tracing my early roots to FagHagness......
what can i say. it was 1990. i was 14. the die was cast.

Maude's extended FAMILYTREE

Crowbar: adoptive mother
Alberto: baby daddy
Oats: the wet nurse
Miiichael: faggy uncle
Milena: the latino aunt...caliente
Ganz: the eccentric kooky aunt
Nappy: maiden aunt
Matt: a willing toe to suck on
Lisa: god mother
Yogi: sugadaddy
sic: long lost country cousin
Flash: spiritual adviser

three days, three nights
away from maude


am feeling a bit anxious. will she recognize me? has she embraced ganz's silicon breasts over my own home-grown bust?
will she settle for tat versus silver? accessories galore versus plain old toxics?

the jury is out. she did leave a token turd on ganz's turf. which i took as personal vindication that there is no place by home, between a size 3 cup.

47 degrees in the shade. tongues stuck out like seasoned camels. meera and i -- partners in nonsense in tunis

it's too fuking hot to blog and carthage was a dump.
3 days. 3 nights. one skinny dip.

good times though

EUROMED SUMMIT TUNIS 25-26 JUNE

Working very hard
not so much breaking news as much as fending off amorous intentions of the 1.99-meter slovenian secretary of state while handing out pearls of wisdom to s.on from hotel lobbies.
more to come...

``If Jesus Christ came back today and saw what was being done in his name, he'd never stop throwing up''

ok. i know it's 10:04 a.m. i know i've been up since 6:30 a.m. and there is still nothing i would rather have now, than this.

you showed them..........

One act play
miscommunication

t. so I felt keener was rather frumpy in capote. she is losing her
touch. watching jack and rose.
f. what? She is no frump. miss you? too much.
t. [huh?] what you up to? I'm going dragonboating.
f. [surely, huh?] heading to beach. shall I leave shoes with lisa to take back to london? ck forever.
t. [what shoes, who cares] er, ok. what about 40-year-old virgin, I mean
f. where are you now? miss pal...
t. [not like you] who the fk is lola
f. hush
t. don't hush me.
f. you don't sound like z.
t. it's tom you idiot. don't you know my number by now.

author: the reverend toko loco based on real transcripts of real text conversations.

if i had to sum naples today in one image. it would be this one. although i have plenty more. and could say plenty more.
after a long and hot day's work (that involved a 1 hour cab ride through static traffic, obtuse police that couldn't tell their arseholes from their mouth, surreal imagery in the form of friar tucks, canine guards, alpine cops in skiis exhibiting in 40 degree heat, random gun shots...etc. etc.)
i and B, who relentlessly pursued a vice finance minister to the point where work and dedication blended to spell wedication, decided lunch was in order. several miles of not quite dirt roads but rather a sweaty stroll along the beach with vesuvius as a backdrop, we have asked every sun-kissed fisherman on a place to go. BAGNO ELENA kept cropping up but getting there was like chasing the HOLY GRAIL. we kept getting told it was 100 meters away, just round the curve etc. after several miles we lose faith and hop in a cab. only to be dropped off a half second later. we are accosted by something i can only describe as a creature. a frail yet taut old toothless man with a gammy leg, an odd limp wearing nothing but shorts, a brazil cap (OLE!) and socks and trainers. he mumbled something incomprehensible and guides us to some rather STEEP steps down. (all i could think of was the horror of having to come back up, which we did promptly). BAGNO ELENA was basically a beach. with a canteen for the plebs and a rather plush side entry to a members only club, which we got into thanks to the toothless one. alas we just wanted to eat. i actually just wanted to drink.......the quest continued. we emerged victorious. bagno elena will always have a special place in my heart. as will the toothless one.

just when the obession had abated.............

lola strikes again from the far right

conversation verbatim turned to into ...
a one-act play on strained finances

i think i have a euro
Reply:
can i have it?
Reply:
no i need it
Reply:
7*&(*&(()*)(*()
Reply:
andrew will lend us a euro for coffee
Reply:
no save it. for dog food.

ellen page cont......

And then what? A rom-com, perhaps, or a Herbie? “Er, no. I’m just about to start filming An American Crime in LA with Catherine Keener. It’s based on a true story from 1965 from Indiana, about a girl who was left to stay with this woman and her eight children while her parents went off travelling to a carnival. I play the girl and she gets tortured and, eventually, murdered.”

my kind of actress. my kind of film. a big fat OLE!

la maudette!

RANCID

the after and before..............

NEEDLESS to say....*NOT * my brand of choice

shaking my beads and doing a bit of online blogger macumba

2-0 kangaroos.

The weekend of the fetid fridge and the intrepid maude

*slight premise that something died behind the fridge and liquified to a dark oozing possibly moving blob of gunk that i attacked, mid-attack of the muchies, consuming vast amounts of chocolate while the others ran off from the stench of carcass, jogging all the way to santa caterina
* the Italy-U.S. match was projected on our fine stain-rich wall. two italians. two americans. and a swinger.
* maude inaugurated my new carpet by taking a nice dump on it,.
* lots of pop psychology and the loss of the little green hoody at the puddles of saturnia (ahem...erm....cue mourning and fast promise to replace aformentioned Donnie D-like fashion statement). now for the pictures...


maude sought the shade where she could. behind ganz's ample bosom, between my legs etc.














ganz busted mid-commando


















animated drawing session followed by a tender photo of ganz looking longingly at michele and my looking longingly well...at me...who else?


























finally, la ballata del artigiano fallito: glauco. where he goes. trouble ensues. he fell on his ass shortly after slouching on the hammock. how he managed to get OFF the roof with no broken limbs or serious concussion has restored many a faith in god amongst the lapsed catholics in our midst.

thanks michaaaaaaaaael. for the quintessential shot of *ME*

hic, hic. blogging cheese and wine in hand, hurtling in a taxi, in brussels. to the airport.

ok, guest blogger alert. hi all, oats here.
my inbox and cell phone have been peppered by msgs from the crowbar herself, languishing in brussels, and unable to blog, begging me to post the following pics for her - lord knows what might happen if they're not up by the time she gets back tomorrow. but here goes.

behold exhibit a:



note the type: not just androgynous and boyish, but dark of hair and light of eye as well. readers, i repeat. take note.

and as for exhibit b:



does anyone else remember mary louise parker's gay mormon husband from angels in america?
thanks for tuning in. see you on my space. (not to be confused with thatspace)

I recently started reminiscing affectionately with Ireena, a little, round, furry Indian pal whom I met in school when i had just landed on English shores age 14. though we shared many memories (mainly of my cutting every class to go watch films), our fondest recollection of that time, which had then seemed frankly horrific, is this (penned by Little round furry herself) ................


Twas a dark winter morn as we traipsed forlornly up the rickety steps to some pre-fabricated 1950’s hut. However we were buoyed up by the prospect of entering a somewhat forgotten world of slave girls and urns of wine. Yes, it was our first latin class. However instead of being taught by your typical corduroy wearing, grey haired, bespectacled mad professor type, we were instead greeted by the sight of Mrs cleaver. Looking back I suspect that Mrs C would have blended in quite well in the lord of the rings movies as a hobbit, what with the diminutive stature, random cut at home hair and unconventional tooth positioning. She also had what came to be referred to as the ‘gammy leg’- due to a youthful motorbike accident (possibly also causing the diminished stature effect). I think in a way the gammy leg also added an air mystery and hinted at another life of carefree abandon before the teaching of a deceased language took over.

Anyway in through the gloom we tramped, where we soon joined by a newcomer. Ms flavia jackson had entered the building. Although, actually I don’t really remember flavs ‘arriving’ at all. She was somehow just there, when previously she hadn’t been. And so began a fruitful journey into the era of Catullus, Pliny (both Elder and Younger) and Ovid. As we mulled over the Elder Pliny’s final descriptions of the eruption of Vesuvius and his nephew’s missives to the Emperor Trajan on the benefits of fire brigades we seemed to enter a more cultured world than the one outside populated by over hair-styled oiks (many of our school ‘chums’ ranged from the deluded to the downright retarded). On reading and translating Catullus love poems to his girl Lesbia, we came across a phrase that has remained with us for about the past 15yrs (eeek- can it really be that long?). ‘A countryman’s reeds building into pipes….’ I think, although it has varied somewhat over the years, was our comedy mis-translation of some elegant verse. Not even sure why it was funny, but to this day it still raises a smile for me.

Anyway, latin with flavs continued with much mocking of others poor translation skills, the birth of the junior flavs catchphrase, ‘check it out!’ with reference to our latin dictionary and some dubious poems with Lesbia breaking men’s thighs with her unfaithful desires. Many were the happy times spent in that little hut as we cemented our reputations as intellectual giants in a world of half-wits. All hail latin lessons! Salve amicus!

Spontaneous eruption into a self-serving exercize in oneness

f: favourite word?
oats: umm.....SILENCE ?
f: i waas thinking: errrrrrr
oats: ahah that's our favorite SOUND
f: gao
oats: and that one is our favorite EXPRESSION
f: and SEX IS NOT A TIME FOR SHARING?
oats: favorite phrase. duh
oats: your turn: our favorite game?
f: i have one!
oats: ck! (ok i added this response..)
f: our favourite sing a long?
oats: i've got arms..and i've got arms....let's get togethee
and use those arms let's goooooooooooo time's a wastin'!

My kind of film....


After chatting and flirting online, Hayley and Jeff decide to make the jump to real life. They meet up at a coffee shop and trade charged banter, each one doing a little dance to intimate that they are interested without making it too overt or aggressive. It’s a courtship ritual between two together people who spark immediately, so they quickly shift locations to Jeff’s swanky house in the hills above Los Angeles.

So begins Hard Candy; it’s not some feature-length ad for Match.com, nor the cozy start to a cyberspace romantic comedy, but rather it’s something far, far more icky. See, Jeff is 32; Hayley is 14. Think that’s unsettling? Just wait.

Haley, as played by a truly talented Ellen Page, looks so young that her androgyny isn’t an aesthetic choice, but the result of a body not yet having developed into adulthood. There is literally no escaping how young this girl is, yet she speaks with such unsentimental intelligence and charm that she goes far past precociousness and into genuine maturity. Patrick Wilson’s Jeff is confusing in his own way – he’s such a nice guy, so easygoing and normal and generally appealing. He makes all the right protests, says all the right things, has all the right humility. As written, their flirtation is a suitably awkward and genuinely likable opening to a sweet, burgeoning relationship. Except the girl is in middle school. So it is all kinds of wrong.

The pedophilia angle is immensely disquieting, to be sure, but then it gets worse. Because Hayley is not some innocent fly being lured into the spider’s den; she’s actually a very calculating young woman with some brutal, well thought-out notions of punishment. Things get harder to take as layers of guilt and abhorrent behaviors pile atop one another for both of them. She’s clearly a very twisted and disturbed young woman with some deeply wrong revenge fantasies, but… he’s a pedophile. There's no safe place to lay your loyalties on this one.

Hard Candy heavily relies on the strength of its two actors, since the entire film comprises these two slowly and relentlessly stripping one another bare. And it's a boon that both stars are quite stellar. Page is fantastic, managing to be both vulnerable and vicious – often simultaneously. And Wilson never defaults to merely playing the victim; he always has more secrets and shame festering under his surface. Director David Slade, largely a veteran of assorted music videos, echoes the claustrophobia of the script with his affinity for extreme tight shots and artfully invasive camera work throughout. All the close-up work forces a reluctant intimacy with the characters, neither of whom are people you want to be particularly near to, which further blankets the film with tension.

This is not to say that Hard Candy doesn’t have its share of weak spots – the screenplay, by Brian Nelson, is oddly reliant on the unnecessary device/contrivance of Jeff’s ex-girlfriend, and the schemes and plans Hayley has in place are, once you step back, so over the top they are nearly laughable. This girl’s thirst for vengeance is a deeply rooted flair for the dramatic. And the conclusion, when it finally comes after the numerous twists and turns, left me somewhat unsatisfied.

But in reality, the largest liability for the film is its profoundly disturbing nature. This is, after all, a protracted revenge fantasy layered on top of pedophilia. It’s relentless and nerve-wracking and squirm-inducing. It’s the movie where someone says, “Was it good?” and they are met with a long silence before a hesitant “Yeeaahhhh…” Because you don’t like this movie; like a Todd Solondz film, it isn’t built to be liked. It’s there to be experienced, tolerated, and appreciated for the wretched, well-executed, difficult, artful, and appalling creation that it is.


SHE WANTS CANDY (filmcritic.com)

P.S. the truly fabulous ellen page, that i feel is inheriting Sarah Polley's mantle as precocious canadian teen talent, trigged an inadvertent bout of CKoning when oats least expected it......


and guess WHo ellen page is starring with ...in her next
film........hummmmmmmmm?
Reply:
DO TELL
Reply:
CK ONE!!! in that thing i blogged. she plays the CHILD tortured
and KILLED by..............
ck ONE
Reply:
oh my god!!!!! the frump-a-thon!!!!

GAO GAO

not sure why i am posting this. plain old habit. bloated tummy.

afterall, gao gao is my hymn to life, my way of life. the essence
of me. and would merit a more indepth eulogy.
it can mean many things at many times. from, simply an affectionate yes, to
the ultimate, most heartfelt, expression of absolute love when it has peaked and stalled at perfection
. it's all about intonation and circumstance.
those that have been around me enough may have known the power of the gao.
alas, today is not a gao gao kind of day. i can barely mutter a half-hearted gaaaaaaaa -- (no i can't)


but...oh well.

good news is i'm almost done downloading THOM YORKE

Swedish fans of the Brazilian national soccer team sisters Tina Arslan, left, and Sara Arslan try on Brazilian team color wigs for sale on the "Fan Mile" during the 2006 FIFA World Cup in Berlin, Germany, Tuesday, June 13, 2006. Photographer: Adam Berry/Bloomberg News

uh-huh that's right...

what is a crush?

314 Moby Thesaurus words for "crush":
abase, abash, abolish, abrade, affection, afflict, aggrieve,
anguish, annihilate, answer, answer conclusively, argue down, army,
asphyxiate, atomize, batter, bear, bear down, beat, beat down,
bellyful, beloved, beloved object, bend, blot out, bottle up, bray,
break, break down, break into pieces, break to pieces, break up,
brecciate, bring down, bring low, bring to tears, bring to terms,
bruise, buck, bumper, butter, calf love, capacity, case, cataplasm,
censor, charge, chew, choke off, clamp, clamp down on, clamping,
clamping down, cluster, cohue, comminute, complement, compress,
compression, confound, confute, conquer, contradict, contriturate,
controvert, contuse, cork, cork up, crack down on, cram, crash,
crease, crinkle, crowd, crumb, crumble, crumple, crunch,
cut to pieces, cut up, damp down, darling, dash, dear, dear one,
dearly beloved, debase, defeat, degrade, deluge, demean, demolish,
demoralize, dental pulp, deny, depress, desolate, destroy,
devastate, diffuse, diminish, disgrace, disintegrate, dismiss,
disperse, dispose of, disrupt, draw tears, drove, drown, dump,
dump on, embarrass, embitter, ensphere, express, extinguish, fell,
fill, finish, fission, flatten, flock, flood, floor, flour,
fondness, fragment, full house, full measure, gag, galaxy, grain,
granulate, granulize, grate, grieve, grind, grind to powder, gust,
gusto, heap, hold down, horde, host, humble, humiliate,
infatuation, inundate, jam, jam up, jump on, keep down, keep under,
kill, knock down, lading, legion, levigate, light of love, likes,
liking, load, love, loved one, lower, macerate, maim,
make mincemeat of, mangle, mash, mass, master, masticate, mill,
mince, mob, mortify, mouthful, multitude, mush, muzzle, nip,
nonplus, obliterate, oppress, overcome, overmaster, overpower,
override, overthrow, overturn, overwhelm, panoply, paper pulp,
parry, pash, passing fancy, passion, paste, pestle, pinch, pith,
plaster, porridge, poultice, pound, pour water on, powder, press,
pressure, prostrate, psych out, pudding, pulp, pulp lead, pulpify,
pulpwood, pulverize, puppy love, push, put down, put to silence,
quash, quell, quench, rabble, rag pulp, rebut, reduce,
reduce to powder, reduce to silence, refute, relish, repress,
ride down, rout, ruck, ruin, rumple, sauce, scatter, scrunch,
set down, settle, shake, shame, shard, shatter, shiver, shred,
shut down on, shut up, silence, sit down on, sit on, skinful,
smash, smash all opposition, smash up, smother, snootful, sorrow,
spate, splinter, sponge, squab, squash, squeeze, squeezing,
squelch, squish, stanch, stifle, strangle, stultify, subdue,
subjugate, subvert, suffocate, sulfate pulp, sulfite pulp,
suppress, take down, taste, thrash, throng, throttle, tighten,
tightening, torment, trample down, trample underfoot,
tread underfoot, trip up, triturate, truelove, tweak, tyrannize,
unbrace, undermine, undo, unman, unnerve, unstring, upset,
vanquish, wad up, weakness, well-beloved, white lead, wood pulp,
wreck, wrink

BUILDING A SHRINE FOR OUR PAL GARY SHTEYNGART , a former oddonite who went on to bigger possibly better things. here is a link to a most excellent review to his book.


ole

Bjork:
I've seen it all
I have seen the trees
I have seen the willow leaves dancing in the breeze

Thom:
I've seen a man killed by his best friend
And lives that were over before they were spent

Thom and Bjork:
I've seen what I was and I know what I'll be
I've seen it all there is no more to see

Bjork:
You haven't seen elephants, kings or Peru

Thom:
I'm happy to say I had better to do

Bjork:
What about China? Have you seen the Great Wall?

Thom:
All walls are great if the roof doesn't fall
The man you will marry, the home you will share

Bjork:
To be honest, I really don't care
??

Thom:
You've never been to Niagara Falls?

Bjork:
I have seen water
It's water, that's all

Thom:
The Eiffel Tower
And the Empire State

Bjork:
What else was a sigh
and what ails the state

Thom:
Your grandson's hand
As he plays with your hair

Bjork:
To be honest, I really don't care

Thom and Bjork:
I've seen it all
I've seen the dark
I've seen the brightness in one little spark
I've seen what I choose and I've seen what I need
And that is enough
To want more would be greed
I've seen what I was and I know what I'll be
I've seen it all there is no more to see

Thom:
You've seen it all and all you have seen
You can always review on your own little screen
The light and the dark the big and the small
Just keep in mind you need no more at all

Thom and Bjork:
You've seen what you were and know what you'll be
You've seen it all there is no more to see

SANDRINE

bringing the house down...for more please check out...


a splash of sartre and a bit of pinter

the latest addition to oddone high!

yeah michael, sorry milena and i couldn't make it to dancing....
we both had good excuses...

before maude, summit in luxembourg. getting high with coffee shots, ample texting on favourite films Ω tryign to be subtle about what side i support in the world cup

Maude: I should like to change into a sunflower most of all. They're so tall and simple. What flower would you like to be?
Harold: I don't know. One of these, maybe.
Maude: Why do you say that?
Harold: Because they're all alike.
Maude: Oooh, but they're *not*. Look. See, some are smaller, some are fatter, some grow to the left, some to the right, some even have lost some petals. All *kinds* of observable differences. You see, Harold, I feel that much of the world's sorrow comes from people who are *this*,
[she points to a daisy]
Maude: yet allow themselves be treated as *that*
[she gestures to a field of daisies]

maude she will be called. minchia is her second name. she better start getting used to it.

by unanimous agreement...
she will be known as LA MINCHIA

minchia for short.





woof

we have a new addition to the family...
the names tossed around range from sushi to lola, from bach to agrado.

HELP!

i recently discovered a pal of mine bears some UNCANNY parallels with one of my favourite men of all time: jeffrey bernard who of course was immortalized by that other favourite man of mine (Er...i guess i have a few): peter o'toole

anyway i stumbled into some of his musings on random london pubs..and here is a taster. dark. funny. my kind of thing.

The Raynes Park Tavern, Raynes Park

gimme a D! gimme a U! gimme an M! gimme a P! what's that
spell?!? yep, we got ourselves a 24 carat sh1thole here.
terrible place. no kronenbourg last night, murderous punters.
absolutely appaling clientele: mostly tramps and hobos. love it.

The Argyll Arms, Oxford Circus

this place is an oasis. slap-bang in the middle of town, it's ideal for that pint you need after a gruelling tube journey into town. plenty of fruities. nice dark corridor to hang around in and quietly shake.

Zebrano, Soho

ideal for pulling young slappers

The Coal Hole, Strand

nice little mid-town dump this. spent many a happy hour here. good for when you forgot the balaclava and you need one to steady you before you get on the tube back home.

sao.paulo.curitiba.jpg">
the world cup is a wonderful time i find to unleash outright, blatant, in-your-face xenophobia. it comes round every four years and all bets are off. you can be the most tolerant being on the planet. accepting. respectful of different cultures. but damn it, this is the WORLD CUP. and the nips have no business playing. the koreans can go back to eating kimchee. the KRAUTS well don't even get me started on the second world war. the BRITS, may the HAND OF GOD STRIKE YOU DOWN AGAIN. the ITALIANS, PLEEEEEEEEEEASE you overpaid whimpy pasta-chomping mamma's boys.

phew. not sure where all that came from. bottom line is that the world cup brings out the patriot in all of us and the verbal hooligan in me. even those that don't give a damn about football. suddenly we are all crying in front of a national anthem. getting teary-eyed seeing a flag. remembering the malvinas. well, every four years for a couple of weeks, i turn unfathomably into something that froths at the mouth then, i just go back to being well, me. dribbling.

COUNTDOWN: ONE

Caminhando e cantando e seguindo a canção
Somos todos iguais braços dados ou não
Nas escolas, nas ruas, campos, construções
Caminhando e cantando e seguindo a canção

Pelos campos a fome em grandes plantações
Pelas ruas marchando indecisos cordões
Ainda fazem da flor seu mais forte refrão
E acreditam nas flores vencendo canhões

Vem vamos embora que esperar não é saber
Quem sabe faz a hora não espera acontecer
Vem vamos embora que esperar não é saber
Quem sabe faz a hora não espera acontecer

Os amores na mente, as flores no chão
A certeza na frente, a história na mão
Aprendendo e ensinando uma nova lição
Caminhando e cantando e seguindo a canção

I AM ALL ABOUT THIS

rewind back to the distant 2002... i get locked out post that SUBLIME world cup victory because i'm too bloody excited and er..high to think straight. it's 4 a.m. in the morning. after 2 seconds of mild panic, i decide fuk it, lets celebrate. i begin to flay my arms in joy and wonder in nothing but my underwear (yes, i did wear them back then), an oversized t-shirt emblazoned with the above and a shit-faced grin. while doing my own impression of the samba with some real brazilians i had picked outside my front door and thought they might be able to teach me to samba straight (not the case), we take our show on the road to hyde park. let the good times ROLL AGAIN!!!
COUNTDOWN: 3 DAYS

so how personal should a blog get?

should *I* spill my guts out for all to stumble upon incidentally, hoping and expecting that
YOU will form some kind of random connection with ME when you just happened to be clicking absent-mindedly and mechanically on the next blog? after which maybe you will be sufficiently amused, perhaps intrigued, possibly tickled (dare i say moved) by what happens to be the first line or image that crops up on your screen? so much so you may wish/venture to comment anonymously? i wish..but no.

are blogs actually bullshit?
a self-reverential in-joke between friends?
a way to keep in touch with people you love yet see all too rarely?
a subliminal message pregnant with hidden meaning that only you and one other could possibly grasp if only they had ears to hear and heart to understand?
in a world (where on the cards) it's never been easier to speak in whichever form this could manifest itself, isn't a blog just the last shred of hope that maybe someone out there that you don't know/or actually know all too well may actually GET you?
and will anything that extends 10 lines actually bore any inadvertent reader SUFFICIENTLY to prompt him/her to switch off and google brangelina (or whatever it is you google daily) instead of wasting another scrap of precious time on you (*me)?

anyway, i guess the lesson learnt is that it's always better to keep it light and FROTHY.PEPPY and cheap.
though i guess my real answer is buried somewhere (and everywhere/or neither) in all of the above.
sometimes catching a glimpse might be enough.

a symbol of tenacity and stubborn determination
in practice: hopelessly devoted, loyal, docile. would rather spend their days lounging around the house being flatulent than doing a scrap of exercise (they're bowlegged the little darlings...)

in short my kind of dog.
am tapping into the inner bulldog this month. cause am sensing i'll need it. it's called the don't fuk with me or i will er...(kill you with gas?)

in the sublime Bugsy Malone children played gangsters. in the canine version of say godfather the bulldog could have totally barked and scowled, bar brief farts between takes, through this GEM:

Fred, you're nothing to me now. You're not a brother, you're not a friend. I don't want to know you or what you do. I don't want to see you at the hotels, I don't want you near my house. When you see our mother, I want to know a day in advance, so I won't be there. You understand?

** NEWS FLASH ** LATEST LOLA UPDATE FROM SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT IN LAGOS

lola is in local paper on style page.
foto is from the nite i
sw her when she was in alicia keyes mode. she only does the
braids about once a year. they were down to waist.

over a perfect rainbow, capturing the fleeting moment, milena and i mull, over some warm sake, the state of our love lives.




her future boyfriend...









and errrrr mine.

toxics try to cosy up to mile's feet over an afternoon of meglio gioventu'
milena, drifting in and out of snooze mode, pipes up considerably in one scene. ahem. i cry more or less throughout 3/4s. of the saga.

post absolute devastation

HOTEL MINA

between 4 a.m. and 5:52 a.m.

amen to milena and her period cramps. that woke her up in timely fashion.
my hero.

VIVA LA SNOOZE
LOVE HER

where to start. rewind 10 odd years back. living together in london as poor students.
eating porridge. rocking up to the video store in pyjamas looking for anything french with subtitles. listening to depressing music. wanting to be as cool as kate moss.failing miserably. dyeing each other's hair dodgy colours, such as blue, and developing odd fixation for random and obscure famous/unfamous people. god bless, those were the days.
no love. no sex. no rock n roll.
glad to report that a decade on not much has changed. apart from the porridge. suzanne likes her chips and i like my vodka.