So, there we were, enjoying a stroll around the attractions of Blackpool last weekend on a lovely clear winters day.

After a while, and several cups of 10p tea, my ageing bladder needed draining so we popped into Coral Island (the Rolls Royce of amusement arcades) to splash our sandals .

The arcade was packed to the rafters with 14 year old girls so we fought our way to the mens room where we saw a huge poster which explained why the place was heaving:

APPEARING LIVE TODAY AT CORAL ISLAND, CHICO!



A stage had been set up in the centre of the enormous arcade and, after pushing a few of the pram faced tarts out of the way, we made it to the front and began chanting "Chico Chico" along with all the other sex starved teenagers. Actually, we didn't, we just stood at the side and watched the seething mass grow and grow until, at 1pm exactly, the X-Factor loser was propelled upwards through a hole in the stage and then 'sang' three songs with a bunch of Vegas type showgirls behind him. It was all remarkably professional considering this was in Blackpool. Apparently he did it all again at 2pm, 3pm and 4pm and then three more times at various nightclubs that evening. Beats goat-herding I suppose. We squeezed our way out of there before he'd finished and went to find chips and gravy.

(Spooky! When I did a google image search for 'chips+gravy' a picture of me with my Gran, taken 20 years ago, was on the first page of results!)

TD gave Frozen a rave review and, after looking at the official website, I discovered it was shot in Fleetwood and Blackpool so I popped along to the local flea pit this morning to see it. I didn't like it much. Shirley Hendersons performance was superb but the story and shooting style were a bit 'film school' for my liking. The themes of loss and family identity seemed forced and a bit OTT to me. Girls sister disappears, two years later no clues, no bodies, can't get on with life till she knows what happened, takes comfort in therapy, invents motive and killer, gets it wrong, joins sister at the bottom of fleetwood bay. Sorry for the spoiler. The grim scenes of fleetwood and morecombe were very beautiful and any film with footage of the classic Big Dipper at Blackpool Pleasure Beach is worth the ticket price in my opinion.

Seen Brokeback Mountain three times now and the emotions it summons intensify with each viewing. The final half hour of the film chokes me up nearly as much as The Railway Children or Watership Down. I've seen Capote and, even though Phillip Seymour Hoffman is superb, I really want Heath Ledger to get the Oscar for his mumbling star turn.

Nearly the end of January and already three corking albums in heavy rotation at spellcnut towers. The Strokes, Arctic Monkeys and Soulwax (NiteVersions, technically from 2005 but I just got it). The Strokes cd is chockablock with powerpop tunes and some fantastic guitar work, the Arctic Monkeys cd is bloody brilliant Northern English poetry which will keep us going until the next Streets album and the Soulwax remixes are footstomping dogwalking hooverdancing classics.
Aha went top ten tonight so Darren is cockahoop (he has a wristband for tomorrows in-store Aha performance on Oxford Street and is very excited, bless).

I read 'Strangeland' by Tracey Emin in one sitting last weekend. She's always made me smile and her confrontational and honest ART is right up my strasse. The book had no insights into her creative processes or her position as the tart with the heart in ART but it was all the better for that. Her stories of Margate and Turkey and abortion clinics and booze and Mum and Dad were heartbreaking AND really funny. My tears were pricked several times on the subject of why life is worth living and how loneliness causes kids to kill themselves. If this book is another of her 'pieces' then it's one of the most beautiful and moving in her mighty collection.

I have had a delicious walk by the sea. I sleep soundly and have picked up amazingly in appetite.

Charles Dickens in a letter he wrote from Blackpool in 1869.

Hopefully some sea air will cheer me up so I'm off to Blackpool. On top of the general 'blues' that I'm suffering with I now have a sore throat and sound like Isaac Hayes in South Park. Insert your own chocolate salty balls quip here. Back on Tuesday.

Big changes are hopefully afoot at Spellcnut Towers. The world is our lobster at the moment. Canny investing over the years has given us options to play with. I'm really hacked off with my job and commuting and London. Darren less so but getting there. Buying a pub is one option but I think I'm keener than Darren on that one. I like the idea of 'living above the shop' and of working for myself but am wary that the long hours will get to me once the novelty has worn off. We saw a boarded-up pub on the seafront at Newbiggin in Northumberland while we were there at Christmas and now it has come onto the market. It's in a small fishing town with several already established pubs so we may have our work cut out for us if we went for it. Still, I'm sure a tranny night would pull in the local fishermen (or maybe even a fetish night as they do love their rubber and waterproofs).

My job hunting has come to nought so far but as most of the closing dates haven't passed yet that's hardly surprising. My latest applications include taking folk to court for Council Tax evasion on behalf of Islington Council, van driver for the Royal Mail and various admin jobs for Blackpool Council. I'm not particularly keen on any of them but I'm coping with a terrible depression caused by my current job. In the space of 18 months my role has changed dramatically into something unrecognisable from the job I applied for years ago. I know that change is inevitable in the modern workplace, and I've always prided myself on being sympathetic to change, but the recent restructuring we suffered through has altered my job beyond all recognition and I'm not happy. Actually, I'm really fucking miserable. Recruitment in my department is at a standstill and my request to be added to the 'pool' of staff for relocation was refused. I was offered voluntary redundancy two years ago before our last restructure and I refused it. *kicks self*
So, as you can see, big changes are now overdue. If anyone knows how easy it is to get your doctor to sign you off for six months for depression let me know.

Pringle jumpers and cigars and cheese chunks on cocktail sticks and muddy knees on Sunday footballers and darts team buffets and lock-ins and pork scratchings. These are a few of my favourite things. Buying a pub is a nice thought. We went to look at two yesterday. The first was on the Hoxton/Islington borders in a very smart residential street. The pub was done up in that 'modern day' decor (polished floor, cream walls, dark wood bar and a real fire) but lacked something to tip it into the 'nice and welcoming' bracket. It was 1pm and the place was a bit empty. The lager was flat as a witch's tit (no offence you!) and the food on the blackboard was a bit expensive for a back street boozer. I think the place was aiming for the Hoxtonites, with their club flyers and dj decks under their arms, but should maybe erect some blinds at the windows, get some fruit machines and aim for the older folk in the streets surrounding it. The houses near the pub were in the half-a-mill bracket so are hardly where your average scruffy Shoreditch Twat would live. Tempting but could be disastrous.
The second pub was in Borough. What a dump! (Borough, not the pub). Who would buy a loft conversion for 600 grand directly opposite a huge ugly rough-as-guts housing estate? Morons, thats who. The pub was deserted and we were the first customers that day. Apparently, just a year ago, it was a thriving, vibrant local gay boozer but then the brewery let Linda Barker loose on it's walls and furniture and now the only thing in there is tumbleweed and out of date alcopops. The gays now gaze at that pub through the windows of the boozer over the road which has welcomed their pink pennies into its smoky, carpeted and warm hearth. Schadenfreude or what? We shan't be preparing a business plan for this one (though I'm quite sure the brewery would sell it for tuppence if anyone thought they could revive it from its death rattle).

My new years resolution was to apply for a new job every day in January. Jobs I know I won't get, jobs I hope to get, jobs I'd be totally unsuitable doing and jobs no one wants. I thought I'd 'put myself out there' and see what doors open for me (or rather which doors get slammed in my face). Yesterdays application was for a caretakers job on a council estate in Islington (includes a flat!). I was depressed after reading the job spec because I discovered I was under qualified to be a cleaner but thought I'd apply anyway as I'm a dab hand with a J-Cloth. Never mind though, today's application is for an assistant toy buyer at Hamleys and the job ad stated

the ability to view the business through a child's childs eye is essential

I'm often accused of being childish and immature so I'm almost guaranteed to be fingering Barbie at Tokyo Toy Expo 2006.

I'm enjoying january and neglecting my blog. I'm very busy watching dvd box sets of The Waltons, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Seinfeld and Family Guy. I also have Sim City 4 which is sucking the very last drop of my precious leisure time. I never did have much to say but hopefully something inane will pop out next week.

One can never have enough attractive cardboard boxes so we're off to Ikea today. Yesterday we went walking in muddy Wanstead Park where Henry VIII used to go hunting. There was nowt worth killing though (unless you're into firing arrows at middle class families in Barbour jackets 'enjoying' a nature ramble on their way to a Wanstead bistro for a leisurely lunch with the Sunday papers). I'd like to see more adult-only restuarants crop up this year I think. Somewhere where we won't be subjected to a horse-faced woman yelling "Charmaine! come back here and finish your eggs benedict NOW!".
I added 14lbs of bulk to my frame in December, and it was bloody good fun doing it, but now it's time to shed the shit so we won't be enjoying IKEA's meatballs or cheesecake this morning. Back to work tomorrow. Fuck.

Here are some lovely snowy pics from our Christmas in Northumberland: