The Troubled Diva Old Curiosity Box – Item 13.
Two Nice Girls - I Spent My Last $10.00 (On Birth Control & Beer) (1990) (3.97mb)

My favourite lesbian country & western heartbreak song, ever. The lyrics are here (no peeking in advance, now).

Update: Sorry - you weren't quick enough. These MP3s are no longer on my server. I generally make them available for a week or so (sometimes less) before substituting them for new ones. Better luck next time!

A (hopefully) uninterrupted weekend of bucolic bliss beckons. It has been so long (four weeks) since our last full three-nighter in the cottage, that it has all begun to feel like a former life. I will even catch myself feeling slightly nostalgic from time to time. Remember that phase of life when we did the cottage thing every weekend?

Hello cows! Hello sheep! Hello fields! Hello village shop! Hello country pubs! Hello Tissington butchers! Hello Ashbourne wine merchants! Hello posh interiors shops! Hello faded old shirts! Hello garden! Hello Alfa Spider! Hello gentle acoustic music! Hello soft furnishings! Hello long soaks in the big clawfoot bath! Hello Molton Brown bathing products! Hello Country Mike! Goodbye Urban Mike!

Hello weekend!
Goodbye blog!

Wednesday night – we rent The Others. A dark, claustrophobic, scary movie set almost entirely within a large house which is devoid of any natural light. A mother, her daughter and her son are trapped inside, at the mercy of sinister outside forces. The mother is played by Nicole Kidman.

Thursday night – we go to see The Panic Room. A dark, claustrophobic, scary movie set almost entirely within a large house which is devoid of any natural light. A mother and her daughter are trapped inside, at the mercy of sinister outside forces. The mother was originally to be played by Nicole Kidman, but is now played by Jodie Foster.

Terrifically entertaining and well executed movies, the both of them. But can anyone recommend a nice, cheerful, colourful movie for us to watch next? It’s time to step into the light!

Thursday's comments - the extended remix.

I've been doing it again today - burying potential content in comments boxes. So here's the extended remix of today's output.

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1. Lesbian & Gay Marriages We'd Like To See.

If the person on the left took the surname of the person on the right, then we'd have...?

+ = ?

+ = ?

+ = ?

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2. Those Diva Diarists In Full.

Bitter Diva.
Diamond Diva.
Eden's Diva.
Diary of a Diva (1).
Diary of a Diva (2).

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3. A particularly fine piece on Naked Blog today, in which Peter waxes eloquently about the depressing pointlessness of human existence (much more fun than it sounds, honest!), prompted me to offer these choice crumbs of philosophical comfort:I was only half-joking, as well...

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4. Re. Those Things About Which We Must Not Blog, Much As We Would Love To: Discretion is always the better part of valour - no matter how valorous the original indiscretion.

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5. Re. Professor Pim: Working my way through Ian's excellent Pim-piece this morning, linked articles and all (there's also another very good article here, thanks to Buni), I realised that Professor Pim's stance was actually not one of "sending 'em back", as I put it a while ago. It was more of a stance of not letting any more of 'em in, and insisting that those who were in already did more to integrate themselves into Dutch values/culture.

There are a lot of major news stories which completely pass me by on the other side these days. I won't give any examples, but you would be shocked - really, you would. However, I seem to have become completely fascinated by the whole Pim Thing. I think this must be to do with the way it has been forcing me to think outside the box, to re-assess pre-conceptions, and to attempt to form general conclusions from somewhat disparate recent events in various countries. Or maybe it's just because he was a big fat screaming homo. Who knows?

I'm troubled - she's bitter.
Any other blogging divas in the house?

That Kylie concert, then.

Let’s start right at the beginning, on the train from Birmingham New Street to Birmingham International. The Kylie Express. Packed full of poofs, it was. Which meant – inevitably – that there were people on the train who Chig knew. Chig knows simply everyone, you see.

So. We are standing in the carriage making polite conversation with L, who is also on his way to the show. L gets a text message from one of the friends he is meeting at the NEC (National Exhibition Centre: our venue for tonight). He reads it, bursts out laughing, and shows it to us. Don’t you go talking to any of those poofs on the train! Too late, much too late…

Chig has already introduced me to L, and we have politely said hello to each other. It is only much, much later that I discover that L and I have in fact spent an entire boozy night out together earlier in the year. Amazingly, neither of us had recognised each other in the cold light of day. This would be particularly amazing if you had ever met L. Swooningly cute, he is simply not the sort of guy who you would expect to forget in a hurry. In mitigation, I can only say that on that previous occasion, nobody introduced us – and so, despite standing, drinking and dancing in the same extended group for most of the night, we never actually exchanged a single word. Hence, no recognition on either side. Now, just how English is that?

Oh, but you wanted to know about Kylie, didn’t you? Well, she’s a trouper through and through, that's for sure. A seasoned pro. Beneath all the über-modern stylings, a proper song-and-dance showbiz entertainer of the old school. And part of her is also still, as ever, (there’s no escaping this, I’m afraid) a cut-price Madonna. Why, there is even an interlude during the show (while she nips off for a costume change), where giant video images of Kylie dressed as a geisha serenade the audience as her dancers “interpret” the track on stage. Just like “Paradise (Not For Me)” on last year’s Madonna tour, in fact. The cheeky minx!

Of course, bearing in mind the extortionate sums that we paid to see Madonna last Summer, a cut-price version (at a mere £28 per ticket) is more than welcome right now. Plus, dear old Kylie isn’t adverse to such downmarket, populist stunts as – gasp! – saying Hello to us. Asking whether we’re having a good time. Smiling appreciatively at us. Spotting banners in the crowd and giggling over them. Pulling two small boys up on stage right at the end of the show for an impromptu accapella reprise of “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head”. Shameful, eh?

Our seats – for once, in this soulless, cavernous air hangar of a venue – are fantastically well positioned. Down the front, off to stage right, on the front row of a raised section at right angles to the performance area, at a height which puts us exactly level with the main stage. To our left, there is a perfect view of one of the big screens – though we scarcely need it.

Kylie doesn’t have the greatest voice in the world – something of an anaemic squeak, when all is said and done – but she holds all the notes and can’t be faulted on technique. Her stage persona is what you’d expect: despite the skimpy little bits of bum-flashing nothingness that she cavorts around in, the overall effect is still one of utterly wholesome sweetness and light. You can’t help but warm to her, sharing her enjoyment and egging her on. She knows that she will “always be a little bit naff” (her own words), and we accept that, and love her for it anyway.

Most of our favourites are trotted out – hits and album tracks alike – but there are still some major omissions. There is no “What Do I Have To Do”. No “Your Disco Needs You”. No “Step Back In Time”. Almost none of the early Stock Aitken Waterman hits are represented, save for a jarring attempt to rework “I Should Be So Lucky” as a piece of pumping progressive house. It doesn’t work – the vocal line sits awkwardly on top of the backing track, and it is quite clear to me, studying her intently on the giant screen, that Kylie really does hate singing this song. She simply looks uncomfortable with those crass little words and that crass little tune – no matter how much it has been tarted up for the 21st century.

In fact, that’s my major criticism of the show. Too many of our favourites have been tampered with. “Shocked”, for example, should have been left well alone, in all its original glory. Sometimes, the reworkings do work quite brilliantly, though. The highlight of the entire evening for me is a Moulin Rouge section, which has “The Locomotion” revamped in the style of classic Prince, and “In Your Eyes” mutating into a glorious extended latin/samba workout. The choreography for both of these – excellent as it is throughout the entire show – reaches new heights of inventiveness, wit, style and spectacle during both these numbers. For visually, this is indeed a great show. To say nothing of the bare-chested, tautly honed gymnast whose amazingly dextrous – and downright sexy – cavortings during “Confide In Me” completely upstage Kylie throughout the entire song. Or was that just us? Hmm, I don’t think so somehow.

Tackling a medley of yearning ballads (The Crying Game, Put Yourself In My Place, Finer Feeling), Kylie scores surprisingly strongly, allowing a rather touching tenderness to come through in her delivery. I am both surprised and rather impressed by this. But of course, it’s the big jaunty disco showstoppers at which she excels. Her repertoire contains two songs which, above all others, stand out as absolute pop classics. The sort of songs which will get any crowd of people on their feet, any time, any place. The sort of songs which, finally, get even our sedate little block in the NEC on their feet. You know the two I mean. Kylie saves them until the very end of the show, and performs them straight up, no twiddling around, as God intended them to be. We all go barmy, as the NEC becomes one great big beautiful cheesy gay mega-disco. And, I ask you, what could be better than that?

Like many other European bloggers (and this week, I have felt more like a European blogger than a British blogger in some strange way), I have been compiling, posting and receiving Midsummer Night's Burn CDs. The brief: to put together a "summer themed" compilation CD, which is then swapped with your fellow participants.

I like to think that my effort contains some of the key essences of Summer. Lazy, languid, sinuous funk. Chilled out sunbathing soundtracks. Naff holiday resort disco tunes. Open air rock festivals. Stuck in an office, longing for escape. Nostalgia for summers gone by. Ibiza. Psychedelia. Pop. Surfing. Beaches. Hippies. Holidays. Hedonism. Yeah, all of that...

"I need to be played like a violin! Not pumped like a pair of bellows!"

Sometimes, our conversations are pure sitcom.

The first time it happened, Tubeway Army were at Number One with Are ‘Friends’ Electric?

The last time it happened, the Sugababes were at Number One with Freak Like Me. Which, for those of you who don’t know, is based around the original backing track of Tubeway Army’s Are ‘Friends’ Electric?

So for now, the circle is complete. If it never happened again, my life would have the most beautiful symmetry to it. But I think we can safely say that it will happen again.

As Rolf would say: have you guessed what it is yet?

Clue: Attentive readers of the 40 In 40 Days Project might be at a slight advantage here.

Is your office perpetually rent asunder by arguments over the air conditioning? With one half wanting it cooler, and the other half wanting it hotter?

This week, the Hot Lobby finally got assertive and organised. This afternoon, my skin dewed with a thin sheen of glistening fresh sweat, something snapped.

Later today on Troubled Diva: The full lowdown on that Kylie NEC concert.
Snap verdict? A definite thumbs up, but not unreservedly so.

Not having heard of Pim Fortuyn until this morning, I've been digging around in spare moments, trying to piece together bits of information, and trying to formulate a vaguely coherent set of opinions on the whole issue, and its possible implications. So naturally, I looked in on a couple of Dutch bloggers, Martijn and Caroline, to see what they were saying.

And then I got completely distracted by a beautiful extended quote on Caroline's "Products" sidebar, taken from John Banville's Eclipse. It's all about...well, go and read it for yourselves.

So once again, the personal eclipses the political. This is all too typical of me. No wonder, then, that Political Mike comes out to play so rarely these days.

Oh yeah - Pim Fortuyn. I'd like to think that the murderous actions of one lone individual would have only the most marginal of effects on the political landscape. But of course, that would be hopelessly naive of me. As it is, the "send 'em back" brigade now have a martyr. This is not helpful.

All through last week, a little question kept running through the back of my mind. What had happened to the hangover which, after David’s surprise birthday bash, should by rights have hit me hard? After all, I had been fairly comprehensively trashed – and yet I woke up the next morning as frisky as a lamb, full of the joys of Spring. Why had I been given such a welcome reprieve?

Mystery solved. My hangover had gone into hibernation, biding its time, waiting to strike. Cunningly, it waited until the next time I got comprehensively trashed – namely last Saturday, at Buni’s 30th birthday bash. On Sunday morning, it joined forces with my new hangover, and pounced.

I can honestly say that Sunday’s hangover was my worst in living memory. So perhaps it didn’t help matters that we spent Sunday night at yet another birthday celebration – this time in honour of Fiat Lux. I promised myself that I would take things easy this time. Just a nicely chilled, relaxed meal for eight people in the private dining room at Hart’s restaurant. No problem.

Back at Fiat Lux’s flat, I asked someone the time. It was 3.30 a.m. So how the hell did that happen? I had been pacing myself, not overdoing things – but nevertheless, we had now been drinking for 8 hours solid. Time for bed.

Monday’s hangover – now bearing the collective weight of three birthday celebrations – was not pretty. I was all birthdayed out. So much so that when I rang Chig (to sort out arrangements for tonight’s Kylie concert at Birmingham NEC), I managed to forget to wish him a Happy Birthday altogether.

I have too many friends with birthdays in late April/early May. This might be astrologically consistent, but it sure plays hell with my constitution.

Happy Birthday for yesterday, Chig. Hope it was a good one.

There can be something strangely relaxing about carrying out moronically repetitive tasks. Or is that just me? Yesterday, for example, whilst struggling with The Most Monstrous Hangover In Living Memory, I soothed myself by checking people's Traffic Rankings on Alexa Websearch. This is an attempt (in association with Google and Amazon) to rank websites by the amount of traffic they have received in the last three months (via Alexa toolbars only, mind you). Thus, Google is #2, Yahoo is #4, Amazon is #33, Blogger is #4,633, etc.

So, I trundled down my sidebar, checking the rankings of all the blogs that I'm currently reading regularly, and turning them into a little popularity chart. Here then is my Top Twenty, with Alexa Traffic Rankings displayed next to each blog. Sometimes, Alexa also provides a short site description, so I've included these as well.

The results are not always what you might expect. In fact, I can hear the whoops of triumph echoing through the streets of Leith, even as I type...So where is Troubled Diva, you might ask? Quite a long way down the rankings, as it happens: the old "underscored" URL is at #4,384,266, and the new "hyphenated" URL is at #7,102,645. Tant pis.

The people of Sierra Leone have their own version of Creole / Pidgin English, called Krio. This verbal, non-written language happens to contain an extraordinarily high number of proverbs and sayings - which have been collated together here. The phonetically transcribed Krio starts to make more sense if you try speaking it out loud.

Here are some examples. Naturally, I've chosen some of the ruder ones. Well, what else did you expect? You should know me by now.For more on Sierra Leone, go here. Or go and speak to my sister, who has worked there on several occasions, and loves the place dearly (she has even taken some Krio lessons herself).

The Troubled Diva Old Curiosity Box – Item 12.
Candlewick Green - Who Do You Think You Are? (1973) (2.57mb)

Better known these days as a 1993 hit for Saint Etienne, this is the original 1973 version by Opportunity Knocks winners Candlewick Green. I have something of a soft spot for early 1970s British bubblegum (there's a good article about it here), and this is one of the best examples.

Update: Sorry - you weren't quick enough. These MP3s are no longer on my server. I generally make them available for a week or so (sometimes less) before substituting them for new ones. Better luck next time!