tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169483482012-02-17T01:07:00.708Z'the good news is, the whisky works' - bob harrisMissyMnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1041100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-24943138533219096362010-04-10T09:20:00.004+01:002010-04-10T09:57:53.540+01:00

Ok armchair dream decoders, try this one on for size. Maybe I can blame it on the (possibly) hallucinogenic combination of white wine and snus, but whatever it was, David Lynch should try it instead of transcendental meditation to come up with his next storyline. My dream last night was set, very late at night, on Kingsland Road in East London.  This is a pertinent detail, so if you don't know

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-45130804862498445062010-03-31T21:58:00.000+01:002010-03-31T21:58:23.689+01:00

'You can't solve all your problems by shooting someone or setting a stranger on fire' - Liz Lemon (although I think she possibly meant 'can') Despite feeling fairly miserable the last few days, I have noticed a strange phenomonen to my bouts of depression. While I revel in horror movies or at least dark and beautiful things (A Clockwork Orange being the latest brain orgasm to temporarily comfort

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-88874351294922980442010-03-25T22:30:00.004Z2010-03-25T22:38:04.374Z

Ghosts. Apart from a scary incident in a school elevator when I was 16; a forced excursion with my ballet class to the eponymous Patrick Swayze movie; and my residency in a former monastery in Amsterdam which I fervently hoped was haunted (it wasn't), I have only vaguely wondered about the existence of ghosts.  But the last few weeks in Stockholm have taught me about an entirely different sort of

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-55066639072423098602010-03-07T21:43:00.003Z2010-03-07T21:54:25.185Z

After getting over an acute attack of culture shock at Stockholm airport (where was the grit? the edge? the seething mass of Hackney humanity? The scantily-clad, orange-tinted women, the streets paved with chicken bones, the malfunctioning public infrastucture, the all-pervading stench of alcohol at 7am on the 149 bus? The dilapidated library staffed by my lovely enthusiastic council worker, our

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1572181746431919692010-03-06T17:36:00.001Z2010-03-06T17:36:23.418Z

The ominpresent signs of IKEA in my flat, where I am staying due to Jack's endless kindnessWell they said I'd never do it, but I'm back in Sweden (take that, psychic who said I'd be married and popping out Australian kids by now. Ha.). Hence, normal service will return to this blog (now with added photography!) Stand by.

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-17122452219958081772009-11-14T09:54:00.007Z2010-02-18T17:44:37.391Z

Yesterday, Veronica, Suzan and I embarked on a quest to unlock the mysteries of the universe, with a psychic reading. Obviously this required a pre- and post-psychic pint where we could compare notes.My opinion on psychics is hopelessly contradictory. On the one hand I realise a lot of amateur psychology is involved. I mean, what woman in her early 30s isn't probably struggling with career and/

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-46722282888619963442009-11-01T18:42:00.004Z2009-11-22T17:19:25.873Z

I have come to the conclusion that there is no-one in the world worse at budgeting than me. Puzzlingly, budgeting is part of my job. When I'm at work, it all seems to go fine (probably because it's someone else's money, so I can remove myself from the emotional turmoil and don't get heart palpitations when I go to open spreadsheets).But at home, it's another story.No matter how many

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-44240695035478617192009-10-30T22:03:00.005Z2009-10-30T22:40:02.603Z

I am not sure what effect three days inhabiting the Lynchian universe can do to one's brain, but I'm about to find out. As soon as the opening credits of Blue Velvet popped and crackled, slightly out of focus, onto the tiny screen at the Tate Modern, it all came rushing back: for you see, David Lynch changed my life.When I was about 16, I discovered Mr Lynch. I worked my way from Eraserhead (

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-71634693063467914502009-08-15T20:59:00.004+01:002009-08-15T21:46:40.012+01:00

Lately I've been struggling with my health. After a holiday in Sweden in which I was mysteriously fine, I have been struck down yet again with some kind of flu. The attack occurred just minutes after I had my first contact with the Piccadilly line in several months. Coincidence, or allergy to London? You decide.Anyway, this bout of flu has got me so exhausted that I have been couch-bound.

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-4926236614381518692009-04-12T20:14:00.005+01:002009-04-12T20:30:50.208+01:00

Right. The bladder control ads are the final straw. Since when has 30 been considered so damn old? This morning as I watched a decidedly young person's tv show while cooking a fry up to counteract a decidedly young person's hangover, an ad came on with the following voiceover "Now that I'm in my 30s, I need a little extra help. But with TENA control pads, I don't need to worry about bladder

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-74067753970243800892009-04-06T21:12:00.003+01:002009-04-06T21:23:11.403+01:00

So it's time for our kitten, Simon Le Bon, to be neutered. Clare can't remember which vet he's at and rings up our local one. The conversation went something like this..."Hello, I need to book in our cat but not sure this is the right vet. The name's Le Bon, Simon Le Bon"."Oh yes, that's right - but we're not supposed to tell people he goes here"."What?""What's the cat's name?""Simon Le Bon.""

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-79235520587819524842009-03-15T22:00:00.004Z2009-03-16T10:23:45.263Z

Ok, so maybe this is coming from a somewhat depressed place, as I've felt homesick for Sweden all day and can't understand why I don't live back in my comfy Stockholm life. So, as I was about to drown my sorrows in my usual manner - watching something tense and unsettling on tv - I realised a fundamental truth.While I would love nothing better than settling in for an entire Sunday evening of CSI

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-13806637808048133482009-03-15T19:30:00.000Z2009-03-15T22:29:41.366Z

Today we let little Simon Le Bon outside for the first time (Simon the kitten, that is. Not the guy from Duran Duran, as obviously we haven't tied him up in our apartment or anything...honest).Anyway, little Simon was overwhelmed by the new world he found himself in. He stepped tentatively across the grass as if it was snow, reluctantly chewed some flowers, and followed a mysterious cat through

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-83589565574468898452009-03-14T15:53:00.003Z2009-03-15T22:33:31.800Z

I am starting to suspect I have a latent super power. It is one I believe I share with Kylie Minogue, I don't care what she says about this new Spanish model boyfriend. I have the ability to make people - well, male people - completely disappear from my life. I am afraid that my full power has yet to be unleashed, as no-one has died yet, and so far, I have managed to sustain a surprising

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-30925008420439357552008-12-13T19:28:00.005Z2008-12-13T19:49:33.571Z

It was a Saturday night. I left Somerfield (contender for the cheapest, most unflatteringly lit and depressing supermarket in the area) clad in my ancient down jacket, jeans, and my flatmate's uggboots - which are two sizes too big, messy hair shoved under a beanie and an incongruous slick of red lipstick - the last an obvious last-ditch attempt to keep my self esteem out of the gutter. I looked

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-74634709063183424432008-11-16T21:02:00.008Z2009-03-15T22:36:37.813Z

And back to the minutiae of life in London. There are some things in London that defy all logic. Supermarkets closing at 5 on Sundays for instance. Or the way the electric sign at East Putney station always says it's a city-bound train when in fact it's going to Edgware Road. Or the fact that pet shops don't actually sell pets (...with the exception of Harrods, which charges a minimum of 1000

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-20490329755151827892008-11-11T22:29:00.011Z2008-11-18T17:46:40.700Z

It's been ages. So, before I get back to the regular entries, to sum up where we're at, I will quote my friend Demis's latest Facebook message:"F*ck yeah! gay paree.... you're living every girls Sex And The City dream life, complete with the problematic yet ultimately quite lusty European boyfriend situation... :)"Basically - I have a new job, at a company I have dreamed of working at for ages (

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-54088803901835258312008-06-22T20:05:00.004+01:002008-06-22T20:29:43.320+01:00

After spending the last few weeks concerned more about cheese than anything else (thanks to my current job, not any new obsession with fondue nights) Justice has been on my mind a lot this week. Firstly I read the disturbing news that a friend of mine has been arrested in Japan in blatantly undemocratic circumtances. Reading the story I felt the sense of injustice swell up that I remember my

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-29069539716362163432008-05-12T20:30:00.005+01:002008-05-12T20:47:44.789+01:00

Yesterday I decided to be one of the 'ladies who brunch' and set off to meet my friend Sally and a friend of hers for pancakes (I still haven't quite kicked my New York habits - although weirdly, a solid diet of pancakes, burritos and pizza seems to have caused me to lose weight - take that Dr Atkins). I guess in one way I deserved what happened next. Not at all because I was wearing a rather

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-35017071976493041892008-04-29T23:10:00.009+01:002008-05-01T16:13:07.182+01:00

Yesterday, apart from viewing the amazing MoMA (pushing in between annoying French tourists snapping photos of themselves in front of Andy Warhols... I will never understand) I bumped into Matthew 'Ferris Bueller' Broderick coming out of the subway. I did a comical double-take and stared at him for a second thinking he was a friend (weirdly, he seemed to do the same) and then was mortally

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-7968911350951996312008-04-27T16:22:00.003+01:002008-04-27T16:38:35.946+01:00

Kat Braz, my friend I'm staying with in NYC, reminded me yesterday of 'Dell-o-dramas' , a phenomenon which has been occuring to me since university. Thursday certainly started them off, since poor Lols had to spend a whole day in New York Presbytarian Hospital ('don't worry, it's like ER only better!' her doctor said enthusiastically). Unfortunately after 17 hours, two issues of People magazine

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-12103656074438180942008-04-22T13:07:00.006+01:002008-04-27T16:46:56.337+01:00

Apart from never having felt so exhausted since I lived on the Rainbow Warrior back in 'Nam (ok, back in Korea), it is just so good to be here. At first I had a momentary fear that I'd constantly be the third wheel, that I was too tired to deal with being a tourist, and that I was far too weak-willed to resist the plethora of shoes that NYC has to offer. But as soon as I experienced the most

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-55180401293989364292008-04-20T10:41:00.008+01:002008-04-20T18:44:39.729+01:00

Yesterday I shocked Erin by declaring that I hated Facebook, and was considering deleting my account. I could say the same for my phone and trusty Mac though - but as I've said before, it's not so much the technology that is evil, but the fact it should never be used late at night, during illness, PMS, a full moon or after alcohol consumption.I am still cringing from Friday night, when a friend

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-33687257646438117092008-04-18T20:46:00.004+01:002008-04-18T21:02:32.269+01:00

There's not many times you can match your lipstick to your nose and name your day comprehensively under the same category as a Young Ones episode, but today I managed. And the lipstick was very red. But I dragged myself to the office, and while I apologise for the long absence, I am going to commit to this blog again - and start off with dragging my trusty Mac back to New York City and Hoboken

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-90181311182752273212008-03-19T21:54:00.002Z2008-03-19T22:08:34.360Z

I hate money. I am going to have to give up my dream job because of money, or lack thereof. Take a risk, some people say. Well unfortunately, as it turns out, I have been taking risks for the last 7 years, and that's why I can't take this one. Regular readers of my blog will see the cruel irony, which is that this dream job is one I've joked about for months and months: working on none other

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-9740060388138067222008-02-17T20:00:00.002Z2008-02-17T20:23:39.358Z

Well, despite the lamentations of Valentine's Day and society's general reminder that to be single is to be some kind of aberration, my birthday was surprisingly well-supported. (This was possibly helped by the fact I celebrated it twice.)Aptly, Nick Cave even made an appearance on the second night of celebrations, at my absolute favourite restaurant in London. I couldn't work up the nerve to

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-72240744821930059722008-02-12T21:44:00.000Z2008-02-12T21:54:02.817Z

I'm sure I'm not alone in hating Valentine's Day, but there are probably very few people who regard it as the annual bane of their existence. The irony is, I should look forward to it the way I did a a small child, guaranteed to receive presents, flowers and adulation - because Valentine's Day is also my birthday.This used to be quite a boon - in primary school or even early high school, I could

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-66871325091224358042008-01-17T21:28:00.000Z2008-01-19T18:33:32.665Z

Welcome to 2008! If I had've written this blog a week ago (which I wouldn't have, being snowed under) I would have been delighted - a new job, which is going really well and even plays MC Hammer remixes in the afternoon, a potential new romance, lots of visits from Amsterdam and Sweden, and a renewed take on London. Well, the new job is still going well, and I have exciting trips to New York

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-72759860549542039412007-12-26T17:15:00.000Z2007-12-26T18:34:24.004Z

Christmas Day began and ended with eggs. Erin and I lined our stomachs with eggs for breakfast, but the tactic didn't seem to work that well as my last champagne-fuddled memory is Erin hurling an egg out the window at the retreating figure of our friend Andrew. 'Don't worry, it's organic!' we reassured the neighbours, before boiling up another pot of mulled wine and bringing out another round of

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-59104745502624902952007-12-20T09:39:00.002Z2009-12-20T11:46:45.006Z

[ORIGINALLY WRITTEN FOR ARIEL AT THE BBC, THEN BBC NEWS, HOWEVER BBC NEWS COULDN'T RUN THIS DUE TO THE DEATH OF MARK SPEIGHT]Tuesday night at the Doctor Who Christmas Special launch, I felt like Bridget Jones, and I fear that forevermore I shall always be known as Hitler Girl. Since I’m leaving the Corporation soon – and, perhaps to the relief of some people, the field of journalism entirely -

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-21423973500797909502007-12-09T20:01:00.000Z2007-12-26T17:39:47.750Z

Sorry for the delay in posting, it's been a whirlwind tour from teaching small children in China to getting kicked out of a hotel in Shanghai because the French president booked the whole place out, to in a surreal twist finding myself in Townsville, Australia, begging my grandmother to survive a massive heart attack.China was fascinating but weird - it's like it's talking itself into the 21st

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-7131259008870827032007-11-17T09:29:00.000Z2007-12-25T18:55:21.783Z

Yesterday I had a taste of real showbiz working on the Children In Need telethon extravaganza. I was given the enviable task of ‘looking after’ John Barrowman for the day (for all you Australians/Swedes - he's sometimes in Doctor Who and stars in Doctor Who spinoff Torchwood.) Although onscreen you could be forgiven for thinking that John waltzed in replete with suit and coiffed hair and

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-65514567093278133172007-10-30T21:45:00.000Z2007-10-30T22:23:45.962Z

As if being terminally single wasn't enough (tangential update: I have been rejected by another nice guy and am now being pursued by three self-confessed nerds, two of whom are married for chrissakes), I am now voluntarily subjecting myself to the same level of emotional turmoil on the career front - the great job hunt.I had forgotten the stages of job hunting. They should give you a public

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-11349730524707017642007-10-30T21:30:00.000Z2007-12-24T18:10:40.636Z

I have come to the conclusion that my phone company, three, is schizophrenic. One minute, I am the lost step-customer, trying in vain to reach them through endless menus and long distance calls to India, where poor customer service reps try and convince me they are in the UK by making small talk about Three products which I know they don't actually have in Mumbai.The next minute, I am seemingly

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-60009813401254724962007-10-25T17:46:00.000+01:002007-10-25T18:01:15.016+01:00

Winter may be the season of our discontent, but autumn seems to be that of nostalgia. Apologies for a vague post, I am battling the flu and am not exactly witty and sparkling (embarking on a whiskey cure shortly). Erin and I have been drinking mulled wine (aka glögg - although the Marks & Spencer version is far stronger than the old Swedish supermarket edition that was a staple of my last autumn

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-42923877334080187392007-10-09T21:36:00.001+01:002007-10-09T21:57:47.381+01:00

I am sitting at home watching Hitchcock's North by Northwest, weirdly, in fact I am up to the exact same moment I just found in this photo I've attached. I noticed to my amusement that one of the actors is Ed Platt, well known to most people who grew up with parents like mine, on a diet of The Young Ones, Blackadder, Monty Python and Get Smart. Old Ed was, of course, the Chief from Get Smart,

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-56820167351723450092007-09-14T07:46:00.000+01:002007-09-14T07:53:53.435+01:00

Like the London tube on most days, this blog will experience minor delays (which, also like the tube, could translate to actually mean a temporary suspension, strikes by staff or defective trains - metaphorically speaking of course). Let's just say you're not missing much. I'm afraid I just can't bring myself to write at the moment, it's taking everything to get through the day. Happily, some

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-12893324127309446192007-09-08T19:40:00.000+01:002007-09-08T19:48:52.867+01:00

This week has once again found me at a set of crossroads - I need to decide what to do next because this is just not working. Happily, there are options, but it's like being in the world's best Mexican restaurant and only being able to choose one dish. I had an interview with BBC News Online (Entertainment Reporter, herewith known as the Bridget Jones job). Despite the fact I couldn't

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-86480856901193662822007-09-01T10:55:00.001+01:002007-09-01T11:11:57.607+01:00

Despite someone with my name (first name only, how Madonna-esque) on the VIP list, I failed to convince the organisers of BBC Two’s Heroes soiree that I was actually that particular girl. Happily, I eventually managed to get in on my own credentials, albeit with a hand-scribbled badge that had everyone staring at my chest the entire evening. And I’m sure glad that I did (not because of the

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-62850726541215677232007-08-27T10:33:00.000+01:002007-12-21T02:56:27.826Z

Sorry it's been so long between drinks, although last night, unfortunately that was not the case. It's Notting Hill Carnival time in North West London and it seems that the weirdos have truly descended upon us. The fact that red double decker buses go past our house now (diverted due to streets full of revellers) just adds to the surreal flavour. The long weekend has given me a bit of time to

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-65609103668877521322007-08-12T18:28:00.000+01:002007-12-21T02:53:36.020Z

...and not by romantic choice, may I add. Due to either supernatural forces or the dodgy electrical work of our Polish builders, the lights in our house have one by one been permanently extinguished. Since we of course have no candle holders, I've had to fill the bathroom with glasses of dusty old dinner candles and waste my precious Danish vanilla candle purely to enable me to achieve a basic

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-25833221542905857962007-08-02T21:54:00.000+01:002007-08-02T22:42:37.437+01:00

Well, this week my journalism career path was a bit more cemented by me accidentally getting a proper news story on a proper news channel. It's a momentous occasion. Yes I know, it's a gratuitous David Tennant story, but hell, it was the most popular entertainment story on BBC News yesterday according to well-placed sources. Actually, I had just told those same well-placed sources that I still

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-23735542436076222092007-07-30T21:28:00.000+01:002007-07-30T22:13:16.363+01:00

Just when we thought Saturday night couldn't get any worse, Crazy Homies came to the rescue. After waiting in the rain for hours and hours for a table at a Mexican restaurant, I finally found something to fill the Pepe's-shaped-hole in my life. Pepe's, for the uninitiated, was the Mexican restaurant where I practically grew up. Cheap, cheerful and my employer for a good five years, it pretty

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-90220476598033758422007-07-26T20:44:00.000+01:002007-07-27T08:48:41.804+01:00

Yesterday my soul decided to take a trip into a few parallel dimensions before being forcefully yanked back into my body, which at that point was sprawled on a doctors surgery floor. Those of you who know me will know my irrational fear of doctors*, in particular, doctors with blood pressure monitors (one of my colleagues informs me that she actually LOVES getting her blood pressure taken...

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-12869633202707335192007-07-22T21:34:00.000+01:002007-07-22T22:14:37.947+01:00

Today I had my first dealings with the UK health system since 2003 when I took my ex-boyfriend to hospital thinking he was having a heart attack and unfortunately his rather feminine first name made the doctors try and sedate me... but I digress. As a certain singing nun with a penchant for clothing made from drapery would say, let's start at the very beginning.Last night, Mia and I met the

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-43597582298418649242007-07-18T09:18:00.000+01:002007-07-18T17:07:34.274+01:00

Where to start? Forgive my infrequent posts. My beloved Mac, Audrey, is in Mac hospital, leaving bereaved iPod Marvin and me with only an archaic pen to blog with. But that is the least of my woes, I'm afraid I'm going to have to be honest and say my entire life seems to have taken a sharp turn for the worse.I have been forced to return to what I eupemistically (and that's scary enough in

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-67868282493085193872007-07-10T21:49:00.000+01:002007-07-10T22:18:21.911+01:00

Health Warning: this will be a rather haphazard posting for the sole reason that I'm incredibly slack. Still camping at Ben and Erin's and still with belongings strewn across three houses. Not much to report except that temporary flatmate Mia has become addicted to Pacman, Sophie Dahl shops at our vegetable market and I have started ballet again. Yes, Missy M returns to the stage after a 12 year

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-36316912709340636992007-07-01T20:56:00.000+01:002007-07-01T21:28:05.938+01:00

Well, back in Blighty, after some exceptional juggling between airports by SAS (no they don't pay me to say that, but seriously, if I had've been flying KLM today I'd still be in Gothenburg looking for my bag).Impressively, London is extremely calm despite the near-miss bombings, Heathrow was possibly even calmer than usual. I did however sit next to a strange man on the tube on the way in who,

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-68089805159978361852007-06-28T20:07:00.000+01:002007-06-28T20:31:15.844+01:00

I'm too tired to write much after getting to Stockholm and finding myself on stage on a boat/gay bar singing 'I Will Survive' with Irina and Jack, and then last night meeting pretty much everyone in Stockholm for successive beers.So here's a small sample of the craziness that ensued on Midsommar courtesy of the lovely Angelica.

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-55888978804999402612007-06-22T11:03:00.000+01:002007-06-22T11:14:20.196+01:00

Nora, my six year old surrogate daughter - her choice - wants me to call this blog entry 'Nora'. So I did. That's us on a night time flower hunt over a small island in Sweden trying to find seven different flowers to put under our pillows (because we are at sea-captain Papa Pelle's place, we had to do this properly with torches strapped to our heads). We are then supposed to dream of our

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-55396622010315643312007-06-20T14:29:00.001+01:002007-06-20T14:37:40.419+01:00

Andy and Ben have released a special Father's Day song from Andy's alter-ego, Johnny Gash, and this is probably a world exclusive ...or something.Dad I know you never really liked Johnny Cash, well you sure as hell aren't going to like Johnny Gash. But this is for you (open in iTunes).The Farter's Day Song

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-27252983132035931712007-06-19T13:55:00.001+01:002007-08-06T22:46:59.418+01:00

Another weird day at the Corporation. Today I finally found out what the Secret TV Controller was referring to. In my attempt to move careers away from the desk and into production I discovered (despite being offered a role as a humble runner at the Princess Diana Memorial Concert and imminently on Doctor Who.... maybe...at least as a Dalek mechanic) I had to do a Production and TV Studio

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-65845853494967775952007-06-18T15:33:00.000+01:002007-06-18T16:06:14.727+01:00

In a weird moment of synchronicity, not only is Doctor Who my neighbour, but today, someone gave me a Dalek's ear (that's him in the picture - the Dalek that is, not the good Doctor). We have a pet Dalek in one of the cafe areas downstairs. Recently, it suffered a horrific tragedy when someone ripped one of its 'ears' off and took it home as a souvenir. Today as I was innocently working away, a

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-81567892073716056402007-06-17T17:25:00.000+01:002007-06-17T17:56:45.298+01:00

"This one's a goner". That was the remark Andy, our Mancurian friend, made last night as he carved up the lifeless body of Ben's carefully roasted chook.*Happily he was not referring to the snot-faced, sobbing American girl we had to rescue at 2.00 in the morning. Andy, Ben and I were having a glass of wine or three in the living room when we heard someone crying uncontrollably downstairs, on a

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-58953965395167591222007-06-15T16:26:00.000+01:002007-06-22T11:12:50.647+01:00

:(The grapevine doesn't lie. I guess now I have to answer annoying soul-searching questions about babies. And did I want his babies?? I could do what my friend did and buy two dogs. Yep, that'll do the trick. I don't think I actually even want babies, at least not for a good couple of years...maybe not even then (although I remember my cousin said the same thing about being too selfish and now

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-16984233827478402982007-06-14T16:58:00.000+01:002007-06-16T20:15:08.211+01:00

That's Blix there in the picture. She's my alterego in Second Life, which, due to the fact my first life is so boring yet confusing at the same time, I've become quite addicted to (Ludvig will you please sign in for once!!). Blix, whose hair I am extremely jealous of, has even applied for a job at the Swedish Embassy (that's where she is in the postcard). But then today some very weird things

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-31393530530093488822007-06-06T23:12:00.000+01:002007-06-06T23:22:50.430+01:00

Another misguided foray into the world of celebrity. I was feeling a little worse for wear this morning after attending the press screening of new BBC drama Jekyll at the incredibly swanky Mayfair Hotel last night - and the inevitable free wine and canapes that accompanied it. I'm no tv critic, but I made the mistake of freely offering my production advice over canapes (incidentally, they were

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-54863004271749450772007-06-03T10:24:00.000+01:002007-06-03T10:43:04.426+01:00

A few weeks ago, on my way to the shops in Queens Park, I saw a familiar face. A guy who looked uncannily like Australian singer-songwriter Alex Lloyd was talking loudly to a builder about the renovations on his house. I stopped and stared - could it be Alex Lloyd? Could he have followed me from Sydney where last I heard (from a glossy Sydney Morning Herald magazine) he was happily ensconced

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1958055412990075832007-06-01T17:13:00.000+01:002007-06-01T19:18:46.718+01:00

Bored. Beyond All Recognition. Why haven't I written for weeks, oh demanding readers? Because I have absolutely nothing to report. Nothing. And I'm not one of those people that says nothing and in reality just means 'nothing that is scandalous enough to make Heat magazine'. I MEAN nothing. I'm starting to doubt the whole meaning of my existence. I have not been this bored since the

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-61890309195355829812007-05-20T19:09:00.002+01:002007-05-20T19:32:17.735+01:00

It's been a strange week. It started with a YouTube war between Scientology and the BBC. On Tuesday morning, on my way to work, I came out of the tube thinking that some benevolent FM radio station had decided to bestow the humble media workers of West London with free breakfast. Smiling girls in shiny black bomber jackets were standing the length of the street. Feeling quite peckish, I

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-57989085164752863482007-05-12T13:26:00.000+01:002007-05-12T13:38:36.879+01:00

Last night I got a letter from the Skatteverket - Swedish tax office - you know, those guys with the super friendly forms. It's like a door has been slammed in my face. Against Team Sweden's advice I told the tax office that I would not be living in Sweden for at least a year. I figured it would be kind of like temporarily suspending my membership in the H&M Shopping Club or something. (

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-69545858276765242832007-05-12T13:10:00.000+01:002007-05-12T13:25:43.178+01:00

I've just got back, exhausted and slightly hungover, from a two day training course. Unfortunately, my primary memory from the whole experience is an encounter with a woman who I at first thought reminded me of Queen Victoria (our whole conversation dominated by my mental images of a huge head with a tiny bitter face in the middle, as if she was peering at me through a monocle from above a

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-33613792107374435542007-05-02T23:02:00.000+01:002007-05-03T22:44:34.312+01:00

Typical. After a hectic week of travel, and withdrawal symptoms from Sweden, I decided to cheer myself up by having a sneaky manicure on my way home from work. The househunting (I'm staying put until a room at Ben and Erin's comes up, but the stress of looking as well as living in a student house where the oven explodes is not helping), the uncertainty about my career and the utter singleness

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-92196767250857543032007-05-02T22:37:00.000+01:002007-05-03T15:55:04.374+01:00

It's been four days of adventure in Sweden, with Ben, Erin and I going on an all-shopping, all-drinking, all-pagan-festival rampage through Stockholm with the able assistance of our Viking friends. As soon as the plane touched down I realised how much I miss my adopted home (not least because the air is breathable and the water not caustic), and vowed to return more often -- and eventually, for

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-38649221290157327822007-04-22T22:32:00.000+01:002007-04-22T23:11:32.547+01:00

Well, Ping Pong seems to be a recurring theme in my life lately. That kind of feeling of being hit from one perspective to another. This happened rather more literally than desired when I organised my first important meeting at the Large Media Corporation. Trying to foster a post-Greenpeace, relaxed feel, instead of booking a meeting room I opted for a set of couches on the top floor near the

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-25228794055089066062007-04-11T22:18:00.000+01:002007-04-11T22:52:12.914+01:00

Following on from the largely successful (ahem) series of Swedish cultural and culinary observations featured in this blog, I suppose it's only proper to throw in a few British ones (despite the fact that a certain Scottish ex-boyfriend of mine alleges that England has in fact no culture, at all. An assertion which I believe Angus and I have already disproved. Or maybe not). The first

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-11475975246350949312007-04-11T22:00:00.000+01:002007-04-12T12:10:43.731+01:00

I don't know why I find this extremely stupid video utterly addictive (maybe I really am a nerd...there is a follow-up called Text Message Breakup), but I think my sister is gonna love it. Considering that I seriously heard a song on Swedish public radio yesterday called 'My boobs are okay', which sank lower than even Britney Spears ever dared, I think this is far more worthy of my time.Thanks

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-90020599057938259542007-04-09T00:18:00.000+01:002007-04-09T23:04:44.200+01:00

Despite evidence of my near lapse of professionalism being (lovingly) documented in my work newspaper, Stephen Merchant failed to mention me on the radio yesterday, and is also noticeably reticent in turning up at my office with Nobu reservations and/or noticing my existence. Onwards and upwards however, and last night, soaking up the first feeble rays of spring, we (me, Ben, Erin and Jonathan)

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-44206790892052208682007-04-02T00:14:00.000+01:002007-04-04T22:06:29.907+01:00

I think jazz music has been a little tainted by those horrible house bands on American talkshows. You know, here's Jay Leno ... but first, here's a generic horn section playing "something our commercial network believes is palatable and even considered funky by those of a certain age and disposition". Makes me shudder. (And when I say jazz, by the way, I'm not talking Kenny G. I don't think he

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-6936803330193053902007-03-29T19:57:00.001+01:002007-06-20T17:40:14.122+01:00

Well it's week two in London and in my new job at a large media corporation. I am staying at a flat in Queens Park which is possibly the most multicultural I have ever lived in - two Australians, a Kiwi, two Frenchies and a mysterious Chinese girl who I have never met but allegedly lives in the room next door to me. I swore I'd never live in a house that in any way resembled The Young Ones, but

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-11181947320373878102007-03-29T18:30:00.000+01:002007-04-01T13:13:46.264+01:00

My new(ish) musical obsession, The Sounds. I missed seeing them in London and now I'm going to miss seeing them in Sweden. Reminds me of dancing around the living room on Drakenbergsgatan with Irina at 5am. I also miss the daily songs my Swedish friend Ludvig used to send me via Skype. Tragically, Skype is banned at my new job - something that has inspired me to revolution and prompted certain

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-21427985959558988592007-03-18T19:46:00.000Z2007-04-01T13:13:22.488+01:00

Well, here I am in London and I must apologise for my vague writings today but it has been rather tiring. Day 1 was pretty surreal. Irina and I were no doubt still drunk (and tear-stained) as we made our way to the airport, and so I arrived in a kind of fog with vague memories of "ballroom" dancing with my friends and singing to Dolly Parton -- the whole of Stockholm seemingly succumbed to

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-81720260229631743932007-03-09T12:19:00.000Z2007-04-01T13:13:03.966+01:00

No, I haven't gone crazy. I am considering starting up a business in Sweden (ok, that bit might be crazy). Swedish friends kindly sent me the approximately several hundred required documents to peruse, translated into the kind of sensible, friendly, almost philosophical English that first so impressed me with Swedish government information. (My friend Calle thinks that I am a product of the

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-85725556432076335032007-03-08T17:45:00.001Z2009-12-03T09:10:19.726Z

There are not many things I hate about Sweden, but these puppets really scare me. There is a general obsession with puppets or 3D characters in Swedish advertising, including a particularly scary one where you see an innocent woman lying in bed and then she rolls over... and a horrible 3D man is snoozing peacefully between her and her husband, looking suspiciously like he wants to spoon with the

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-15478518671292742152007-03-07T09:13:00.000Z2007-04-02T17:20:31.794+01:00

As I prepare to say "vi ses snart" (see you soon) to Sweden, I am going to document as many of the things I love (or love-hate) about it as much as I can, in no particular order. This guy is one that's not necessarily top of the list, but sure is unique. (He goes in the love-hate pile). Now he is actually called "Linus the Line" or something, but I have to say that I'm not the only one (I

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-14721554959152045432007-03-04T10:33:00.001Z2009-12-03T09:11:29.394Z

Firstly, it's been a long time between drinks, as a certain old friend who is now a famous rock star would say. I guess I have been living in denial that I have to leave Sweden so didn't want to write about it. So today, to make up for it, I will pay tribute to an aspect of European culture that so fascinates (or repulses) Australians: Europop, and it's ultimate incarnation as SCHLAGERfest.

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-51150796306156969402007-01-30T20:56:00.001Z2009-12-03T09:11:01.930Z

There is a curious reverence attached to washing here in Stockholm. It's not something you might casually do when you get home after a few beers, and chuck the lot in the dryer to have awaiting you, warm and fresh, when you awake. I call that the Sydney System. It's not even something that you might drop off at the launderette before work and pick up on the way home, as in the Amsterdam

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-83506972981690097992007-01-29T19:52:00.002Z2007-01-29T20:06:15.894Z

As I get used to the idea of leaving my beloved Sweden, at least for a while (more about that later), I try to come to terms with potential life in the UK - the land that traditionally Australians behold as the butt of bad-teeth and cricket jokes, and, if we are to be fair, progenitor of such classics as Blackadder and The Young Ones. Tonight I had a Monday champagne or two (oh how I will miss

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-41369084336250564492007-01-21T21:26:00.000Z2007-01-21T21:47:20.094Z

2am, after 4 bottles of wine between three of us, and a lot of bruschetta, Miss I. and I decided to go frolicking in the freshly fallen snow, and I fell in love with Stockholm all over again. I've been having a hard time deciding if I really should try and stay here forever, or if I should cut my losses and hit the bigtime in London (or get really depressed after spending 4 hours of every day on

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-21738614034873374342007-01-14T18:33:00.000Z2007-01-14T19:33:51.056Z

[Pic: Note that in Oslo, you can apparently only cross the road if you are Frank Sinatra, or have similiar mafia-approved dress sense]Seriously, I should have seen this one coming. Abandoned in my ex-boyfriend's posh house in Oslo with no phone and nothing to eat except a giant box of Scottish porridge oats and some canned soup (which I haven't actually been able to find). My Norwegian friend

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-12792718801443001602007-01-04T20:58:00.000Z2007-01-04T22:01:10.814Z

In the absence of Christmas and New Year tales (which will come soon, I am awaiting photos of the stunning snow made from soap that was showered upon us at midnight on New Year's Eve) I want to tell you about a disturbing experience I had today when I was persuaded by curiousity and confusion to call a psychic. I have always been open to the existence of strange phenomena, even before my teenage

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-64289767608557960722006-12-20T12:53:00.000Z2006-12-20T15:46:25.075Z

I don't usually post about work, but just when I was feeling utterly exhausted with the whole thing, the video crew came out with this clip which practically sums up the last year of my life. Check it out, and I beg you, if you have not done so already, sign up as an Ocean Defender (it's free, for all of you on a Christmas budget as tight as mine).

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-74712367403766137792006-12-19T20:24:00.000Z2006-12-20T14:12:13.057Z

I'm not sure this tale will stand up to retelling, but bear with me - because a sequel is in the making. A long time ago, in a canal system far far away, Birdy and I went out among the bars of Amsterdam. I can't remember why (and knowing us it's entirely possible there was no good reason) but we really did do quite the grand tour. Actually, "grand" is the wrong word.We went to the tackiest

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-90110258324415569762006-12-19T19:37:00.000Z2006-12-19T20:53:40.175Z

And the Christmas spirit bestows warmth upon humble Drakenbergsgatan...

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-41069756116308677592006-12-18T18:47:00.000Z2006-12-18T19:21:19.594Z

Facing a lonely weekend with I. away, our new temporary roomie Stina away, and the failure of my ex-boyfriend to show up from Oslo despite having booked and paid for tickets, I was rescued by my friend Karin introducing me to yet another delightful Swedish Christmas tradition. (Disturbingly, most of the traditions so far seem to involve marriage. Have I been cursed because of my failure to put

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-88394951979792205942006-12-14T19:32:00.000Z2006-12-14T21:18:06.321Z

Home alone, tired of the complete absence of sunlight. So I decided to write about a little website that's been a beacon in the dark for me for several years now, and obviously for a few other people as well. No, I'm not referring to my beloved Homestar (but if you want some tips on what NOT to get for Decemberween, you could do worse than StrongBad's home shopping channel. Remember: nothing

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-19781273589617807942006-12-10T18:14:00.001Z2009-12-03T09:11:48.050Z

There are few things I love as much about Sweden as the strong sense of tradition. Even if people rather half-heartedly embrace the meaning behind them, they are at least very aware of the appropriate form of alcohol to consume.At Christmas time, that form of alcohol is definitely glögg. And I have to admit, I'm completely addicted to it. It now replaces tea as my Sunday afternoon defrost

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-29149183019411565292006-12-08T12:26:00.000Z2006-12-08T12:55:49.753Z

Sorry I've been slack in writing, but it's been a tough couple of weeks. I toyed with calling this post "Nightmare before Christmas" because it really has been. Excuse my lack of writing skills, I am tired after drinking with I. until God knows when last night in a futile attempt to analyse life, the universe and everything.Good news is, the employment situation is sorted out, and I have the

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1163365145802572152006-11-12T19:14:00.000Z2006-12-08T12:23:34.178Z

A small taste of the crazy cocktail party we hosted last week. Mad Professor Staffan and his sidekick Dr Christian ensured we had enough rum-based cocktails and cuban cigars to last a lifetime. Sailor Kalle ensured that every such cocktail had an egg as an ingredient (we're still not sure why). And a host of poets left some lovely notes on our fridge. My personal favourite was "lurvig hög

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1163107212116360092006-11-09T21:04:00.000Z2006-11-09T21:20:48.993Z

A little angel walked up to me today, a bright spot in what was otherwise a pretty crappy day - job situation getting worse, sunlight getting less... although I did have a very girly glass of wine with a new friend and a moment-of-weakness lunchtime shopping trip where I battled the vultures at H&M to secure a Viktor & Rolf tshirt - I think I may have been a bit media-saturated this week. This

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1163011689615882952006-11-08T18:36:00.000Z2006-11-08T18:48:22.530Z

Well, two new firsts. Number 1, it's getting dark by 3pm now. I've taken to walking at lunchtime for a kind of osmosis but it feels like a bit of a losing battle. But that's not the worst thing, the worst is the darkness at the bottom of the abyss I'm staring at. Okay that's slightly dramatic, but never before in my life have I faced unemployment that may actually affect my ability to eat.

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1161190176115941912006-10-18T18:47:00.000+01:002006-10-18T18:19:32.866+01:00

Being sick is not so bad, it has allowed me to watch a horrendous amount of trash tv. And through that medium I have learnt that I have more in common with Scarlett Johansson than I thought. Apart from being quite short (she's 5' 4", I'm 5' 5.5") and having had our hearts broken in the Park Hyatt that is.No, Scarlett and I share a similar obsession, one that has garnered us (well, me anyway)

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1161190930822019862006-10-18T17:49:00.000+01:002006-10-18T18:22:43.446+01:00

There will be no photos for this post. Believe me, you don't want one. Flattie (hitherto referred to as "I." to protect her privacy) and I are sitting in our luxurious new apartment which we have finally moved into. We have also finally removed the glittery pink curtain from the lavender coloured little girls' room I. is attempting to introduce some sophistication into. We had to ditch the

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1157999799971021722006-09-11T19:29:00.000+01:002007-12-26T17:45:00.314Z

11amI find it quite amusing that I came here to avoid being in the Baltic Sea on a ship (for work), and now am in pretty much the same weather, if not worse. I suppose at least I avoided the sea-sickness. Hurricane Florence is only a Category 1, but that has confined us to our houses. The power went out at 5am, so I am feeling pretty greasy with the combination of no shower (the water runs on

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1157930309753671252006-09-10T23:49:00.000+01:002006-09-11T03:36:08.270+01:00

So much for lying on a beach sipping rum cocktails ... I am currently shuttered and bolted into my friend Lisa's house, as Hurricane Florence approaches (although, as I said to Lisa, last night Bermuda had been practically blown away according to CNN, while the Bermuda weather site was predicting things might get "a bit breezy"). Typing this as fast as possible since the power is due to go out

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1156751380948422582006-08-28T08:49:00.000+01:002006-08-28T08:52:35.196+01:00

Actually, it could be Rocky IX, I lost track of them after about Rocky III. Anyway the point of the story is - I've decided to start kickboxing. I figure it might clear my head a bit, not to mention make me feel a bit safer walking past the dodgy men's hotel down the road at night.This wasn't an entirely voluntary decision however, my colleague practically forced me to go last Friday night. I

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1156253261948871482006-08-22T14:27:00.000+01:002006-08-22T14:27:41.966+01:00

Well it's another day another kronor, and like most days recently I've felt like I'm in a cage. But I'm trying to tell myself to give myself a break.Even though I've moved around the world before (twice, actually), I had forgotten one important thing, that favourite quote of mine: "Wherever you go, there you are". But I also had forgotten an even more important thing, who exactly "you" was.They

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1155654870232925682006-08-15T14:20:00.000+01:002006-08-16T13:30:43.136+01:00

Back from the madness of Amsterdam. And it truly is a surreal place, even when doing quite ordinary things and not perusing the latest wares in the Red Light District (or on porn channel number #459, but more about that later).First surreal moment-to-remember was at that most crucially ritualistic of social events, the wedding. This wedding was particularly interesting because it represented

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1154694326461724752006-08-04T13:22:00.000+01:002006-08-04T13:29:01.546+01:00

Britain, Britain, Britain, as they say on my favourite black comedy. Land of "nobbly oaty biscuits", late night curries, Hugh Grant, tepid tea and cucumber sandwiches. I love London, it always feels so good to be here. It reminds me of my first tentative steps into Europe armed only with a bad haircut (which of course lives on in my passport) and a credit card. Jon Jon once said that London still

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16948348.post-1154109249342058262006-07-28T18:23:00.000+01:002006-07-28T18:59:27.236+01:00

I don't know why but I feel so bad for strewing my crap all over poor Mustang Guy's apartment, which is where I am camping out in the quest for a house. I feel like I'm trashing a hotel room, but without the requisite rockstar mini-bar and swimming pool to throw the TV into. To enjoy the lovely balcony view you now have to climb over two suitcases, two garbage bags and numerous moving boxes (

MissyMnoreply@blogger.com2