White Mischief

White Mischief are known for their extraordinary themed parties, and Saturday's Great Exhibition event  lived up to the hype. Not only lived up to it in fact, but exceeded every expectation.Performances ranged from The Great Voltini's spectacular electric display, to some of the most beautifully artistic Japanese rope bondage I've ever seen, with quirky touches such as Miss Chameleon's hilarious flea circus thrown in for good measure. And frankly I don't think you've lived until you've been part of a vast crowd singing Bohemian Rhapsody to the accompaniment of a lederhosen-wearing Bavarian oom-pah band.

The aesthetic at White Mischief events is always amazing, with the costumes being a particular feature. Some party-goers are hardcore steampunkers, who make a lifestyle out of neo-Victoriana, while others just take any excuse to get gussied up. I count myself among the latter group. Having spent a mere ten minutes on Saturday morning rummaging through my wardrobe for anything vaguely appropriate, in hopes of being able to cobble together an outfit during quiet moments at work, I confess to feeling decidedly underdressed upon entering the venue. I was instantly immersed in a world of shining clockwork, luxe velvet and imagination. These steampunk guys don't do things by halves.

Pardon?

Oh, you want to know what steampunk is?

Well, imagine a parallel world where the microchip was never invented. In fact that whole electricity thing never really took off. Clockwork mechanics and the steam engine rule, and the cast includes vast thinking machines, frock coat clad cyber-pirates, and pith-helmeted explorers bound for outer-space or the depths of the ocean. Basically it's Victoriana brought up to date. Think Phillip Pullman's His Dark Materials for grown-ups, or Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, but with better acting.

Next time I go to a White Mischief event I'll remember to bring cash for the amazing stalls run by various steampunk artists, writers and craftspeople. I'll also take a gag for the friend who insisted on walking around them declaring loudly that she could make this stuff for half the price. Maybe she could, but I certainly can't. I'd also remember to take my walking boots and crampons. The maze-like Scala may be a stunning venue for this kind of affair, but if you venture down to the foothills of the smoking terrace then you're going to require a stronger constitution than mine to get back up to the peak. Or an oxygen tank.

Plus

There seems to be a trend at the moment for fashion magazines to produce a plus-size special feature or edition. Apparently I'm supposed to be pleased about this, but in actuality it just makes me cross. Leaving aside the issue that most of these models are only about a size 14 anyway, why does their inclusion have to be 'special' thing?  A one-off parade of plus-size models doesn't break down the taboos the fashion industry has about the larger lady, it just serves to emphasize them. These women should be included as a matter of course. Once upon a time it was a big deal for a black model to appear in a mainstream fashion magazine. Now models of all races are included as a matter of course. Why can it not be the same with plus-size models? It seems absurd to me.
It's a safe assumption that shops want to sell clothes, yes? If I see a dress on an anorexic 13 year old then it's possible I'll think 'pretty dress', or even 'nice photo', but I'm unlikely to go and buy the dress. If it looks good on said underfed pre-teen then chances are it's not going to look good on me. However, a pretty dress on a pretty woman who actually looks like a woman is an aspirational image. It's something I can look at and imagine myself in. It's still a fantasy, but it's one my logical side is prepared to accept, and the chances of me heading off to purchase that dress are greatly increased. Now, I'm the size of the average UK woman. That means that approximately half of the women in this country are the same size as me or larger, and I bet most of them would react in the same way as I do to those two images. So why does the clothes industry choose to alienate such a huge portion of the potential market? It doesn't make financial sense.

Things that make me smile No.44

I haven't known what to do with myself today. Last night I had such horrific nightmares that it seemed like I barely slept, and when I woke this morning my voice was completely gone. I have to wonder if I was screaming in my sleep. I've been on edge all day, partly because of that, partly because I'm waiting to find out if I've got an interview for a job I really want, and partly because of a few silly things which are bugging me more than they ought to.
All in all I haven't felt much like smiling, but then I remembered the strange middle-aged man who approached me yesterday to ask a) if I wanted my driveway resurfacing and b) if I had 'plenty of boyfriends'.
How many is plenty? Ideally I could do with several partners. A geeky one for conversation, watching Buffy and fixing my laptop. A big beefy one for DIY projects and for carrying me home after one too many gins. A creative one who can whip me up a costume and take me on off-the-wall adventures. Plus, of course, one for shenanigans. If anyone knows where I can acquire these specific, task-oriented beings then please do let me know. For preference they should come in a variety of shapes and sizes, and fold up small for storage when not in use.

Things that make me smile No.43

Yesterday I saw a charming production of Harvey at my amateur dramatics group. It's such a sweet, heart-warming play that you can't help but go away with a smile on your face. There's nothing like the sight of an invisible, six-foot-one-and-a-half-inch white rabbit taking a curtain call to leave you with that warm feeling in your insides.

Things that make me smile No.42

It's the first day of Spring! Unfortunately I have cleaning to do (although even that is strangely appropriate), so won't be able to go out and enjoy it, but I've thrown open the windows to let in the breeze and the bees.

Things that make me smile No.41

I love that, in my Saturday job, my instructions for the day often include things like watching a certain programme on iplayer.

Things that make me smile No.39 and 40

Yesterday there was a really creepy baby on the train, who stared malevolently and consideringly at my friend as if trying to decide the best method of killing him. She was both terrifying and hilarious.

Today I had a half day at work, so in the afternoon I came home and made some lists. Lately I've started feeling anxious and out of control again, and one thing I've found works really well to control that feeling is list-making. I've noted down things that need to be dealt with urgently, and things that it would be nice to get done, and scheduled them into my diary in manageable chunks. I'm so much more relaxed and cheerful now that's done. Hopefully the upcoming Easter break from uni will mean I actually manage to do some of it.

Things that make me smile No.38

That's right folks, it's back by popular demand! Well...by popular demand I mean that one person told me she liked it, but she is quite popular. And demanding.

Anyway, today I saw pigeons having an intimate moment. Pigeon porn may not do wonders for the sex life, but it sure is good for a laugh.

Happy Mother's' Day

I think it's safe to say this here since I'm pretty sure my mum doesn't read my blog: Mothers Day bugs me. For one thing I never know if there should be an apostrophe, or where it should go if there is one. It's hard being a pedantic perfectionist when you were taught no grammar whatsoever at school.

Anyway, I never bother about Fathers Day since my dad couldn't actually care less. I'm sure he regards the whole business as a lot of commercial nonsense, and a waste of perfectly good trees into the bargain. My mum, on the other hand, tends to get a little upset if we neglect to acknowledge the day. After all, she goes to the effort of sending something to her mother, so there should be some recompense. My continuing state of poverty means that I baulk at spending upwards of thirty pounds on a handful of flowers that will be dead within a week, but luckily my mum happened to mention that, now that she no longer works closely with people, she doesn't get book recommendations, and the quality of her reading has plummeted. "Ah-ha!" I thought, "something I can help with". Librarygirl to the rescue! Not only do a couple of paperbacks cost considerably less than that short-lived bunch of flora, but I look like a wonderfully thoughtful daughter, who actually listened and responded. A quick trip to Amazon to ship off copies of The Enchantress of Florence and The Little Stranger, and I've done my duty. Literary flowers are so much better than literal ones anyway.

On a side note, my maternal grandmother actually got in a snit last year because she got a bunch of flowers from each of her daughters. Three bunches of flowers! At the same time! How awful. Apparently they should have consulted with one another beforehand to ensure a range of gifts. If I ever become that hard to please, just suffocate me with carnations.

Failure

I've failed on the year of daily photos already. Disgraceful. I'll have to start all over again. It has proved a lot harder than I thought it would. Remembering to take my camera out with me in the first place is enough of a challenge, never mind actually finding something to photograph, or getting over my fear of looking like a) a tourist, b) a pretentious arty type or c) a crazy person. Anyway, I'll start over and hope for more success this time. Take two.

Lost anything lately? I know where it is

I went to have a suspicious lump checked out the other day. The doctor says he's sure it's fine, but he's going to send me to have an ultrasound done anyway as, and I quote, "with the size of your breasts, there could be anything in there". Great. I fully anticipate that this ultrasound will reveal a handful of loose change, the lost ark of the covenant and a small branch of Starbucks nestled in my bosom.

How to anger a librarian

Ever wondered how best to wind up your average library worker? Probably not if you're even remotely normal, but then you are reading this blog, which likely means you're my friend, which means 'normal' is not necessarily a given.
Here's how to go about it:

1) Forget your manners. Your mother would be ashamed if she could hear the way you're speaking to me.

2) Walk away while I'm still giving you instructions, then come back two minutes later complaining that you can't log on to the computer. Of course you can't. You walked away while I was telling you how.

3) Throw your toys out of your pram because a book 'isn't where it's supposed to be', when my first effort to double check this will prove that it's exactly where it's supposed to be. You just didn't look properly.

4) Call me 'Babe'.

5) Wait until you get to the front of the queue to start looking for your library card.

6) Quibble about a 17p fine.

7) Approach me when I'm shelving to ask where you'd find a book on 18th century Chinese pottery. Do you really think I can tell you the dewey number of every obscure tome off the top of my head?

8) Snap your fingers to get my attention. Do I look like a dog?!
    Don't answer that.

9) Drum your fingers on the counter when you think I'm taking too long to serve the person in front. Believe me, that's just going to make me move slower.

10) Tell me you're looking for a book you read once before. You can't remember what it was called...or who wrote it...but it had a red cover, and in the end it turned out they were sisters.

N.B. This is not an exhaustive list. I'm sure, given time and dedication, you could come up with many more ways of pissing off librarians. Please don't experiment on me or I will be forced to throw a book at you. It will be a heavy one.

Stealth politics

Tonight, upon going back to my friends' flat for a post-drinks drink, I found myself engaged in Unexpected Political Conversation. Stealth politics is the worst kind in my opinion, catching you unawares as you slip into a vodka haze and attempting, with indifferent success, to wrench you back into the real world. I'm the first to admit I know nothing of politics. I don't watch the news or read the papers if I can possibly avoid it. What little I do know has been gleaned from such reliable sources as Mock the Week and GMTV. Yet somehow I found myself attempting to defend my determination not to apply to be a justice of the peace. The debate was confused by my never having heard of the term before tonight, but relieved by the tendency of my challengers to fight amongst themselves. Despite this, the more I tried to explain myself, the more I was backed into a corner. Every reason I gave to express my reasoning for not believeing myself to be a suitable candidate was turned against me. Apparently, in some kind of bizarre Catch 22 scenario, it is my very conviction of my unsuitability that makes me ideally suited to such a position. Personally I don't believe that the asylum would be any better served by putting the lunatics in charge, however corrupt the current administration, but I'm reliably informed that my tendency to think this way is due to some kind of social conditioning. Drunk as I was - and still am as it happens - I found it hard to articulate my feelings on the subject. In fact, I find it hard to articulate my feelings on such subjects generally, because I'm not actually sure what my feelings are. I admire these friends enormously for their strength of belief and courage of conviction, but it is something that seems to be lacking in myself. I don't know whether I suffer from a generationally inherent apathetic malaise, whether I'm lazy, or whether I just dont care enough, but I find it hard to summon up much feeling about politics. I care enormously for the rights of individuals, but can't seem to concern myself about the public at large. I wonder sometimes what it would take to make me really angry on a political level. I also fear that I may be soon to find out, if the Tories get back into power at the upcoing election. Is it so very naive of me to wish that things could just be simple? That the country could be ruled by good, well-informed types who have the best interests of the people at heart? That the justice system could operate for the good of all, with 'good' and 'bad' functioning as perfect binary opposites with no murky shades of grey? I don't know why I even express it as a question. Of course it's naive. But that doesn't stop me wishing. And deep down I know why I could never be a justice of the peace. Because it would break my heart to have to see the way that people are failed every day by the systems that are supposed to be there to support them. I have no faith in my own ability to change things, and no courage to force myself to watch what I can't change.