SMELATHON

SO another weekend and another cave of gems:

ONE] Hospitals don’t all smell the same: After having spent some of last weekend in one [don’t panic. I was

         visiting.] and frankly dreading the smell that hits you as soon as the first wall of smoke finishes seeping

         into your lungs [from the people attached to drips and their cigarettes alike just outside the front doors– a

         pretty awful thing to see], I was amazed. This hospital had managed to blitz the hell out of the ‘school

         dinners-mixed-with-bleach-and-sick’ smell and replace it with a more bearable waft of coffee, slowly

         morphing into that of sweets. Whilst this might seem like I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, I can’t

         tell you how much more relaxed I felt. Its as though the tenseness disappeared with the realization that I

         wasn’t walking into a building smelling like a stale school kitchen taken over by zombies. If I felt like this

         then surely the patients felt the same way? This, after all, can’t be a bad thing. One other phenomenon

         that struck me was the airport-esque corridor leading to the wards. There was a food shop that looked like

         something out if Disneyworld just less Disney, and a Boots. A Boots at a hospital?! I can’t say this was

         my highlight, more an interesting observation on a strange weekend, but I am just glad that the person I

         visited is on the mend and happy to say that they will receive one massive [gentle] hug this weekend

         courtesy of yours truly.

These are definitely more colourful than the school dinners

I remember. Even the trays were beige.

TWO] The Paralympics Opening Ceremony should have been called ‘The Paralympics Parade’: Eight thirty: not

          a particularly early time to start [especially considering most people needed lashings of red bull to stay

          awake for the last one] but I thought I’d give it a go. I just have one question: What happened after

          Mexico waked in? This, my friends, is when my eyes gave up. I could stay awake watching athletes walk

          into the stadium no longer.  Had the games started earlier, more people would most likely be able to

          answer my question. I’m probably going to watch the rest of the ceremony on 4oD in fast forward but

          really, not even the fireworks could keep me awake this time [after having spent the rest of the nights this

          week desperately trying to sleep..]. So here’s my plea Seb Coe [obviously he’s reading] If you must put

          the closing ceremony on a week night, please start it at a time that won’t see us walking into work with

          oversized sunglasses , lining up shots of coffee like Lindsay Lohan lines up tequila sunrises.

Apparently this happened. When did this happen?!

THREE] My Chilis look great! :)  My Chilis still aren’t actual Chilis! :( Yes, though my plants have completely

             overtaken the window ledges, threatening to move themselves to a more spacious part of the flat, they

             still have yet to produce the only thing they have to produce. This is as absurd as sweet shops not

             selling sweets, footballers being paid millions of pounds and not being able to score a single goal

             [imagine], going on a summer holiday to ICELAND. Anyway, here’s an example of what I’m being faced

             with. If anyone has any ideas as to when I should start seeing some chili growth please…put me out of

             my misery.

Scotch Bonnet and Jalapeno Madness. No, not the name of a pizza.

American Chili and Unnamed Chili! Still no chili.

Another weekend ahead and hopefully more sleep.
If I don’t get any of that, I’m sure next week’s post will be interesting to say the least.
Also, did I mention I Stanley has Twitter? BE STANLEYS FRIEND : https://twitter.com/stanleysays1

STANLEY

CANTINAUGHTY

It is Thursday once again and thank goodness I seem to have learnt something new [lord knows how].

ONE] Cantina at Southbank is better than the shows you've seen this year: Fact. I was lucky enough to be
         bought a ticket and taken down to the beach-side resort that is Southbank [until the end of September].
         As soon as you walk under an unassuming sign you enter into a world of 1930s ish-beachy-fairground

         mania; bar stools replaced by bumpercars, lager taps replaced by Pimms taps [i'm not even lying], and

         jeans replaced by petticoats and frilly socks. I knew i'd enjoy this performance even before I stepped into
         the Carnivàle-style tent, complete with a swinging '5 minutes 'til the start of the show' sigs, suspended on
         a trapeze, slowly making its way from one end of the tent to the other. Then the music began. One man
         and his ukulele [no innuendo intended], jollying us all into what was to become a sort of time-travelling
         experience with a touring band of very talented contortionists etc At one point one of the ladies began

         walking all over [and by 'over' I mean 'on top of very vigorously and slowly'] one of the gentlemen
         performers. Yes, the stiletto heels were dug into places unimaginable without a squirm, ending in an

         unbelievable display of complete bodily strength. Without giving too much away, there is nudity, hangings, 

         breathless moments and music that instantly transports you to the 1930s [or is it 1920s. The music I
         forget. The hair and interior design I do not.] Please do not however [under any circumstances] watch this
         performance if:

                 a] you are squeamish. We're not talking blood here. Everything but that.

                 b] you're one of those people who does the opposite of important statements like "Don't try this at
                     home." If you value your life, i'd sit this one out.

                 c] you don't like curly bobs, braces and muscly women.

       As soon as the show stopped I wanted to learn every gymnastics stunt known to man. Then I went for

       dinner.

       Prices for the show range from £50 to £10 ending on Sunday 30th September. HURRY!!

The entrance to the tent. Why can't the entrance to my room look like this?

During the performance I heard screams. I thought it was the tiger at the back of the tent
having a human feast. It wasn't.

TWO] Prince Harry likes to get naked: We already know he likes to dress up as autonomous, infamous
         Germans, and now we know he likes to get naked. This story wasn't so much shocking as it was
         annoying. Annoying for one reason: I couldn't work out whether I felt sorry for him or whether I thought
         he was completely ridiculous. On the one hand he wants to have fun in the playground with all the other
         twenty-something children. Nothing abnormal here. Just acting his age. On the other hand HE'S IN LINE

         TO THE THRONE OF ENGLAND. Well there you have it. Decision made. With great wealth [and a crown]

         comes great responsibility [and journo-dodging].

I'm not sure he needs any more of this suspicious-looking drink.

THREE] My chilis are taking over my bedroom: I mean they aren't physically growing arms and throwing things
             at me whilst sitting in their bamboo thrones, they're just growing a LOT and this has made me a very
             proud chili-mamma.

They may not be tall, but my goodness their leaves are large.

I know, you can't believe your eyes yeah? 

And whilst I may ignore the fact that my plants have spawned no actual, tangible chilis, I can not ignore the fact that tomorrow is Friday, the day of fry [chips will be eaten], and the beginning of another weekend [thank goodness].

I'll be back in seven [days] with some more things that i'm bound to have learnt this weekend in Birmingham.

STANLEY

NEWPORT FISTICUFFS

Is it really Thursday again? This week has only taught me two things. Two great things though:

ONE] The Orange County is not on a far off planet: Whilst this might seem obvious, it is sometimes easy to

         forget. I have been involved in a sporadic O.C binge which has brought me to the middle of Series 3. And
         really, it shouldn't take long to get to this point when you realise that once you pop you can't stop.

         Every time I watch an episode I get whisked away to a [seemingly] unreachable heavenly habitat
         [shootings, bitchiness and alcoholism aside]. So today I decided to see just how unreachable the O.C

         actually is. To my absolute delight I discovered that you can actually stay on Newport Beach, rubbing

         shoulders with the Marissas and Seths of the famed stretch, without having to sell your laptop, family
         and organs. To stay at the Newport Channel Inn sets you back $71 dollars a night. Oh em BEE gees. This

         means I could actually be there, swigging back Mojitos, surfing [which I can't do] until dusk and joining

         in a random beach party where someone gets in a fight and nearly drowns. AWESOME. If i'm missing
         at some point next year it can only mean one of two things:

               a] I've run away to Newport Beach, or

               b] I'm on a train to the airport to catch a plane to Newport Beach.

Feel free to photoshop yourselves in. There's plenty of spacial opportunities.

You TOO could be walking out of a pool-house, around a pool.

TWO] Blur are a truly great live band: The Closing Ceremony Gig took my great expectations and threw them in
          the overflowing, Heineken-filled bins. The weather was the first thing to hit me. Pure heat and glaring sun
          which, for some reason made me decide to wear a polo top and a jumper. [Disaster. The shorts didn't

          even save me.] Clothing fiasco aside, the weather set the scene perfectly for this festival-esque

          setting, with Bombay Bicycle Club warming everyone up [as if we needed that] for what was to prove a
          day of surprises, pizzas and fist fights. New Order were disappointing, and the whole blame can't be
          put on the volume [although this was a pretty big issue of the day, that and choosing where the hell to
          eat]. It seemed they lacked excitement, leaving the songs slightly lifeless and drawn out, with 'Isolation'

          being a great example. Still, The Specials more than made up for that, battling the volume with all the

          trumpet riffs and harmonica slithers a pissed-up crowd on a summers' day could ever need. Seeing a

          whole park switch from bobbing on their left foot to their right foot to 'Message To You Rudy' was a

          weird and beautiful experience. By now we're all singing along to the Closing Ceremony songs on the
          big screen until park life unexpectedly starts playing. The stage slowly opens and blur run head first into

         'Girls & Boys' which had the same effect as giving a whole tube of red smarties to a child that's been

          locked up in a quiet house all day. True to form, they played some classics, some b-sides and and
          an encore which left us with the distinctive 'The Universal'. My favourites were definitely 'Trimm Trabb', 

          Parklife [not only because we were graced by Phil Daniels' vocal assistance and Harry Enfield in a
          maid's outfit, but because I saw a shooting star fall across the left of the stage as the song was finishing]

          and the eerily delicate 'This Is a Low' which saw pretty much everyone attempting to hit those high notes.

          Blur played with skill, energy and a general excitement to be there, baring their life's work to what felt like

          the whole of England. Just one thing:

                 a] Why do people think it's ok to repeatedly smash someone's face in because they've had some

                     beer? and

                 b] Why do people think it's ok to repeatedly smash someone's face in because they've had some

                     beer WHILST BLUR ARE PLAYING?

         Apart from feeling slightly sick when the first violent person I saw was greeted by kisses and smiles from

         his clearly deluded girlfriend, I had an incredible day. A wave goodbye to the Olympics and a wave hello
         to many more hours of Trimm Trabb-repeat-Trimm Trabb-repeat.

Here's a photo from the day that I did not take. Imagine that AND a shooting star. 

No chili update today so expect a massive amount of leafy goodness in the next one.

Maybe even something positive about the Jalapenos? Doubt it.

STANLEY

BLURRY BREADNESS

Another Thursday and another week of things learnt and lost. This post’s gem isn’t particularly useful, but kind of exciting:

ONE] The blur, New Order & Specials gig I am going to on Sunday is the official Olympic Closing Ceremony

         shindig. I had no idea! As if this event wasn't super enough, I finally get some of that Olympic

         atmosphere I’ve been searching for [ironically on the celebration of its last legs]. This gig is going

         to be amazing for several reasons:

               a] I’m one of those people who really liked the odd blur song they heard but never got round to buying

                   [/illegally downloading] more than three songs. Call me apathetic, but I’ve definitely made up for it,

                   armed with 25 of their ‘greatest hits’ and having read half of Alex James’ brilliant autobiography, 'bit

                   of a blur', which anyone would be able to do with one eye closed, both arms tied behind their backs, 

                   sitting upside down after a barrel of rum. I've now realised just how great they are and am as
                   excited as the kid who's rubbish at sports but miraculously gets picked first.

              b] I haven’t been to a great gig in a while because I don’t remember the last one I went to before

                  electricity in our homes [who I’d advise seeing live before, not after, you’ve bought their album to

                  save disappointment]. This is therefore going to include lots of shouting out of tune, lots of hip-flask
                  swigging and lots of atmosphere hogging if the weather decides to co-operate. It’s like a chocolate

                  brownie recipe, just less chocolatey.

               c] The tickets were a gift to celebrate my boyfriend’s 25^th Birthday which I have always been told is a

                   ‘special’ one. I have come to the conclusion however that I am the only person in the entire world

                   who includes this in the list of important celebrations. Everyone I tell looks at me like a five year

                   old boy I’ve accused of liking girls. If you are someone who thinks the big two five is up there with

                   18 and 21 then PLEASE get in touch, if only to assure my sanity.

That dog looks as big as a donkey. Does it play the maracas? Is it Bez?

TWO] My chilis are going MENTAL. Not in a bad way; finally they are happy and deciding to show me some life.

         Bye bye scrawny, pea-coloured weeds.- hello mighty, airbrushed stallions!

Looks like the lavender was an amazing idea!

The chilis clearly love a competition and seem to have grown both upwards and outwards

[may also have been watching too much Supersize Vs Superskinny though. I’ll have to check].

Probably should have taken a birds-eye shot of these ones.

Trust me though, they’re slowly getting there. Whether they can be bothered to actually produce chilis after the struggle growing to this stage has been is an entirely different matter.

THREE] My obsession with bread is getting worse. I now can not go into Sainsbury’s without leaving with some

             bread. Depending on the day I’ve had, I’ll buy one roll or an entire loaf. Who buys bread as a treat?! At

             least I’m admitting [again] I have a problem. But not only that, I’m encouraging it by asking you all tell

             me where the best place is to buy bread in London is. Yes I like the standard, regal loaf, but I’m talking

             super bread. Bread that could knock Tyson [showing my lack of boxing knowledge] for six, or even

             seven. I’m not phased by shapes or sizes [see old post with picture of shoe-shaped doughy goodness]

             and will try virtually any colour. I’m aware this is starting to sound like a lonely hearts ad, but I’d

             welcome the suggestions.

Hopefully this weekend will have taught me a multitude of things including what London’s favourite blur song is and, for example, how much bread a person can eat in five minutes.

STANLEY

BRAVEHEARTATHLON

After a weekend of batman, free arm massages at Jo Malone and a six mile run on a Sunday [I didn't go willingly. I'm clearly not a 'Sunday Person'], I should probably have learnt a whole lot about a whole lot.

That didn't happen, but this did:

ONE] Braveheart sneaked into my top ten films: I can't say what other films are in this list, but Braveheart is
         certainly one of them. Yes, it may have veered as much off course from actual events as Lindsay Lohan

         in a car after a two-day bender, but it is wonderful for three reasons:

             a] The cinematography makes you want to jump on a steam-train direct to the Highlands. 

             b] There's an easy mix of gore, love, history and overgrown body hair to suit almost everyone and, 

             c] it's pretty fun to try and catch Mel Gibson out with his Scottish accent which is [surprisingly] mainly
                 spot on.

You see this face a LOT. From every available angle.

         I'm not sure how many people i've convinced [you've probably all seen it anyway. Being three years old
         doesn't count though], but it has made me want to part with actual money I could spend on food and buy it

         dvd style.

TWO] London has turned into a ghost town since the beginning of the Olympics: I can't say that I've measured
          this on every street on every day, but I can say that each time I have done a [really ridiculously] long run
          around the city, I have probably seen four and a half people [babies don't really count as full, atmosphere-

          providing statistics]. I've seen more people stand around staring at a duck crossing a pavement. What is 

          going on?! I didn't manage to get any Olympic tickets and have managed to miss each road race and
          marathon, but I thought I'd at least get a hint of the festival-like atmosphere here and there. The only
          Olympic-related crowd i've seen is the two people taking pictures of the press-up-ing red bus opposite
          pizza express in Angel:

It does move and there is some music.

The games end this weekend apparently which can only mean one thing. I will be submerging myself into anything Olympic-related from now until Sunday. I will get me some atmosphere. Actually they probably sell it in those newly decorated souvenir shops.

STANLEY

FIFTY SHADES OF CHILL-AY

It's Thursday again and i'm welcoming in the weekend with a few [pretty standard] things i've learnt this week in preparation for another few days with an abundance of knowledge [food/sleep].

ONE] Fifty Shades of Grey outsells Harry Potter: As one of the [ridiculously few] people who haven't read these
         books, you could say that I am in no position [no pun intended] to be shocked by this. Wrong! I was
         forced to read two pages from the first of this trilogy. I can't say I have read a book aimed at adults that

         has been written in a more cringeworthy, basic way, but this is in no way a dig at the author. I think what
         she has achieved is beyond clever - she's created a book that has the same effect as a soap opera,
         requires about the same amount of concentration and is available whenever the reader is free. This was
         obviously a ka-CHIIING idea and E.L James obviously wasted no time in realising that she could easily
         repeat this formula a further two times. As if the engulfment of the entire country wasn't enough, there are
         talks of a film being made: well they'd be fools not too! There's a guaranteed four million people who would
         risk life and limb to see the film, plus the other billion people who secretly wanted to know what happened
         but are too ashamed to buy the books [i may or may not be included in this category]. If on the other hand
         you have no idea what I am talking about, I have deduced two things about you:

               a] You live in a cave in New Zealand.

               b] You've been walking around the streets, sitting on the tubes and walking up and down trains with
                   your eyes taped shut.

Channel 4's documentary/excuse to talk about bondage can be found HERE 

Just remember. The Australian women's swimming team relax by reading these books. They won gold medals.

TWO] Sa Jae-Hyouk is the name of a South Korean weightlifter: Have I been using Wikipedia to the extreme?
          No. No I haven't. I know this because he nearly made me throw up over my computer in front of the whole

          office. Whilst he didn't come to Old Street and say something like "Dappy is my style icon", he did [rather
          selfishly] dislocate his elbow during his event. Why did he have to do this? Why do I keep watching THIS
          little video over and over and over? Who knows? But really, you've got to feel for him. It looks
          horrendously painful and all he let out was one tiny shriek! Plus he had to deal with a flurry of camera
          clicks, forever documenting this awful episode at the London 2012 Olympics. I really hope he heals
          quickly and stays away from the newspapers for at least....ooh..a year?

There are so many angles of the same moment it took me fifteen minutes to pick the most dramatic.
You could also look at this picture whilst listening a song like 'Sing' [blur], if you're a bit bored.

THREE] Chilis like to be re-potted: An obvious statement? Probably - but these chilis were really starting to
             show their age before I put them all in bigger pots with more compost. Here are the results:

Here are the American Chilis and the Unnamed Chilis. I put the lavender there for encouragement.
Probably [definitely] should have put it on the next window ledge ->

The Jalapenos and Scotch Bonnetts. All 'fancy name' and no gut. You can't even see the one on the right.

That's as sad as when the beast gets ganged up on in Beauty and the Beast.

I'm getting a free arm and hand massage courtesy of Jo Malone on Saturday.
They have an illustrator there too apparently.

I'll probably learn a LOT.

SK