The countdown

ok. i am not off to reykjavik permanently until march but i leave london soon. as i will be in reykjavik for a week this month (for birthday treats etc - see invite below) i only have NINETEEN DAYS left in my city. fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. i feel very angsty about leaving her.

so here's a few requests to my london posse:

1. dont forget my leaving party - 18th DECEMBER. gay pirates all round thank you.
2. don't lose patience if you are trying to see me and i appear awkward to pin down, i have lots of people to see, lots of packing and paperwork to sort out.
3. come to devon to see me in jan-march as i will be bored shitless. seriously.
4. i will pop back to london for new years eve - what the bloody buggery bollocks are you doing? tell me so i can decide what would be most rad. i would like to attend a house party preferably methinks.
5. if you see me on the street as you go by on a bus or something and i am stood still staring at something, dont worry, i am just realising how much i will miss certain buildings, certain streets, certain quirks and idiosyncrasies.

I have had an utterly insane couple of weeks with friends and dancing and champagne and glitter and drinking. my London birthday party was a serious 9 hours of drinking and was crashed by Meg White of all people. I managed to still function by the end unlike quite a few (seb, dan, neil specifically), but decided not to accompany the Datsuns to a hotel in west london for further drinking as I had more to do the next day. I had been invited to a wear-only-yellow-wear-a-tash-wear-a-hat-and-name-badge party by Sruli, Mr Frost's wife, so Kris and Hanna and I dressed suitably and pootled to the east for drinking and dancing. The obscene cocktails left me somewhat worse for wear but it was much fun indeed.






This past weekend I went to the east again (what is going on) to meet Debra at some pub for a freak show, can can dancers and an underlit dancefloor which rocked my socks greatly. Laura and I spent some time pretending to be John Travolta but we were soon put to shame by the singer from Selfish Cunt's dancemoves.




The following day I took Bjorg and Sruli for a Kitty's London day which Fanny joined us for. Mulled wine and coziness in Highgate then a jaunt into Soho for bloodshots and on to Afterschool by tuk tuk for hardcore dancing and sexy juice. Fanfuckingtastic.






So now i am exhausted and realise in just 3 days i will be back in Reykjavik being a busy bee seeing lots of people i cant wait to see, destroying the town with the help of Asta, Sveinbjorg and Sabrina, and my birthday party on Friday at Sirkus. oooh i can't fecking wait.......

Birthdayness

oh yes.

xkx

HK119 and Daníel Ágúst

Friday evening I pootled down to the Tate Britain as One Little Indian had a showcase down there and Chris (of film skills) had recommended I pop down and have a look. I was quite eager as I have had my grubby little mitts on a copy of Daníel Ágúst's solo album for a month or so now and it’s grown on me rather. I didn't manage to see his show at Airwaves, as I didn't manage to see many at all.

I wished to the lord god and all of his minions that I hadn't seen the first band. They were called Monsta. How apt. They were beyond appalling. I was actually in pain throughout the entire performance. Now I can’t sing, I can dance however, but I can't play musical instruments either (well, not to any standard) so I loathe to sit on my high horse and disregard any talent, no matter how minimal. But this was beyond anything I have ever seen.

They somehow managed to go all the way round the spectrum of bad, missing out the so-bad-its-good category and swung all the way round to agonising. I was in the front row and had my cowl neck around my face so I could hide my expression as I don't like to be rude. What made it worse was just as I was considering poking my own eye out just to distract from the world of wrong in front of me, the lead singer, and main culprit for the cringe inducing, skidded to my feet on her knees on the last number and announced that I was the sexiest thing she had ever seen or something similar.

I just collapsed laughing at this point, which isn’t the nicest reaction admittedly, but it was my body's natural response, I could do nothing about it. In the interval before Daníel Ágúst came on she ran though the crowds, grabbed my elbow and looked me deep in the eyes and said 'I meant it you know'. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.

Next up was Daníel Ágúst and by the first few notes the atmosphere transformed, akin to a cup of tea after a car crash. The backdrop of the immensely high celinged gallery, red walled and covered in dramatic oil paintings seemed more appropriate than I could have imagined. Just Daníel stood on a stool, grand piano to the side and low lighting. He visibly relaxed after the first few songs were received very enthusiastically and the look of 'what the fuck am I doing here who was that other hideous band' dispersed.

I think that his album will do well here, it may be a slow burner but I think if the reaction on Friday was anything to go by, London hasn't finished with him yet.

Film Chris had been ranting about HK119 to me for some time and it only took me a second or two to see why. My god. That, my friends is hell of a woman. Shiny Buck Rogersy all in one, demonic horns, gothic makeup and several inflated bin liners attached to her. Apparently discovered by Bjork performing as HK119 for an art project - she is now signed to One Little Indian. I think I want her to be my best friend and my boyfriend and my archenemy all at once. Crazy industrial schizophrenic electro sung by one of the hottest women ever seen (You should have seen the open mouths of the men in the audience). Oh yes. I'll have a large slice of that thank you very much.



(Get thee to NagNagNag or Kashpoint's Xmas do this month to see HK119 play. Daníel Ágúst's album is available through One Little Indian.)

Saga

It’s been around a month since i last wrote on here, and that is because so very much has been happening.

Airwaves has been and gone and so has Trabant's 'emotional week' UK tour. I have also been mugged and it feels as if this is someone ushering me away from London.... 'come along dear, this is no place for you any longer'.

I feel extremely strange about everything at the moment, somewhat suspended between 2 lives.

So lets rewind. Airwaves. Firstly, due to unforeseen circumstances the documentary was put on hold until next year. I met up with Chris the director yesterday and although he was more than devastated with the short notice of the decision - it has become apparent that it was definitely the right one.

Airwaves this year was incredible. I hardly saw any bands except for my friends, but had a precious week full of love and friends and hedonism. Team KikiKik tuned into its highest level of rad yet. There was so much smiling and doing all the things Team KikiKik does best all at once so that i thought we might possibly collapse with greatness.





It was fantastic to see all my friends in such a party frame of mind. Additionally the wonders of things such as Myspace clicked into place. I met up with several of my myspace friends I had yet to meet in real life, and even more bizarrely had people I had never seen before approach me with 'HEY! you’re Kitty!' as they had merely seen me on a friend of theirs page. Oh it might be geeky, it might be predictable on occasion but I love Myspace damnit.

I returned on the plane crying my eyes out with Trabant looking panickedly at me. This is what a girl crying can do - render grown men helpless. I was glad they came back with me and that I had part of my other life as a crossover when I got back to London. I hate leaving Neni and I hate leaving Kalli and I hate leaving people I just get past a pal and into a friend then have to leave before I can spend more time with them. Patience escapes me with this.

Now everyone knows that you don’t really get any sleep at Airwaves. Everyone is exhausted and a shadow of their former self. Well, try adding a week with Trabant straight after that. A week where you stay in their apartment drinking vodka until the early hours. A week where they can stay in bed but you have to get up at 7 for work every day.

I thought i was going to die. Luckily their apartment was walking distance to my work, so it was several days of coming in with no makeup on, glitter absolutely everywhere and wearing some misfitting clothes i'd borrowed off the boys.

On friday I finally had a chance to go home. My bag was still sat packed from Airwaves in the middle of my room. I had approximately 2 hours to feel homely again, get changed and get back down to the barfly for their Friday night gig. It was here that their label lady Katy said in a somewhat drunken fashion 'KITTY! I'm not going to Brighton with them tomorrow. You are taking my place. Minibus will collect you at 3, sound check is 6-7 and they are on stage 11.45. Go be mum.'

And so it was that I was on the minibus heading out of town my head pounding from the vodka the night before singing along to Dr Albans Its My life with everyone else.



It was great for me to get out of London. I love Brighton anyway but it was just great to be back at the sea. fresh air and what have you. We all went down to the pier and watched twilight turn to night. Beautiful.



Later back at the venue we were all getting made up in the backstage room. And i mean all of us. I went as Viddi. and I looked like him, only better looking and the ladies loved it. So much so that we all got invited back to a well known burlesque performer's 27 bedroom mansion for a 'wild' party. We had to drive back to London that night which was lucky. Because I had to explain what kind of party she was talking about later. Ones with chains and gimps and things. Not quite what everyone
was imagining although I would have loved to see their faces walking into that.




Anyway after Viddi and I went for brunch at a curry house on sunday and lounged around watching american wrestling (something he has made me watch more of than I ever needed to in my life - its *not* real I kept telling him) I said goodbye to the guys. i was beaten. I couldn’t go to their last gig. My body was about to collapse.

I was sorry to see them go, even though my sanity is relieved. But i will see them in a month when i am back in Reykjavik.

I spent one night at home relaxing after they had gone. Then on Tuesday i went for a couple of drinks with Bronco in Camden and left him to go out to play, was on the phone to a friend of mine and got mugged. Little fucking cocksucker.

He ran from behind me, hood up, snatched my phone and cash card out of my hand and pushed me over. I was so angry I did one of the most stupid things. I got up and chased him. My adrenalin leant me a speed i am sure i have never had before and i chased him through a few streets screaming something along the lines of 'You CAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUNT'.

I managed to catch up with him and had the bottom of his hoodie when we ran round a corner into a car park and lo, there were 4 of his crack head mates with dogs waiting. I think something along the lines of 'oh fuck' escaped my lips and my knees started to wobble somewhat. I got pushed over and kicked and thought that it was going to be a night in hospital if i was lucky.

Lucky i was as someone intervened. A rarity in this day and age and town. He called the police and the guys scattered. Some lovely guys who worked in the video shop nearby put me on a chair and stroked my hair to stop me crying and made me sweet tea to stop the shaking. The police arrived with lightening speed and were very helpful and nice and things.

Since then I have been rather shaken, rather achy and rather angry. It’s made me have horrible dreams but in the grand scheme of things it’s nothing really. Its just another plus to me leaving London. I wouldn’t let it rule me though. So last night I returned to the same street and the street I think they started to follow me from. I walked down it and stared at all the little fuckers hanging on the corners dealing drugs and behaving in a threatening manner. Fuck you was what i thought. Fuck you and then some.

I went and had some more drinks with Bronco and felt a lot better. Not just for the Guinness, but that I had gone back. I can't wait to be in Reykjavik, and in its own way in Devon too, but I do love this city and do not want to leave on bad terms.

Talking of leaving, I am going to have one fuck of a leaving party on 18th December in N7. There will be more details to follow but Bullet Union will be playing and quite possibly some other special guests too. There will be djs and drinking and GAY PIRATES is the theme.

Before that though I am having a birthday party in Reykjavik. 2nd December at Sirkus. I will post the invite once the wonderful Gunni has worked his magic on it.......

Until then, behave yourselves. Well, as much as i would.