More evidence that life is stranger than fiction

You've probably already seen this, but it's pretty extraordinary.

A witness to a murder in England posted this poem on telegraph poles three months after the murder, after being too afraid to approach police. I wonder when the movie's coming out?

The police have replaced the killer's name with XXXX on the version they've released to the public. Here's the poem:

Running from Paul Kelly

“Now I will show how a few words can be made
As sharp and deadly as any bwoy’s blade
How running away will not you save
The truth is there like an open grave
A defenceless man is dead and his blood’s gone cold
But the story of his end is going to be told
You can run and run till your shoes wear thin
And hope that you’re safe, ’cos of the colour of your skin
Paul Kelly lies dead, and who held the knife?
It was you, XXXXX, we all saw take his life.
“The New Year was but a short hour old
When you and your mates were: Oh, so bold.
You put us to shame,
But we did the same.
It was black on white, so it must be right
It was you who said: “He had it coming that night.”
Then you ran away and we turned our backs.
You said we would be next if we breathed a word
We took in your threats that now sound absurd
So we closed our eyes And took in your lies
“Now your filth lies burning inside us like poison and guile.
But soon all the s***’s gonna come out, so prepare for a trial.
So where will you run when, at last, you face a brave man?
You gonna run once more through the streets, all a quiver?
Will wash yourself down in the deep, deep river?
“Yow, young XXXX, where you threw the knife,
Listen to what I say and take good heed:
You can wipe your bloody hands in the grass, till they bleed . . .
But you will never, never get them clean."

Anonymous

But where did he get all the butterflies from?

Call me a sadist, but I love these new artworks by Damien Hirst. Yes, they really are made from butterflies...

Puerile fun!

I totally love this game!

Take me there... baby!

My Visual DNA

Read my VisualDNA™     Get your own VisualDNA™

And the day just got wierder from there...

I started writing this post around 5:15pm yesterday. As I was halfway through a stunning reply to the above (brilliant) client email, my copywriter Rich and I were summoned (asked) to "stay back" by our Creative Director, and Rich was summoned into the principal's (managing director's) office and promptly shot (I mean fired).

As such, the whingey rot I was writing at the time seems (in retrospect) frankly inappropriate. And in truth I'm still a little too shocked/exhausted/confused to really shed any further light, or write anything particularly lucid on this (for now).

Vale Rich.

I'll write more soon. Promise.

This totally *********** sucks!!!!!!!!!!!

A while back I posted my concepts for the Cannes Young Creative Comp on this blog.

Well, they announced the winners and they won on.... the identical glow-in-the-dark idea to ours!

So now, not only am I not going to Cannes, or getting a better job, but I can't even put the bloody idea in my book because it'll look like I ripped the winning team off.

I feel like my heart's been ripped out. I desperately need to regain some perspective. Someone remind me about those starving children in Africa?

A green day

As we brought home our lovely newly upholstered green furniture in the Saturday rain, we discovered that a green river awaited us back at the apartment. This witches brew was bubbling from a man-hole.

The man had to have both legs amputated shortly after this photo was taken. Our thoughts are with him at this difficult time.

A bumper sticker I could live with

Photographed on the Harbour Bridge.

A fabulous dramatisation of my "fly shit" post

One of my all-time favourite short films.

How very Swedish

Clearly Charlie's theories about The Brag singling out people in glasses because they looked more Swedish at the PB&J gig were correct...

Hoedown at the Loud Corral

A classic email interchange at the Corral this morning...

From: Ray Beckingham
Date: Fri, 16 Mar 2007 12:25:57 +1100
To: Public_LOUD
Conversation: WHAT THA?????
Subject: WHAT THA?????

I just received this request from Gandolfo ?????????
--
Ray Beckingham
Financial Controller
Direct line 9964 7070

------ Forwarded Message
From: Mark Gandolfo
Date: Fri, 16 Mar 2007 12:10:53 +1100
To: Ray Beckingham
Conversation: Ansell condoms pres
Subject: Ansell condoms pres

Hay Ray

Can I get some Petty cash for condoms, or just put on credit card?

M


From: Niccola Phillips
Date: Fri, 16 Mar 2007 12:28:12 +1100
To: Ray Beckingham , Public_LOUD
Conversation: WHAT THA?????
Subject: Re: WHAT THA?????

Don’t forget the lube, Mark.

From: Andre Matthew Ling
Date: Fri, 16 Mar 2007 12:27:54 +1100
To: Niccola , Ray , Public_LOUD
Conversation: WHAT THA?????
Subject: Re: WHAT THA?????

...and some toys too.


From: John Hanlon
Date: Fri, 16 Mar 2007 12:27:40 +1100
To: Ray Beckingham , Public_LOUD
Conversation: WHAT THA?????
Subject: Re: WHAT THA?????

Typical suit ...protecting his arse!

From: Mark Gandolfo
Date: Fri, 16 Mar 2007 12:29:22 +1100
To: John Hanlon , Ray Beckingham , Public_LOUD
Conversation: WHAT THA?????
Subject: Re: WHAT THA?????

Trying to fly the Alchemy flag.


Mark

From: John Hanlon
Date: Fri, 16 Mar 2007 12:31:46 +1100
To: Mark Gandolfo , John Hanlon , Ray Beckingham , Public_LOUD
Conversation: WHAT THA?????
Subject: Re: WHAT THA?????

Good man. Keep it up!

From: Sean Carey
Date: Fri, 16 Mar 2007 12:30:05 +1100
To: Mark Gandolfo , John Hanlon , Ray Beckingham , Public_LOUD
Conversation: WHAT THA?????
Subject: Re: WHAT THA?????

You’ll be busy supplying the flag and pole!

Why I love working with fly shit.

I can only assume that this must be World Angry Week, as even my very sweet friend Space Girl Princess seems to be suffering from a case of the Angries this week, as she reported in her yesterday's blog. Can anyone else confirm that it's World Angry Week?

Well, SGP, fear not, as Dr VonWoof has truly been wearing her leather bitch pants this week (and they're chafing!). She may even be in the running for Miss Bitch 2007. (Take that and run with it, Miss Slough 2007).

Today I wandered into a group of colleagues discussing just how horribly unpleasant a client was, and one said (jokingly, I assume, as I was obviously a part of said conversation) "well, on a VonWoof scale she was only a five, but...".

But frankly they had me worried.

Because I really have reached the point of no return with my job (not the dominatrix one...). Just suddenly, I feel like I'm drowning under the weight of all the abortions that I have produced over the past few years.

*** DISCLAIMER *** Before you all jump on me... I meant it METAPHORICALLY, ok? They're only ads... lousy ones... not dead babies.

See? I'm so brainwashed I'm even putting disclaimers on my blog. Only in "the business", we call disclaimers "fly shit". You can figure out why, I'm sure.

Anyway, my days consist of pouring love and hope and trust into briefs, and then watching (in turn), the creative director, account service person, chief operations officer, managing director, client, client's client, client's lawyer, our lawyer, 5 focus groups and any passers-by turn my little bit of sweetness in to a lairy, starburst-covered, fly shit coated abortion with two oversized packshots and a coupon.

And then sitting there listening to all above parties patting each other on the back for raising "creative standards".

And when it's 5-10 jobs at once and all those people keep inserting their two cents simultaneously on all of them, suddenly I can feel something short circuit in my brain and AAAARRRRRRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

So Miss SGP, worry not, I've got the Angries too. I can only assume it's contagious.

A note on the lovely artwork - it's the anti-valentine I gave to Charlie this year. Seemed to sort of maybe kinda tangentially relate. Kinda? [NOTE: I can't seem to be able to upload the anti-valentine! Augh! Will rectify ASAP!!!] [SOLVED! YAY]

Baby Driver

And now they're starting even younger!
Dr VonWoof suspects this might be footage of Buzz Junior, still in utero.

Maniac Toddler Drivers on Killing Spree. ASB blames Hyundai TVC.

Call me evil, but I LOVE this twist of cruel, cruel irony. Just after a TVC gets banned for "sending the wrong message to preschoolers about driving cars", a maniac toddler runs over his mother.

WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!!!!! Read on...

Campaign Brief Blogspot

Friday, February 23, 2007

HYUNDAI 'TODDLER' COMMERCIAL BANNED BY ASB

The Advertising Standards Bureau pulled the Hyundai 'Toddler' spot off air this week, claiming it sent the wrong message to pre-schoolers about driving cars.
The spot was created by Kim Thorp and Howard Greive from Assignment Group NZ and directed by Tony Williams from Sydney Film Company, with post via Frame Set + Match, Sydney.

View the ad here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ae2pRPxWGsU

Toddler driver knocks down mum

March 14, 2007 - 10:03AM

A Melbourne woman is in hospital after her toddler son hopped into the driver's seat of her car, started the engine and then accidentally pinned her between the car and a brick wall.

A Victoria Police spokeswoman said the accident happened about 5.30pm (AEDT) yesterday at Rowville, in Melbourne's south-east.

"The car was parked in the driveway near the entrance of the garage and the child has got in and started up the engine," the spokeswoman said.

"The car has somehow moved forward and mum has become pinned between the car and a brick wall," she said.

"She was taken to Dandenong hospital suffering from a possible broken hip."

The woman, aged in her 30s, also suffered pelvic injuries and was in a stable condition this morning.

Her 18-month-old son was not injured.

The Knox Traffic Management Unit was investigating the incident.

AAP

The sugar understands...

Dear Aunt Slough

Miss Slough 2007 has started an agony aunt column on her blog: http://fogchicken.blogspot.com/

It puts me in mind of an incident from several years ago, which has left me still brimming with questions. So here goes... help me, Aunt Slough?

"Dear Aunt Slough,

Several years ago I found that I needed a little something extra income-wise to support my caffeine habit, and as such began to work as a babysitter several nights a week for some rich Sydney parents.

The parents, Mr and Mrs Boorish and Obnoxious (B&O) lived in a huge Victorian terrace in Glebe with their two children, Neglected (5) and Neurotic (3). I was contracted to mind N&N between 6pm and 8pm, to fill in after the nanny clocked off, on the nights Mrs B&O worked late. However, as Mr B&O would often not come back until 2am, reeking of cigarettes and alcohol, and Mrs B&O seemingly would not return home at all, I often found myself quite unable to tell Neglected and Neurotic when they'd see their parents again.

Neurotic in particular would grow alarmed as he began to suspect that he might not get his good night kiss from his parents, whereas Neglected had already found her parent subsitute in the combination of Fox Kids and her GameBoy, and provided she was left undisturbed, seemed perfectly content.

One evening, Neurotic became increasingly hysterical. He was running around on tip-toes, sobbing with pain, and screaming for Mr and Mrs B&O. After 20 minutes or so of useless reasoning, I had no choice but to switch off Fox Kids and take the GameBoy hostage, so that Neglected could translate for her brother. After her own lengthy tantrum, Neglected explained that Neurotic needed "to go poopy for dad".

I moved the conversation with N&N into the bathroom, where Neurotic flat-out refused to go near the toilet. Neglected explained once more, as I was clearly an idiot, that "Neurotic want to go poopy for dad". I explained that "Dad was not there to watch poopy", and that I had no clue when he would return. Both parents had thoughtfully turned their mobiles off.

Neurotic shot out on tippy toes, and I found him in the pantry, sobbing and pointing, apparently at the ceiling, reciting the mantra "Power Choc! Power Choc!". Neglected explained to me that Power Choc was a product, and in the pantry. We played Hot Cold, until my hand eventually strayed onto a maxi-sized tin (think Protein Powder dimensions) of something called Para-Choc. Neurotic sobbed with relief, and I sobbed with disbelief, as I discovered that the child had been screaming for chocolate-flavoured kiddy laxatives.

I refused to give Neurotic the laxatives, and after another 20 minutes in the bathroom, put both hysterical children to bed. The inevitable happened from there, with Neurotic producing more sewage than a standard household once going to sleep, and Round Two of Hysteria ensued forthwith.

By the time Mr B&O returned home, peace had returned. I told him what had occurred, which he found hilarious, but seemed to find me at fault for not simply using the laxatives. "Neurotic needs them for his constipation". He explained, having sensed that I was a moron. "But he wasn't constipated! He just wanted to go poopy for daddy! He's replaced his daddy with laxatives!". Nope - I was clearly a Moron.

So, Aunt Slough. What should I have done? In retrospect, I'm thinking that just draping Mr B&O in the poopy bedsheets on the way out might have been good, as that way Neurotic could have at least gotten his poopy to daddy. I value your thoughts.

Please help.

Dr Von Woof.

Pasta for sore eyes

Well, the doctor sent me home from work, having diagnosed me with "Allergic Conjunctivitis", so I could rest my eyes while the eye drops took effect. I learned today that a blind art director is a useless art director, so this suited me just fine.

Well, what better to do when sent home with sore eyes than make pasta? I'm not sure that making, eating, or typing about pasta really counts as "resting eyes", but after this I'll take my eyes straight to bed. Promise.

So. A recipe for "pasta for sore eyes". Loosely based on a far fancier variant in this month's Delicious mag.

While your 400g of pasta (I used fettuccini) is boiling, toast a handful of walnuts in a dry frying pan until they look faintly golden and smell toasty (mmm). Remove walnuts from the pan, and saute 3 rashers of bacon and two small chopped onions until soft and golden. Add to the pan as many chopped mushrooms as your heart desires (I think my heart desired about 8 medium-sized ones from memory), and the leaves stripped from four fat rosemary stems. Saute another five minutes or so, then add a 250g tub of low-fat sour cream (courtesy of Anna's overstuffed fridge) and about 120g of grated Romano cheese (you can add some pasta water if it doesn't look like a sauce). Stir for a minute or so, adding the pasta when it's cooked. Stir through the walnuts. Serve with a generous amount of salt and pepper.

Will feed a blind Dr VonWoof for about 5 lunches, I reckon.

While on the subject of toasted walnuts (and it's a tasty subject), honey toasted walnuts (done the same way as above, but with a tablespoon of nice aromatic honey added in the final minute to caramelise) are fabulous in salad. Combine with ripe, juicy tomatoes, torn basil, crumbled goats cheese and salt and pepper. And if you're feeling gourmet, pomegranate seeds make this look and taste like a million dollars. If your tomatoes are nice enough (I spent a lot of money on "heirloom" purple tomatoes when making this salad) you won't need a dressing, but otherwise a tiny bit of balsamic will be lovely... Recipe inspired by the very wonderful Yellow Bistro in Potts Point.

Oh no! There's an alien in my eye socket!

And it's trying to get out. These photos don't really do it justice, but my right eye is swollen, the white bit's all red and I'm dizzy and nauseous. Ugh.

Off to the doctor I go.

Ah! Real Vampires!

Miss Slough 2007 recently met a real vampire while weekending in Northern England. So while on the subject, I thought I'd introduce you to my own vampire heritage. Meet my grandfather, who was born in Transylvania (unfortunately not in that fabulous dracula castle however). Apparently Attila the Hun was also buried on my family's land (or am I exaggerating? If my well informed mother is reading this, can she confirm or deny?). Regardless, I feel this photo has a certain vampireish quality.

So anyway, the next time you're about to call me Pimple Queen, consider who my grandfather was. You might be very, very sorry. No amount of garlic can save you now.

And this is my grandmother. She's no vampire, but is (or was) possibly a fairy tale princess.

A passing gesture to saving the environment

While the least said about last week the better rule still applies, I thought I'd attach my entry to the Cannes Lions Young Creative Competition, done with a talented young writer named Tom, in part of the mess that was last week.

We needed to use the medium of press (newspapers) in an innovative and interesting way to communicate that a company of our choice supported Earth Hour. Earth Hour is a fantastic joint initiative between the WWF and Fairfax, where they're getting Sydney to turn its lights off for one hour on the last Saturday in March to put out a message to the world about fighting global warming. I'm hoping it'll be big (and dark). Some huge corporations are already on board, and the big landmarks, like the opera house, harbour bridge and ANZAC bridge.

Anyway, without further ado, here were Tom's and my contributions. If you click on the images you can view them full size.

Ah, most dependable Saturday!

Last week was a mean reds kind of a week (that's a Holly Golightly phrase if I've lost you). And the least said the better, really, as it fell into the most depressingly average mould of emotional turmoil.

Basically I got on my rat wheel on Monday, and ran until my little rat legs could carry me no more on Friday night.

But then came sunny Saturday to heal all wounds, as Saturdays inevitably do. If Saturday could be personified, she'd be warm, loving, forgiving, undemanding and dependable. Saturday is everything I'd like to be as a person. But I think in all honesty she's probably everything I'm not.

Anyway, it was a languid sort of a day. A walk to the park and to get takeaway coffees with Dr Spruce (the photo documents her latest activity, which is lurking in the native grasses of our local roof garden and diving through the undergrowth for her football). A (free!) two course meal with a (free!) bottle of Sauv Blanc with C at the very pleasant Tilbury Hotel, as thanks for hosting my birthday drinks there (no, really, it was MY pleasure!).

Then a walk to the ever interesting Surry Hills to a fabulous shop called Scandinavium, for some escapism. I'm still plotting a grand trip to Scandinavia and London, but I'm increasingly unsure it'll happen financially this year. If it doesn't, C and I have agreed that we'll replace it with an NZ ski trip with his work mates (C's alternative), and a trip to Melbourne (my alternative), as I will need a cosmopolitan experience if I'm forced to sacrifice my Euro Trash fantasies.

Surry Hills is also where I took the "Agile" photo, of someone's ingenius means of privacy screening their letter slot.

We walked home through Woolloomooloo, where C and I partook of an ale at a seedy old wharfies pub (complete with seedy old wharfies with names like FleaBag, Micko and Scruffy), and Dr Spruce drank from a cast iron bucket and was adored by the locals. She was granted regular status in the first few minutes (C and I were tolerated because we were friends of hers), and she spread herself out to cover the entire footpath so everyone could stop en route and rub her belly.

A cornucopia of leftover takeaways from the long week await for dinner, an invisible singer is serenading us through our window, and thus the wounds of the week have heeled.

I hope all your Saturdays were similarly rewarding.

And that's about it really.

today I feel
like a rat on a wheel
and the more I run
the less I'm having fun

Still terrified of lightning

These photos were sent into Time magazine following Sunday's lightning storm. Thing is, I'm pretty sure they're of lightning striking our building. They're certainly in the right spot.

Poor Dr Spruce lay on the bed snapping at invisible demons whenever the lightening struck.

And I remain patheticallly terrified myself. A few years ago, I was, quite literally, chased by lightning, while in the grounds of a psychiatric hospital (Callan Park) with Dr Spruce. And now just the mention of lighting makes my blood run cold and my eardrums ache.

Inspired signage, inspired by Miss Slough 2007

Miss Slough just posted a "no fouling" sign on her blog. I agree - they're mighty special things.

There was a most brilliant bit of signage in Kings Cross a few weeks ago, but sadly it was removed before I could photograph it. Right next to the El Alamein Fountain is one of those brilliant touristy directional signs. The one that reads: New York 15768km Moscow 13600km etc. Well, some inspired person from Sydney City Council added an extra arrow sign which read: Toilets.

A bonus was that it pointed directly into the fountain. Only in Kings Cross.

Indeed, only in Kings Cross... The other night, a guy died of a drug overdose on the footpath in front of me. And I don't exaggerate either. I arrived at the spot at the same time as three policemen, who checked his pulse and said "he's dead". Sad.

Peter, Bjorn and John at the Metro...

Totally rocked out! No photos, I'm afraid. But I can offer you this text message, as proof that the mortgage is starting to take effect on my bank account. It was sent to C when I realised I couldn't afford two bottles of Becks at the bar. Augh! What is the world coming to???

But beyond lack of beer funds, this was a brilliant gig. Three very cute Swedish guys playing 20-minute hard rock versions of their normally sweet, folkish songs. (Coincidentally, Peter is the cutest, followed by John. Sorry, Bjorn!).

Three drunk and beautiful Swedish girls, drinking VB from the can with straws, spent the gig rubbing their tanned Swedish bodies on everything male in sight (much to the discomfort of said men). And a photographer from The Brag singled C and I out for photos and insisted I wear my glasses. Should I be flattered? Do I look (as C suggested) more Swedish in my glasses? Hmm.

One downer, however, in the form of a Round-Faced Troll from my past. She used to call me Pimple Queen, if you think my blog name for her is overly harsh. She also did everything in her power to humilate and alienate me through a whole 6 years of high school. I didn't need the help - I was, and am, quite capable of alienating and humiliating myself all on my own.

I feel vaguely better for knowing that she is now a Torts lawyer and on the way to being a barrister. I think she'd look perfect with a horsehair wig perched on the top of her very round head. And I'm sure Pimple Queen is an outstanding name to call people at the Bar.

Does one ever recover from the lingering ache of high school cruelty?

The first appearance of Dr Spruce

My esteemed colleague, Dr Spruce.

This is her "why are you fiddling with your stupid camera phone when we could be playing frisbee?" look. I guess for the uninitiated this could also read as her "I'm a dope and only have half a jaw" smile. But you'd be WRONG.

Dr Werner VonWoof says: Say No To Anger

Miss Slough 2007 posted a fabulous bit of (very helpful) signage on her blog. It's a top-secret blog, but if you want to convince her to let you read it, she's at http://fogchicken.blogspot.com/



Dr VonWoof's take on it...



It's Dr VonWoof's considered opinion that it's high time we had public health and safety warnings about anger. It's far more dangerous than the possibility that wierd silhouette men might steal your children with their evil dogs working as henchmen. Any thoughts on this?

2HAY FM 92.1 Stereo - My favourite NSW rural station

I'm still in a transitional period with the whole dominatrix gig. So my alternate Adult Service gig remains being an advertising art director.

And honestly, who could ask for a cooler job? Today I devoted myself to ringing a cross-section of the 96 NSW radio stations who were dispatched our Australia Day radio spots. Read: Ringing Bumblefuck FM down echoing and often disconnected phone lines x 90. Just to see if anyone actually played it. Futile.

But of course, really it was rewarding. My personal favourite? 2HAY FM who make the bold advertising claim:
"Broadcasting to over 4000 listeners
South to Wanganella
North to Booligal
West to Maude
East to Carrathool and Beyond"

Wanganella? Booligal? You honestly can't script that stuff. And as for "West to Maude". Isn't that just waiting to be turned into the next Thelma and Louise cum Hitchcockian thriller?

I can just see me pitching it to the studio executives:

"West to Maude. An action-packed thriller where, following the accidental milking machine decapitation of a local politician, a man and his niece/wife must smuggle the headless corpse across the state line to Maude on a three-wheeled combine harvester pursued by emus and with the added complication of Ernie Dingo hitching a ride as far as Booligal, who just plain irritates the hell out of them. A true journey of self discovery."

I think it'll be big.

But not as big as the PR frenzy soon to be created by the press ad I'm doing for a local public transport body, who feel that the caricature that they commissioned of a Sikh bus driver "lacks realism and looks a little too multicultural". Hmmm. I'm sure they'd lose their uncertainties if I beat them with a leather belt.

Roll on 5:30pm, hey?

Around the World in 80 Babes

Meet Babe Boiler, our local lothario, who has conceived this most brilliant piece of information design. I have dubbed this "Around the World in 80 Babes".

I'm sure that by now you've figured this out, but in case you remain ignorant, each pin in the map represents... yep... a babe he's bagged. He definitely needs some assistance with the continent of Africa however. All suggestions and invitations are welcome.

So how does one qualify to be Queen of the Gatton Potato Festival anyway?

Miss Slough 2007 says of her fine name "that I may even one day forgive her for referring to me as Miss Slough 2007. For those not in the know, the Australian equivalent is being Queen of the Gatton Potato Festival."

I didn't know that such a prestigious title exists. I thought that only the British could lay claim to being "Queen of Something". I am intrigued and excited by this news. Maybe this is like the Princess Mary thing - I need to meet the handsome Prince of the Gatton Potato Festival at the Slip Inn and get him to make an honest woman of me. Best get my hair done in preparation.

Sorry, Naked Harry Potter, you've been replaced.

Dr Werner VonWoof's Temple To Homo Eroticism

Now that I've got your attention, stand by for the splendid contents of Miss Slough 2007's (aka FogChicken's) Survival Kit No. 1.




For survival of the latter end of a Slough winter Aussie style, this is what was sent over in the adorable tin. The postcards are four visual aids (purely for educational purposes) to explain to the Whingeing and Ignorant poms Australian Fauna and Culture. I imagine the bare-bottomed surfer has gone straight above FogChicken's bed.

Toodle-Pip.

The Failsafe Nigella Lawson Heterosexuality Test

As conceived by Morgan and I, in all its elegant simplicity, The Failsafe Nigella Lawson Heterosexuality Test. Without further ado:

Do you find yourself enjoying watching Nigella Lawson? If you're unfamiliar with the show, simply ask yourself "Does Nigella look attractive in the above photo?"

If you answered yes to either or both questions and are female, well sorry, but... (I edited out everything that followed- it's better that way). Good news is that Mardi Gras is on this Saturday and if you hurry, you can still get on a float.

If you answered yes to either or both questions and are male, well, you're rampantly, hot-bloodedly heterosexual. Just don't expect to have a Nigella of your own any time soon because...

Real non-celluloid women DON'T spend this much time sensually licking fingers, spoons, edibles and passers-by while cooking... ok?

But perhaps we should learn? Get back in the kitchen, girls, and get lickin'. That'll get you a man!

In the absence of Morgan's blog invite... let's talk about... Naked Harry (ooh!)

My very talented and gorgeous friend Space Girl Princess Carla wrote an impassioned piece the other day on how disappointed she is in Britney Spears (http://www.blurty.com/~sgpcarla). So I thought that in the spirit of this, it was time I wrote how impressed I am by Daniel Radcliffe aka Harry Potter. And not impressed in a purely platonic sense, either...

Yes, embarassing admission... and I'm sure this is the final admission that stands between me and losing all credibility (so bye bye credibility, I say). But... Harry Potter naked in Equus??? PHWOAR!!!

If I was in London right now. Oh, if only... I would be panting at the stage door down in the West End. Queuing for the finest seats. And getting Mr Now Naked Harry Potter to sign my breast. Well, perhaps not that... Especially as he is only 18 and all. Of course, I would also visit Miss Slough 2007.

Naked boys and horses? This I like!

And while on the subject of all things erotic (I think I'll have to rename this post Horny Thursday), let's move on to homoerotic, and the very wonderful Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake, which I saw at the Capitol Theatre last Saturday. Astounding that a large troupe of topless buff men in white shag-pile peddle-pushers could leave me me teary-eyed and speechless, but there you go. If I had any doubts concerning my heterosexuality (thankfully not a problem, courtesy of Morgan's and my failsafe Nigella Lawson heterosexuality test- more on this later) they were quickly quelled by the men in shaggy pants. If you have the opportunity, dear reader, and aren't female and same sex oriented, this is a must see! Tchaikovsky's score in unedited glory is mighty-fine too. That was for the cultured readers, if there be any!