PIMPS IN METH-VILLE (why never to go to LAS VEGAS)

You leave Palm Springs and head down the freeway in your Suzuki Grand Vitara. It is likely that you will sit in the same position and travel at the same steady speed for the next two hundred miles. At the beginning of the journey you see trucks gliding next to you filled with onions that look like little bags of money, and apples so red that they look like jewels. As you drive a little further towards your destination, you stop seeing these trucks. The solid reality of onions and apples aren’t desired in the place you are going to this weekend. An apple you can hold in your hand and feel its roundness and waxy skin. An apple you can bite into to taste that sweet liquor as it sprays across your tongue. This weekend, the only apple you will taste will come from an artificial apple flavored ‘Slurpie’ laced with vodka and consumed from an old plastic container shaped like a cowboy boot. You will re-visit this taste maybe once or twice again when you throw up bright-green puke into some plastic flowerpot of some plastic shrub in some hotel somewhere. You have an itch on your foot. You can lean down and scratch it but please keep at least half your attention on the road. Maybe wind down the window a bit, breathe in the desert air. You should know that where you’re going isn’t like the films: there’s no glamorous approach, no sudden transition from golden sand to flashing neon signs. It’s about a hundred miles since you saw that last truck filled with apples. Is it a sign that you will not win on the fruit machines or is it a sign that you will? Either way, it doesn’t matter too much, I can tell you that your winning and losing will eventually cancel each other out until you’re back where you started. Be sure to arrive with enough gas in the tank to get you back to reality, you don’t want your money to run out before you’re able to run away. You drive from quiet towns to a screeching city of sin and bright lights. You should know…Las Vegas isn’t like the films. It doesn’t just appear on the horizon, it seeps into the surrounding desert like fresh blood on a white tissue. The buildings grow up and out, stacking left and right like a giant game of Tetris and you’ve got three lives. Watch that tumbleweed bounce scratchily across the road in front of you, you’re starting to feel like you’re in a video game now. You are travelling with three others; female friends that you’ve known for years. One of them puts the zip code of your hotel into the navigation system and chooses a novelty voice labelled ‘Sling-Blade Bob.’ The accent is one of a raspy, male, American: you think you remember downloading the voice from the Internet. You follow his directions down the busy roads, and begin to feel smaller and smaller in the shadows of tall buildings cast by artificial lights. You can see the name of your hotel to the right however the navigation system does not tell you to exit the freeway. Perhaps the road systems are different here and you have to go around to get in. You didn’t see the “Welcome to Las Vegas” sign when you arrived, so that seems to make sense. Perhaps you have come from the wrong direction. The road you travel along seems to be taking you further away from where you are trying to go but you have faith that the machine will correct itself. One mile until your supposed destination and you begin to feel unsafe. There are very few cars on the road, it is getting dark and you think about those two men who got shot in that suburb of Florida a few months ago. They had gotten lost whilst trying to find an English pub. Bob says “ahh you have reached your destination uhm-hhum, make sure you di’n’t kill anyone, uhhm-hm” You glance to the left and notice the road you are on is named ‘Wild Bob Road’ and you wonder how reality sometimes feels so unrealistic, you feel a bit too much like you’ve been dropped into the beginning of a horror film. There are now no other cars on the road so you make a quick u-turn and speed back the way you came.
What are you doing?
This isn’t right, we’ve come the wrong way.
Shall I put the address in again?
Yes.
Twenty-five minutes later you arrive at the hotel and park the car in a massive multi-storey car park. You wait with one friend whilst the other two go and check in at the desk. They paid for a room for two so you’ll have to sneak in unnoticed. From the car park you take the elevator down to the ground floor and realise that ‘sneaking’ will not be necessary. Standing in a room being constantly pumped with oxygen, you look around at all the zombies watching pixelated fruit swirl around to the constant drone of slot machines and the occasional fake sound of money tinkering on metal; these machines spit out tokens instead of coins. The air makes you light headed, you look down and your patterned shirt blurs into the garish pattern of the carpet. You did well with your comedy “Vegas shirt.”

You look around the casino trying to find the elevator to the hotel rooms and see an old lady being helped out of her wheelchair into a seat by a slot machine. Her cigarette hovers between her wrinkled lips and a square of ash falls into her lap. You see the lift and weave in and out of machines and people to get to it. Floor 23, room 2325. Your other two friends are there, they are excited about going out and exploring. You are unsure, and tired from the drive. You make an excuse and go to sleep.
After a good night’s sleep you feel much better. There is a lollipop shaped like a die on the bed-side table next to your head. You hear about the night that your friends had. They saw Paris and Venice, Justin Bieber and Ashton Kutcher: all fake versions of, of course. For some reason you don’t feel like you have missed out on anything.

During the day people keep stopping you and your three friends to ask where you are going out tonight. At the moment you don’t have a plan. The people claim you can get into various clubs for free and have free drinks for an hour or so. You feel wary that there must be a catch but they convince you that they are only trying to fill the clubs to capacity and prefer that “good looking people attend the venue they are working for instead of ugly people.” At this point the free drinks seem like a good enough reason to go and you can always leave and go somewhere else if you don’t have fun. Besides, if you pretend you are gambling in the casinos they bring you drink after drink for free anyway: They know you’re more likely to bet if you’re drunk.

It’s about ten thirty and you are dressed and ready to make the most of the hour of free drinks. The club is inside the newest hotel in Vegas called ‘The Wynn’. You give the woman standing by a long queue of people your name and she stamps your hand and walks you to the very front of the line. You and your friends each order two vodka-tonics and go and sit at an outside table under some heated lamps. It’s really windy and the palm trees are swaying and your hair keeps blowing into your eyes. You get one or two more drinks before it reaches midnight and the drinks go from being free to being seventeen dollars. You feel like you’ve been pretty lucky: like you’ve saved a lot of money. You will learn later that this is exactly Vegas’ plan: to make you feel like you’ve saved so you then think it is okay to spend. At about twelve fifteen you stand in the corner of the club dancing to bad music. A group of forty-something year old men keep looking over and smiling at you, you turn your back to them and carry on dancing. A man holding a clipboard and wearing a Bluetooth earpiece approaches you and your friends.
Hi, are you ladies having a fun night?
Er yeah thanks
Do you know Jabberwocky?
The dance group?
Yeah
Yes
They are performing here tonight, come and sit at this table, think these guys wanted to buy you a few drinks and have a chat.
What? What do they have to do with Jabberwocky?
They like Jabberwocky too. Just come and relax, they are in Vegas on a business trip and wanted to talk to some interesting ladies.
Wait…that is why you let us in for free and gave us free drinks, so you could make more money out of other people buying us drinks!?
You’re a clever girl aren’t you.
You are by no means happy about being used in this way but decide that so long as you are aware of what is going on, you can stay in control of the situation. You decide you will talk to them for five minutes, get a drink and leave.
You start speaking to one man; he notices that you don’t have an American accent.
Where are you from?
London.
London England?
Yes
They flew you over all the way from there?
Who is ‘they’?
The man pretends not to hear.
Who is ‘they’!?
He hands you a drink and walks away. Another man taps you on the shoulder, you’re beginning to understand what is going on more fully now. You make a few dry, sarcastic comments to the other man and tell him you are about to graduate from college. He leans in and says:
I’m surprised at how intelligent you are.
A bit of spit escapes from the ‘t’ at the end of his sentence. You wipe your face. He clearly thinks you and your friends are hookers and the man who works in the club is clearly attempting to pimp you out. He must be hoping you’d be too stupid to catch on. You look around at your other three friends and from the looks on their faces they all seem to be coming to the same realization as you. As you put your drink down on the table you look at the stamp on the back of your hand to see that it is the shape of a bone.

We left first thing the next day and I did the first half of the drive back to Los Angeles. The weather was still gray and windy as we drove away from Vegas but I could see a panel of sunshine further ahead down the arid road. As soon as the sun came out I put on my sunglasses and saw a road sign that said: ‘You Are Now Leaving Nevada. California Welcomes You.’

TOUR TAURUS 2010

Acquiring a car in America when you are under 25 has its problems and quite a few compromises have to be made. Rosie and I found a place in Venice Beach that were willing to rent a car to us. We were originally going to get a Chrysler Sebring convertible (left) but there was a massive crack in the windscreen, the seatbelt was coming away on the passenger side and then to top it all; when we turned on the engine on it made a sound similar to a dolphin.

It was about 3 hours of going back and forwards between their engineers across town and their offices. but we eventually ended up with this beauty,,,

A Ford taurus typical 'Dad' car.

We have had 'Dad' for over 3 weeks now and he's driven us to the desert, up mountains, down coastlines and clocked up close to 1500 miles.

We just have to ignore the fact that a) the dash board doesn't light up at night. b) He coughs when you turn on the engine. c) The washing fluid doesn't squirt which means someone has to get out of the car and pour water over the screen while trying to avoid a serious injury from the flailing wiper arms. oh and d) there is no back windscreen wiper at all. SWEET

DESERT RADIO GEMS

YOU CLUMSY COCONUT

It's hard to believe for anyone who doesn't know Rosie, but occasionally her graceful, hands and long legs can actually end up doing some pretty clumsy stuff. Alcohol has been known to make 'her condition' worse. So far this holiday, I have to say, Rosie has been doing pretty well with a total of 5 acts of clumsy. A personal favourite was falling up the escalators in K-Mart and then dropping her sunglasses half way down to the bottom. But anyway, you can imagine my nerves skyrocketing when I come into the hotel room to find her lying on her bed with my new mac book pro on her lap and she had rested a massive can of coconut water by the mouse pad and was (i was like NO WAY MAN) TAKING A PICTURE OF IT! Luckily all danger was somehow miraculously avoided but it was a scary moment.



Here's the proof.

NICHOLAS CAGE YOU CAGE MY HEART

SUPER-SURREAL ALMOST CAR CRASH

I was in the car earlier, crusin' past some houses when this massive (like double the size of a normal) greyhound came out of no where and bounded in front of my car. I was so certain that I had imagined it that I looked over to see if it was there and suddenly this car was right in front of me and there was no way we would both get past each other. luckily I just stopped in time, but that really would of been the most embarrassing crash ever (after crashing with a smart car of course) I swear though...this greyhound was the size of a horse!

THAT 24HR TESCO FEELING

Yes, I had hummus and pitta bread for dinner and watched a horror film this evening. Chickpeas and freaky children, what a mental night! I've spent the last 4 days deciding whether it's really worth driving the 0.8 miles to Tesco to buy...milk, blu-tac, gold paint, pens, a big piece of paper and a hosepipe. These things are not essentials but are materials that can provide me with more daytime activities. Mainly, drinking tea, sticking photos to my wall, painting my sofa legs gold and creating a massive yet intricate flow diagram for Bosie. The hosepipe is now useless, due to the rain.

Right now, i'm in bed and again, i'm thinking...shall i go to Tesco? Going to a supermarket in the suburbs after midnight I reckon would be quite entertaining. I really can't think what type of people will be there. Maybe a load of people buying sharpies and gold paint like me. Maybe i'll meet a new freind in the 'seasonal' aisle.

I've been going through my options in my head and trying to decide if it's worth it...(which it definitely isn't) and now I realise why I can't bring myself to go over there. It's because of what happened the last time I went...I was happily perusing down the shampoo ailse when they started playing THE TING TINGS and Cyndi Lauper! Get a grip Tesco! I think the experience was all the more traumatic because they kept shouting "will Sonja please come to the front desk."

I was in a heady scent of herbal essences fruit fusions with 'girls just wanna have fun' blasting from the ceiling and my name being said over and over again. That was at 4 on a Sunday afternoon, God knows what kind of things they play after midnight on a weekday. Think i'll stay at home! Will someone visit me soon!

THE RUNNING PIC (A SUB-GENRE TO THE MIRROR PIC)

Me and Rosie have always been fans of the mirror pic, especially when the mirror is convex...

BUT, a drunken running montage down Sunset Blvd. can be just as entertaining.

We had just left Bardot where we met the slimy limpets which I mentioned before. It was a Sunday night, and we were hell bent on going to 'in-and-out-burger' for some fried onion treats. The road was long and pretty empty of pedestrian obstacles so we decided to indulge in some running pics.







Me aged 12 with Bosie my imaginary friend


Crack mom and social worker

By this point, it was getting a little out of hand and so you can imagine how embarrassing it was when a car full of people that were at a bar with us earlier pulled up. They must have been like 'errrr, what the fuck is going on with these weirdos!?' Anyway, they informed us that in-and-out-burger wasn't going to be open at 2am on a Sunday night and asked us if we wanted to go to one of their houses in Beverly Hills for some more drinks. At first, the head rush and exhaustion caused by the high speed running blurred our judgement and we hesitated around the offer, but when it had sunken in that we weren't going to get any onion treats we accepted.

That is what's so great about L.A, we can be complete freaks and people still want to hang out with us. It's so much effort in London wading through all the people who are too concerned with how cool they are to bother chatttting to ya. TAKE ME BACK!

STACKIN' IT ON SUNSET

One of the top 5 BEST things that happened in L.A which made me laugh to crying point was when Rosie stacked it on Sunset Blvd. It was so unexpected, and it is SO GREAT that i actually have before, during and after shots of the moment.

I'm not sure what it is about falling over that is so hilarious. But i don't know one person who doesn't have to actively suppress an outburst of laughter when they see someone trip up (even if it is a complete stranger).

Before I continue, I should point out that it is not funny when someone ends up really hurting themselves. Laughing at an old person who has just speedily descended some icy stairs to a hip replacement is NOT OK. Saying that, some (insecure) people have picked up on this point and so they pretend they have hurt themselves when they fall over to try and avoid embarrassment. This approach actually makes it more hilarious.

For example, I'm talking about the Liverpool Street office worker who has slipped on a pair of white trainers for a smart/caj jog home to their Canary Wharf tower block...they happen to run past a massive window behind which, colleagues and fellow co-workers are having a very important meeting that they are supposed to be at BUT THEN, just at that moment when his office crush catches his eye, a stray hub-cap of a recently-crashed smart car rolls past his feet and causes him to fall over into an extremely undignified and embarrassing slip n slide. NOW WHAT DOES HE DO?! He's on his own, so if he laughs he'll look crazy, if he runs on pretending it didn't happen he might run the risk of being stopped by the driver of the smart car for a sincere apology. But pretending that he's hurt is the worst move ever! It will draw the attention of all of his colleagues behind the window and they will be asking him how his foot is all week, he might have to pretend to have a limp for a few days or maybe try to get crutches from the hospital to add some realism to his lie.

There are a few lessons to learn about tripping up:

1) If you are fortunate enough to trip whilst walking, then simply break out into a light jog, act like you're trying to catch a nearby bus.

2)If you're with a friend or a member of your family, you're in luck, because you have someone to laugh about the slip up with and then you can quickly move on.

3)Only draw attention to the fact that you've hurt yourself if you are a)unable to hold back tears or b)physically hindered from moving off in a suave and collected manner

4)Don't wear a suit and trainers

5)Don't try and do 'jumping pictures' whilst wearing sandals...

Woah, I went off topic but point 5 Brings it back around again. You see, Rosie tried to take part in an 'action-jump-shot' whist wearing sandals. And without further ado. Here is the evidence...

Way too moody and cool for falling over


Uh ohhhh, trying to jump in sandals Rosie?


The awkward pulling up the trousers shot



Just thinking about it makes me laugh again.

SAWN OFF COYOTE FACES AND BEBE CROC HEADS

VENICE BEACH



On our last day we went to Venice Beach mainly to check out hot old bod and use the public toilets (not)we went cos it was really sunny and hot and who doesn't like to go the beach when the weather's good. Venice beach is a pretty spiritual place underneath all the baby oil and comedy glasses. There were lots of little tables with people selling things from dream-catchers to dried moths. One man offered to make us a bag out of pony skin, which we politely declined.

Spoilt for choice


We took a sunny stroll down the seafront on the search for presents for family and freinds, and don't get me wrong, there were a LOT of sweet keyrings but they were rusty and overpriced. The best shop was this MEGA SPIRITUAL place which had denim shirts with embroidered wolf heads and dreamcatchers on the backs of them. I really could've seen my Dad re-inventing himself with one of those.

The best man we met had this stall with a bebe croc head on it, it was only $20 and i reeeeallly wanted it but i'm not sure how it wouldv'e been taking it into the country so i had to leave it. We asked him how he aquired it and he said he lopped it off himself! haha.(what a zen guy) He had about 3 teeth and reminded me of that John Laroch character in 'Adaptation'.

Rosie texin home about how great Venice Beach is



END

THE BEVERLY LAUREL ♥

I MISS YOU!

HOLLYWOOD WALK OF LAME

When you go to another country on holiday, it's a general rule that you set aside one day for pure tourist activities. On this day it is acceptable to dig out the bum-bag, the solar-powered fan hat and that little chord that holds your sunglasses onto your face. As we were staying in West Hollywood, it made sense to go check out the walk of fame but it really wasn't what we were expecting...

My main aim was to find Nicholas Cage's star and perhaps sellotape a lock of my hair to it or something. BUT I couldn't find it anywhere! Tourists are bad enough at getting around as it is without them having a constant reason to stare at the ground. Usually tourists walk around with their eyes glued to the tops of building and thier mouths wide open but on the walk of fame it was all upside down and even worse.

The shops were over-priced holding grounds for sweaty holidaymakers and were full of junk. I did see one good thing though...a Nicholas Cage $1 bill but it was $7 so i didn't get it, however it's with me in soul and spirit.

We got to the chinese theatre where I think I saw a total of 4 dressed up Jack Sparrows. Overall, the walk of fame was the walk of lame but anyway at least we saw it.

I think this picture sums up the dissapointment when you want the cage and you get the vida loca.

SECRET HANDSHAKES AT CHA CHA

On our third night in LA we went to Cha Cha in Silverlake where we met Andrew and Dustin and a secret society of handshakes was born. I don't think i'll ever get bored of novelty handshakes EVER! Here are some action shots...

"HI! I KNOW I LOOK LIKE A PANSY BUT I'M ACTUALLY A WRESTLER"

Ah yess, for the most part the people that we met in LA were frickin sweet, and really nice but there were a few socially retarded trolls/fakers/smooth-talkers. The best pair was found at Bardot on Saturday night. Me and Rosie were hanging out when this ridiculous chimney sweeping brush of a human glided past us. Rosie tried to touch his hair (for a joke) BUT it was taken the wrong way and he side-eld up to us convinced that we MUST fancy him. haaaa. I find these types of situations rare and very amusing. I'd never usually be nasty to someone for no reason unless they happen to be completely deluded in self grandeur, this guy was, so I didn't feel bad talking back at him at all. He brought out this big speech about how he was a wrestler and asked us if we'd like to go to his house to drink whiskey (and probably wrestle). OH DEAR! He was trying to hang off Rosie's face like an ugly limpet gasping for breath on an exposed reef and was smooth talking his way to gold. When she managed to release herself from his tentacles he came over to me and delivered the exact same suave talk all over again.




There was this photographer going around taking pics for the club night and me and roz were in a picture with this guy...(who was really nice and provided us with fire for the evening)
But then...the guy asked to take a picture of me and the pansy and he said..."Um no, sorry but people actually pay me for pictures" !!!! WOW. nice, real nice.
This comment pissed me off and we was looking at me like I was supposed to be impressed so i said, "Er what? hang on a sec...did you just...did I hear you right? did you just say people pay YOU for pictures?"
Then he looked soooo confused and freaked out that his suave wasn't working on me and said "oh, no, er it doesn't matter" haha. WHAT A DOUCHE I have a picture of him but I can't put it on yet cos I don't have my camera chord. But it will come.

As if this guy wasn't enough, his cousin then came up to us who also looked totally ridiculous. He had this super-dodge mustache which was all wonky so that he looked like a botched up Dali. At least they provided us with some sort of evening entertainment.

FUCK YOU SAN DIEGO

This is not in order but i'm all for 'save the best til last' which automatically means that the worst has to come first. I'd say only 2 things went wrong on this holiday (Going to San Diego and eating a microwaved, mushroom pattie with a side of vodka cranberry.)

San Diego...
On Thursday the 18th we headed to San Diego on the Greyhound to spend three nights in a hostel by the beach. I must admit, i wouldn't have set foot on a greyhound bus if Seth Cohen hadn't gone on one in the O.C. But anyway...You know that awkward 'walking in late for assembly feeling?' That happened. We were late and the driver waited for us bit we got on and everyone had their bags sitting next to them like fabricy, boxy, children. We thought that a light stroll down the aisle might cause someone to move thier bag to make some room for us but they just stared and tightened the zips. luckily the seat at the very front (the ones the teacher and gap students sit at on school trips) had a bag without an angry keeper so we moved it and sat there.

We had to change buses at LAX, which was a pretty weird experience, the thought of a bus terminal never really crossed my mind. The vending machines didn't have water in them, and everyone looked weird. One woman looked like a pet rock with sunburn.

The next leg of the journey took forever and it was absolutely freeeezing with the air conditioning. About 2 hours in, me and Rosie saw the most terrifying snack of all time! This man got on at Oceanside with a sack full o treats and the Mexican family behind us got a pack of a Cheeto-esque snack, except they were BRIGHT RED! like devil red, and their corny, flavouring covered texture made them look a but fury. If you were to quickly glance over you'd swear that they were shoving stuffed toe sock toes into their mouths. it was GROSS!

The weather on the way down was really good and we had high hopes...of course we weren't expecting the four seasons from a hostel but we thought that if anything was bad we would just soldier through and take the piss. From the greyhound station in San Diego, we got another bus to Banana Bungalow. By this point the sun was on its way down and it was getting a bit cloudy, i guess it was a nice bit of pathetic fallacy that we should have noticed and ran. Walking down the street that the bungalow is on, we see this bright yellow box and try laugh off how shit it looks but it was to get WAY worse.

Through the door, everyone is having free hot dogs 'cus its free hot dog Thursdays guys' choosing to swiftly bypass that we go to the desk to check in. However, I was under the impression that when we booked online, we'd already paid, but apparently not, so we had to hand over $75. I don't think I have ever or will ever hand money over to someone so begrudgingly. We were shown to our room which was like a souked up, messy and army barracks. We had to get out as soon as possible, so we went to have dinner by the beach, which was one of the only redeeming factors of the san diego trip.

When we went back we knew we couldn't spend three nights there and we managed to get our money back for sunday night. We were in bed at 11 reading comedy (but supossed to be serious) novels from the comunity book shelf. the last page of one of them was so shit...something about slaying a wasp and the 'fragments of the wasp writhing in the dry sand' the author wrote wasp so many times, probabaly owing to the fact that the thesaurus isnt going to breing up any alternatives for her to use. Going to sleep so early carried with it the same concept as sleeping early at Christmas; the sooner we slept, the quicker the day would come and we could escape and spend the day on the beach. This would've been fine, except it was raining and cold the next day, it was like finding a croc mammoth in your stocking and we decided to JUST LEAVE!

Getting the greyhound again was not an option so we decided to take the AMTRAK instead. We ran to catch the 4pm train but missed it by 10 seconds,and had to wait until 5.55pm, which was fuckin tarky! The train was much nicer tho, it was freezing as well unfortch so I had to stock up on jumpers which all happened to be different shades of peach melba. My hair was fuzzy, I felt like shit, and I looked like an OAP from Florida and so....we got drunk. haaaa. best idea ever which gave birth to the best new drink ever, the MOUNTAIN JEW (Moutain dew and gin)

BOSIE ROAD AND BANJO PHARRELL HIT SOUTHERN CA

...well Los Angeles for 13 days and San Diego for about 13 hours.

On the 10th of June, country music ledgends Bosie and Banjo took a jet plane to BIG A completetly unaware of how much magic would get stuffed between the bready layers of heathrow terminal 5. To carry on with the sandwich metaphor, Bosie and Banjo's hol was a BLT (Big Lush Time)

Detox starts here. But first I have to re-live all the super-sweet-amazing things that happened, it might take a few days but I dont want to miss anything out.

PIGEON

A Pigeon fell down my chimney and i almost had a heart attack

Found some GEMS

I was sorting through a load of old stuff and found this notebook. It was from when I was 11. Here are some of my personal favourite lines (all spelling and grammar mistakes uncorrected)...

"Hello to me next time i read this I am 11 years old almost 12 this is a secret book so if you name isn't Sonja Farrell do not procced and further thankyou" (i don't think i believed in punctuation)

The book then has various things to fill in

If you had to listen to one song for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Craig David 7 days. (hahahaha)

If you were the richest person in the world what would you spend your money on?
Cloths

Then there is this abruptly ending story called "How the world came to be"

Over the mountains and down the valleys of the very top of mount dragon fire there was a tiny village were only 12 people lived. They were not like the people below the mountains a place they christened "hell" where big machines ruled the land where the land was covered in toxic waste people smoked and drunk and crime was at a high percentage no! they loved in heaven the place where animals thrith and birds sing beautil songs no waste no crime smoking and drinking didn't even exist and the people were happy. The 12 people's religion was called the fire breathing dragantariuns this isn't because the people breathed fire it is because they worshipped a fire reathing dragon. This story is about a little chinese dragantariun boy called Mark, he lived in the smallest family it was just him and his mother Dlina he didnt have a father well he did but he got sent down to hell because he said that the dragon breathed water and not fire and never went to the story ceremonies that everyone was ment to go to it was only twice a week mondays and fridays these days were Mark's favourite days because he loved hearing stories. The stories were told about the fire breathing dragon and how he used to rein heaven until about 100 years ago when he retired. some people say he's still alive and others don't they are stories of him breathing Amber flames out of huge nostrels and he get angry he sets hell alight to punish the evil.

It was Friday, the story ceremony was to start in 2 hours and Mark was eating his breakfast Dlina came into the room and reminded him to touch the religious stones this action had been passed down for generations

(then it just stops, i have NO idea where I was going with it)

Why I dislike Nigella Lawson and other stories.

Nigella Lawson

Before, I get called simply ‘jealous’ for disliking Nigella Lawson I would like to point out one small thing…I am NOT jealous of Nigella Lawson. Frankly, I find her a little gross. Her excessive finger licking and the way she almost stirs her food with her cleavage is so obvious that it becomes quite uncomfortable. I have a friend who worked on the set for one of her programmes and apparently, before they started filming they hoisted her up in this weird corset and then she went into a room to choose which cashmere jumper she’d wear for the day. This sort of ritual before filming a cookery programme seems a little absurd to me. So, the only good thing Nigella has done for anyone is upping the sales of cashmere jumpers and ‘spanx’ control tights and making the odd person remember that amazing R Kelly song ‘Sex in the Kitchen’.


Delia Smith
As bland as a potato, Delia has been called the Margaret Thatcher of the cooking world. She is the complete opposite to Nigella in her style, however, like Nigella, she can’t cook. When I saw her programme ‘how to cheat’ I was appalled when she showed how to make roast potatoes by emptying out a bag of frozen potatoes onto a baking tray and putting them in the oven!


Gordon Ramsey
I really love ‘Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares’ especially USA because it’s just such great tv. If people are going to run such disgusting and unhygienic restaurants then they deserve to be sworn and shouted at. However the programme is not so much about cooking but more about humiliation, but as long as you’re watching other people being humiliated I guess it’s okay. Although I do find it quite strange how at the end of the programme he’s so psyched up that he starts to act a bit like a rabbit which is on crack, with mixymatosis and caught in car headlights.


Anthony Worrall Thompson
The main problem I have with W T is that he resembles more a root vegetable than a human being. If you’re able to look past that,you still need subtitles before you can work out what he’s saying. I have a feeling that Robin Cook is his long lost brother…


Lloyd Grossman
Oh and who remembers master chef in the 90s where Lloyd Grossman had an actual waxwork of himself in the studio. This must have been where the celebrity chef arrogance all started. “Hey I can make sauce, worship my waxy idol.” I did use to like the odd impression when I was a kid. I remember vividly when I was in pre-prep doing a Lloyd Grossman impersonation in the dining hall to impress a boy in the year above. This didn’t work out and it ended up with me getting my first detention (He bent a load of spoons and put them under my chair then said I did it.)

Jamie Oliver
Then there’s Jamie Oliver. Poor, nervous, clammy, little Jamie. Some of the first viewers probably stumbled across his programme ‘The Naked Chef’ thinking it would contain naked cookery with a Eurotrashesque narration. But instead they find a sweaty, bumbling Jamie, not naked but wearing a GAP hoodie and some faded jeans. So did ‘Pucca’ catch on? No it didn’t, well maybe it did for a short time among estate agents at Foxton’s but even that’s a long-shot.
awww



Marco Pierre White
He runs around hell’s kitchen looking like an over-grown feral child playing Rambo with that stupid scarf around his head.

Gary Rhodes

No. I never got him. As a general life rule, I am not going to trust anyone on TV who has had the same hairstyle for more than 10 years. He looks completely ridiculous! I don’t know, maybe he’s got one up on the world, and when he has eaten a particularly stick in teeth dish he cracks off one of his hair spikes and uses it as a toothpick. There’s an amazing clip in Keith Floyd’s old show where Gary is just starting out as a chef and Floyd is so wasted on wine that he keeps calling him the wrong name. SO GREAT

Heston Blumenthal
Heston is a sex obsessed scientist before he is a chef. But ‘Heston’s feasts’ was one of the best programmes I’ve seen all year.


Hugh Fernley Whittingstall

Now he is more like it. I love Hugh, Hugh drives a Land Rover and takes the same train that I do up to London. He is like a countrified and much friendlier version of Marco Pierre White. I always admire people who go all out on whatever it is. His bird inside a bird inside a bird thing is a highlight.

Gary Rhodes
No. I never got him. As a general life rule, I am not going to trust anyone on tv who has had the same hairstyle for more than 10 years. He looks completely ridiculous! I don’t know, maybe he’s got one up on the world, and when he has eaten a particularly stick in teeth dish he cracks off one of his hair spikes and uses it as a toothpick.

It seems as though (just like all celebrities) the chefs mercifully cling to their gimmicks. Gordon Ramsey swears too much, Jamie Oliver plays the ‘guy next door’ Lloyd Grossman is the posh one and so on. There’s just one celebrity chef I have no problem with an that’s Rick Stein. Stein is perfect

R.P

Ok, Robert Pattinson is definitely sexy but i do find some things connected with him slightly ridiculous. First of all the whole sparkly face thing in 'Twilight' was (although alluring) pretty disappointing. I was hoping for something more like those dead pirates in 'Pirates of the Caribbean'. Also, Salvador Dali. What is this!?

I will go and see 'Little Ashes' and I hope that the moustache will look more convincing in motion.