My iTunes played "My Love" by Macca+Wings and it occurred to me how unbelievably sad it was that Linda died because Paul and her had a completely perfect love, bonded by the deepest affection, attraction and respect.

I guess it's somewhat annoying the way Paul has just stoically and seemingly in typically Macca-esque fashion plodded on in that blithe and cheerful manner he displays after what would've been for most a cataclysmic blow.

But then again, Yoko did the same with John and their relationship was founded on the same qualities of love and respect.

Still, women aren't really publicly allowed to have a separate identity where the death of a partner's concerned...

It arouses hatred (or in Yoko's case, even more).


Anyway, then Shine a Light by The Stones came on and it made me think of my splattered-across-the-train-tracks friend Matthew, whom I think about a great deal these days.

The stupid ****.

Then the next song that came on was the last song I played at my ex's Dad's funeral...



I organised all the music for the service and wake and received thanks = zero, from anyone, including my then-gf.

I guess I must've been drunk and playing sad songs in the dark.

I wish I'd got them to play Laid by James at my father's funeral.

So what songs are we planning to have played at our funerals?

I've not thought about it, as I intending living forever.

Telegraph Road by Dire Straits.

It's fourteen minutes long. I'm going to make them all sit there, for fourteen minutes, listening to it.

The Funeral Party, obviously.

I was just looking at Google images for that female drummers thread, and this image popped up, and it made me feel the sadz.

I've been reading about Rita Hayworth.

I knew she'd had a tempestuous and star-crossed life, but I didn't know it was as sad and upsetting as all that.

She's my absolute favourite Golden Age of Hollywood star ever and it's very dispiriting, infuriating and hard to hear how she suffered so much at the hands of horrible, brutish and/or narcissistic men her whole life.

You grind through the biography hoping that some kind of ironically happy Hollywood ending will occur, but of course it never does.

Her story isn't so far removed from Marilyn Monroe in many many respects.

Two women so vivacious and charismatic, brilliant and fragile, with an uncanny combination of high glamour and girl-next-doorness who soared and fell like brilliant stars...

I'm not ashamed to say I did a little weep reading about it all.

God, I'm so f***ing bored. Waiting in for someone to finish their emergency duty duties. I've been vastly overcharged for something called 'ProsEcho Falls'. In rose - with a pink lipstick mark for a logo.

I don't know why I didn't go out. Is it too late I wonder? There must be someone out on the town that I vaguely know enough to join without looking desperate. I could be ready by midnight.

I too am a great Marilyn person btw. I've always identified with her. To the extent that I was seriously concerned and depressed about turning 36, and cut back on a few prescription excesses for the run up and months after.

Marilyn and Diana have always been my two celebrities I can understand from the outside in. Both dead at 36 years and 2 months. I suppose I should be pleased to be knocking on the door of 37 really.

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cosmictanya wrote:

Sometimes I wake up and feel a distinct 1994ness in the morning air and the light. I think if I could rewind to that year, spring perhaps, no later, I would make so many wiser decisions. Key decisions.

I get that sort of feeling quite often. Last week I was driving up to Manchester on holiday, a fine cool sunny day a bit like September, and I was immediately reminded of going off to university in autumn 1988.

Or sometimes there'll be a yellow-grey afternoon overcast with brighter cracks, and I'll be reminded of Feb-March 1990 when I was immersed in drunken despair in Norwich.

Goodness, I won't be buying ProsEcho Falls again. I see I went to bed before Rwanda and Bosnia came to mind.

The feeling a different time is a strange sensation. I'm glad it's not just me who feels years past by the quality of the light/temperature etc.

Don't buy anything that's called ShamPane, V-ODKA-N-ToneeQ or LambrEEny either.

I feel quite upset about Parys Lappers death. I wasn't a huge fan of the Alison Lapper sculpture on the fourth plinth, but regardless of the art I found myself googling extra pictures of her and Parys. I hope he's at peace and she can find some too. Nineteen is such a precious age, all of your options should be achievable. To run out of steam at nineteen is heartbreaking. None of us really appreciate being that age when we are.

My sleep has been disturbed by pensive melancholy thoughts. An American academic I went to school with is getting married - he sent the news to me by email. He was kind of a nerd at 13 (although pretty) but he blossomed into the most attractive man. 

I first slept with him when he was back in Europe on some kind of academic trip and asked a friend of his to ask a friend of mine for my number. I was stunned when he arrived all tan and teeth, full of democratic charm and a polite confidence. 

We have had the odd perfect weekend on his other academic visits and once in New York. I say perfect but that was only after I learned not to go to his lectures. It involves something to do with mathematical computers. Although he speaks well.

I can't believe he's getting married. It's come as unwelcome news. She seems generic - naturally blonde, a special needs 'educator', from Minnesota, very large smile. In another life we could've had a far more interesting time than she can offer. 

I wrote and deleted several replies before settling on 'wow - congratulations, she looks adorable, I'm so happy for you both'. I find myself absolutely fuming, and the time difference has made me think that they are probably just heading to bed together.

At this very moment they could be having a lovely time together in their cosy home. I have now street viewed their address and it looks like something out of Desperate Housewives. The large upstairs window is probably where this happiness is taking place right now.

cosmictanya wrote:

At this very moment they could be having a lovely time together in their cosy home. I have now street viewed their address and it looks like something out of Desperate Housewives. The large upstairs window is probably where this happiness is taking place right now.

There's more photos of the two of them together online. He won an award which was presented to him at the White House - and there she is again, grinning away at his side on the lawn. One of many prestigious awards for his brilliance. I've been reading student testimonials of him - all five star. As are colleague tributes around the world.

I would've dressed far more stylishly at the White House than Little Miss Minnesota. She seems to be wearing a floral disgrace with a garish turquoise jacket and beige shoes. They're probably fast asleep now in each others arms. She might've conceived in the night. He will make a great dad. Even as a kid he was thoughtful and sensitive.

I feel myself quite bereft about it all. All that potential lost. A life that could've been mine - with better clothes. How dare she seize a dream I didn't know I had.

I've just been tapped for a grand. My sons father is taking him away for a weekend but doesn't have the money to spare. This of course was realised after the promise of father and son only was made. 

American academics would be able to fund their own trips. I can't complain, it's my own stupid fault that this very pretty but pretty useless idiot is shackled to me until one of us dies. I can't bear his whining wheedling little voice.

Slack jawed runt that he is. His conversation starts and ends with music and football. A halfwit who didn't realise that currency exchange rates don't operate on a 1-1 basis. Over eight inches in length and six in girth - his only plus point.