Tuesday, November 30, 2004

The Unresolved VAN Mystery


Today I received a phonecall which spells the return of my zest for life. And of course, when I am in brilliant mood I can't help but to PICK on SOMETHING. (or SOMEONE at the very least)

This blog examines the VAN mystery. Girls SWOON over this hunk. Female 'soccer' fans WORSHIP his SEX APPEAL.

No, we are NOT talking about KAKA. You wish!

FIRSTLY, this man does not TALK. He ROARS.
ROARS so much you'd assume he's got bio/animal genetics.

Eh??? I thought I saw this lardy truck driver at Hog's Head last week.
Nice townie Nike classic gym outfit.
Sipping on orange juice makes him so MACHO.

How paedophillic. Trying ooze his sex appeal on innocent young children.

Travelling First Class in this classy outfit.
Come on girls, go SWOON over your SEXY man.

I am really sorry, but i am getting very bad vibes from this picture.
Leave it to your imagination: 'There's something about Mary.....'

If you cant get enough of ONE, there are always TWO.

Can someone solve this biological equation,

Friday, November 26, 2004


Crooning on my STEREO: FRIJOLERO by

Christmas is in the air and term is coming to an end, and much too many people have the inhumane intention of getting me pissed.... how unfortunate.

Since there is absolutely no way I can guarantee that my alcohol resistance maintains its peak 24/7, this blog is dedicated to the evil minds out there,

When Lyn is pissed,
1) Thou shalt not talk to her
2) Thou shalt not touch her
3) Thou shalt not go near her
4) Thou shalt not feed her more shots
5) Thou shalt not walk her home
6) Thou shall LISTEN to her
7) Thou shall pay for her taxi fare
8) Thou shalt not take photographs
9) Thou shalt not pretend to be her boyfriend
10) Thou MUST NOT follow her home!!!!!! If she finds you in her flat she will MUTILATE you!!!!!

If any of these commandments are VIOLATED... don't expect to hear from me for the REST OF YOUR LIVES!!!
(yes, Lyn DOES GET SERIOUS!!! Really!!!!!!)

Wednesday, November 24, 2004

New Discoveries.

Crooning on my STEREO: Sobri by LESLIE

1) After an intense session in the pub, the entire course professed their true ages...by far, I am the youngest student in my MA!! But certainly not the brightest.

2) I have been told that the passport photo I usually use for my CV puts employment agencies off.

3) I caught up with a really cool long lost high school friend. This was what he recalled,,,
"...I still remember you as the cute Year 10 girl with the short skirt, coloured shoes and long-sleeved, black cotton sweater. It seemed to be YOUR uniform."
Shit, was this true? Pls. confirm.

4) I am probably the only postgraduate who bothered to vote in Junior Eurovision.

5) I saw a Guns N Roses tribute show on telly just now. Shit, I still miss Axl Rose's lycra tights.

6) Okay, I bought two seasons of Footballer's Wives. I CONFESS!

7) Another confession, I bought Britney's My Perrogative album. Don't rub it in!!!!

8) I have developed an unconcious habit of dancing in the Tube, courtesy of my Mp3 player.

9) I am no longer good in Daytona. I lost to a 'Landan' in Trocadero last weekend!! "INNIT"

10) Seeing Reyes remove his shirt on national television still makes my heart skip a beat.
I really don't know why!!!

Saturday, November 20, 2004

Why Fashion and Football cannot mix.

Today I received the latest Arsenal catalogue in my pigeonhole.

Here we have Robert Pires trying to sell you a bomber jacket for forty two quid.
Firstly, the bomber jacket looks like a bin liner. Secondly, WE, as consumers, are 'supposedly' lured by this greasy Bollywood actor who somewhat reminds us of that fake designer conman lurking in the backlanes of Camden Town. RING A BELL??

Oh dear, whats with this sickly enthusiasm? Is this some sort of chemotherapy costume?
Gone were those triumphant days of Freddie's 'come sleep with me' Calvin Klein G-string campaign. COME BUY THIS UNWASHED STALE PYJAMAS FOR ONLY 20 quid.

I am not sure what he is trying to sell here... Colgate? Sunshine Health campaign? Or a secondhand Arsenal training jumper dating back to 1886? Whatever it is, the whole package costs a whopping 32quid.

This jumper squeezes your internal organs to flatter your body figure. And those JEANS....I have the SAME pair but in a much larger size! ARE MEN GETTING SMALLER OR WHAT?!???

Boxers! Three sexy colours (especially the tartan one) guaranteed to charm your women to DEATH. ALL YOURS FOR ONLY 10 QUID

This is the saving grace. BESTSELLER OF THE SEASON, but only limited to ONE lucky customer. Price on application.
But, then again, I am not too sure about those urchin green trousers....

Sorry, while stock lasts.....

Monday, November 15, 2004

Haagen Dazs

Patricia Franchini: It's sad to fall asleep. It separates people. Even when you're sleeping together, you're all alone.
- Jean-Luc Godard's A Bout De Souffle (1959)

Watched Godard's 'Breathless' two weeks ago, I noticed the above quote. Quite true, I think. You dream alone.
Yesterday, I have coloured my hair. I've given myself a Francoise Hardy hairstyle. Had a facial masque, did a pedicure, gotten rid of the bronzer. Had a bubble bath. Watched an evening's worth of X-Factor and realised how much I am in love with Simon Cowell's wit.

Also, I have stopped crying.

I think i might have woken up from the nightmare. I've stopped whingeing at God's injustice. Surely, my Sammy rainbow would rather see me promise food for his afterlife than to revel at my unproductive drowning-pillows-with-tears session.

I told myself, I will be fine.

I identified with my long lost humour after an attempt at kidnapping two ice-cream boys from Leicester Square's Haagen Dazs. My cousin and I scouted a smiling French bunny at the door clutching a stack of menus (think: Gollum's ''my precioussss'') close to his heart. Just a few feet from us was Colin Firth walking down the Red Carpet. Between the two, we chose to kidnap the French bunny for obvious security reasons.
Today, French bunny had another bunny colleague with him scooping ice cream at Haagen Dazs. So I bought a quid worth of Earl Grey just to investigate this new bunny. New bunny is French bunny's countrymate, in fact, I suspect they are brothers.

No, I have not made the kidnap attempt. Althought I have frequented the place so often with a lot of nasty plans in mind. Remember, bunnies work there every Mondays,Tuesdays and Sundays. Feel free to join me.

The Chinese believe, after the death of a loved one, it is important to have a taste of sweetness after mourning.

I guess Haagen Dazs did it for me.

Friday, November 12, 2004


What do you do when you have lost a colour of your rainbow?
It feels, surreal, you know.
It feels, like, you could never wake up again.
And you don't know what to do.
Even a week later,

You really dont.

My perfect life was embraced by seven colours.
Seven colours; one for divinity.
Five colours for the five beautiful souls whom I eternally love with all my heart.
And one hopeful colour for the stranger who has yet to walk into my life.

On the 6th of November, my rainbow did not seem right.
A colour has faded away.
Much too early.

I thought, I will be home for Christmas, and we will have fun together.
I thought, maybe, he will meet my boyfriend one day.
And i thought, when I am home for good,
We could grow old together.

But on the 6th of December
He never came home.

I don't know where he is.
And I was, and still am, afraid to pray.
He never woke.

I wished I told him how much I loved him.
I wish, that someone will tell me, if I can ever see him again.

If God ever hears my prayers, I will only ask of Him that
He will keep my Sam under His safe wings.

If this was a punishment from vengeful destiny,
then there are many others out there who are left unpunished.

If this was the result of karma,
then our fates are ruled by a blind and infantile force.

If either of this is true,
I will not allow the juvenile nature of Life to destroy me.

And with every courage, I pray that,
after the rain,

My rainbow will look just as beautiful as it did before.

Friday, November 05, 2004

A Study of Style

Today I made an expedition to Harrods in pursuit of self-gratification after a horrendous week. In fact, I am in the Dress Circle Restaurant (2nd floor, Ladies Department) as I am typing this, munching on an intoxicated brownie (the cheapest lunch in the area) and a bottle of the most fucking most expensive diet coke in the world.
Knightsbridge is a lovely area. No suspicious truck drivers staring at your clothes nor kitchen boys eyeing your laptop bag. Harrods staff endlessly pacify you if you look eager to spend above 50 quid at their till for the day. (as for me, I can only pathetically flash a pale debit card, thus they lose their smiles). Smiling security guards open doors for you, but lose their pleasant disposition if they spot an Osama look alike lurking around the entrance. Cosmetic counter salesgirls have an annoying habit of addressing you ‘madam’ even if you look painfully under aged to be shopping at Harrods.
The greatest entertainment of all lies in the shopping crowd. Tourists, locals and celebrities.
(I once spotted a Spanish actor and I almost fell to the ground, but to retain my dignity, I walked past him with my nose up and flashed my shopping bags.
That didn’t get me very far.)

Many tourists, some waddling around in awe as though they are in the London Zoo. Some, especially those in the Food Hall, treat it as their local marketplace.
My amusement is fuelled by those with a very pretentious sense of style. There were two shoppers, dressed in gawdy green and yellow, clutching the cheapest Prada handbag on the market strolled into the designer area speaking (or rather, SHOUTING) poor English at the top of their lungs. Class act? 2 outta 10. Bet you’d never see Victoria Beckham behaving like that.
Then there was a mother and daughter with multitudes of shopping bags, mother had a bling Chanel sunglasses on (Harrods interior lighting is dim by the way) and daughter (on the slightly larger side) squeezed into a tiny Von Dutch top. Style= 5 out of 10.
Money cannot buy dress sense.
There was also a teenage girl stumbling around in a pair of Manolos.. why, god, if you can’t walk gracefully, don’t wear it!!
There were some girls from Hong Kong, probably students, with designer accessories mounted all over themselves like a Christmas tree, one chatting pitch loud in Cantonese,
‘When I am here I feel like an actress, but I am on overdraft. But I am still going to get that Dior bag anyway.’
I feel very, very sorry for her parents aka financeers.

Moral of the sotry: If you cannot afford it, don’t buy it.
There is always Zara down the road.

Style is inert and comes from modesty. Don’t force it.

p.s: I'm off to Nottingham for the weekend. ciao ciao!

Monday, November 01, 2004


Crash course for those who don't know:
I live on the roof of an office block on Fitzroy Street, London. On my left is the Tube Station coveted with lots of drunk characters, 10 secs walk to Mac D's where townies in tracksuits gather, opposite a construction site flanked with cute sweaty immigrant builders, next to a cafe where lorry drivers assemble for lunch and there is a daily congestion of office smokers around the flat entrance puffing their lives away.

One thing to be proud of: I have a food disposal unit. And a spanking clean toilet.

Council Tax has come knocking on my door and I have absolutely no idea what they were pressing on for. So I offered them Chocolate Swiss rolls to shut them up.

My American neighbour forgot his keys and was waiting in the cold for the landlord to open up his door. Being a kind Samaritan I invited him to pop over for refuge at my place. He said he will wait for a while and come up a bit later. Later, he was pressing my doorbell ten times but I left my music on at maximum. Ooops..

As a reknowned midday riser, I usually undertake the anonymous task of sorting out mails into flat pigeonholes. One day, as i was doing so, a Chinese student/neighbour walked in and glared suspiciously at me as though I was stealing letters. True enough, I was coincidentially holding a stack of Barclays and HSBC letters in my hands.. but shit, do I LOOK LIKE A THIEF????

Poor 7 yr old landlord's son (whose room is next to mine) has moved out of his bedroom. I don't think he liked Franz Ferdinand nor my hair dryer.

I slept through the fire drill again. Fire engines were gathered around the block and everyone has vacated their flats.
Except me.

Something is rotting in my kitchen. I can't figure out what it is. Must be the grapes, cheese, pate and chicken bones I left in the bin since last week.