Vicky Goes On (Again)

Author: vicsto

  • Some Might Say (we’re too nostalgic)

    Did you hear that Oasis have reunited (and it feels so good)? I’ll bet you have because from the announcement to the ticket sales fiasco to the opening shows that is all I know about the current music scene. Oasis have reformed and they’re on tour and middle-aged men are sticking on their bucket hats and sticking drugs up their noses (allegedly) and being Mad Fer It and re-living the 90s.

    Ah, the 90s when life was good and we were all so happy. No economic issues (apart from that recession in the early 90s and Black Wednesday), no wars (apart from the Gulf War, many civil wars, Al-Qaeda insurgency… look, I looked this up on Wiki and felt overwhelmed with despair so let’s not get into it), great snacks, great fashion, 5 TV channels, hey – no problems at all.
    Cool Britannia. Brit Pop. So much colour, everywhere, all of the time. No wonder grey is so popular nowadays. Although I do fear that the pendulum has swung too far away from colour. Have we never thought about the middle-ground?

    Look, I liked Oasis. I liked Blur. I liked Portishead, TLC, Madonna, Pulp, Sade. I have eclectic tastes. I even owned an Oasis T Shirt I bought on the Portobello Road. Because I was cool. And it was cheap and I lived nearby and we didn’t have the internet. And Woolworth’s still existed. And life was easy. BECAUSE YOU WERE YOUNGER. And now you’ve got kids/mortgage/knee pain (maybe all three. I just have knee pain) and you’re thinking about mortality and purpose and looking back is more comforting than looking forward. Guys, we’re here because we’re here. That’s the meaning of life.

    Oasis have reformed because they want all that sweet, sweet cash. I think this says more about the dire state of the music industry than anything else. Artists have always been the people who profit the least from their music. They used to make some money from selling their music and now they don’t. They make money from touring. From merch. They don’t even make money from streaming. Isn’t that absolutely bat-shit insane? But record companies make money, don’t they? They always manage to profit. Wankers.

    What do we do about this? Support local bands. Go to small live music venues. This props up local bars and pubs, allows music lovers to see live music without selling a kidney for tickets, supports talent and not corporations and maybe will make us all bring a little bit of the 90s to this god forsaken time.

  • Heatwave 2025

    Bruce Castle Park, N17

    We have just been struggling with the harsh Summer sun.

    We’ve heard it all before. Every year we hear from holidaying Americans saying on social media, “oh man, the Brits were right. The heat is hotter over here and I’m from FLORIDA.’ So, I now own three (3) air coolers – one (1) is broken. It broke during the ‘Vicky is homeless’ tour of 2024. Ah well, shit happens. It’s now a bulky fan.

    How do we survive? Every year that this becomes an issue (albeit for a very short time only) it merely makes me imagine the desolate, wasteland, climate change ravaged future and I think, “welp, I will not be surviving the apocalypse, that’s for sure.” And I’m not even being pessimistic about it. I’m just over it. Last year I bought cooling pads and water sprays, stood under cold showers and put towels in the freezer. Now I am just all out of ideas. This year I have been sleeping with my cooling fan on all night and wake up stiff and feeling like I’m made of dried twigs and pain. I feel 97 years old. I feel like a hunchback crone. I can’t take it much longer. It doesn’t help that I have a new job and am hot-desking and no longer have a fancy chair. Maybe I should make occupational health purchase me a £3000 chair?*

    This year I have had to take a lot of annual leave recently because of the annual leave year (which, for me, runs from 1st Aug – 31st July) but had a lot to take before it ran out so I’ve been vacationing from home. This means that I got sunburnt feeding birds in Lordship Lane Recreation Ground. Do those birds even care that I suffered for them? Probably not. Selfish bastards.

    Top Tips for Surviving London Heatwaves

    • Wear LOOSE tops. I know ladies enjoy wearing cute little vests and think that less material is better but IT IS NOT. Also, men, put your tops back on. If Instagram can ban the nipple, so can I.
    • Bring water. Drink water. I am not a massive water drinker. My hydrated looking skin is a sham. I am dry like a husk normally. However, I will admit that since turning 43 I’ve been trying to drink more. Some. I’ve been drinking some water. And even I have upped that amount. I’ve even been using a refillable water bottle. Like a woman who does yoga or something.
    • Try to avoid the London Underground. Use the Overground or walk, very slowly, in the shade. With your water. If you do need to use the Tube please, for your sake, stick to: Hammersmith & City line, District line, Circle line, and the Metropolitan line. Also use the Elizabeth line.
    • KEEP YOUR WINDOWS AND CURTAINS/BLINDS CLOSED during the day. And please tell my flatmate that I know what I’m doing when I keep the windows and blinds closed.
    • I haven’t tried this myself but I might if it goes crazy again but apparently if you have an attic you should open the hatch so that the heat can escape into it. I currently live with TWO (2) attic hatches.

    That’s all I’ve got. Good luck out there.

    *My current work situation is a longer story that I may go into at a later point in our lives.

  • Complimenting Strangers

    Life is really hard, isn’t it? I am so often annoyed and annoying. Know why? Because I am a person and people are too much. Therefore I am too much and so are you. OK, so we agree life is hard and people are the worst but we are here one time (that we know of) so I don’t want to make it any harder, if at all possible. I try to be understanding and nice but sometimes I just am not. But sometimes, I am. And I spread that around by being nice and paying people compliments. I know, it is a bit weird but do you know what? The smile I get out of people is so great that it’s one of the most selfish selfless acts you can do for free.

    On a Sunday a few weeks ago in the beating London sun (and we can talk more about how the heat is different in London but another time) I grumpily went to Sainsbury’s to grumpily do my grocery shopping and grumpily sit in a park for a hot and bothered grumpy sit down to gather my strength to get to my flat to grumpily put away my now warm and grumpy groceries. To be clear – I was in a mood. Then, I was walking down the road and I saw a lady wearing an amazing orange dress and I thought, ‘you know what? I should tell her her dress is amazing. It’d make her smile and it might make me not want to cry/die/scream/make me feel lighter about the stupid planet we’re on’ so I said,

    “Excuse me? Sorry”

    And she looked at me like ‘WHAATT??’ (fair reaction)

    And I said, “I just wanted to tell you that I love your dress. Orange is one of my favourite colours and it looks great on you.”

    And she BEAMED. And she thanked me and we both went about our day a little happier with the world. And if that ain’t nice I don’t know what is.

    One other time I care to mention just because it was funny, really: I was getting off the bus and an elderly West Indian bloke was getting off in front of me and I loved his trainers so much I couldn’t even help myself but say, “Oh my God, I love your trainers!!” and he looked at me, looked at his trainers and exclaimed, “ZARA! Can you believe it? Thanks! You should have a look for yourself!” And I told him I would and I felt a little better. And I know to look at Zara if I want new trainers.

    Anyway, the moral of this story is – pay a stranger a (genuine) compliment. You will both love it.

    Disclaimer: please use caution when talking to strangers. You know what the world is like. Use your common sense. Don’t compliment strangers at bus stops at 2am like the man at Seven Sisters did to me the other night and then he seemed annoyed when I told him I was not drunk when he asked me, “are you drunk? I’m drunk.”
    Reader, I was drunk.