The great kiss-off

Events queen locks lips (ahem) with a bevy of backdrop beauties.

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CSS

Lovefoxx from CSS shows there's no need to worry about unsightly bulges when you're a rock goddess. This was one of the four songs we managed to catch before the lights went up and everyone had to burger orf. Fulishly we thought there was no need to rush to the gig, especially since we were only really going to see CSS and weren't especially bithered aboot the support acts. Little did we know this was a tightly regimented show, which started on the dot of 5.30 and wasn't going on a second past 9.30. Ah well, at least I got to see them perform the two songs I know, which counts as very efficient concert-going in my book. We had a jolly larf afterwards tho and it was nice to have the Brighton Babes in residence. Perhaps next time we push it to half an hour, whaddya say?

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De-liverance

I'm really enjoying not drinking. I think not drinking is the way forward. Not drinking beer and wine and spirits into the early hours of the morning, then walking around all day wishing you'd been not drinking. I do feel a warm sense of familiarity with Barcelona now tho. Streets are recognisable, landmarks are fixed. I'm no longer daunted by surly cab drivers and can make my way back to that cool bar on La Ramblas without too many wrong turns. It's deeply satisfying when cities you love finally infiltrate your mind and settle permanently into your mental geography. I have that with Cape Town and Johannesburg, and a few more visits to Rome will hopefully bed that down too. I have a new camera, the lovely Ixus 850i and while we're not yet firm friends, I'm sure a few million pixels down the line we'll be the best of mates.

There's no point going on about the event I've just attended in Barca, it has very little significance to anyone really. So much money is spent, and a hundred thousand zeppelins full of hot air is expelled to no avail. Phones have no sense of humour, I'm very close to hanging up.

Incidentally, the man above is God's Barista(tm), coming soon to a Shoreditch cafe near you. You will be eternally grateful for this introduction, he makes the finest coffee I have ever tasted.

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Suits you!

Ooh! Ooooh! Ooh! Do you like it Sir? Does it excite you? Ooh!

This is the sort of shoe the discerning Mobile World Congress goer will be wearing this season. It is the veritable Maserati of shoes and I thank the powers that be that I only had to pay for a third of it.

Oooooooh!

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Billsworth in Barca

This blog has been severely lacking in content of late due to the fact that I've been preparing for imminent departure to Barcelona, for a week of fatigue n' frolics at the Mobile World Congress. If you want to experience all the fun of the fair, I will be blogging from the event for all four days. As I'm obliged to actually do this, there will be regularly updated content including, if I can upload it successfully, video. Check it out here. For an idea of the sort of rubbish we churn out, follow the link to last year's blog on the right.

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Cart him off

The site of this beast in my rear view mirror would be enough to drive me into a ditch, especially if it was manned (or womaned) by the crew who went carting this Saturday. I thort perhaps I could get away with trundling around the track like Jools Holland on Top Gear, occasionally waving to the rest of the crew as they barreled by. As if.

Get into the cramped confines of your rocket propelled cart and you are immediately consumed with the imperative to drive like a crazed loon. The initial warm-up session passes in seconds and the green light signals us to put peddle to tha meddle. It takes about two laps for me to realise that go-carting after a late night isn't the wisest thing to do. Vision blurry, stomach churning, I'm hurling into corners while trying not to hurl into my helmet. The mad bastards I used to call friends flash by me on all sides, no doubt larffing raucously to themselves as they jet past. Our first run is a 25 minute endurance race, and never has the word been more apt. I am sweating and panting like a wild animal, visor steaming inconveniently as I squeal around that hair bend yet again, time and space distorting as I desperately resist the urge to release the wheel and plunge into the barriers. Then, Oh Blessed Relief, they signal us to stop. I stagger across to the pits, eyeballs whirling in my head and my gorge well and truly risen. Oh God say it isn't so, that was just the first race, we have another 25 mins to go. I'm almost heading for the changing rooms before Benja shames me into getting back into the saddle.

Off we go again and this time all I'm thinking about is survival. The competition has reached fever pitch amongst the rest of 'em. Black flags are appearing thick n' fast as carts are rammed and I am sent spinning by some swine who utterly takes me from behind (no Spencer, not that behind). The checkered flag flashes up for the second time and I crawl from my coffin, hands reduced to shuddering claws and stomach nearing critical mass. Heading for the loo, I jettison the red bull I had in the station at double quick time and cease to communicate with everyone else for fear of vomming in their faces. As we are in Docklands it takes a grueling hour or so to get home, before I can lie down and die.

All in all, a great day out!

I look forward to our team spa treatment day, as I'm very good at lying around and being massaged and I reckon I can take you all!

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