY time so far this summer.
The tiling looks nice.
I am pleased with the result.
I am glad I don’t have any more pipes or curved bits to do.
I’m pretty sure I am now due an honorary doctorate in tiling.
