Wet Wet Wet

The air conditioning has broken in the studio that I share with James O’Brien.
We are all HOT SEATING in the big studio now.
That means everything has to be picked up swftly before the next occupant takes their seat. Its such a rush that I left my flip-flops under the desk,
Whilst Petrie Hosken & James Hartigan were setting up ‘Drive Time’ I was scrambling around on my hands and knees between their legs….

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Comedy and Tragedy.

There’s something wonderful about driving into the centre of London when everybody is driving out.
On Tuesday night I felt queasy, hung over, and not a little irritable, but it didn’t stop me from jumping into the little red car and heading off to Whitehall – actually it wasn’t so much a jump more a careful sidle.
I was going to the press night of FAT PIG, starring Webb, from Mitchell and and Webb, and Kris Marshall from Kris Marshall…

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Bank Holiday Madness

Its the end of a BIG four days off.
The cottage feels a little more normal, even though there is a big space where the dogs bed was.
On Friday I collected my newly mended motor, handed over the fancy courtesy car and headed off to a new hairdresser. An ex-body builder who now heals. She does a mean cut and colour, which isn’t mind numbingly expensive, but her healing she does free of charge as she believes her power comes from an invisible force.
She so energised me I drove straight home, hood down, mowed the grass and tossed my hair over the compost – because I’m worth it – by the time I got half way through I was smiling. Damn but I love mowing that lawn, I even gave Marmite Girl a little nod as she sent kind regards for the weekend.

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I knew it was going to be tough getting over Jackson, but I didn’t expect melt down.
Jim and I went back to the cottage last weekend..
It was difficult.
The rain turned it into a cliche.

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A pod in Lakeside

We traversed embarassing moments and God today. Quite literally from the sublime to the ridiculous. You picked up my mood, how thats possible over the air waves is beyond me, but you did. One week since we put Jackson down, whichever way you bake it that’s what we did. That damn dog is in my … Read more

Crying for England.

Dear, dear bloggers, thank you so much for your Jackson comments, your advice to cry has been noted.
I am booing at any given opportunity so thanks for that.
23.03. Steve will be in bed, and publish this tomorrow. I couldn’t blog any sooner as I was invited to the Young Vic to watch Jane Horrocks in Bertold Brechts’s Good Woman of Sezuan.
I was really looking forward to it.
In the event it was as bad as it could be.

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Categories LBC

From Russia With Love

This morning I had acupuncture and whatever she did the needles released something.
I cried in the car.
I cried in the loo.
I cried in the shop.
I cried in the studio.
I damn near cried on the show, only I held myself together with some herbal tea and Steve Campen, my producer/mentor/confessor and wind-up merchant.

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Jen-eration Street

Thank you all for your Jackson messages.
I’m over it, and not over it.
I’m unaffected and affected.
I’m completely cool and then I’m like a wet woolley dripping all over the balcony

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23 degrees

Instead of of a run in the sun I took a walk on the wild side.
Driving to Camberwell and dropping off an extension lead for my errant daughter who has to present her final work by the end of this week. She has mangled her middle finger – handy for a bass player -and her computer has broken down.
Talk about sellf sabotage!

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Ruminations after perambulations

The Thames was very low this morning. By 7.30 the smell of the river was earthy and warm. One goose decided to greet me at the steps of St., Mary’s, two cyclists, one lone jogger, with a bandage on his knee, and a gaggle of worshippers for the Parkgate church, all smiled at me, by 8.00 I was serene.
It’s now 8.39, the rest of the flats inmates are sleep.
I have a few more things to do before making a big Sunday breakfast.

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