Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Monday, February 28, 2005

In The Zone

For those of you who live outside our gorgeous capital of London, you may be unfamiliar as to why there are chain-link fences every few miles, and that why you may be stopped so often to open your wallet. This is because our beauteous metropolis is divided up into Zones - bands of prosperity circling our capital like a contour map. Confused? Let Glitter for Brains explain...

At the behest of London Transport, London was segregated Zones during the Thirties in order to halt the Great Tramp Migrations that occurred every spring. These once-a-year events, where the city's vagrants would move from the warm soup factories in the north to their usual habitat of the Strongbow breweries in the city's south, were the scourge of the middle classes. Up until 1932, prosperous families often beat the passing vagabonds with the traditional hoopy-stick, or 'knadger', and driving the beggars into spital-hissing, urine-smelling fury.

Social reform came in 1933 and with it, the unfortunate order to stop beating the tramps. Despite a revolt in the House of Commons, the order was passed - but, as rich people have the most influence, the Zoning system was introduced. This halted any vagrant migration, as well as anyone not wearing nice enough shoes.

These Zones are still in operation today, with Zone One encompassing most of the centre - and all the famous landmarks, tourist traps, art galleries and pigeons the city possesses. Then you've got the affluent Zone Two, then Zone Three, Zone Four, Stephen King's 'The Dead Zone', Drop Zone, Red Zone Cuba, The Death Zone on Gallifrey, The Twilight Zone, then Croydon.

As soon as you've lived within Zone One for a certain amount of time, you become convinced that anything outside Zone Three onward is a lawless wilderness where people are killed over petrol, and people are burned at the stake for the use of electricity. And this is certainly Comedy Housemate Jay's viewpoint who's lived within the Zone for a good couple of years - and subsequently squints in confusion every time a tree comes on the television. Croydon, the destitute province out in Zone X, for him was merely a myth - a place where there be dragons.

So you can imagine his dismay and bewilderment when we accidentally ended up in there last Sunday. And reaffirming everything we'd suspected.

Jay was horror-struck, whirling around at every passing triple-childed teenage mother, falling to the floor and clawing at his eyes, crying "My god - man-made fibre everywhere..." before I managed to drag him into a House of Fraser to get his bearings. It wasn't ideal, but at least he stopped speaking in tongues when placed next to the Prada. Even then, he kept pointing with his eyes rolling back in his head.

We finally got him out, draped head to foot in Dior Homme, with a small slit for his eyes. Rather like a very gay birka. He even managed to regain some semblance of sanity by the time we headed back towards the station:

"Look at those three boys!" he crowed, pointing at an encroaching trio dressed head to foot in flammable items. Their faces were... unfortunate. Like a cheese and tomato pizza dropped on a kitchen floor.

"They've been hit by the Ugly Truck," he said, a little too loudly. "And it reversed."

He's been working at home all week, bless him. But we think the oxygen tank he's lugging around now is just for show.

Thursday, February 24, 2005

Of Devilment and Beaus

What really happened to the pub's menu?

A belated thank you to you all for Monday's mud-fight against the dullard who logged on to intimidate me. Yes I do know him, it's been going on a while behind the scenes, and I'll tell you all about it over lovely whisky and a slab of cake once it's all been cleared up. To which end, I got a phone call from my Evil Best Friend Declan last night:

"I saw that thing on your blog. Is it..?"
I nodded, then realised I was on the phone. "Yes, but don't worry."
"Oh, I'm not worried. Do you... er, want me to put a curse on him?"
The hesitancy was unexpected. His first reaction was normally to hex first, ask questions later. Something was clearly the matter.
It turned out that my Evil Best Friend had been called in for his Evil Audit a little earlier than he was expecting, and hadn't done well at all - and this was all thanks to the fact he's now stepping out with a gentleman. Yes it turns out that within the dear Channeller of the Brown Arts' icy, inhuman shell beats the cold heart of a killer. But within that is the soft, gooey marshmallow of a true romantic.
It's been going on for quite some time now. Apparently even his garden is growing again.
From our point of view, it's rather like an episode of a soap opera where the show's bitch suddenly shows a sliver of humanity, only for it all to come crashing down before the end credits. It's just rather disconcerting. And we've tried to warn this poor individual - Martin's his name - off Declan by showing him still-born calves and pictures of the holocaust, but he's just as smitten as his dark-spirited beau.
It's all rather confusing.
"You can't have given up on evil altogether, can you?" I asked, hoping for a glimmer of the old soulless creature.
There was the sound of all the joy being sucked out of a cigarette. "No. But I did just scrape my audit thanks to something that happened at the pub the other day."
"I met some of Martin's friends. Which was going well. Until this shrill, stick-thin boyfriend of one of his associates arrived."
"I wasn't struck."
"Yes, so..?"
"I bided my time, until it turned to start having a go at me. Which is always a mistake."
I was getting impatient. "What did you do?"
"Well, it turned out he came from Lockerbie. So while he just unspooled, I grabbed as many menus as I could and started throwing paper planes at him for the rest of the night."

There may be hope yet.

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Of Bonnets and Bibles

So what happened when I finally regressed to a former life?

A couple of months back, for reasons completely unbeknown nor unexplainable, the Powers that Be decided to sit the company's fundamentalist Christian next to me. Possibly in the hope of germinating some 'odd couple' style sit-com. Possibly in the hope of one of us will temper the other - and either he will be a screaming gay and stop tutting at all the office girls living in sin, or that I will suddenly find religion and stop giggling every time someone offers around a chocolate finger.

Neither of these things has happened, and there's an uneasy No Man's Land between our two desks. He's trying to encroach on it with self-help books with underlying religious hypnotism, which I shore up with issues of Marie-Clare opened up to articles about women's orgasms. And while I'm wheeling and flapping around at my desk like some injured seagull to Kylie, he's reaching for his Good News tome in another hilarious episode of 'Me And My Bible!'

So when I mentioned that I'd been for a regression into a past life, he had his typical reaction of tutting and burying his head in Exodus. This was clearly Not Part Of His World, but all the office girls were enraptured. So I told them about how rare it was for people to remember being a different sex, and that being even rarer in men.

So of course I was a fabulous society lady called Veronica, who had a rather marvellous line in big hats.

It was brilliant fun. I gave birth to a son, who turns out to be my sister in this life. And, of course, the Wife was my husband (I'd recognise that beard anywhere). But the trauma of the whole thing was that you go through the whole life, right through to the end. Yes, right through the death, which was an experience, I can tell you.

Now I'm still undecided on this as to whether it was real or not; certainly it seemed it at the time, but it also seemed too... clich├ęd. Like I was patching together bits of old films to make a narrative. But I did get a list of names and places that I'm going to validate in the next couple of weeks, so I'll let you all know.

I finished the story to find that my head was damp. That little Christian sod had been subtly flicking holy water over me - as he'd used to whenever I'd talked loudly about bumming (or 'channelling the Brown Arts' as I may have referred to it). So I reciprocated by flicking a spoonful of my morning yoghurt back, with great success.

Apparently nothing says 'Shut up, you right-wing nutcase!' like a glob of Muller in the eye.

Monday, February 21, 2005

Of Toothpaste And Pigtails

So what happened when I met housemate Jay's nine-year-old niece?

"Hello," I said, holding out my hand. I've heard that children appreciate being treated as adults. Which is odd, as most of the adults I know appreciate being treated as children.
She took my hand lightly, and stared up at me with large, dark eyes. They appeared to contain an awful lot of steel for someone half my height.
"I'm very pleased to meet you. My name's Lee," I said.
"I know," she said, in the matter-of-fact manner all nine-year-olds have mastered.
"And you must be Vivian," I added, feeling my friendly manner being completely lost on her.
She nodded.
"I'm going to call you Princess Vivian," I said, my largest smile rapidly becoming a fixed one.
She shook her head, pig-tales hitting her cheeks as she did.
"You don't want to be a princess?"
She shook her head again. Equally insistent.
"Well you have to be royalty when you're living with two queens," I said, smirking at Jay.
"Countess, then."
"I'm sorry?"
"I'd like to be a Countess, then," she said firmly.
"Countess Vivian?"
She nodded.
I sucked in air over my teeth. "Ok, that's perfectly reasonable. You do realise I'm going to come and annex your kingdom in the night?"
She shook her head. Well, that stopped that, then.
I stood up and looked over to Jay, acutely aware that Vivian's gaze hadn't left me at all.
"So, what are you two up to today?"
Jay pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against while he was watching the show. "We're going to the Aquarium, aren't we Vivian?"
She nodded.
I cleared my throat, and turned to Jay. "Could you get some toothpaste while you're out?"
"I have some toothpaste," came a voice from waist-height. "You'll like it," she said, still looking straight at me.
"Oh will I?" I said.
"Yes. It's pink. And has glitter in it."
I coughed unexpectedly. Jay hid his smile behind his hand and announced he was off to get his coat. I looked down at Vivian, who still hadn't stopped staring at me. I stared back for a bit, before 'harrumph'-ing and beamed sweetly.
"How would you know I'd like your toothpaste?"
"I had a look at your CDs."
"Er. Oh. And?"
"You have Girls Aloud. And Jamelia."
"My sister has those. And she likes my toothpaste."
Irrefutable, then.
"I must be very fashionable, then."
"Yeah, but she's five..."

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

There's A Kinda Hush... All Over The World...

Hello, readers.

Just to let you know that we're having a little bit of a break, and that we haven't actually fallen into Abi Titmuss' cleavage at a swanky showbiz do (that woman's norgs are a menace to society). But fret not! We should be back on Monday with lots of outrageous tales and ridiculous claims to fame.

'Yeah, like what?' I can hear you muttering over your morning cake. Well! How about what actually happened when I was regressed to my former life by a hypnotist on Monday? What about when, all of a sudden, we have housemate's nine-year-old niece staying with us, and the full-time job it's becoming to steer her away from our collection of 'art films'? And - hopefully, if it's all cleared up in time - why I'm spending a morning at a police station tomorrow!

All this - and more! - next week, on Glitter for Brains!

Friday, February 11, 2005

The Top Ten Polar Facts

Several bits and pieces about the playground we all love a little too much.

There are actually three North Poles - the magnetic one, the fixed point one from which the Earth rotates, and the more interesting third. This 'North Pole' is actually the second in a very successful franchise of pole-dancing clubs - a three-story building featuring a mud-pit and something called a 'dick-o-teck', it says here. And you always wondered why Santa had rosy cheeks.

The earliest mammals to evolve in the arctic were ten minutes late.

The North Pole is only magnetic thanks to well-known directionless mariner Christopher Columbus getting lost with a cargo of magnets, and dumping them around Greenland. Which made for an interesting journey back - their cook had a metal hand and had to stay. But then happily, so did his pots.

People who claim that the snow-romping arctic-dweller Polar Bear is the world's largest land predators have obviously never been in front of a Mr Dave Kloss from Bloxwich in a buffet queue. Although, ironically, he neither can stand Penguin chocolate bars.

Surprisingly, Walls Ice Cream is quite big with the Eskimos - especially with the gays. Masse Smirnirik, the local equivalent of Elton John, has been ordering blocks of Neapolitan flavour for months. But not to eat - they are for the building of his enormous gauche palace igloo. The big poof.

Penguins can fly. They just prefer to do it via Easyjet.

It's widely known that Robert Falcon Scott's famous 1912 non-trip to the South Pole was a bit of a shambles from the off. The most famous 'victim' of the expedition was Oates who, crippled by frostbite, tells the remaining members of Scott Expedition 'I am just going outside and may be some time,' and vanishes into the snow. Well, he didn't vanish - there was a 24-hour Texaco around the corner and he really fancied a Twix.

As champagne can only really be called champagne if it comes from the Champagne region of France, likewise the luxury dessert 'Arctic Roll' can only be made in the Arctic. This pudding, a well-known favourite of Dame Judi Dench, is made in the traditional way of being exposed to the elements, and then shipped to your supermarkets by the descendants of the original Captain Birdseye. And you thought £2.28 was expensive for a block of ice-cream wrapped in cake that has traversed the globe for you. Tsk!

Conversely, 'Baked Alaska' can only be made in the Northern town of Baked.

Glitter for Brains 'favourite' Mariah Carey was once banished to the Antarctic for a total of three weeks by her former record company Decca - who were trying anything to get out of their contract with her. When they came to collect the body, they found she was still gaily skipping around, thinking she was actually living in 'The Prettiest, Biggest World of Sparkly Cocaine Ever!' In fact, she'd hoovered up almost a total of eleven square miles of ice, meaning that Decca are responsible for the biggest ecological disaster ever.

Prince Charles and Camilla to Wed!

I'm sure someone, somewhere, has already made a joke about the Roman Emperor who married his horse.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Warning: It Goes South VERY Quickly

Last night was Pancake Night in our fabulous swankyLondonBridgePad, and yes, we are gleefully aware that this occurred on the first day of Lent. But we feel it's our duty as 'hell-bent sodomites' to cock a snook at those daffy Christians who follow the Bible to the letter and want to see us burning in hell. So there was tossing a-plenty from comedy housemate Jay, and even our holy water bottle in the shape of the Virgin Mary - filled with Jif Lemon, naturally - made an appearance. Larks!

And all this consumed in front of Desperate Housewives, just to top it off. Wasn't it just marvellous? We almost dropped our Cranberry-and-Catholic pancake laughing at darling Bree lasciviously describing the literal 'ins-and-outs' of sex with a man. But now just as hilarious to watch is the adverts surrounding The Gay's Favourite Programme - why, what could be more thrilling than three minutes of hair commercials squeezed next to an unsubtle ad for KY Jelly.

Yes, the KY Jelly. The 'sexual lubricant' for women 'past a certain age'... and for Gentlemen Who Can't Catch, we suppose. But this advert was a milestone, a turning point in faux-fanny batter. For this introduced the public-at-large to the innovative 'KY Warm', a lubricant that promised to give a slidy ride - as well as a gentle 'warm' feeling to your lip-sink.

But, wait. A 'gentle, warm feeling'? What kind of a message is this soft-focus ad trying to get across? We at Glitter for Brains can only wonder:


And, thanks to the knowing look of the gentleman in the background of the ad, it seems that it worked for him too. Though we're not sure of his 'relationship' with the beaming lady who's suddenly able to fry eggs on her flange, but the important thing is, he's not sitting down. That's all we'll say.

Now, not wanting to miss out on this startling modernism, we did swing by the chemists this morning for a tube, as well as some cold tablets (well, if one is acting ill, one must have the right props). Unfortunately, we were accosted by the stalwart of British chemists - The Old Lady Who Works There In The Week. Every chemist has one; some acid-faced old trout who tuts and shuffles around the medicines like you're holding her to ransom with your request. Just how off-putting is it trying to merrily order some 'KY Warm, please!' from a woman with a face so sour the 'pH neutral' soaps have started turning blue?

Still, you must feel sorry for her, How would you feel having to dole out dobbers to all and sundry, while you haven't had anything up you since decimalisation? So we bought two tubes - and left the other for her with smile and a knowing wink.

It's gonna be a hot time in the ol' town tonight!

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

The Glitter For Brains Guide To: Calling In Sick

Yes, readers, I'm languishing at home, taking in all the joys of daytime television and drinking tea like it was going out of fashion! Aren't I a wag? Well, as I'm a generous cove, I'm going to let you into a couple of secrets into perfecting that 'I'm not coming in today' call. You can thank me later. Here we go!

* When phoning in, lie on your back on the bed with your head resting over the edge. This constricts the throat in such a way that your voice instantly sounds like Madge from Neighbours on forty Rothmans a day. Oh, your boss will be sobbing with pity at how bad you sound.

* Always build your part, for these things take planning. The day before you want to take the day off, go in slightly downtrodden. Your hair should be slightly askew and no make-up for girls, and no shaving for boys. Occasionally ask about the temperature, and perfect your hooded-eyed look at work colleagues. If done properly, people will keep telling you to go home, and won't be a bit surprised when you don't come in the next day. Thus:

* NEVER take Mondays off. That's just too obvious.

* Remember, if you think you're ill, you more than likely will act it.

* Slyly pulling out nostril hair causes sneezing. Go on, try it now for a giggle.

* Now wipe the monitor, there's a nice reader.

* When phoning in, be as graphic as humanly possible. Forgive me lowering the tone, but you should be aiming for 'God yes, two o'clock this morning, the vomit was just pouring out of me. I thought that was the end of it, and then the shit came...' Frankly, I feel unclean writing it, so imagine how grossed out your poor boss is feeling having to hear all these things. They just won't be able to wait to get you off the phone and back to their nice, vomit-free spreadsheets.

* Ladies - you've got a whole area of 'women's issues' you can play upon in the above manner - especially if you have a male boss. Those areas are a mystery to them at the best of times, so imagine the horror when they hear that ?something's gone wrong down below'.

And with all that in mind, you'll soon be sipping tea and watching the Lorraine Kelly double-bill from the comfort of your own sofa, while the rest of the functionaries mercilessly toil at their day-job. Your freedom is but a sneeze away!

Friday, February 04, 2005

Because Some Fool, Somewhere, Asked.

Q. What is your name?
A. Lee, aka Lady Minky Hooters, last bonne vivant of London high.

Q. What are you listening to right now?
A. In my head: 'The love (the love, the love I lost) was the sweetest (was the sweetest)'
Elsewhere: the chunter of a productive office.

Q. What was the last thing you ate?
A. A bandana.
(blinks - checks label)

A banana

Q. If you were a crayon, what colour would you be?
A. Toxic

Q. Where do you plan to go on your honeymoon?
A. Mars. Because by the time I go on a honeymoon, space flights will be ten a penny.

Q. How is the weather right now?
A. Moist, and yet warm.

No, wait. That's me.

Q. Last person you talked to on the phone?
A. My wife, Jef. He apologised that he couldn't come over tonight to help me finish off the Jamaican Jerk, but he was working.

Q. Have you ever been toilet papered?
A. No. Unless you count being dressed as a mummy from Pyramids of Mars once.

Q. What is the first thing you notice about the opposite sex?
A. The coat. Je suis un great big wendy.

Q. How many times did you take your driver's test?
A. Twice. The first instructor didn't get it when I said I'd do anything to pass.

Q. How are you today?
A. Bit of a headache from touching up former pop-star Billie Piper too much. Legs ache from dancing riotously on Saturday. Moist, and yet warm.

Q. Your favourite drink?
A. Dame Vera Smirnoff.

Q. Your favourite party time drink?
A. A cock-sucking cowboy. One of those and the clothes are everywhere.

Q. What do you do most often when you are bored?
A. Fire up the chainsaw!

Q. Favourite sport to watch?
A. Something with nice legs in it.

Q. Hair colour?
A. Oh, I've gone grey now. But once... once in 1947 - I was red... as red as a London bus...

Q. Eye colour?
A. Green.

Q. Best job you ever had?
A. The current one. I've spent all day touching up former pop-star Billie Piper.

Q. Do the dishes right away or leave them in the sink?
A. I get the char to do it. She doesn't speak a word... but can shoplift for England.

Q. Is there Extraterrestrial life?
A. Yes. And I have proof. Over there, in that bag.

Q. Summer, winter, spring or fall?
A. Autumn. Things drop more readily.

Q. Hugs or kisses?
A. Kisses. But without dinner and dancing!

Q. Coffee or tea?
A. Coffee. Black.

Q. If you sent this questionnaire out, who is least likely to respond?
A. God. He's never mailing me back these days...

Q. Who is most likely to respond?
A. The devil. He's just made of idle thumbs, so loves this sort of stuff.

Q. What are your favourite things to do outside ?
A. Come back in.

Q. Are you glad that you did this, now that you are done?
A. I feel purged. Look, there's sweat and blood all over the keyboard. Someone get me a cloth.

Q. Can you think of something you would rather be doing right now?
A. Going to Mars?

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

No-One Will See The Show...

This popped in my in-box this morning:

'Dear Mr Binding,
'We apologise for the delay in dispatching your tickets to see GIRLS ALOUD, but we are currently waiting for the ticket paper to come in stock from the distributors. We will notify you when they will be mailed.'

Ticket paper? Ha! This is just the final proof that the Girls are whipping them up in their spare time. That Cheryl's a dab-hand with a glitter pen after her community service, you know.

Of course Nicola just head-butts the staples in.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

Slightly Geeky

For reasons too hilarious to relate, I was finally forced to buy a Mac this weekend.

Now, frankly, I've made my feelings on Talking Tupperware quite plain in the past, but actually owning one proves everything I've ever suspected about the annoying little box. I mean, they seem so... proud. Like when they're switched on - they do their triumphant 'Ta-Daaaaa!' noise, where you fully expect it to jump up and do this - and it probably will when i-Jazz-Hands is free to download.

And bluntly, I'm not happy about spending a couple of hundred quid on anything that looks like it should come with brightly-wrapped sweets in it.

Anyway. This from the web. I know, it's older than I am, but still, it's still relevant. It's what would happen If Operating Systems Were Air-Lines...

Everybody pushes the airplane until it glides, then they jump on and let the plane coast until it hits the ground again. Then they push again, jump on again, and so on...

Windows Air
The terminal is pretty and colourful, with friendly stewards, easy baggage check and boarding, and a smooth take-off. After about 10 minutes in the air, the plane explodes with no warning whatsoever.

Windows NT Air
Just like Windows Air, but costs more, uses much bigger planes, and takes out all the other aircraft within a 40-mile radius when it explodes.

Mac Airlines
All the stewards, captains, baggage handlers, and ticket agents look and act exactly the same. Every time you ask questions about details, you are gently but firmly told that you don't need to know, don't want to know, and everything will be done for you without your ever having to know, so just shut up.

Loose Ends

Would you believe I get letters of complaint? Not just because I can't spell four tofeee, but people weren't happy with the ending of the last entry. 'Did you three get out?' asked one. Well, yes, obviously - I was firmly ensconced on my writing hammock, dictating to a group of gorgeous bevies my adventures with Jay and Cher.

But, because I'm in a generous mood, here's something to keep the nay-sayers quiet.

The Week Oprah Came To Stay Pt 1

JAY: Well, all praise to me that we managed to tie up those guards while Cher distracted them by performing a medley of her more toe-tapping hits.

LEE: Oh yes. She can still belt out 'Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves' like a trooper.

JAY: You know many troopers that can belt out a Cher song? Do you? Hmm? Hmm?

LEE: Well, there was that nice officer I met in Habitat once. He has the most enor-

JAY: Now, be quiet. We don't want to know about your sordid past.

LEE: ...'Private Parts', we used to call him...

JAY: Tsk. And I personally thought that version of the song was somewhat distorted. Half the time, it sounded like she was singing 'Gypo Tampon Thieves'.

LEE: Well, she was just getting used to her wax mouth, I suppose... Anyway, who's in the kitchen?

JAY: Ah. It's one of my celebrity friends coming to visit. See, you're not the only one with a-list chums, my boy.

LEE: Is it Judith Hann? Oh tell me it's former Tomorrow's World presenter Judith Hann!

JAY: No, we've currently got - oh, get this - Oprah Winfrey rifling through our fridge! How marvellous!

LEE: Oh.

JAY: Why 'oh'?

LEE: Is she having one of her fat days or thin days?

JAY: Fat. Why?

LEE: No! Get down!


JAY: Oh. Oh dear me. That's very unpleasant.

LEE: Sigh. I'll get the shovel.

JAY: You know, I'd just like one week where we don't kill a celebrity.

LEE: Go get your black balaclava.

JAY: Does it have to be black? I'm feeling that this season is all about navy...

There! You lot happy now?