Towers of London...when they had built you...did you watch over the men who fell?

I've been trying to find a website which would allow me to have all these diary entries and all the accompanying photos in the one place. So far I haven't found anything which works quite the way I want it to and I couldn't be arsed coding something in html. So for those of you who've missed any of my previous missives (or are just dying to read them again) and have links to the latest piccies, I've created a blog where you can see the lot. Check it out at http://blindphineas.blogspot.com/. Can you dig it? I knew that you could. Of course, if you're reading this then you already knew it was here...how existensh!

On Saturday night my flatmate Chloe had birthday drinks at this place called Verve in Covent Gardens. There was a bunch of her gal pals and some work friends and her 3 cool flatmates. It was nice to see her having a good time but I felt so out of place, as one tends to do when one finds one's self in a nightclub at 36 surrounded by hordes of bright young things drawing in attention like they had their own graviational pull. Whereas I'm more like dark matter: there's a theory I exist but no one can actually see me.

On Sunday I went to the 62nd annual Clown Mass at Holy Trinity Church. Every year a bunch of clowns get together to commemorate the memory of Joseph Grimaldi, the father of modern clowning. It was held in this little church in East London near Highbury and Islington and was pretty much your standard church service with prayers and hymns and blessings and all that palaver, but the place was full of clowns doing skits and frightening children, and paparazzi clogging the aisles and clambering all over each other and frightening everybody. All in all it was quite a surreal affair. I sat at the back next to this lovely lady called Elizabeth who is a painter and was hoping to get some inspirational shots for her next series of works. We talked about how evil clowns are and giggled and joked through the whole thing and she even forced me to stand and sing the hymns. Me! The poster child for cynical secular aethist jerk-offs everywhere. Is there no end to the blasphemey? Most of the clowns were horrid old white guys but there was this awesome hot chick clown who caused my bow tie to spin around, let me tell you. But it would never have worked between us as I'd be too scared to go down on her cos her vajootz is most likely full of confetti or an endless string of hankies or something.

For those of you who don't know who Joseph Grimaldi is, check out the previous post to this one called "Send in the Clowns" where I've reposted an article I wrote about him for argus, that awesome lefty Canberra street mag, years and years and years ago.

I saw this contortionist street performer the other day, which got me thinking. When I see a guy contorting and bent over double and all that with his feet locked behind his head, I don't see a breath-taking marvel of athletisism and flexibility. All I see is a bloke who's sucked his own cock. We've all tried it, fellas...but this guy's living the dream! Right about now you girls are all looking at your men folk and going, "Have YOU tried it?" and the blokes are all staring wistfully off into the distance going, "Oh...no, no, no...no. Siiiiigh." Yes, ladies, we've ALL tried. Tried and failed. That's what we're ashamed of: the failure...not the perviness.

I'm starting to feel somewhat at home these days, I guess. Now that there's something of a routine and familiarity in my surroundings. But it's the litte differences that catch you out, the things that should be familiar but are just a bit off. The sensation is called jamais vu, which is the opposite of deja vu, and it's when familiar things seem strange or foreign. For instance, when you go to buy a packet of potato chips all the colours are wrong. Plain is red, salt and vinegar is blue, bacon is pink, cheese and onion is green. It's a world gone topsy-turvy!

I've worked very hard not to pick up the London-Aussie accent cos it just sounds so pretentious and lame, but whenever I think to myself or have a moment's inner reflection, the voice in my head has a really trashy low-rent english accent, cor blimey, you big fat limey, that's a bit risky, have a drink of whiskey.

Next Monday night Queens of the Stoneage are playing the Hammersmith Apollo, which is gonna rawk! I just missed seeing them before I left to come over here so I feel like I'm getting some closure on that one.

Anyhoo, hope you're all well and over the shock of realising it's 2008. Feel free to write back to me sometime, anytime. It's like Civic on a Sunday out there. Check out the blog and the links to all the new piccies...