Not Going to Glasto and Not Drinking Tea

I've had another quiet month on the old blog front. There's a few reasons for this, but it's mainly laziness I'd say. And being busy and all that.

A few things to talk about today: firstly, I got my hair cut off. It's the shortest hair I've had since I was about 8, so it was kind of a risk. I got a bit overexcited in my trendy hairdressers and allowed the heady mix of complimentary beer, loud rock music and beautiful androgynous hairdressers to warp my sense of reason. It might not seem a big deal to a lot of people, but I ran a serious risk of allowing myself to be shorn to look like a boy, circa 1984, with learning difficulties. Very few people can carry that off.

Luckily, Lorenzo was fabulous as well as gorgeous, and gave me a brilliant haircut which makes me feel liberated. Though one of the first responses I got to such a "forward, strong-look" cut was "Now you're definitely a Shoreditch Twat." I was hoping I was still borderline. I'm not wearing a fake-fur coat, red lipstick and pointy shoes. Well, just the pointy shoes.

Other things this month that I feel like sharing: I'm not going to Glasto. I know, after all the bloody fuss I made last year, sat whining on the sofa and pathetically trying to recreate the Glasto experience by drinking cider on my balcony, TV on loud and sporting a straw cowboy hat. I scored my ticket deposit on the day they were released, and spent a good few months telling everyone that I'd got a ticket. Then I started thinking about it as the payment deadline for settling the balance drew closer.

I know that Glastonbury isn't about the headliners. I know there's a million stages and acts playing, and you can see lots of epic sets without going near the main stage. But - Muse, U2, Stevie Wonder as headliners? Really? I could see myself enjoying Stevie on the Sunday night but I have a seriously ingrained hatred for Muse. I'm not sure what it is. Perhaps the weasely-faced Bellamy, the pompous, overblown rock anthems, the lazy lyrics, the "we are a stadium rock band and therefore are EPIC" sentiment implied in their unsubtle, teenage song-writing. Can't quite put my finger on it. Oh hang on, smug. That's it.

Same goes for U2. There's something about U2, Bono in particular, that makes me cringe. That stupid song about 'putting on your boots' makes me want to hurt other people, or myself. U2 and Muse in the same village at the same time (there are rumours of an on-stage collaboration, I'm gagging just writing that) - there's a serious danger of mass, passive smug.

So, I made the decision to let my ticket go to a Muse-lover. I am certain that come June, I'll be bemoaning missing out on the 40th anniversary Glastonbury. If you hear me bitching about it, please remind me that it was my own fault. I'm going to the brilliantly local-but-proper-festival-with-proper-acts Lounge on the Farm which mainly involves being a bit hazy in the sun with my Canterbury friends; and will be attending Lovebox since the line up is really good and it's in my local park five minutes from my flat - result.

In other news this month, I caught the utterly grim norovirus winter sicky bug thing the other week. Absolute hell. The worst part for me, apart from spending hours sobbing on the bathroom floor in agony, was not being able to drink tea for a couple of days. Seriously depressing. It wasn't so much the projectile vomiting and not being able to eat for three days that got me down, it was the kettle being sat unused and forlorn and my lack of hot, calming tea. I hope it never happens to me again. I've been tea-drinking with even more fervour since then to make up for the tea void.

Finally, I've been very angry this week. Furious. At the BBC's announcement of the closure of 6Music. BBc, what the fuck are you thinking? This is the only non-commercial station that actually caters for music lovers. I base my musical discoveries on it's playlist. It's like a friend whose music taste you trust, and actually follow their recommendations. The DJs are brilliant for the most part. I'm actually on a mission to marry Shaun Keaveny from the breakfast show.

What other station wakes you up with a vintage Buzzcocks archived live session followed by the latest cutting edge new band? I actually look forward to waking up on a Saturday morning to listen to Adam & Joe's inane in-joke ramblings and listening to Jon Richardson on a Sunday morning in bed with a brew is actually one of life's great pleasures. What am I going to do now?

So it's all about budget cuts and the fact that "Only 20% of adults questioned knew about 6Music." This is the point! It's that 20% of discerning adults who really, really care about quality music. It's not about the populist 80% who will happily listen to Radio 1 and not give a shit that they will hear the latest auto-tuned Black Eyed Peas track five times within two hours. The BBC have said that they will listen to the public: so make your voice heard, email the BBC on srconsultation@bbc.co.uk and let them know what you think. There's Facebook groups, Twitter hashtags and online petitions. So get involved.

Right, I am going to go and concentrate on Jon Richardson's final 6Music show with another brew. Have you emailed the Big British Castle yet?

Goodbye 2009, now f*ck off because here's 2010

I wasn't planning on doing much on New Year's Eve. It's always a bit of an anticlimax isn't it? Last year I'd had a wonderful evening in Canterbury with good friends, and someone I thought I'd be seeing this year in with too. This wasn't to be and I was inevitably facing a New Year where I'd be running the comparisons through my head and feeling a little bit sad.

Plus, going out on NYE is always expensive, too busy and then there's the arse ache of getting home. I'd made loose plans to have a few people over, then during a very drunken evening round my oldest school friend's flat over Christmas back home, we hatched a plan for her to come down and spend it with me.

Thursday morning, Animal Girl and KiteBoy arrived outside my flat and I ran down excitedly to meet them. The car boot was opened to show enough stuff for a family of 6 for a week away. I pulled a case out of the car. Animal Girl commented,

"That's my makeup." I laughed, thinking she was joking. When the two of them had unpacked in my room and covered it in their stuff, it became clear that she did indeed have a separate suitcase for makeup.

We spent the day wandering through Shoreditch, Columbia Road, Brick Lane and Spitalfields and had a drink in Tracey Emin's local, The Golden Heart. I introduced Animal Girl to the wonders of the vintage shops in Brick Lane and made a resolution to get skinny enough to fit into a chic vintage dress this year.

So the plan for the evening was to just enjoy a civilised evening in, I'd cook something nice for dinner and we'd watch Jools Holland and pop some champagne at midnight. We watched the ITV drama 'Sleep With Me' which is based on one of my favourite books; it was a bit of a let down with some er, strange sex scenes.

We were all quite happy lounging around in our casual gear, but Animal Girl insisted on getting changed into a mini dress and 6 inch heels to see in the New Year. On my sofa.

Since the drinking had began around 3pm, we'd been careful to pace ourselves. Animal Girl had brought down Chinese lanterns to set off at midnight to float into the sky with our wishes for 2010. At five to midnight, the order was issued to get the Taittinger from the fridge and get the lantern lit. We excitedly switched to the live coverage from by the Thames to hear the Big Ben countdown. (Just a small side note, why on earth was Mylene Klass chosen to present that? She was atrocious.)

"Quick, get the lantern lit!" squealed Animal Girl. I prepped the bottle of champagne, poised over the balcony.

"Five, four, three, two, one, HAPPY NEW YEAAAAAARRRR!" we yelled out into the East London ether, as the champagne exploded over the neighbours' balconies below (sorry about that) and fireworks began to pop and crackle over the sky. We hugged and whooped and toasted what was sure to be a better year than last.

KiteBoy lit the firelighter in the lantern. They're much bigger than you think, aren't they? He kept it inside the flat to ensure it caught light properly, then took it out on to the balcony. Unfortunately, my balcony overlooks an enclosed courtyard so the wind gets caught in a trap of buildings. He held it, flapping over the balcony, about to let it go.

Me, worriedly: "Are you sure this won't float into my neighbours' balconies...?!"

Animal Girl: "No, Kite Boy let it go!! It's got all our hopes and dreams in!" (We were champagne drunk by this point)

The wind whipped the now raging firelighter encased in paper and the paper inevitably caught fire. We all yelled "Nooooooo!" KiteBoy was forced to drop the fire onto the dry wooden balcony floor for fear of burning his hands. (Or dropping his beer, priorities.)

Me, shrieking to Animal Girl who was just inside the doorway: "Get some water! GET SOME WATER!!"

Animal Girl totters out with half a tiny wine glass of water.

Luckily, this did actually do the job and our hopes and dreams lay fizzing and smoking on the balcony, a pile of half burned, soggy paper. Let's hope that this does not set the tone for the year and become a sad realisation of a metaphor.

However, something magical did happen. Just after we'd yelled our "Happy New Years!" the snow began to fall over East London, fat white flakes settling on my black cardigan. We grinned at each other and drank more champagne.

We spent the remainder of the evening watching Jools Holland and debating Florence & The Machine (Animal Girl hates her with a real passion, inexplicably.) We then enjoyed the 2009 highlights of Glasto and had more fizz when No'rn Ir'on came home from her Medieval Banquet evening (apparently, in a word, "shite.")

The Glasto coverage finished with Blur wowing the crowds with The Universal. Animal Girl and I came together as friends at 12, united by our love for 90s Indie, mainly the magnificent Blur. We've seen them together a few times, including their epic Hyde Park gig last summer. We ended the night singing The Universal at the top of our lungs and dancing to the live compilation of their perfomances over a decade.

What a way to end the year and see in a new one.

This is the next century
Where the universal's free
You can find it anywhere
Yes, the future has been sold
Every night we're gone
And to karaoke songs
How we like to sing a long
Although the words are wrong

It really, really, really could happen
Yes, it really, really, really could happen
When the days they seem to fall through you, well just let them go

No one here is alone, satellites in every home
Yes the universal's here, here for everyone
Every paper that you read
Says tomorrow is your lucky day
Well, here's your lucky day

It really, really, really could happen
Yes, it really, really, really could happen
When the days they seem to fall through you, well just let them go

Well, it really, really, really could happen
Yes, it really, really, really could happen
When the days they seem to fall through you, well just let them go

Just let them go

Animal Girl got put to bed by Kite Boy. Seeing as were all wrecked by this point, he wanted to put something by the bed in case she was poorly in the night. Rather than getting something from the kitchen he inexplicably chose the plantpot from the balcony which had been outside for 6 months and contained some manky soil and some rotting leaves.

She woke up in 2010 next to a fuschia pink plant pot; wondering just how drunk she'd been since she apparently had thrown up mud in the night.