Dear Mr Weather Controller

Dear Mr Weather Controller

I am writing to you in regards to the problems we have been experiencing with the weather from approx April 2012, to erm, now.

I am a fan of a big coat, my faux owl fur I was only able to wear once or twice this winter. I did not expect to be wearing my big thick coats and vintage Adidas rain macs into July.

Now, I don’t really know what this jet stream nonsense is, I’m not one for following the news… I’ll stick to Brass Eye thanks. But it sounds nice? Sounds fun? Is it a ride at Quay West? (Torquay, Devon) I’m presuming the situation might improve if it goes? Let’s make it happen. May I suggest a friendly nudge.

I am a lazy Plymouth mare and I am enjoying watching the entire series of The Sopranos, and I always enjoy an early venture in to my pyjamas and in to the bed… but I like that the summer sometimes prevents me from doing this. Even I have slovenly limits…. but there is serious danger of me advancing in to a serious FFF (fatty fuck face) if this weather doesn’t improve. Admittedly, when the sun does come out, I’ll probably just sit at the park, read a book and enjoy a cider, but still. It’s all about options. There is only so much of Tony Sopranos shirts my eyes can cope with.

The never ending FB status stream regarding the weather, followed by a picture of the rain, this sends me further to retreat. Yes, rain. More rain.

Fortunately, this weather means that the likelihood of my eyes bestowing upon the sight of men in wifebeaters (singlets, vests, whatever) is limited. Buff or not, there is no place for a vest in the city centre, a sweaty pit is a no no thanks. Of course, there is always the over enthusiastic student in his flip flops and board shorts, of course! Mehte; you look like a tosser.

On the flip side, in place of Plymouth ‘maids’ with their ass cheeks and cellulite on show, we still endure the trusty cheap leggin on 80-85% of the local population. Yes, the rules remain the same despite the temperature being 15 degrees; the top needs to cover the tuppence and ideally, be thicker than your average 20 denier tight.

It would be nice to enjoy a little bit of sunshine. I have missed sitting in the sun, with friends, enjoying each others company and some wine of course, let’s keep our fingers crossed for sunny skies and funky clouds.

I remain ever hopeful.

Maisie Snax

An Ode To The Bird

Afternoon all… it’s stopped raining. It’s Bank Holiday weekend, not much in the social calendar for me this weekend, which is a pleasant change. I’ve kept it pretty empty…

Why?

The bird is coming home! The original bird. Best bird. Emma Oakes, now Tomkinson. Emma is my very good friend, who I have known since I worked at Royal Mail in my early twenties. We went to Orrrstraaalia in 2003 with another bird, Kelly, where we consumed ‘Abo’s handbags’ in abundance and ate lots of noodle sandwiches. Kelly parted company with us shortly to go and find her long haired lover from Plymouth, so it was just Emma, the bird, and me. We were the birds, united we flapped. We spent six glorious months together, touring the east coast of Oz, quoting The Office, generally shunning the company of others and seeking carnage opportunities. We met Mario in Sydney, the ginger, brace wearing, Potuguese, Private Investigator trained drug dealer. He was fun, he lived in a huge warehouse and we did party hard. He was one of our favourite people we met, he came to see us in Melbourne and he looked after us. We have lost touch with Mario, but I think of him fondly.

So, Sydney was the birds living with two Jordanians in a flat. Not a great expeience, they insisted on not wearing tops and excreting their excessive body hair everywhere. They watched Ice Age and another generic gash Disney film more often that I considered healthy. We went to Melbourne.

Melbourne was THE BEST. We started to speak to other people, and we worked in a great job making ‘heaps’ of dollar and making badges. We lived in St Kilda, and ate thai and drank lots of VB (Victoria Bitter). We frequented many cool bars, indulged at the casino and I discovered Krafty Kuts and we made friends with Neil. He was from the UK but was studying in Melbourne. He had an australian girlfriend, she must have hated us (I’m certain she did). We cared not, and the birds became a trio.

We had decided we definately wanted to sit on the dock of the bay listening to ‘Sitting on the Dock of the Bay’ and watch the sun come up. We did it. We were living the dream, me and the bird. Jealous? You should be. Melbourne highlight: Asking Dave Gorman after we had seen him at the Comedy Festival, if he would whack off a goat and a horse at the same time for £10,000 (which was my current favourite question, I’m much more grown up now, I promise). He looked at me like he wanted to gut me like a kipper, and we decided he was rubbish for not entertaining me. I was *inebriated* and egged on by the bird.

From Melbourne, we parted, I went to meet my then boyfriend, John who flew out to see me and we had three fun months together before we went home. The bird over-egged her stay and came home 9 months later, up the duff with her Ozzie boyfriend, Jonno. A few fun months and back the bird went to Perth and had the lovely Grace.

Since then the bird has been back a few times, and we always manage to have lots of fun, and an adventure. These are my favourite

*Newquay, just after Christmas. Newquay was very quiet. We drew Chelsea smiles on strangers (and a bin), gatecrashed a private party and threatened people with the fist of fun – which is boxing glove that smells very distinctly of chow-mein.

*Amsterdam. We stole an excellent wig from a basement we thought was a bar. The residents were quite rude, so we picked the wig up on the way out. We like to think that the wig adorned the head of a prostitute. We napped frequently, and went in to a peep show, and laughed at the man who looked like Rolf Harris and recoiled at the smell. We did what the birds do best, shopped, ate, got wrecked and harrased innocents.

Look at us, what a pair of twats by the massive clog.

The Greenhouse. Many a cultural experience shunned for a leisurely beer at this establishment.

The wig.

*New Year 2006. One of the most epic New Years, I think we partied late in to New Years Day at Glynn’s house (which is remisicent of a Nordic lodge), and Jonno shared with us the story of his mums ovarian cyst with teeth and hair. We named him Steve, the cyst. Steve had a right attitude problem. There was spooning, boys dressing up, issuing of receipts, chelsea smiles and the fist of fun.

She is always great to have home, and it feels geat to know she is in the country with her brood… Jon, Grace (who I am going to corrupt and teach her how to do trout mouth) and her new addition William, or Billy. She is loyal, and caring and fun. We compliment each other well and we love to make shapes to dirty beats. I could go on and on about the bird, and all the fun we have. I can’t wait to create some more memories with her in the next two months.

I am hoping to be a focused and hard working bird, and try and get to see her, and Kelly in Perth next year when I am I Vietnam. I figure I will be halfway there….

Aren’t friends great? I mean really great?

Off to the pub now, I hope you all have a great weekend.

Love you bird xx