Saturday, June 2, 2007
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I'm doing some drilling on how to send pictures to my weblog with the help OofFlick
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Day four
'I want to have a house meeting,' said Layla. 'So would it be cool if everybody just chilled? So we can all just have a natter maybe?'
Across the room Moon's bald head poked out from the book she was reading, a book entitled You are Gaia: Fourteen Steps to Becoming the Centre of Your Own Universe.
'It's dead spiritual, this book,'Moon said. 'It's about self- growth and development and personal empowerment, which at the end of the day I'm really into, if you know what I mean, right?'
'Yeah, Moon, wicked. Look, um, have you seen the state of the toilet?'
'What about it?'
'Well, it's not very cool, right? And Dervla and I...'
'I'm not fookin' cleaning it' said Moon. I've been here for four days and ain't even done a poo yet. I'm totally fookin bunged up, me, because I'm not getting my colonic irrigation, and also I reckon the electrical fields from all the cameras are fookin' about with me yin and the yang.'
'Layla's not asking you to clean the toilet, Moon,' said Dervla gently. 'We just think it would be good to organize some of the jobs that have to be done around the house, that's all.'
'Oh. Right. Whatever. I'm chilled either way. But at the end of the day I'm just not scrubbing out other people's shite when I haven't even done . I mean, that would be too fookin' ironic, that would.'
'Well, I don't mind doing heavy work, like lifting and shifting,' said Gazzer the Geezer, pausing in the push-ups that he had been doing pretty continuously since arriving in the house, 'but I ain't cleaning the bog, on account of the fact that I don't mind a dirty bog anyway. Gives you something to aim at when you're having a slash, don't it?
From the book "Dead Famous" by Ben Elton.
Across the room Moon's bald head poked out from the book she was reading, a book entitled You are Gaia: Fourteen Steps to Becoming the Centre of Your Own Universe.
'It's dead spiritual, this book,'Moon said. 'It's about self- growth and development and personal empowerment, which at the end of the day I'm really into, if you know what I mean, right?'
'Yeah, Moon, wicked. Look, um, have you seen the state of the toilet?'
'What about it?'
'Well, it's not very cool, right? And Dervla and I...'
'I'm not fookin' cleaning it' said Moon. I've been here for four days and ain't even done a poo yet. I'm totally fookin bunged up, me, because I'm not getting my colonic irrigation, and also I reckon the electrical fields from all the cameras are fookin' about with me yin and the yang.'
'Layla's not asking you to clean the toilet, Moon,' said Dervla gently. 'We just think it would be good to organize some of the jobs that have to be done around the house, that's all.'
'Oh. Right. Whatever. I'm chilled either way. But at the end of the day I'm just not scrubbing out other people's shite when I haven't even done . I mean, that would be too fookin' ironic, that would.'
'Well, I don't mind doing heavy work, like lifting and shifting,' said Gazzer the Geezer, pausing in the push-ups that he had been doing pretty continuously since arriving in the house, 'but I ain't cleaning the bog, on account of the fact that I don't mind a dirty bog anyway. Gives you something to aim at when you're having a slash, don't it?
From the book "Dead Famous" by Ben Elton.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Dervla
She was the most beautiful, everybody agreed that, and the most mysterious. Quiet and extremely calm, it was never easy to work what was going on behind those smiling green Irish eyes. Eyes that always seemed to be laughing at a different joke from the res of the group. By the time of the murder Bervla had been the bookies' number two favourite to win the game, and she would have been number one had Geraldine Hennessy not occasionally and jealously edited against her, making her look stuck-up when in fact she was merely abstracted.
'So what's a trauma therapist when it's at home, then?' Garry asked. He and Dervla were stretched out beside the pool in the pleasant aftermath of the morning's champagne.
'Well, I suppose my job is to understand how people react to stress, so that I can help them to deal with it.' Dervla replied in her gentle Dublin brogue. 'That's why I wanted to come on this show. I mean, the whole experience is really just a series of small traumas, isn't it' I think it'll be very interesting to be close to the people experiencing those traumas and also to experience them myself.'
'So it's got nothing to do with winning half a million big ones, then?'
Dervla was far too clever to deny the charge completely. She knew that the nation would almost certainly be scrutinizing her reply that very evening.
'Well, that would be nice, of course. But I'm sure I'll be evicted long before that. No, basically I'm here to learn. About myself and about stress.'
From the book "Dead Famous" by Ben Elton
'So what's a trauma therapist when it's at home, then?' Garry asked. He and Dervla were stretched out beside the pool in the pleasant aftermath of the morning's champagne.
'Well, I suppose my job is to understand how people react to stress, so that I can help them to deal with it.' Dervla replied in her gentle Dublin brogue. 'That's why I wanted to come on this show. I mean, the whole experience is really just a series of small traumas, isn't it' I think it'll be very interesting to be close to the people experiencing those traumas and also to experience them myself.'
'So it's got nothing to do with winning half a million big ones, then?'
Dervla was far too clever to deny the charge completely. She knew that the nation would almost certainly be scrutinizing her reply that very evening.
'Well, that would be nice, of course. But I'm sure I'll be evicted long before that. No, basically I'm here to learn. About myself and about stress.'
From the book "Dead Famous" by Ben Elton
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Woggle
'Shit, man,'Jazz observed, aghast.'Haven't you ever heard of soap?'
Woggle had taken up what was to become his habitual position, crouching on the floor in the room's only corner, his bearded chin resting on bony knees which he hugged close to his chest, his great horned dirty toenails poking out from his sandals.
Woggle was dirty in a way that only a person who has just emerged from digging a tunnel can be dirty . He had come straight to join the House Arrest team from his previous home, a 200-metre tunnel under the site of the proposed fifth terminal at Heathrow Airport. Woggle had suggested to Geraldine the Gaoler that perhaps he should take a shower before joining the team, but Geraldine, ever watchful for the elements that could for the elements that could be said to make up 'good telly', assured him that he was fine as he was. 'Just be yourself,'she had said.
'Who's that?' Woggle had replied. 'For I am the sum of all my past lives and those I have yet to live.'
Woggle stank. Digging tunnels is hard physical work and every drop of sweat that he had sweated remained in the fabric of his filthy garments, a motley collection of old bits of combats gear and denim. If Woggle had worn a leather jacket (which, being an animal liberationists, of course he would never do) he would have looked like one of those disgusting old-style hell's angels who never washed their Levi's no matter how often they urinated on them.
'Guy, you are rank!' Jazz continued. 'You are high! Here, man, have a blow on my deodorant before we all get killed of asphyxiation and suffocate to death here!
Woggle demurred, 'I consider all cosmetics to be humanoid affectations, yet one more example of our sad species' inability to accept its place as simply another animal on the planet.'
'Are you on drugs or what?'
'People think that they are superior to animals, and preening and scenting themselves is evidence of that,'Woggle droned with the moral self-assurance of a Buddha, 'but look at a cat's silky coat or a robin's joyful wings. Did any haughty supermodel ever look that good?'
'Too fucking right she did, guy,' said Jazz, who personally used two separate deodorants and anointed his skin daily with scented oils. 'I ain't never gone to sleep dreaming about shagging no cat, but Naomi and Kate are welcome any time.'
Layla spoke up from the kitchen area where she was preparing herbal tea. ? I have some cruelty-free organic cleansing lotions, Woggle, if you'd like to borrow them,'
Layla. Real job: fashion designer and retail supervisor. Star sign: Scorpio.
'They won't be cruelty-free after the plastic bottles end up in a landfill and a seagull gets its beak stuck in one,' Woggle replied.
From the book 'Dead Famous' by Ben Elton
Woggle had taken up what was to become his habitual position, crouching on the floor in the room's only corner, his bearded chin resting on bony knees which he hugged close to his chest, his great horned dirty toenails poking out from his sandals.
Woggle was dirty in a way that only a person who has just emerged from digging a tunnel can be dirty . He had come straight to join the House Arrest team from his previous home, a 200-metre tunnel under the site of the proposed fifth terminal at Heathrow Airport. Woggle had suggested to Geraldine the Gaoler that perhaps he should take a shower before joining the team, but Geraldine, ever watchful for the elements that could for the elements that could be said to make up 'good telly', assured him that he was fine as he was. 'Just be yourself,'she had said.
'Who's that?' Woggle had replied. 'For I am the sum of all my past lives and those I have yet to live.'
Woggle stank. Digging tunnels is hard physical work and every drop of sweat that he had sweated remained in the fabric of his filthy garments, a motley collection of old bits of combats gear and denim. If Woggle had worn a leather jacket (which, being an animal liberationists, of course he would never do) he would have looked like one of those disgusting old-style hell's angels who never washed their Levi's no matter how often they urinated on them.
'Guy, you are rank!' Jazz continued. 'You are high! Here, man, have a blow on my deodorant before we all get killed of asphyxiation and suffocate to death here!
Woggle demurred, 'I consider all cosmetics to be humanoid affectations, yet one more example of our sad species' inability to accept its place as simply another animal on the planet.'
'Are you on drugs or what?'
'People think that they are superior to animals, and preening and scenting themselves is evidence of that,'Woggle droned with the moral self-assurance of a Buddha, 'but look at a cat's silky coat or a robin's joyful wings. Did any haughty supermodel ever look that good?'
'Too fucking right she did, guy,' said Jazz, who personally used two separate deodorants and anointed his skin daily with scented oils. 'I ain't never gone to sleep dreaming about shagging no cat, but Naomi and Kate are welcome any time.'
Layla spoke up from the kitchen area where she was preparing herbal tea. ? I have some cruelty-free organic cleansing lotions, Woggle, if you'd like to borrow them,'
Layla. Real job: fashion designer and retail supervisor. Star sign: Scorpio.
'They won't be cruelty-free after the plastic bottles end up in a landfill and a seagull gets its beak stuck in one,' Woggle replied.
From the book 'Dead Famous' by Ben Elton
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