Abbi’s guide to UK visitor’s visas for Saffas

As most of you who are of South African origin will know, the UK has imposed new restrictions that mean South African passport holders visiting the UK now have to get visas no matter how short their stay. In the past visas were not needed for stays of under 6 months for tourist purposes.

What does this mean? Well if mom and dad or one of your mates want to visit you they need a visa… and if you’re in SA with a South African passport and you want to visit me (or someone else in the UK, although frankly, why you would visit someone else when I’m available, is beyond me ) visas need to be organised.

Since my mom is coming to visit in September and my friend, Russell in April, I’ve been “lucky” enough to be involved in the process and since the websites are all a bit unclear, I thought I’d give you Abbi’s little guide to what information your friends and relatives will need and what you need to give them. So here goes:

• Current SA passport, valid for at least 6 months after their trip is set to end
• Two passport photos (my advice is get them done at the visa place… there are a lot of rules and they are very fussy… if they take them then you know they’re right)
• Three months bank statements showing that they have enough money to support themselves during their holiday (there is no guideline on the amount but it’s normally about £30 per day so for a 10 day visit about R4200)
• Three months payslips
• A letter from their employer confirming their employment (make very sure that said employer states in the letter that it is a permanent role and they expect them back at work on X date… X date being the day after they are set to return to SA)
• A letter of invitation from you. I have hosted a template here that you can download.

Now what is not on the requirements website is that your letter has to be supported by the following:

• A certified copy of a utility bill (gas, electricity, council tax or water) or lease agreement in your name as proof of address
• A certified copy of your passport
• A certified copy of the visa page in your passport that shows your right to stay in the UK(obviously if you are one of the lucky bastards who has weaselled yourself an EU or British passport then you don’t need this)

Getting stuff certified in the UK is not like home where pretty much anyone who can read can do it. Here it is only a solicitor or at the post office. The post office is probably your best bet because solicitors can charge up to £70. The post office does three documents for £6.85, although if you go to the Newman Street Post Office on the West End and smile nicely the lady there does it for free. Not all post offices do it so check here before you rock up.

There is one bit of good news, if your visitor has a UK stamp in their current passport they probably won’t need a visa… but please check and make sure of their exact circumstances before they travel.

Happy visiting.

DISCLAIMER: Guys, I am not any kind of official visa person and this is just info I have gathered to make your lives easier. Please get visitors to check with the British High Commission and/or a travel agent before they submit their applications. VFS is also very helpful.

If Katy Perry wore her skills cloud t-shirt…

• Find out more about Skills Clouds
• Check out ifeveryoneworetheirskillscloud.com
• Join the facebook group
• See Leona Lewis’ skills cloud
• See Paris Hilton’s skills cloud
• See Amy Winehouse’s skills cloud
• See Madonna’s skills cloud
• See Russell Brand’s skills cloud
• See Tom Cruise’s skills cloud

Because I belong in your arms

Flash 16
Prompt: This is part three of this. (Part two here)
Characters: Tatum Michaels, Ali Farraday, Jacinta Arthurs, Pixie, Leo, Ryan Turner, Matt Gleason, Magnus Anderssen
Timeline: In the Amped universe this is just pre the first Evil Spacemonkey tour
Author’s comments: I am getting way too into this… one more part I think…

I watched as Ali bypassed the entire queue of clones waiting to be let in. She did not seem to notice the way they glared at her. If looks could spit… I fought the urge to grab her arm and pull her back into the queue after all that was where I was sure we’d end up. In no way daunted by the massive, irritated doorman Jacinta and I watched confused as my aunt asked for someone called Pixie. I always wonder where they find the doormen for gigs. Surely there are loads of people who like music who would want to work a venue. These guys always looked as if they would rather have been shooting the bands than protecting them.

I didn’t think Pixie would exist and I certainly didn’t think Pixie would turn out to be 6’5 skinhead.
“Little Red,” he said. “Is that you?”
“It is,” said Ali. “I can’t believe you’re still here”
Pixie swept the doorman aside and picked Ali up, swinging her around.
“You haven’t changed,” he said. “Not in… in…”
“Twelve years,” said Ali.
“You just vanished,” said Pixie, putting her down. “You know Casey’s on tour here at the moment?”
“That’s kind of why I’m here,” said Ali. “He and I have some talking to do.”
Pixie stepped back and looked Ali up and down. “Twelve years. I can’t believe it!”
“Um, Pix,” said Ali. “Can we come in? It’s fucking freezing.”
“Course you can, love,” said Pixie. “Who you got?”
Ali smiled flirtatiously. “My niece, Tatum. Tatum this is Pixie and her friend, Jaci. Jaci, Pixie.”
Jacinta and I shuffled forward and I put out my hand only to be swept into a giant bear hug. Jacinta instantly hid behind me and clutched my hand.
“Come up to the top and have a drink with the bands. They’re all in the bar while Feral set up.”
“Thanks, Pix,” said Ali with a wink, as she lead Jacinta and I up the stairs with Pixie behind us. I hurtled between pride and fear. I wanted to stick out my tongue at all the girls in the queue but by the same token my heart was pounding and I felt a bit dizzy. Drinks with the bands? How on earth was I supposed to act normal around Ryan Turner?

I recognised many of the people in the room. Both vocalists from Fire Park. Ryan Turner was sprawled on top of an amp that was lying in the corner with Matt Gleason leaning against him. They were whispering furiously to each other. The Angry Mango drummer, Titus something was sitting on a barstool glaring at both of them. Magnus Anderssen, Feral vocalist was onstage fiddling with a mic stand.  A couple of the general longhairs that hang around with bands putting out merch.

My aunt leaned against the bar and smiled. We were approached almost immediately by the Fire Park vocalists.
“Hey,” said Ali.
“I’m Leo,” said the taller one peeking out from behind a mass of shaggy blonde hair.
“Ali,” said Ali. “This is Jacinta and Tatum.”
“Ladies,” said Leo. “This is Freddie.”
Jacinta giggled nervously. “I love you guys,” she said.
I felt like I was caught under some kind of giant spotlight, naked. This was supposed to be fun right… hanging out with your favourite bands. So why did I feel like I had crossed some kind of invisible boundary and all I wanted to do was go and stand in the queue with the rest of the hoard.
“Aww,” said Freddie. “What are you drinking?”
“They,” said my Aunt, clearly noticing the way the Freddie was staring at me, “Are not drinking. They are fifteen and will therefore have cokes. I on the other hand will have a gin and tonic.”
“Hey, Turner,” shouted Leo. “We found you someone to drink with. Got another gin lover here.”
Ryan extricated himself from Matt and stretched exposing an expanse of toned stomach and a bit of a tattoo. I instantly blushed and then felt like an idiot.
Ali leaned down to me and whispered almost inaudibly. “I wouldn’t get too excited. He and the little one he was sitting with… totally gay for each other.”
“No way,” I exhaled.
“Way,” she whispered.
“Alright,” said Ryan. “Gin, is it?”
“It is,” said Ali. “Which band are you in?”
“You’ve never heard of me?” asked Ryan, mock incredulous. “You’ve been missing out!”
Ali laughed. “God you remind me of someone I used to know.”
“Who’s that?” said Ryan.
“Dab Headly. Plays keys for The Violent Deaths.”
“I know who Dab Headly is,” said Ryan. “How do you know him?”
“I toured with The Violent Deaths once,” said Ali. “Long time ago.”
“That’s insane,” said Ryan. “Tell me everything.”

“This is absolutely surreal,” said Jacinta to me as we settled onto barstools and watched my aunt chatter animatedly with Ryan. She seemed completely at home in this room full of musicians and they had all forgotten us. After a while Pixie came and sat down next to us.
“You two alright?” he asked me.
“Fine,” I squeaked.
“Your aunt is a legend in this place,” said Pixie. “She used to be here every night when she was your age all the way until she met Casey. Everyone knew Little Red.”
Jacinta raised her eyebrows.
“Not like that,” said Pixie. “She just loved the vibe of the place and how free they all were. They had the life she wanted. She only ever had eyes for Casey.”
“Pixie,” I said, trying to hold my nerve. “What happened with my aunt and Casey?”
“No one really knows except your aunt and Casey,” said Pixie. “But what I know is that she was going to go to Europe with him. He sent her back to your nan’s to tell her that she was leaving and then he was going to come and get her. When he arrived to get her she had already vanished. He came back here looking for her before he went back to The States but no one knew where she was. I never saw two people as in love as them two.”

“Ryan here tells me that they’re going to do sound check,” said Ali, returning, glass in hand. “So we should go down and hang with the rabble a bit.”
“You’re coming to the after show, aren’t you?” asked Pixie.
“Maybe,” said Ali.
“Oh my god, please can we,” said Jacinta.
“Maybe,” said Ali.
“You should come,” said Pixie firmly.
As we headed down the stairs, that were always oddly colder than the rest of the building Jacinta turned to Ali. “Is Pixie the manager or something?”
“No, kiddo,” said Ali, ruffling her hair affectionately. “He’s the house drug dealer. That’s why they call him Pixie. He brings the pixie dust.”

You need Satan more than he needs you

Last night Josh, Niamh, Carina and I went to see Spinerette at Islington Academy.

We missed the first opening act but made it in time For Future Of The Left. What an experience. It’s hard to know what to say about the music. It was noisy, angry and somewhat abstract but also kind of cool in places. The lyrics were absolutely bizarre though take for example:

• Colin is a pussy, a very big pussy (complete with strange bass guitarist dancing)
• We are the fossils, you are the fossils
• You need Satan more than he needs you

All of this was delivered with an almost religious fervour by their singer who looked so enraged that I feared he might at any point leap off the stage and twat someone with his guitar.  If you ever get the opportunity to see this band, go. At the very least it will be unforgettable. I for one will never forget the onstage banter. Once you have heard about “power wanking” and “cock cannons” I don’t think life can ever be the same…

Towards the end of the set Niamh, Carina and I decided to go for a smoke. We were minding our own business where we were set upon by some girl who wanted to be our friend. Any regular gig-goer will have encountered some of these. They appear suddenly and just start talking as if they’ve known you their whole life. While I love making friends at gigs (I mean I met Josh in a MCR queue and he and I met Niamh at Reading), the slightly schitzy cling-on with no social filter is more frightening than encouraging. Especially if they’re telling machine gun stories and their own friends seem to be too embarrassed to be seen with them.

Now for those who don’t know, Spinnerette is fronted by Brody Dalle former frontwoman of punk legends, The Distillers, erstwhile girlfriend of Tim Armstrong and currently married to the infamous Josh Homme. The woman is a living fucking legend. I tell you all this so that you can try and imagine just how excited everyone was to see her. And with good reason since she is breathtakingly cool and sexy and intense. With Brody’s unmistakable deep, gravely voice (the first time I heard The Distillers I thought she was a man), Spinnerette could never be anything except exceptional but the fact that they’ve brought this deep, bluesy grimy punk noise means that everyone left hungry for the album and even more in love with Brody than before. The only downside to the gig was the idiots who kept yelling for Distillers songs. Grow up! That’s like going to a Brand New gig and shouting for Taking Back Sunday. It’s just NOT cool. Josh, of course, left with a drumstick. Josh is a drumstick magnet… not in the same way I am a drumstick magnet though… he catches them with his hands!

When I grow up I want to be Brode Dalle

Maybe my future lies in album cover design…

I have been handed a dangerous game via Imogen on facebook… basically it has a set of rules that lets you make album covers for imaginary bands/artists. Probably sounds a bit lame to the general population but if you are a frustrated rock star like me, the temptation to play with it is beyond tempting. These are the rules:

1. Go to “wikipedia.” Hit “random… Read More” or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random. The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.
2. Go to “Random quotations” or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3. The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.
3. Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days” or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days. Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
4. Use photoshop or similar to put it all together.

This was my first one:

Look At His Friends by Bernice Levin

I think I’d be avoiding this album like the plague… it looks like some kind of wailing singer songwriter with emotional problems… think Katie Melua or Dido… spew…  This album is about being dumped and crying about it. Anyway you can’t be cool and be named Bernice. It’s a fact!

And then I thought hold on this is waaaay too much fun… I could do a little CD collection as see what the world of randomness throws at me and hence we have the following…

Safer To Harrass Rich Women by Christoffel Venter

You cannot make this shit up! Christoffel is an Afrikaner who now performs in English. Songs about being a white man in Africa. A Boereseun who loves the land but feels distanced from his culture… or maybe he is now living in London and missing home… I mean he is asleep on the nightbus on his album cover…

Written Or Badly Written by Colobasians

Hmm? Prog rock maybe? It’s either Prog rock or a whiny emo band trying to be cooler than they are…

It Goes On Forever by D8

This is SO rap. Yo, yo, yo, motherfucker when I get a shorty back to the motel, it goes on forever

Determines The Long Run by List of English Words of Slovak Origin

I originally thought angry immigrant punk but it doesn’t go with the picture. Now I’m thinking indie female solo singer… edgier than she looks… Kate Nash-esque? Either that or it’s a full on screamo band. Sometimes they do that, go for the innocent pretty album cover and then make your ears bleed when you put it on.

What They Think Laughable by Sad Sweet Dreamer

Oh the ANGST! It’s got to be some kind of wistful acoustic ballading, hasn’t it? Or maybe it’s like mom music. You know you can get those albums with pictures of waterfalls on the front that have 400 of you favourite lovesongs played on the ukulele or the pan-pipes or whatever…

The Photo You Want by Slotback

I’m thinking baaaaad Nu Metal. Bad, angry soulless white boy music. Either that or it’s one of those pop punk bands that have actually gotten good as they’ve gotten older but they saddled themselves with a ridiculous name when they were still falling off their skateboards and now they’re stuck with it.

The Deeds Of Another by Tiffanie

I think Tiffanie is an idealistic rich girl who spent a summer in a third world country. Now, as she sits in her country mansion drinking herbal tea, she writes songs about poor people and how we’re killing the world.

What did this exercise teach me? Probably that I’d make a great slimy record exec… anyone got any jobs on offer?

Now go make your own and send me linkage… you know you want to!

Two parties, a new gay best friend and a brief Latin American romance

My drunk self seems to think that I am still 22 and that it is perfectly reasonable to stay out until 4am and do a whole bunch of shots. My drunk self is a dirty pirate liar and should not be listened to under any circumstances. I blame this very drunk self for the fact that I feel rougher than a goat’s knee today.

We started our evening yesterday at Donovan’s house warming. He has moved into a gorgeous little place in Lower Morden and wanted to show it off to all his friends. It didn’t take us long to commence with the vodka consumption. I was of course the first person to spill something… red wine as well… thank god for the wooden floors. That was when I knew what kind of night it was going to be. I instantly fell in love with Don’s new housemate Dan and proceeded to cuddle him at every given opportunity. Fortunately the feeling was mutual and when we had to leave for the next party we declared out undying love for each other and made a pact to go on a mad gay clubbing spree in Soho very soon!

The next party happened to be at The Grand. Now before anyone who has been to The Grand gives me the look of death… it has been redone and reopened and it’s really not bad. Sadly the event in question was Matt’s farewell but it was kind of like a Croatia reunion and I particularly liked seeing Trev who apparently reads this blog… hi Trev *waves*. The vodka continued to flow.

At one point I picked up a South American boyfriend. I blame Sue for this… she told me he was hot… I think she lied… he reeeeeeallly liked me… so much that I got a little scared at one point. Thank-you to the boys for cosying up to me and getting rid of him. I had majestic heart-to-hearts that I can’t really remember with many people. I had too many shots with Kelly. And somehow at the end of the night I got talking to the most gorgeous, lovely boy. I don’t think either of us was expecting to have a half an hour conversation off me bumping him at the bar but we kinda clicked. In the stupid drunkenness, when The Grand eventually closed he said he was going to the bathroom and I said I was going to get my coat and maybe we’d see each other outside. We didn’t… so Ashley from Brighton… if you ever read this, I should have gotten your number.

I ended up on the nightbus with Barb eating chips slathered in mayonnaise and debating the meaning of life… as you do…

I’m going to go and find something with a lot of cheese on it to eat…

Have you ever been to a party… where somebody died?

Last night Josh, Niamh, Simone and I went to see The King Blues and it was probably one of the most fun gigs I have ever been to. It was in this bar called Jamm in Brixton, which looks like it was once a house and then converted to a gig venue purely for the sake of mayhem. This means it has a kind of a house party look about it, which is oddly cool. When we arrived the doors were not yet open and everyone was sitting around in the front garden. With King Blues gigs you are always going to get a mixed bag in the audience. From proper tartan wearing mohawked punks to hippies to a bunch of scared looking emo kids debating the merits of Bring Me The Horizon (I’m sorry but you have to be deaf to think Bring Me The Horizon has any merits).

We decided there was nothing to do but student it, so we went over to the shop across the road and bought a couple of bottles of beer and cider. Once again my bottle opening key proved its worth. The shop itself was a bit random. As we were paying for our £1 ciders (on special… I told you were studenting it) this guy came flying through the other side of the checkout, dropped a handful of change which was nowhere near enough to pay for his items and took off. Looking at the cashier, I have never seen anyone look so much like they wanted to violently assault someone else. But she held her nerve.

Of course not long after we got back with our bounty in hand, they opened the doors… we all knew this was going to happen. We meandered a bit… had more cider… and ventured in to see who was playing. It was all a bit jumbled as punk gigs tend to be so I think it was CrowZone. They were noisy and very punk and we jumped about a bit trying not to spill the cider. Probably not my kind of music but they did have one absolutely fantastic song that I think was called “The House That Jake Built”. The lyrics basically went, “have you ever been to a party, have you ever been to a party, have you ever been to a party… where somebody died?” Very easy to pick up and so we were wailing them out along with the band. Made the temptation to add “where somebody died” to everything else after that impossible to resist.

I think the next band was called Monkey Rush. I can’t find any info about them on last.fm or MySpace. Josh and I declared them a bad Offspring knock-off and Niamh, Simone and I debated the fact that female singers fronting bands are normally a bit shit. There are some exceptions of course… take Brode Dalle or Agnete Kjølsrud… but mostly they’re just too whiny for me. Is rock music the last bastion or chauvanism… ugh let’s debate that another time. Anyway, we weren’t that into them.

When someone asked me to describe the band I was going to see last night I went for “uplifting reggae ska protest punk… with a ukulele”. They looked at me funny… but if it works it works and this really works. We barrelled down to the front (we learned a valuable lesson… if you get Abbi drunk before the gig she will go straight into the crush and not care about being trampled). There was, just like the song says, “so much love.” Everyone was hugging each other and waving their hands and jumping. At one point I suddenly found myself mashed between two boys… one of whom was quite cute and shirtless. In the context of all the love that was going around it seemed perfectly natural when he just leaned over and kissed me… in fact with the band going and everyone all sweaty I’ve got to say it was kinda hot… (hmmm… I normally don’t discuss my “indiscretions” here… oh well…) After making out with “cute and shirtless” for a bit I realised he was distracting me from the music and bounced back to my crew to carry on pogo-ing through what felt like a woefully short set. It was only then that we discovered that The King Blues were not even headlining. Someone called Spanner was. You know the planning has gone a bit wrong when the support band gets an encore and has to beg people to stay for the headline. Anyway… Itch once again treated us to his amazing poem “What If Punk Rock Never Happened?” and this time I got it on camera… so enjoy. If you can watch this without being moved and caught up… then I don’t know.

I didn’t take many photos… it was all a bit chaotic, but here they are.

IF YOU ARE NOT LISTENING TO THIS BAND YOU ARE MISSING OUT!

We did not stay for Spanner. It was already midnight and there was panic about getting home. I parted company with the others and went straight for the bus option only to be reunited with them because the tube had already stopped running. Worked out well for me because I then ate almost all of Simone’s chips. Simone… I am deeply sorry. Next time I will buy the chips…

This morning my head hurts. When will I learn NOT to drink cider…

I want to hurt you

Flash 15
Prompt: I want to hurt you
Characters: Harrison Blake, Chris Fraser, Phoebe Marshall (Amped)
Timeline: About 2/3 into Amped season 1. Phoebe still hasn’t acknowledged her feelings for Blake even to herself and so she is very cagey about everything.
Author’s comments: I know this is not the flash you were expecting but since I had a migraine yesterday, I didn’t have time to finish part 3 of The Violent Deaths serial that I’m writing. I did finish this piece earlier in the week and I was going to use it after the serial but I’m posting it now because I didn’t want to leave the 3 of you who actually read this with no flash for the week. Also I want to point out that this is not off the back of my recent concussion. Jen and I wrote this event in when we did the initial planning for Amped over a year ago… is just life imitating art

I watched Chris and Harry snarl at each other onstage. They once used to play with their heads resting on each other’s shoulders or with Harry whispering to Chris while he played his solos. Now they growled and shoved and tripped each other. I wished I knew what had caused this sudden bizarre change in their relationship but any attempts I had made to get to the bottom of it were met with shrugs and sighs.

The van was hell at the moment. Since Chris had impulsively decided to kiss Eric onstage, everything was off. As a manager I couldn’t deny the buzz the lingering embrace had created. That night no one had even mentioned the Fatal Agenda set but living with the aftermath was exhausting. Eric was avoiding Chris and spending more and more time with Oli, which made me very nervous. I knew what they were up to. Chris was spending more and more time under every fangirl who would have him, in what I assume was a mixture between not wanting to share a room with Harry and attempting to remind everyone of his heterosexuality. And Kiley wasn’t speaking to Eric, just when I thought they were going to strike up the quiet awkward romance I had always imagined Kiley would have with some beautiful messed up boy. The duelling guitarists were not adding anything positive.

I watched Harry stride up to Chris, towering over him, and spit in his face. I lifted my hand to my mouth involuntarily as Chris let go of his guitar, picked up his mic stand and smashed it into Harry’s face. Harrison Blake, floored. Out cold. Fuck. Thank god it was their last song.
“Kiley,” I shouted to my sister. “Did you see that? Go and find the medics. I’m going to do damage control.”
I clambered over the hysterical crowd and headed for the side of the stage where Eric and Tyler had already carried Harry and laid him down waiting for the EMTs to arrive. It didn’t look good. Blood was pouring down his face from a cut in his eyebrow. I flipped between panic and rage before picking rage.

“Christopher,” I snapped, beckoning at Chris, who was pacing next to Harry’s prone form.
He came towards me, face etched in terror with his eyeliner running down his cheeks.
“What. The. Fuck? I get that the two of you have some kind of Mexican standoff going on but if we have to cancel any dates because you can’t control your temper, I will make you sorry you were ever born. Are we clear?”
“Clear,” said Chris. “Is he going to be ok?”
“I don’t know, do I?” I said. “You should have thought of that before you hit him.”
“Miss,” one of the EMTs shouted over to me. “Um, your singer… he’s still out. We need to take him to A&E.”
“Chris,” I said. “I’ll take him. Get everyone back to the hotel, ok? I’ll keep you posted.”

I sat next to Harry in the back of the ambulance and gently stroked his pale face. I wondered if I would ever get used to just how perfect his features were. If I would ever look at him and be able to look away without having to forcibly drag my eyes away from his face.
His eyelashes fluttered.
“What’s cooking, good-looking?” he said.
“Harrison Blake, what am I going to do with you?”
“He hi’ me, member?” he slurred slightly.
“Yes, shortly after you spat in his face!”
“Oh yeah,” he muttered.

It seemed that arriving in an ambulance did not bump us up the priority list in A&E and we were shoved into a corner in amongst the tramps and the vomiters, waiting for someone to stitch up Harry’s eyebrow and make sure he hadn’t completely rattled his brain. I sat on one of the horribly uncomfortable chairs and Harry rested his head on my lap. The EMTs had told me it was best to keep him awake.

“Harry,” I said.
“Mm,” he mumbled.
“What are you and Chris fighting about? Can’t you two just punch each other and be done with it? That’s what guys do, right?”
“’S complicated,” said Harry.
“I’m smart and I have lots of life experience. Tell me.”
He sighed. “It weirded me out when he kissed Eric, ok?”
“What?” I said. “Now you’re a homophobe al of a sudden?”
“It’s not that.”
“What is it then? You jealous or something?”
He blushed slightly and I suddenly felt out of my depth.
“Right, so you’re jealous that Chris, who is clearly straight jokingly kissed Eric, who is obviously in love with my sister… which I never said of course. I have two questions. Who exactly are you jealous of? And when did you start fancying boys?”
“I don’t fancy boys!” he said, drawing the attention of quite a few of the waiting room attendees. “I’m jealous that Chris kissed Eric. He’s my best mate. I just kind of thought if he ever kissed a bloke even as a joke that I’d be the bloke.”
“Oh for fuck sake,” I said. “You lot are worse than girls.”
I realised that I was absent-mindedly scratching his scalp and as I stopped, he craned his head towards my hand like a cat.
“What I don’t get is why Chris is so angry.”
“He’s angry because I made him angry,” said Harry. “Chris is an attention-whore. The way he looks. All the girls. Being so obnoxious. It’s all about people noticing him. I’ve been ignoring him and he doesn’t know why.”
“You’re a dickhead,” I said.
“I know,” he said.
“You realise the reason he’s so upset is because he loves you more than anyone in the world. Your little stunt has proved to you exactly what you wanted to know. It’s time to let this go.”
“I know,” he said.
“Harrison Blake,” called the doctor.

After looking into his eyes and doing a few tests on his reflexes and balance, the doctor declared Harry moderately concussed, decreed that we should keep him awake for 24 hours and sent him to get his eyebrow stitched by a nurse.

He came out and lifted his fringe to show me the sutures.
“How does it look?”
As I moved closer, he caught my eye and fixed me in his gaze. This was happening more and more often. These lingering, meaningful glances. My heart speeding up rapidly. Me fighting. Fighting the desire to lean forward and catch his lips with mine. To ignore my head and listen to my heart as it thudded out a crescendo of kisshimkisshimkisshimkisshimkisshim….
I forced myself to break eye contact.
“You’re going to have a scar, but you’ll still be pretty,” I said. “In fact, it’ll probably make you even sexier.”
“You think I’m sexy,” he said, giving me one of his dazzling grins.
“Don’t let it get to your head,” I said. “Come on let’s get back to the hotel and put Chris out of his misery.”

At our fleapit hotel, Chris was sitting on his bed in their room, head in his hands.
“Chris,” said Harry. “Lookit! The girls are gonna love this baby. You genius!”
“Jesus Christ, Blake.” Said Chris. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“My own fault,” said Harry. “I shoulda just talked to you.”
“About what?” asked Chris.
Harry shrugged and I elbowed him,
“IwasjealousofyoukissingEric.”
“Do you fancy me or something?” asked Chris.
“No fucking way,” said Harry. “I dunno, I just kind of thought you were replacing me.”
“You’re my best mate,” said Chris. “You’re off your fucking nut but you’re like my brother. If I have to snog you to prove that, well then we might as well.”
“If you’re going to make out can I get a camera and film it for the MySpace? The fangirls will love it.” I said.
“We are not going to make out,” said Harry.
“You sure?” asked Chris, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“God yes,” said Harry.
“Brilliant,” said Chris. “Let’s get drunk!”
“He’s not allowed to drink,” I said. “Concussion.”
“Oh,” said Chris.
“I’ve got to stay up al night as well,” said Harry.
“I’ll stay up with you, mate,” said Chris.
“Nah, you go get pissed,” said Harry. “There’s some blonde out there who still doesn’t know it’s her lucky night tonight. Phoebe will stay with me.”
“Will I?” I asked, imagining an evening all alone with Harry and hating how appealing it was.
“I think you will,” he said.
“Yeah, ok,” I said as he slung an arm around me. “But I’m not watching Anchorman again.”

Borat’s crack, whores and musical time-travel

Being a bit of an online marketing geek by profession, I am obsessed with my blog stats and I can’t resist going in a noodling around to see which posts are the most popular and how many views I get in a day (this is of course on WordPress where my main blog lives). One of the cool little features is that I can see which search terms people have Googled in order to find my blog. Most of them make sense “Lyn-z pregnant”, “lyric tattoos”, “old gregg” but recently there has been a spate of “borat crackberry”. Now I know why you’d find my blog if you typed that in… it would lead you to this. However I’ve racked my brain and for the life of me I cannot imagine why you would search for that… am I missing something?

Oh and a little giggle for the day courtesy of Lauren. Another warning about what happens if you don’t supervise your children’s homework, following on from this.

And finally I have got the biggest Jones on at the moment for 70’s rock. The bluesier and janglier the better. I need Hendrix, Cream, Stevie Ray, Zep, Zappa, The Who… whatever you have lob it my way… I will of course offer you any of my music library in return…

If Tom Cruise wore his skills cloud t-shirt…

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