Tag Archives: Waffle

Cold Blood, Ants and ‘The Other Woman’

16 Jun

I have been home alone for the majority of this week as Stevie was away with work, so I am feeling a little delicate. Bear with me, this may not be the hilarious tour de force it has been previously. Once upon a time we lived at opposite ends of the country for a few months and it was slighty reminiscent of that except much less romantic and much more boring and stressful. Ireland was kind to Stevie, our children were not to me. He ate carpaccio and duck, I ate tinned ravioli and left over fish finger, singular. He slept in a king sized bed, I slept in a mass of limbs and snoring toddlers. It wasn’t all bad, I have a wicked tan from being outside all week to avoid the inevitable cabin fever that comes from zero adult interaction- single parents, I doth my cap! Here I am driven by Pinot Grigio and After Eights (God I am such a cliche) ready for review number 3.

There are already rumblings of discontent because I have expressed certain views on this weeks songs, I wait with baited breath as to whether we will still be talking in an hour or so but if not, it won’t be that different to when he was away and I got a lot of shit tele watched over the last few days so… If watching ‘Jeremy Kyle’ on catch up TV is a crime, arrest me now because I am guilty as charged.


Alt J: In Cold Blood


I have heard this several times on the radio, sort of in the background when I’m driving about and it never grabbed me. I am always pleased when it comes on but never pay it much attention. It has a bit of a James Bond theme tune vibe which is probably down to the brass but that isn’t very fashionable. However, the big brassy sound is unexpected and gives it depth which is much needed as it is bloody repetitive. The music seems really considered, it is multi layered and complex which kind of highlights how lazy the lyrics are, it really reminds me of the robot song from ‘Flight of the Conchords’. A Parody of a good song. BUT and it is a big but, it is so cool and nonchalant and sexy. It makes me want to be an edgier and more exciting person (it wouldn’t be hard!) I want to run away to the indie circus and teach lions to play ‘Seven Nation Army’ on a yamaha keyboard. It has a great Fargo-esque video that is probably better than the song. The fact that I don’t really have anything funny or clever to say about it usually suggests that I am into it. Shit.


Starcrawler: Ants


Urgh, I fucking love this.

It reminds me of a time in my life where I loved Joan Jett and Brody Armstrong. Around 2004 I used to watch P-Rock on Sky and wear a shirt and tie, fish nets and tartan mini skirt. I was doing my A Levels at a girl’s school, stuck in rural Northamptonshire, looking at the beautiful countryside and seething internally because I was so bleeding punk and it was desperately sad that I had been born into the least punk life anyone has ever had. I had been condemned to a life of privilege with nothing to be angry about except the lack of things to be angry about. I can hear Stevie snorting derisively in my head as I type this but I imagine 75% of punks are from the same background. It is quite often the pursuit of people with quite a lot of spare time and not much to be cross about.

The song is hair metal meets punk in 2017 which is a difficult concept to visualise. It is also a song entirely about ants but it’s simple and sublime. No messing, androgynous front woman with a penchant for jumpsuits and mullets, deffo totally sensational live. Everything about it is really refreshing but comfortingly familiar.



Marika Hackman: Violet


Stevie is well into a new wave of 90’s grunge inspired female singers/bands. I had heard one of her other songs being played in our house so had an idea of what to expect. Let me start with a disclaimer: I didn’t like 90’s grunge the first time around and as much as I love love love the influx of women who don’t feel the need to be ‘sexy’ to be successful I find it far from groundbreaking, musically. I also get the feeling that I am in the minority with this opinion. General consensus of this tune by everyone but me: V. Cool. I struggle to be blown away by this song and I know that Stevie loves it so I am expecting a backlash.

I want it to be interesting and there is a string section that took me by surprise but it is all so VANILLA. Yes it mixes things up a bit and I am pretty sure Kurt Cobain had the same t shirt but it is so contrived. It is girls in boys clothes singing breathy, uninspiring songs about the weather (sorry Stevie!!) It is like someone saying that they ate bacon in a hot cross bun. It sounds weird and exciting initially but gradually you realise that people have been eating pork with fruit for hundreds of years and it is just a slight variation on a tried and tested formula. Good effort, pleasant enough but I am unlikely to hand the HP over any time soon.

R.I.P my marriage. We have weathered many a storm like the time I threw a tea bag and hit him in the eye, twice. We have survived my hatred of boxing and the fact that I will categorically never go to Las Vegas. We are still together even though I am a hypocrite by my own admission and he hates ‘The Real Housewives of Cheshire’. We did so well until ‘Marika Hackman gate’. If that isn’t irreconcilable differences then I don’t know what is.

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A Waffle. I think there was a point.

1 Nov

I like to think that I write about things that people have some connection to, that we are all involved in. This week I came up with several ideas but settled on perception, the way we perceive each other and are perceived but also what we do with these perceptions. I can once again only really speak from experiences I have had.

So as a model I spend an awful lot of time being judged on what I look like obviously. Which means I spend an awful lot of time worrying about what I look like, whether I am thin enough, pretty enough and so on. I stand in front of people or I send pictures to people who then judge whether I fit the brief or if I AM thin enough or pretty enough. They decide if my hair is too short or I am too tall, if my breasts are too small or my walk is too relaxed (yep). Basically I become just another element of advertising like the font size, I am reduced to statistics and shoe size. I can be dismissed within 30 seconds because my waist is an inch too big. It is really bloody tricky to maintain a level of identity and to make sure that you don’t take these worries into your everyday life. When I retired briefly I had control over the cut and colour of my hair for the first time in 2 years. Even now as I sit here having shaved part of my head in a moment of madness I am willing it to grow back for a hair modelling job on the 12th.

I judge people too of course. We all judge people. I moved to Toxteth having lived in Chelsea and Brighton. I didn’t really have much contact with hard-knocks and when I moved to Liverpool my Dads first reaction was ‘It’s not very posh round there’ Tocky was a wild choice but I needed to thicken my skin and learn a bit about people who didn’t own second homes and yachts in Italy ‘George Clooney lives just round the corner’ or consider red Ferraris the common Ferrari. Consider that when I came to Liverpool I hadn’t been into an Aldi and had more than once used the term ‘undesirable’ so yes I was by all accounts a bit of an ignorant dick at times.

Liverpool is the home of the working class mentality and I have come to realise that these people who have to scrimp and save to get by are really proud and opinionated people. They stand by what they believe in which is really admirable and to be honest are probably a lot better off than most financially because they don’t spend money they don’t have on Mulberry handbags in order to maintain appearances…ahem. The downfall of anyone brought up in a self titled ‘middle class home’ is that we have developed an innate sense of put up and shut up. It is embarrassing to cause a scene despite the fact that someone has been openly rude to you. A prime example of this is when walking the dog a woman passing by who had no reason to get into conversation with me, my dog was nowhere near her or her kids told me to put him on his lead. People who know my dog know that he is the softest, most ridiculously submissive creature in the world when it comes to the park. He was at that point lying on his back with his legs in the air because a labrador puppy had approached. We had a small interaction where she was very rude and condescending and I said ‘I appreciate your advice but I don’t agree’ a statement that my mum later applauded. What I wish I had said was simply FUCK OFF. I stereotyped the people around me as a certain kind of rough or lower class but I wish I could be more like them at times, I would like to have a bit more self belief. I wish I stood up for myself more (I am learning!) the way a lot of people round here do. Oh believe me there are some baddies and I am not saying that everyone is like that on Merseyside or that I even believe in class definition, it is just an observation.

What gets me through these harrowing days of being told I am not right for a shoot (immediately a little siren goes off in my brain ‘TOO FAT TOO FAT’) is to remember that regardless of upbringing or achievements or financial situation or the size of the competitors thighs we are all people with dignity, humility and morality and should be treated that way and if you don’t have those things then you deserve a good, hard judging!