Scent of a diva

I couldn’t let April go by without another post. I just couldn’t. This thing I have with threes.

And so, despite arse-drowning, blubbering brooks of the most viscous kind of molassy work, I’m back to say a quick hello.

And, more importantly to say, I do realise I’ve been acting a bit like a slappable diva lately – strutting my stuff shamelessly and disappearing more than’s good for my reputation around here, leaving this most non alluring scent of stale post. For this I’m head-hung ashamed.

So please accept this fresh but substance-less arse-piece of an apology [which is, despite all non-qualifications, genuinely heartfelt].

I shall try to be back with less gas and more ‘stuff’, next.

Angrezi & I: a follow up

For all of you in England who visit Shout and are absolutely mad with curiosity [and frenzied adulation] for an insight to the tantalising identity of your [graceful, enthralling, captivating] hostess H, I bring you [most humbly (needless to say)] a tiny morsel of a treat – just three minutes long. On Channel 4, no less.

Date: 26th April 07
Time: 7:55 pm

See you kids then. Toodles.

Much Mojo Rising

One moon ago, around the time that I was scorching walls, bashing demons, contemplating yet another post, minding my own business, conducting my daily drudgeries rather routinely; something curious happened.

Someone stole my words.

Suddenly and casually and simply. As simply, casually and suddenly as walking to a coffee shop, past a white zen. Like how [yawn] boringly [yawn] routine [yawn] is that?

One moment they [words] were dashing around my head, ebullient, frolicsome, gurgling and straining to be tippity tappity typed in on my keyboard, and the next, not quite as predictably as this cliché, they were gone.

I tried.

I strained.

I went blue in the face with all the pushing and squeezing and knuckle clenching and eventual gasping. But. I was truly and horrifically wordless.

Apart, of course, from those few words and phrases that are so deeply ingrained in the subdermal regions of one’s psyche, that like trusted friends they never leave your side, even in your darkest hour. I could, still say things like “I’m hungry”, “You’re beginning to piss me off”, “arsehole”, “fark off” etc. Even "she sells sea shells on the sea shore". 21 times in a row, without a pause and no stray sheas and sores.

But.

But.

But.

I couldn’t spill a single word on Word [my clever punnery (true, it isn’t yet a legit word in the English Dictionary) is yet intact, as you will appreciate].

But [again].

I am back, to tell you that Laaaaavely Lizza clandestinely nominated one of my posts for the rising blogger. And Judd, an astute [you will agree once you see the SHOUT masthead on his site] blog critic with an aversion to insulting clichés [now how odd is that?!] from New York, decided to bestow us at Shout with The Rising Blogger Award.

La la la la la.

So I will leave you with this, no doubt brimful with admiration for your darling monster on blog, to brighten your day with yet another affirmation from the ether world that you do indeed have good taste.