» Hotel Splendido

Crikey, I take it that no one here has ever been to ATP at Camber Sands...
I went to the one curated by Slint back in 2005. It made one think that perhaps Hitler had the wrong idea when he decided to gas the Jews. Instead he should have sent them all to Camber Sands to freeze to death in what can only be described as an Indie Concentration Camp. Mainly because;

a) It was the middle of fucking February
b) It was so cold there it should have been sponsored by a grinning cartoon figurine of someone suffering from acute hypothermia.

Our chalet apparently had central heating. If it had it then it was most certainly as mythical as a chinese unicorn because despite the pounds worth of electricity we kept pumping into the meter, the temperature didn't go above ball breakingly cold throughout the duration of the three days that we were there. And that's even before you got onto the fact that I went with one of my friends and his mental girlfriend who was trying to get impregnated by him against his will and Ex-Mr-Giro was staying right next door. Most nights saw me and my other female best friend putting on fifteen layers each, pushing our single beds together and huddling together for warmth. Which would make a really good porno film if we weren't both wearing duffle coats. It really says something when one of the highlights of a music festival is taking a massive amount of amphetamines to keep warm and then spending twelve hours hugging a radiator whilst your best mate refuses to come out of a cupboard because she's convinced it contains Narnia.

Still. Fucking great festival though...
(Thu 17th Jan 2008, 20:33, More)

» Stalked

My Shit Stalker Story by Ms Playgirl aged 25 and a bit
Way back when in the depths of 2002 I was quite lonely and very desperate. So, when a Jesus and Mary Chain era Bobby Gillespie lookalike (complete with 80s bowlcut) latched onto me in a club one night I was rather flattered. And when he started snogging me then hey, even better. In retrospect, perhaps I should have noticed the warning signs when I a) repeatedly saw him talking to a wall when I went to the bar to get a drink and b) he ran off towards the end of the evening without saying goodbye. He just disappeared in a quasi-Cinderella-esque manner.

I did see him again a few weeks later and once again he latched on me-mainly by the face. We started dating and it soon became apparent that this young gentleman was a bit...peculiar. He had no social skills whatsoever, wouldn't communicate with any of my friends making me feel I had the boyfriend equivalent of Sooty on my arm, and also point blank refused to drink from any of the taps in my house. Then again, I was living in Stockwell at the time so perhaps he was onto something there.

As time went on I came to the conclusion that whilst I was desperate, I wasn't THAT desperate and decided to kick his bowlcut to the curb. However, being a bit weird, Wallboy didn't take this well. Oh no no no. First he started calling me. Repeatedly. Around fifty to sixty times a day. When I told him to stop he said I must have real self esteem issues for not wanting to date him any longer. When he realised that this tactic wasn't working, he started to hide in the bushes outside my house which actually was quite amusing because he wasn't very good at it and our mental neighbours beat him up because they thought he was a peeping Tom.

Eventually it stopped being amusing and just became downright annoying, so one night in the company of my comedy-Geordie mates and a hell of a lot of Gin, we recorded an answering machine message which just comprised of myself and five other foghorn gobbed people shouting "GO AWAY DAMON!" Surprisingly enough it worked, and after the first ten times of reaching my answerphone he realised he should probably take the hint and fuck off. However, it took a hell of a lot of explaining whenever my parents or my bank manager called me up though...
(Thu 31st Jan 2008, 16:13, More)