Sinister: My head explodes once a week. That's pretty intense, don't you th ink?

[therapy.services at xxx.org]

Like a Flan obsessed with an Adam, I keep seeing Stuart Murdoch everywhere. 
I thought I saw him recently on the advertisement for ITV's Secret Weddings.
The premise? Propose to your boyfriend, be separated instantly for three
days, show up in the studio in a frock and hope that he turns up to be wed
in a 30-second ceremony.  Now, to me, this sounded like the GREATEST
television show in the world because, presumably, some of the brutes would
be saying no. But the suckahs said yes. Fools. Still, it was trash, and I'm
into that. Oh, and sadly it wasn't Stuart (note to self, contacts are
gooood). Although I would have been amused if his girly had donned a dress
and with a rogueish grin said,  "would you?" And as the crowd held their
breath, he strapped on his guitar and started singing "I don't love anyone."
Or maybe, just maybe, Paula Abdul's "Will you Marry Me." Although, wait.
That's my crazy wooing technique. 

I also saw Stuart Murdoch on the 55 bus outta Hackney the other day. He was
on the top deck going into the city, I was on the top deck going out of the
city. We crossed paths, our eyes met, he smiled and waved and then I
realised it was my flatmate wearing a scarf and hat. He DID look like Struan
though. El Bizarro. 

In other news, there's a B+S mix floating about the airwaves - the music of
"The Boy with the Arab Strap" combined with the lyrics of The Streets "Don't
Mug Yourself". It's insane. And insanity RULES. Which leads me onto



 for those of you who pay attention, you might remember me bemoaning the
fact that there were no songs named after me and how my nemesis - my sister
- used to torture me with the number of tunes written about Caroline. Of
course, with a memory like a platypus that has lost it's memory, she has
very little recognition of these events ever having taken place. Which is
why I literally fell off my chair when I met her for lunch in Londontown the
other week and she pulled out of her bag a packet of biscuits. An odd
reaction you might think, but you should know this: Normally her gifts are
amazingly frugal -  a mini packet of travel tissues and some maltesers for
Christmas, detergent and bran flakes for birthdays - but look! Those
biscuits are MARIANNA BISCUITS! Spelt correctly as well. And not only that,
BUT EACH AND EVERY SINGLE BISCUIT OF ARROWROOTY GOODNESS HAD MARIANNA
IMPRINTED ON IT! These are the coolest biscuits in the world. 

I was in Brighton on the weekend. We pubnicked. It was rad. Props to Archel
for mostessing hostessing. 

xx Miss Marianna Longmire






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