Legally Blonde-ish/Yellow/Orange/Some new colour...

Uh oh. I bleached my hair. Whilst watching The Big Bang Theory I went from a very dark shade of brown, which I have lived with my entire 22 years, to some luminous shade of yellow/orange. I'm not completely upset about the colour outcome, in fact it seems to be others who have to instantly give me tips on toners and great greying shampoos. I had no real expectation of what colour it would turn out to be, and you know I personally think the random darker patches give it all some depth. In the adverts Eva Longoria is always talking about high lights and low lights, I just managed to do it in one badly applied stroke. I was more concerned about my hair falling out, some may have thought this a better out come.

Anyway this was far more than just dying my hair, this was a personal mile stone, an emotional hurdle one has to overcome to really feel lived or something like that. One thing to tick off the list of regrettable mistakes you can only make when this stupid and young. Next on the list, a tattoo or possibly some lipo!

Whose got my Oyster?

With the price of a pint rising by, what feels like, a £1 a month, and bars beefing up their security so much so that you start wandering whether they actually want anybody within the bar and not just standing outside in the que having orafices checked or in tiny smoking 'shame' pens. Somehow your traditional night out seems to be losing alot of its original appeal.

Thankfully a revolution in drinking is upon us, we've all done it before, mostly when younger, but now is time for regression not recession and there feels even more reason to ignore Boris and welcome in the golden era of Top Deck parties.

In fact Mr Johnsons decision to remove our god given right to crack open a Strongbow Super, stumble up those tricky stairs and sing Leona Lewis for unknown fellow passengers whilst your backing dancers swing enthusiatically from the poles, is what has given Bus shindigs that little bit of danger and excitement it needed to be pushed into the modern day. Just remember to avoid opening alcoholic beverages before boarding as doing otherwise can lead to some tricky hiding of cans under armpits, and whatever you do, never under any circumstances light up. One person smoking can ruin it for the whole crew of Transport rebels. If what you are doing only effects you, other passengers don't care. If it effects them, suddenly they are part time community wardens.

Now go buy a day bus pass, fill a 2ltr water bottle with vodka and Coca-Cola (50/50), find a scenic route and roll with it. Ding ding! next stop, drunk.

(This was originally written for and appeared in War Magazine http://www.warmagazine.com/ )

The theme tune to my premature downfall

Not since the classic trance take on the Braveheart theme (genius), has there been such a brave yet inappropriate remix of a song most would shy away from even attempting to to give 180bpm makeover. Yet some one has trumped it, at least with braveness anyway. I give you.... Hallelujah in the mix!!!

OK so its not exactly what I hoped for, but it fulfills something quite special inside my soul that I was completely unaware was missing. To some it may be a little musically sacrilegious , but to be honest I think those people undoubtedly lost faith in the future dignity of the song, when its owner sold it to Simon Cowell for a bajillion pounds, to be X-tracted of any of its original emotional value and instead replaced with a beautiful gold dollar value sticker instead.

Personally I would have held back some what on the cheap synthesizer piano riff and maybe thrown in a little bit of vocal. Say, some squeaky sped up Scooter style chorus or even some VOCODER! Everyone loves vocoder , or this super popular Auto-Tune effect which seems to have been spunked over every current Hip-Pop tune going. Imagine Alexandra/Leonard/Jeff/Rufus (delete as appropriate)with some brill Cher-like vocals. Yum.

I guess I'm not actually posting the song because I love it, instead because I love the idea. I know for a fact given the right amount of booze and poppers, my captivated club audience (amazingly I have a small one) would be dancing they're woes away and casting any previous doubts of the song to the gutter. In the gutter, because after posting this, anyone who was even considering booking me as a selector of quality music has suddenly lost my phone number, and the only place you will hear me play is in the street, off of my phone.

Oh who am I kidding this is just a glorified ring tone. Some one please create an amazing remix of Hallelujah for me, you didn't get me anything for my birthday.

Anyway in honour of the 'song' I now present you with some of my personal favourite inappropriate mixes, inappropriate is the wrong word, lets say unexpected with a pinch of mild disgust. Start running a bath, you will feel very dirty by the end of this.

The previously mentioned Braveheart theme.

Mr Ludvig Beethovens Moonlight Sonata on Serbian speed pills.

I don't even know what I can say about this, except maybe, I'm sorry.

Flirty Fromage

Recently as I wandered through the aisles of our local Somerfield, picking up and nibbling on reduced pieces of meat, to avoid the shitty weather outside, I found myself at one of my all time favourite supermarket sections, the novelty/intensely processed and shaped cheese section.

Personally I can devour a whole 20 pack of Kraft cheese singles in under half an hour, and not feel at all unwell or even guilty. Because lets face it cheese isn't good for you in the first place, does it matter that its been bent, twisted, melted, mechanically engineered and shaped like a perfect dreidel, that can sing Jew songs? I don't think so. Tastes some where within the realm of cheese to me, then thumbs up all round. So yes I was browsing the cheeses, and secretly chewing on some 11p beef (I kid not, but don't worry I didn't pay for it) when I came across a fun time cheese that I hadn't encountered before,or at least I hadn't given enough time before I chomped it up, to really register its details.

This my friends is Strip Cheese. Now the fact that its strippable cheese means nothing but good things to me. Who eats anything 'normally' these days anyway. Pah only dickheads and losers use forks. What did strike me this time, which I hadn't been stricken by before was the name. Now presumably, and I think this is a fair assumption, this product was largely painstakingly designed and marketed towards the younger/stupider end of the dairy market. Like 4yr olds, retards and what not. So why, i wander, has it got a name that quite obviously is referring to sexy dancing?! STRIP TEASE! Argh!

Don't get me wrong, I know what these kids are like nowadays, with their sugar pussy dolls and their Junior learner g-strings. You can't sell a Miley Cyrus CD to a toddler, without her flashing her fanny around in some fishnets. But really, does cheese even need to be sold sexy? I for one, try and avoid the collaboration and confusion between sex and cheese at all costs. Theirs something about the fat from off milk I don't find that trouser arousing. I guess I must prepare myself for future unnecessarily sexy groceries. Can't wait for Somerfield to start stocking Kingsmill Good head bread and Muller penis yoghurt.

Eventually after feeling personally manhandled and abused by the dirrrty (like Xtina Aguilera) Dairylea Strip Cheese, I settled on some lovely cheese and ham in a tube called Primula. It had a cute little mouse on it. I ate it straight from the tube as I waddled through the drizzle down Walworth rd. I felt pure again.

Put it in your diary.

Jason Nevins truly rules my remix world. Yes the same Jason Nevins from the classic 90s rejig of Run DMCs 'Its like that'.

Any good pop song from the last 5 years at least, which you hoped some one, some where had remixed, has in fact probably been remixed already by this god of unnecessary mixes.

Hes almost prolific in his dedication to jazzing (not the bad kind of jazzing, like actual jazz, the good kind, like "ooh i feel jazzy from that kilo of mandy in me blood") up Kelly Clarkson songs. Even the sad slow ones. To be honest i often enjoy them most. There is nothing like a little cry whilst staring at a laser on pills, surrounded by a bajillion sweaty friends. Its my version of a crank (a crying wank, as recommended by my friend Gareth).

So today, the 20th of October, is officially Jason Nevins Remix day on The Dazzle Diaries. This is also because, if I stop listening to dance remixes of Leona Lewis I will start to remember that the reason i want to cry is because i just had my phone, laptop and iPod stolen from my room at a party we had on Friday, and i will feel too sad and die. Anyway blah blah blah I didn't even like them that much.

So here for your aural enjoyment are a few handpicked JN mixes. They're not the most, amazing, original mixes ever but, they most defiantly get the job done. Go on, let go and enjoy. and maybe cry at the same time. I will be.

p.s Don't you think he's getting good at those sexy eyes, or 'smiling with your eyes' as Miss Banks would say.

Ummm and for all those High School Musical fans out there, I didn't even know JN had done these remixes until I searched for the others on the Tube, they are, for want of word, strangely enthralling/disgusting.

Woah, Woah, Woah

As you can probably see this young-ish lady has rather big boobies. In fact they are a 'stunning' 34zzz (its like the 34 got tired and fell asleep waiting to work out the cup size! hah). Now recently she has decided to have her stupendous breasticles reduced due to; back pain, being in the way, etc. General annoyance im guessing.

Ladywithboobies, who is from Macedonia said "I had to make bra by tying a blanket around myself.(sic)". Sad sad times. Anyways , the reason i brought this story up in the frist place was actually to re-publish the headline that accompanied the story in The Sun newspaper, its pretty special. Wait for it.... 'Woman has a whopper-ation'! hhahaha arggghh hahahah. I dont know whether to laugh or cry. Its like utterly idiotic genius.

Does sound a little like a Burger King advert though.

Chapter 1: Meet The Man

Its quite fortunate (in a respect) that this be my first post, as today has already been quite eventful.

So I live in what was recently described, by a popular free london newspaper (aka the carpet to wipe your feet on as you get on the bus) as a "commune" in south east London near Elephant and Castle. To be honest when I personally think of a commune, images pop up in the mind of fields, tassles, sunshine, free love, hemp rugs etc. Basically hippie shit. Now where I live, yes there is a patch of grass to the left of house and not far away is the beautiful and not at all unsafe paradise that is Burgess park (we swam in the pond once!), and we do have carpets which are really the modern day version of a rug. But I think we got sun for a week this year, and if anyone dare bring a tassle into this building I swear... So my point being that apart from a large number of highly sexed people all huddled together in unsanitary conditions, it's not really what I'd choose to call a commune.

Now this so-called artist commune, or rather dirty poop squat, sadly does not belong to me or any of my 14 other housemates. In fact, we have no right really to even be here (except that we own the world! yeah! freedom! anarchy!) And today the lovely man who does seem to own the building, we refer to him simply as The Man, came over to have a look at the building. Now we have met The Man a few times, and although he has been, what some might call a little abrasive in the past, he up to now (it's been 2 and a bit years) hasn't actually asked us to leave. He's threatened and made up weird things like moving in some random street woman, who turned out be as real as Tyra's weave. But it seems the stinky street winds have changed and highly unstable old property around the Walworth rd is totally hot right now, and as we know everyone loves living around a billion crackheads and obese kids who smash your windows with rotting vegetables, and market stalls where every single piece of produce that is being sold, is knowingly completely past any form of best before date (most probably the source of said vegetables). And the most notable thing to come from the infamous double moped shooting in our local Costcutter, was the free bottle of cherry Lambrini we received from the store (which was ace!).

Finally The Man has got his wicked way, and has managed to get the planning permision last week to destroy our beloved home, to tear the our family apart, to squish our Squallyoaks! We may have a week, we may have two, but at some point in the very near future we will be homeless. Sad times. Or are they? Now I know it's a little weird but for some reason the prospect of my home being ripped from right under me doesn't fill me with the fear that the rest of my squatmates seem to feel. I mean yeah, obviously I'm pissed about the inconveniance and I'm sure it hasn't really sunk in yet, but in a way I'm quite excited about the moving on, the change, which is an amazing feet for some one who, as a child, could barely deal with changing the channel without worrying he was going to miss something big.

This house is amazing to live in, especially for free, although maybe not as helpfull to my self-progression as one might hope. I think living with too many people you actually like and enjoy the company of, is suprisingly detramental to your personal motivation. Basically there is always some decent chat to distract you from your daily goals. Always a mate to moan with about how you haven't done anything today. Always someone to mutually procrastinate with. Whatever who needs motivation. All i need is the idiot box, the idiot juice, the idiot dust, my idiot house mates, and maybe, just maybe a roof for it all to happen under would be pretty handy.