No! Not Sir Cliff!

Where to start?

At the beginning, 'tis apparently a v g place. I have had a nice w-e. It was pretty uneventful apart from my Saturday night dream. I swear there must be something in the water here. I have these ABSOLUTELY trippy and hyperreal dreams!

Saturday's was no exception. It was another ex-based dream. Which is crap. Do you know, every dream I have with him in involves me asking him to be honest with me and him totally skirting the issue. For the uninitiated, my ex and I went out for 8 years and at the end, he double-two-timed me right under my nose and it was not the best of looks.

So that was bad enough in itself. What made it even more surreal was the fact that shortly before turning into my ex, the person in my dream was Cliff Richard. And I was having sex with him. How wrong is that exactly? I was bumming Sir Cliff in my dream!

I really ought to see a medical professional, no? The worst bit was, you know how people can have plastic surgery to get rid of all signs of aging, APART FROM ON THEIR NECK AND HANDS? Well, I was sort of kissing the goose-like neck of Sir Cliff in my dream. And I did not find it v attractive either.

I woke up in some state. As you might imagine.

Honestly.

Right, now for some good news! SHIRLEY CLAMP IS RELEASING A NEW ALBUM!! Which is just the total best news. The fact that she's covering Roxette on it is perhaps less good. But we don't care, with boots like that on, she can sing 'Old MacDonald had a farm (and was subsequently arrested for bestiality)' and we'll dig it.

My lovely Swedish teacher Regina from London (who'd have thought! My Swedish teacher was called 'Queen'!) got in touch today sending me a job ad for an English teacher in Stureplan. That would be a good look on the cash and pals front. What a nice thing to do.

I went out to Hornstull yesterday morning with the Anissa, and we browsed an eco-market, then had some super food while we listened to someone (the antithesis of Shirley) singing songs with (eek) a guitar. Wrongness. I toyed with the idea of going to Patricia last night, but after the 'no underground and dodgy taxiride' fiasco of last week, I decided to stay in and watch 6 Feet Under on SV2 instead. V g it was too.

Today, I got some work to do. It was fun. Then Anissa phoned to tell me she's expecting a baby BOY! So I met her at the mosque for some mint tea. As you do. She has been buying dinky kiddie clothes. Including a pink shirt. Hurrah. Gender identity is SO last year. Just ask Maureen Lipman. An ology?? 'E'S GOT AN OLOGY!

Oh I have started reading 'Watching the English' by Kate Fox. It is great. It's a bit like Bridget Jones tackling anthropology. And what could get more gay pride points than that? Unless it were being read to me by Colin Firth feeding me grapes, and then getting jiggy with my Scottish boy biscuit.

Jaha!

Oh. I am going on a DATE! With a photoless Swedish man called Peter! On Sat! I do hope he's not a dwarf. And has all his own teeth.

Right. I'm off to say 10 hail mary's for my Cliff-inspired wrongness. I would say 'Get thee behind me Cliff' but that would be unsavoury in a whole galaxy of ways.

KALLA NATTER by Jessica Andersson is the best song in the world (apart from 'Min Kärlek' which is untouchable). It totally just rocks the disco's balls til they're sore!

Anyway. Bye!