My Papier Maché F-Buddy, the Cat Orchestra and some 'Za

Aloha romanticists!!!

I've spent the day working off a hangover and singing the Saving Private Ryan theme in my weird 'Cat Orchestra' Meow Mix voice.

In case you missed it, it's apparently the Feast of Saint Valentine today, so if you missed church, you might want to go to Mass to celebrate, or maybe you're making pilgrimage to Via Flaminia near Rome to celebrate. I'm not too au fait with the mechanics of the day, but that's what it's about, right? Being Christian.

No no, I jest, I'm not going to be cynical and buzzicidal today, you people are young and in love, happy in your cocoons of loving happiness and happy lovingness and about as cute as a kitten with a haberdashery kit sewing a button onto an 'I haz wuv u' cushion to give to an ailing baby badger. Valentine's is no time for cynicisms, big or small.

Actually fuck it, let's be cynical.
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Who know's the only reason we even celebrate Valentine's on the 14th February?

The Church, when they were arbitrarily creating holidays to paste over older pagan festivals after the Council of Nicea, decided to attempt to create a day of celebration to supersede the pagan holiday of Lupercalia. They did the same thing with Christmas, seeing as Christ was born sometime in June, and definitely not December, wanting to copy and paste some religious (Christian) zeal over the previously Pagan Season Festival of Sol Invictus, Saturnalia, and Yule. Geoffrey Chaucer, in his attempt to perpetuate the completely bullshit idea of Courtly Love and the completely made-up Chivalric Code, developed the idea of a martyr who had died for love, which has stuck.

Awwww, he died for love, just like Kevin Costner said he would to Mary-Elizabeth Mastrantonio in an oddly Californian sounding 'Nottingham' accent in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves.






Awwwwwww.


So as we can see, children, the holiday of love is based on absolute bullshit. Then again, seeing as most relationships begin that way anyway, in an intricate Cat's Cradle of lies ("Yeah sure, I love that band/movie/dress/political party/food/friend of yours" "Hi, I'm a kickboxing astronaut who spends his inherited millions on fixing blind children somewhere poor, fancy some sex?" etc etc) maybe we should make like HSM and stick to the status quo.


Traditionally, Valentine's wasn't a big deal at home. I would occasionally get a card (sent by my Granny, Mamo I think, because she's extremely cute like that) but to be honest, I've never actually been in a relationship around the 14th of February, so I've never been stung by it. Call it a subconscious frugality, or a sad romantic history, but I really am no worse off for it.

So, this year, I've really tried to avoid talking about V-day (An abbreviation which reminds me of the excellent 1980's scifi franchise) at the office, and to everyone else because the conversation has fallen into one of three slots. Guys comlaining about how much effort they have to put in, and the girls bitching about how their guys either never put any effort in, or their efforts aren't the right kind.

"What? A meal? I wanted lingerie, don't you know I'm on a diet!"

"What? Lingerie? Don't you think of me as anything other than a sexual plaything?"

"What? You've broken all known laws of physics and logic to rearrange the stars to spell out your love for me? Don't you know I'm not into guys who do that?!"

There is a third slot. The 'I couldn't be bothered' slot. Most people I talked to are just fucking sick of the entire sorry facade.

Yeah, we're all broke and overdrawn and struggling to make rent, but I'd better take her to see Chicago or she'll dump me.

Wow, I better not raise issue as to what it's costing or he'll think I'm not grateful.


I think I fit into this slot. I mean, the fact I'm single has nothing to do with it.

(*Waves face in front of eyes as mascara threatens to run at any point*)

I'm not saying this to be edgy or anything, I just hate how much time it takes up. I'd love to be dancing on the wind in love with some girl right now, but as I'm not, I really don't want to give a fuck about Valentine's day.

Here's something worthwhile:

My good ole buddy Sara over at SpankyLuvsIt switched me on to TWLOHA: To Write Love On Her Arms. It's an movement that aims to present hope for people struggling with self injury, suicide, depression, and addiction that has flourished from a short story. I'm a person who suffers from clinical depression, and I've lost friends to suicide, addiction and self-harm. So when Spanks told me about the project this weekend for people to write 'LOVE' on their arms in solidarity of this movement, I was more than happy to pitch in. Unfortch I'm balls at penmanship but here ya go:





Back to Valentines day, my crazy plans are to have a bath, order a pizza the size of a cartwheel, crack open a bottle of Coke, and watch War Films. Who needs a partner eh?


What my bedroom looks like on Pizza Night. Like 'Date Night' but with less sex and more Pizza.


INCIDENTALLY, while I was in bed this morning I had a crazy thought, What if I made a papier maché mock up of a woman's head and started calling her my wife. It came to me when I was considering going into West Hampstead for a coffee, but then realising that the pitying en masse looks of all the brunching couples would make me want to set fire to stuff. I thought that if I had my PM wife, I could introduce her as 'The Ole Ball n' Chain" and feed her biscotti (by smearing coffee-soaked crumbs across her crafted lips) over lappucinotinis.

Then I realised that would be fucking mental, and I should just go out and meet a real life girl, and stop taking literal ideas from Pinocchio.
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SO
If you are in a relationship, Happy Valentines Day folks, and best of luck, sincerely. If like me, the romantic side of life is about as reassuringly precarious as your bank balance, don't worry, you're just as normal as a load of us out here. You lonios are welcome to join me in having a happy Pizza and Movies Day.

If that doesn't appeal to you, you could always try singing your favourite songs while pretending to be a cat. I promise you it's a lot of fun!

Con
xx


ps, MASSIVE news last night. I've found out that one of my heroes, a person who I have loved since I was like 14, a person described here as a 'National Treasure' and a 'Genius' has a house on my street. He lives here half the time. Can't say his name, but please try to guess :)

pps, apparently someone from Galveston, Texas reads my blog. PLEASE make yourself known to me, it'd be good to hear from someone who lives in a place immortalised by one of my favourite songs.